Hangman Blind Read Online Free PDF

Owing to the rain it was churned to a river of mud. It was empty now. But the drumming of hooves could be heard in the distance and soon a stream of Saxon oaths, followed by the faint jingling of harness, came to her ears. Then she heard the distinct sound of a woman’s laugh. Hildegard and the hounds withdrew behind a hawthorn brake and waited.
    Their attention was rewarded when a band of horsemen burst into view. They came roaring out of the trees, lathered in mud and sweat, and at their head, resplendent in shining mail, a knight. His horse had socks of mud to its withers and its caparison of silver and green was besmirched most foully but this did not in any way detract from the glamour of the knight’s appearance. He was followed by the laughing woman astride a spirited little mare. It, too, was caked in mud. At a word from her the whole crowd skidded to an untidy halt in the clearing.
    Visitors to Hutton, Hildegard surmised, dazzled by the sight. The idea of visitors was pleasing. It might turn out to be a perfect time to ask a favour: Roger, the genial host, lavish with his hospitality, replete with manorial holdings – and generous to the requests of nuns.
    Intending to go down to greet them, she saw the woman on the muddy little palfrey push back her hood with a gloved hand to reveal dark hair plaited in the Norman style. Then her voice floated clearly through the trees. It was light and amused. ‘This is where I’d better get into the litter, sweeting. Out of sight of prying eyes.’
    Hildegard hesitated. She saw the woman slip down from the mare into the arms of an eager servant with scarlet tippets on his sleeves and, with little cries of disgust, squelch back along the muddy track to a litter piled with furs hitched between two ponies. Adjusting her cloak, she flung herself on to it and, burrowing beneath the furs, commanded the troop to continue. More slowly now, they moved off.
    Hildegard watched them go. ‘Whose prying eyes?’ she wondered aloud. Without answering, the two hounds followed her down the bank to join the trail on the final leg to Hutton.
     
    It was dark when she arrived. Rain had been falling heavily for the last two hours. But even the weather could not destroy the impact of her first sight of the castle again.
    It stood at the head of the dale and rose up gleaming white like the side of a chalk cliff from amid the tall forest beeches, its four towers alight with flaring cressets in every sconce. On the battlements she noticed the glint of arms and heard the commands of the serjeant as the watch patrolled. The drawbridge was down but guards were posted on both sides of the moat to check who went in and who came out. She was allowed across with no difficulty when they saw she was a harmless nun. A lad hurried forward to take her horse.
    When she reached the gatehouse, however, the porter barred her way with a stick, hefting a torch so he could look into her face.
    ‘I wish to have audience with Lord Roger,’ she told him, momentarily dazzled by the light.
    ‘I ain’t got no instructions as such,’ he replied with a scowl.
    ‘That’s because he doesn’t know I want to see him,’ she explained.
    ‘I don’t know neither.’ He looked undecided when she refused to budge. Then he called over his shoulder to one of the sub-porters. ‘Here, go and ask yon steward if I’m to let her in.’ He jerked his thumb at Hildegard.
    She was impatient now. Her boots were pinching and her cloak seemed to draw rain rather than repel it. Besides, Bermonda was whining for food and warmth and her little whimpers broke her heart.
    ‘Look, you can see I’m a harmless Cistercian,’ she tried again. ‘What’s the objection?’
    ‘I’m only doing my job, Sister, just as you do yours.’
    Over his shoulder she could see straight into the bailey. There was a great confusion of serfs going back and forth. It looked busier than anticipated. She was desperate to get inside, take her wet clothes off and