Hangman Blind Read Online Free PDF Page B

don dry ones. But the porter, it seemed, was not to be hurried.
    ‘What’s all this about?’ she asked conversationally while they waited in the flickering light for the sub-porter to fight his way to where the steward was bawling orders at a line of servants.
    ‘It’s Martinmas,’ he told her. Apparently relishing a chance to display his knowledge, he leant forward in a miasma of raw onion and garlic. ‘Security’s tight just now, Sister. My lord has his family and guests to protect. Everybody’s on the road at this time of year, with the hiring fairs and that. And down in the village they’re celebrating their own saint, Willibrod, and electing a mock mayor. And , if that’s not enough, we’ve got some Lombardy prince and his four henchman come all the way from abroad to talk loans!’ He leaned back as if to say: so what do you think to that?
    ‘It’s certainly a hive of activity,’ Hildegard remarked, ‘and you at the centre of it all.’ She was rewarded by a toothy smile. ‘I can quite understand why you have to be so strict about anyone entering the castle but,’ she lowered her voice, ‘it must be a hefty loan Lord Roger’s after to bring the Lombards all this way up north. I thought he was doing quite well. Why does he want a loan, do you think?’
    ‘They’re not just here on my lord’s account. They’re doing the rounds of the abbeys.’ The porter gestured northwards, then tapped the side of his nose. ‘Staple,’ he mouthed.
    Hildegard widened her eyes. This was news. ‘Is the pope still after a bigger cut?’
    ‘He wants the lot this time round. To get the better of Clement!’
    ‘The monks won’t be pleased. They rather favour the French pope, I understand.’
    The porter chortled with delight at the prospect of a massacre to come, symbolic though it would be. He probably thinks mutual excommunications have been the best of it so far, she thought, each pope, Urban in Rome and Clement in Avignon, trying to outmagic the other. In her opinion there was worse to come. She turned to matters closer to hand. ‘I can’t stand here till Lauds. Let me through. I’ll put you right with the Lord Steward. He knows me of old.’
    ‘I can’t do that,’ began the porter, but Hildegard had already sidestepped his stave, slipped through the snickel gate and, her hounds with bared teeth in close order about her, had entered the seething crowd.
    The steward was easy to spot. He was six foot three at least, clad smartly in ermine and pers with a chain of office visible round his neck. ‘Ulf!’ she called as soon as she was within earshot. ‘It’s me!’ Rain was pounding down in a fury now, sending people running for shelter, but when he turned she pushed back her hood to reveal her face framed by its gleaming hair.
    He stopped in mid-shout and came wading towards her with arms outstretched.
    ‘My sainted sister!’
    Impervious to the bucketing rain, he swept her into his arms in a crushing embrace. ‘When they said there was a nun at the gate I didn’t suspect it was you! I can’t believe my eyes! Are you real? Have they turned you out of Swyne? Is everything all right?’ He gave her a close look.
    ‘Everything’s fine. Apart from something that happened on the way over. I’ll tell you about that later.’ Hildegard glanced at the crowd scurrying about the bailey. ‘I was hoping for a quiet word with Lord Roger,’ she said, ‘but it looks as if he’s going to have no time if your porter’s to be believed.’
    ‘Fear not, sweetheart. He’ll see you any time.’
    She gave him a sharp glance. ‘Wife number five permitting?’ News of Roger’s recent marriage had reached the priory almost before it was planned.
    ‘Don’t worry about Lady Melisen,’ Ulf said. ‘She’s Norman through and through. Knows the price of everything. A pleasure to do business with. She won’t consider it worth her while to get in your way. What do you want with Lord Roger?’
    ‘It’s a long story.