**

In the privacy of her chamber she rooted through her bag of cures until she found something that might do. It was a harmless recipe for indigestion. Its murky colour wouldn’t matter as she expected the real poison to be in a sealed clay pot by now.

To use the lung wort he had prescribed might lead back to her so for safety she rinsed it out in her washing bowl and emptied the water into the drain.

Next she removed the label, hoping she was second-guessing the apothecary accurately, and replaced the pot in her scrip before trying to work out how she was going to swap them.

**

Athanasius was sitting up at his lectern as usual.

‘Feeling quite well now, magister?’ she greeted as cheerfully as she could.

‘I am indeed, domina, despite this endless bad weather. I must say it cheers me somewhat. It makes me feel at home.’ He was evidently in a good humour. He turned a benign smile on her. ‘I hear our countryman Fitzjohn has been taking some exercise?’

‘I heard. Will he be censured?’

The monk chuckled. ‘He is an honoured guest of his Holiness. Who would dare?’

‘What happened to the ferryman, does anyone know?’

‘Took to the river in his boat. He’ll be washed up far downstream, no doubt. More bloated than when he went in.’

She concealed a shiver. ‘What was their quarrel?’

‘Don’t you know?’ He expressed mock surprise. ‘And here am I, relying on you to keep me fully informed.’

‘I am failed in my duty, magister, mea culpa.’

He seemed pleased to be one up on her. ‘It was Cardinal Grizac who told me. They say the ferryman helped two of Fitzjohn’s retainers to escape back to England. Of course, the ferryman denies it but how else could they have got away without being hunted down by the search party that went out after they fled.’

‘Maybe they’re lying low in the town, magister? Has anybody thought of that?’

He sniffed. ‘The Jewish church was thoroughly searched as a matter of course. Villains often use it as sanctuary. It’s a sore. It should be cleansed.’

‘At least by keeping it open you know where villains are likely to hide.’

‘Shrewdly observed, domina. I suspect that is the intention of his Holiness in allowing it to remain open.’

‘That and the convenience of being able to borrow at interest without compromising the law against usury?’

He dismissed that with an irritable wave of his hand. ‘And now the good news. Cardinal Grizac has returned to the palace to amuse us.’

Hildegard offered a dutiful smile.

‘Return here before nones, domina, if you wish to be entertained.’

When she left the smoke filled cell - Athanasius was burning some foul-smelling resin to improve his health - she shook out her cloak. She felt something putrid clinging to the fabric.

**

Grizac wasn’t the only one to be drawn back to the palace. Fondi and his retinue also appeared. Carlotta was in a mood of loud rage against the weather, against Avignon, against Fondi himself. Her child, quietly cuddling her squirrel, stood forlornly out of the rain under the shelter of the stone archway leading into the inner courtyard.

Hildegard went up to her and asked if she might greet the squirrel. ‘Does he have a pet name?’

‘Bel Pierre,’ the child replied, pushing back a lace coverlet so that Hildegard could stroke the squirrel’s bronze head. He seemed lack lustre. Yearning to hibernate, Hildegard suggested, when Fondi commented. He himself looked somewhat haggard. Too much fever from Carlotta seemed to be drawing the family’s strength.

When Carlotta got what she wanted from the steward Hildegard watched them all trail after her up the steps towards the guest quarters. Their accommodation had been changed to something more in keeping with Fondi’s status.

Hildegard speculated about his presence here. The Schism had attracted the Italian cardinals to Pope Urban while the French had in the main come over to Clement. Yet here was Fondi, a cardinal from Urbino, supporting the enemy. If he was one of Urban’s agents he was a conspicuous one.

She went into one of the lesser chapels and sat down in a corner at the back to think about the virtues of being first to obtain something and how much it enraged Fitzjohn to be bested.

The important question was whether the apothecary worked regular hours and where he kept his keys.

**

The theft of the poison, if she managed to lay her hands on it, might not go undetected for long. There would be no possibility of copying the label, if it had one, and it would be too dangerous to put the poison, whether liquid, powder or resin, into something else while she filled the pot with a more harmless substance.

She would have to hope that the pot she was going to substitute could be planted in among the others long enough for the barter with Fitzjohn to go ahead. She couldn’t imagine what he was going to offer the pope as a substitute for the miners.

The problem she faced right now was the apothecary’s cursed sense of order. He would notice at once if anything had been rearranged.

His store of ready-made cures were kept on several rows of shelves. All the pots faced outwards in serried ranks alphabetically arranged and subdivided into groups for specific symptoms. They were identical except for the lettering on their labels.

She considered making the switch then creating a disturbance of some kind. With everything in disarray maybe no-one would notice something had been tampered with. It was a poor plan but she could come up with nothing better.

**

Grizac was standing in a shaft of sunlight that slanted in through the window slit. He had something cupped between his palms. Athanasius was urging him to do away with it.

After greeting them both Hildegard went over to have a look. ‘What is it, your eminence?’

Cautiously he opened his cupped palms a crack and held them towards her. She saw something fluttering inside. ‘A butterfly,’ he murmured as if a loud voice would disturb it. ‘Caught out in the wrong season. I fear the poor creature will perish.’

‘A butterfly is often compared to the soul.’ She echoed his quiet tone.

He gave her a grateful glance.

Athanasius broke in. ‘If it will die then it might as well die sooner rather than later.’

‘You might say the same for us all,’ Grizac riposted.

‘I do. Frequently,’ snapped Athanasius. He seemed irritated by Grizac’s concern. ‘Put it out of its misery, do. It’ll be better off dead.’

Sadly Grizac went to the window slit. Slowly opening his hands he encouraged the creature to fly out. It fluttered for a moment or two, beating its wings against the stone embrasure until it found a direction. In a trice, it disappeared. ‘At least it has a chance now,’ he murmured. He turned back into the chamber. ‘We are all equal, magister, down to the very least of God’s creatures.’

‘Tell that to the head of any monastery or, indeed, to his Holiness himself, and do you imagine the crowned kings of Europe regard themselves as equal to their peasants?’

‘How they regard themselves has little to do with how they are seen in His eyes,’ murmured Grizac, sticking to his point.

‘Come now, I told the domina you had returned to entertain us. This is doleful stuff. What can you tell us that we don’t already know?’

‘Fire and water do not mix.’

‘An allusion to our guest Fitzjohn and his activities down by the ferry?’

Grizac nodded his head. ‘It was an act of malice. It could achieve nothing. I’m told his birds had already flown.’

‘Non malicia sed militia,’ quoted Athanasius sagaciously.

Hildegard picked up on the allusion. ‘Our founder would agree. Bernard of Clairvaux was not averse to military action. In the cause -’ she added hurriedly, ‘of furthering the interests of our Order - and the will of God.’