Eventually he flung the knife down and glanced round with a loud sigh. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it, yawning and stretching. Hildegard, hidden behind the door and observing his performance through the crack, willed him to go to sleep but, despite his yawns, he was as lively as a cricket. He stood up and began to pace about the entrance hall, stretching now and then, shuffling a little series of dance steps from the farandole that by and by brought him towards the open door. He leaned against the door post and gazed longingly out into the courtyard.

A lot of noise was coming from over the other side and he watched for a few minutes as if making up his mind whether to go out and join them. It was evident a hunt was going on.

Hildegard shrank back into the shadows. She wondered if she could say anything to the porter to bluff her way past but she was worried that the rumour of her escape from the clutches of Clement’s personal body guard would have been told in such a way as to make her capture an enticing prize.

She waited impatiently to see what he would do next. If he stepped outside she would be across the floor and down the stairs before he turned back.

To her chagrin he returned to his lodge, rubbing his hands against the cold and blowing out his cheeks. When he sat down he pulled some dice from his sleeve and began to throw, playing against himself. When he won he cheered audibly, other times he uttered a soft curse but whether it was the same ‘he’ each time or whether he changed sides to even the odds against himself she could not tell.

I certainly can’t stand here all night, she decided when his game began to bore her. With her hood well over her face she waited until he dropped one of the dice and had to bend down to search for it under the bench and then she stepped to the door of his lodge as if she had just walked across the yard.

‘Greetings, master. It’s a raw night,’ she announced boldly in French.

He looked surprised. ‘What are you doing out? Lost your way after matins?’

‘Not at all. I’m told Sir John was suffering from the gripe earlier. I’ve brought the potion he asked for.’

‘First I’ve heard.’

‘It’s not the sort of thing he broadcasts. The workings of his bowels he regards as private.’

‘You’re right there. Butt of too much ribaldry already. Butt, get it?’ He stood up, slapping his backside and chortling at his own joke. ‘I’ll come with you, sister.’

Her heart sank. ‘I need to get water from the kitchen first.’

He pointed with his thumb. ‘Down there. I’ll wait here for you.’

‘My thanks, master.’

Before she could get away he told her, ‘There’s activity over the other side of the courtyard tonight, all right. You must have seen it. They’re ransacking every hole and corner for that witch. Reckon they’ll be starting over here next.’

‘Doubtless.’

She walked away, stiff-backed with fear in case he called her bluff. When she gained the stair that led downwards she let out a long breath.

With no time to waste, she hurried into the unlighted kitchen where the spit boy was a sprawled shape beside the glowing embers of the fire.

Crouching down beside him, she whispered, ‘Young master, wake up.’ She had to repeat it several times before he opened his eyes.

With her fingers softly on his lips she said, ‘Shush now…I have a question. For our lady’s sake, where is the esquire of Sir John being kept?’

In the firelight the boy looked half-asleep and was too drowsy to think clearly, but it worked in her favour because he muttered automatically, ‘Under lock and key in the store where the sacks of grain are kept. But here -’ he sat bolt upright. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘No-one. You have seen no-one. This is but a dream. Go back to sleep.’

After a glance to see if the person bending over him had a knife to stick in him, he sank back into his rags and covered his head to demonstrate agreement.

**

The store rooms were down a short adjoining passage. It was pitch black once she left the glow of the kitchen fire but out of the darkness she unexpectedly heard a voice.

It was Edmund and it came from a door on her right. She was about to knock softly upon it when she heard him say, ‘On the count of three. One, two, and -’ exactly on the count of three four voices broke into a raucous song. It was so loud and sung with such deliberation she guessed it was some kind of ploy. Its timing could not have been worse.

With a hurried glance behind her she was about to look for a hiding place when the sound abruptly stopped.

‘That’s not bad but we need something to drum with.’ Edmund’s voice.

Before the chorus could start up again she knocked on the door, louder than intended, and called, ‘Edmund?’

An uncanny silence fell on the other side.

She knocked again a little more quietly. ‘Edmund, it’s me, Hildegard of Meaux.’

He must have pressed his lips to the other side of the door because she heard a whisper of sound, then the question, ‘Are you alone? Answer only yes if you are.’

‘Yes.’

There was a scuffle. ‘Praise be! We heard what happened. You turned yourself into a witch and vanished. Are you all right?’

‘So far. What about yourselves?’

‘We’re about to break free. We have a plan to lure the guard down here. Our moves are planned the way we planned the game with the pig’s bladder. Simon, as smallest, will escape unnoticed in the turmoil and race to the stables where he’ll saddle horses. We’re going to storm the bridge and get across to Villeneuve.’

‘They’ll expect you to do that. You’d be better to escape along the bank towards Pont Saint Esprit where you can make a river crossing. You’ll be in the Kingdom of France almost as soon as you leave the palace.’

There was a silence. She thought she could hear a whispered discussion.

‘Is that where you’re headed?’

‘That’s my intention, yes, after I’ve attended to a little business.’

‘Then we’ll have a horse ready for you too.’

‘How are you going to lure the guard?’

‘Like sirens luring Ulysses,’ came the reply, ‘by the sweetness of our singing.’

The rest of his words were lost as a light blazed behind her. With a clutch of fear she saw a white shape gliding towards her on sandalled feet. A flaring cresset made shadows leap across the walls.

‘Hildegard? What in hell’s name are you doing here?’

She backed against the wall. It was Hubert de Courcy. Now all was lost. There was nowhere to run and he would hand her over to the guards unless she could get away.

Waiting until he was almost up to her, she suddenly reached out and dashed the cresset to the ground. He stumbled, taken by surprise, but, trained in combat as he was, he immediately blocked her escape with his body as she charged against him. Flames from the cresset leaped around their feet as they struggled. He kicked them to one side.

‘Stop, Hildegard! I’m here to help.’

‘Get out of my way!’

‘Listen to me! The guards are crossing over to this side of the courtyard -’ When she tried to speak he held one hand over her mouth and put his lips close to her ear. ‘Listen. They’ve scoured every inch on the other side of the palace. The fact that you’ve vanished without trace is making them talk about witches. There isn’t much time. We’ve got to leave now.’ He released her.

‘We?’

‘I’m coming with you to make sure you get safely back through France.’

‘Hubert, you’re a Clementist - ’

She could feel his astonishment as he jerked back. ‘Never!’ he snarled. ‘I’d rather make a pact with the devil. Now come on.’

‘Fitzjohn’s pages -’ she indicated the locked door of the store room. ‘They’re prisoners.’

‘I know. That’s why I came down. To see what I could do to release them. I didn’t expect to find you here - ’

Just then the sound of metal-shod boots rang on the floor above.