Gregory picked up the man’s fallen sword. ‘Get back to Avignon! That’s the best thing for you, sad miscreant. Go on. Back!’ He advanced again and the man, all bravado gone, took to his heels without another glance.

Meanwhile Egbert, uttering a great roar of joy, had thrown himself bodily onto the back of one of the other riders and after being carried so far, wrestled him off his horse. Locked together, they fell to the ground with a crash. A swift fight ensued but one of Egbert’s fists soon knocked the man out and he fell back as if dead. The monk unfastened the man’s sword belt and took it to Hubert.

There were shouts from the other side of the grove as the fourth rider, still mounted, was being driven into a corner by Edmund and Bertram.

He was putting up quite a fight, his sword glinting as, slashing first on one side and then on the other, he tried to hack his way between them while the boys continued to dance and duck in an attempt to drag him off his horse. Hildegard saw the edge of his sword whirl within inches of Edmund’s head but, when she turned to Hubert to beg him to intervene, he was watching with unmoving attention. When the rider eventually forced an escape Hubert went over to the two esquires with a smile of satisfaction, saying, ‘Well done, lads.’

They watched as the militia man fled back towards Avignon.

‘We didn’t get his sword,’ Edmund glared after him.

Peterkin was also standing with a scowl on his face. ‘I never even got a chance with you three monks pushing in.'

‘Better luck next time,’ Gregory grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair.

Peterkin turned to him with the light of adulation in his eyes. ‘I’d no idea you were such a great swordsman, brother. Where did you learn swordplay like that? Not in your cloister, surely?’

‘I spent many years on the route to Jerusalem protecting our pilgrims. Believe me, it gives me no pleasure to know I possess the art to kill one of my fellow humans.’ He grimaced and slapped his sword into its sheath. Bundling the one he had earned inside his cloak he went to help Egbert collect what other arms he could find then helped him tie them onto the horses.

‘We’d better move on.’ Hubert climbed back into the saddle. ‘Fitzjohn may send reinforcements.’

‘Certainly, if he wants to stay alive he’ll be getting out of Clement’s jurisdiction as fast as he can,’ observed Egbert. ‘Mission failed. I don’t want to be in the way when he does so.’

‘And that fellow won’t be going anywhere much.’ Bertram indicated the man still lying on the ground. The others had vanished into the woods but the one Egbert had fought was still out cold.

The monk bent down to give him a closer look. ‘He’ll live.’

**

Pont Saint Esprit was half a day’s ride, they surmised, but soon they were in the Kingdom of France where Cistercians, if not the English, were welcome. They trusted that the first would cancel out the second and their passage would be easy.

It was a cheerful cavalcade, then, that continued through the thick woods of the campagne. The two esquires who hoped to win their spurs within the year rode ahead followed by the two pages who vowed to serve them. Then came the abbot, his handsome face somewhat bloodied and bruised, accompanied by a nun with what had been described as the face of an avenging angel. They were followed by two placid monks on either side of an eager boy who wanted to give up the rough life of a military man planned for him and take the cloth without dishonouring his prowess with the sword.

Hildegard looked sidelong at the abbot. ‘Hubert, will you hear my confession?’

‘If it pleases you.’

‘In my heart I have maligned you.’

‘Oh? In what way?’

‘I believed you to be a traitor to England.’

‘It was to be expected. How could I tell you the truth? While I was at headquarters at St Mary Graces this whole plot to impeach King Richard’s closest advisors blew up. The prior decided to send me on a mission to find out if Clement had allies in England. Your prioress was quicker off the mark and sent you.’

‘To be honest she only instructed me to observe what was going on. She wrote to me after I arrived, warning me against someone I’d mentioned in my report. Unfortunately, her message had been compromised and all I could make out was the phrase do not trust him. But who should I not trust? It was unclear. Even you were on my list for a brief moment until I decided she must mean Grizac.’

‘It was Athanasius?’

She nodded.

Hubert continued. ‘We were informed that he was Clement’s spymaster but I couldn’t tell you because, to be honest, I was beginning to have doubts about your contact with him. It turned out that he heard about a poison that left no trace so he sent to Fondi in order to obtain it. Fondi is our agent in Urbino but Athanasius didn’t know he was a double agent.’

‘Ah, so that’s it.’ Somehow she felt relieved that the handsome and likable cardinal was loyal to the Roman pope.

‘Poor Grizac was also our man,’ Hubert explained, ‘but he lost patience and decided to act alone. When he heard that Woodstock was sending Sir Jack to get his hands on the poison he realised that he would have to act quickly. Even if we’d arrived earlier I doubt whether we would have been in time to save Maurice. Give him his due, Escrick is an efficient and dedicated body-guard.’

‘Just before he jumped to his death, Grizac confessed that he intended to use the poison against Clement. Did you know?’

Hubert frowned and shook his head.

‘That’s probably why he was in such a hurry, to prevent it falling into Sir Fitzjohn’s hands before he could take it back to England.’

Hubert looked grim. ‘It seems we underestimated Grizac’s rage at what had happened in Cesena.’

‘It weighed on him.’

‘He was a strong advocate for peace and would have made a better pope than either Urban or Clement, but for the Schism.’

Hildegard indicated one of the pages following behind Bernard and Edmund. It was Elfric. ‘That lad’s grief will be somewhat softened by having his brother’s loyalty to King Richard confirmed. He told me Maurice would never do anything traitorous and now his faith is justified.’

‘They’ve all shown themselves true English lads, staunchly loyal to the king. Taillefer, too, a good ally and a grievous loss to the world of chivalry.’

‘The darkest result is that Escrick still lives.’

Hubert looked solemn. ‘We needn’t worry about him for a time. I’m afraid I broke his sword arm in that wine cellar. He certainly had it coming to him.’ Changing the subject he said, ‘I know a couple of knights our boys can serve until they get their spurs, ones who hold the idea of chivalry closer to their hearts than Jack Fitzjohn. And as for Peterkin -’ he glanced behind him to where the two monks were being put through their paces on the subject of church law and exchanged an amused look with her.

‘Yes, I feel we need have no anxiety over his future.’ She smiled as Hubert reached over to squeeze her hand in agreement.

They listened as Brother Gregory chuckled at something Peterkin had said but his reply was kind. ‘Pray do not be offended, young master, when I venture to put forth a counter argument to what you assert - ’

And the cavalcade rode on, the pleasant murmur of voices continuing in harmony as the sun made its slow ascent and filled the countryside with enough light to illuminate the long road home to Meaux.

END

AUTHOR NOTE

As usual I have mixed real historical characters with fictitious ones. The anti-pope Clement is, of course, real, and his activities at Cesena are well documented. By sheer good fortune I came across a footnote about a Cardinal Anglic Grizac and a few facts about his connections and possible ambitions. He was in York and wrote music for the Chapter House there, was passed over for the position of pope, became Bishop of Avignon, and died in the spring of 1387, all of which fits so well with my story. Woodstock, or Gloucester as he is most often known is, of course, historical but he is not ‘hoary’ as Shakespeare would have us believe. In fact he was quite a young man, in his prime at this time, and only ten years older than his nephew, King Richard. The papal Schism still had many years to run until a compromise was reached at the Council of Trent. Silver to make coins was in desperately short supply in England in the 1380’s and 90’s. The promise of a trade agreement over silver from the mines at Kutna Hora made Richard’s chancellor advise him to forego a dowry from Anne of Bohemia. Sadly, Richard’s enemies silenced de la Pole before the advantage of such an agreement could be realised.