dare Athanasius blithely try to lay the blame on a couple of undefended nuns? In her opinion the guards were more than likely to have a motive for stealing the dagger, thumbscrews or not, as they had never made any vow of poverty. There was nothing to stop them except fear or their own sense of decency.
Athanasius dismissed any accusation against the guards with a wave of his hand. ‘Why would they do something that so obviously incriminates themselves? Even now they’re walking barefoot on hot stones.’
‘Who then?’ Grizac challenged. ‘Do you have anyone other than the nuns in mind?’
**
The discussion meandered to an end with the wish that Hildegard would put a few questions to the nuns, something that the men felt they could not do themselves.
‘In the circumstances,’ she replied, ‘I’m sure my prioress would expect me to offer what help I can. I’ll search them out to see if they can shed any light on the matter.’ She turned to the cardinal, ‘That is if I have your authority to do so, your eminence?’
‘You have, you have, dear lady. You have it ten times over. Anything you can do to discover the identity of this corrupted soul who was willing to steal from the sanctified body of my acolyte will earn you my everlasting gratitude.’
‘Magister?’ Hildegard turned to Athanasius. ‘Is it your will that I should become involved in this matter?’
‘I believe your prioress, whom I knew well in earlier years, would expect no less of you, domina. You have my authority to seek out whomsoever you wish in order to retrieve the missing dagger. Go forth with our blessing.’
Wondering how much a blessing by these two was worth, Hildegard left them to their alternate wailings and reassurances, and went in search of the Benedictine sisters.
**
They were found easily enough, two black robed women, one young and one old, in the warming room in the kitchen tower. Hildegard sat down beside them. She stretched her legs, gave a yawn and followed it by a heavy sigh. ‘So sad,’ she murmured. ‘That poor murdered boy.’ Real tears pricked her eyes.
‘So young,’ agreed one of the nuns, putting out a hand to console her. ‘We thank you for your help in our task, domina.’
‘Are you called upon to do this service often?’ Hildegard asked.
‘We do whatever our superiors bid us do. In times of war - ’ her hand circled to include the idea of many dead, ‘who else but us can lay out the bodies with any decency and pray for them?’
A silence followed while the three of them sat in as companionable a fashion as the subject would allow.
One of them eventually got up and went to the flagon on a nearby serving table, poured out a mug of wine for Hildegard, refilled her own mug and that of her companion then returned to her seat. It was a sign that conversation would be welcome.
Hildegard explained she was from the Abbey of Meaux in the north of England. Speaking French, she told them that she had only been in Avignon for a few days and yet already it seemed like months. So much had happened. It was very confusing. She did not know what to make of it all.
The nuns were sympathetic. Even the younger one with the cruelly tight wimple seemed kinder now as if by sharing their gruesome task Hildegard had passed a test and could be accepted as one of them.
They were both from a priory in Burgundy, they explained, where there was much fighting, not only with the English chevauchees, incessantly raiding the countryside and reducing the peasants to starvation, but by the Flemish who believed they had a right to defend their Ghent weavers from coercion by the Duke of Burgundy.
‘We’re caught in the middle, there to clean up after them. There to bury the bodies.’
Slowly Hildegard got round to the question of the dagger.
Both women looked blank. ‘It was certainly in his hand when he was lying in the mortuary,’ one of them agreed, ‘but when we came to lay out the body, after the rigor had
Athanasius dismissed any accusation against the guards with a wave of his hand. ‘Why would they do something that so obviously incriminates themselves? Even now they’re walking barefoot on hot stones.’
‘Who then?’ Grizac challenged. ‘Do you have anyone other than the nuns in mind?’
**
The discussion meandered to an end with the wish that Hildegard would put a few questions to the nuns, something that the men felt they could not do themselves.
‘In the circumstances,’ she replied, ‘I’m sure my prioress would expect me to offer what help I can. I’ll search them out to see if they can shed any light on the matter.’ She turned to the cardinal, ‘That is if I have your authority to do so, your eminence?’
‘You have, you have, dear lady. You have it ten times over. Anything you can do to discover the identity of this corrupted soul who was willing to steal from the sanctified body of my acolyte will earn you my everlasting gratitude.’
‘Magister?’ Hildegard turned to Athanasius. ‘Is it your will that I should become involved in this matter?’
‘I believe your prioress, whom I knew well in earlier years, would expect no less of you, domina. You have my authority to seek out whomsoever you wish in order to retrieve the missing dagger. Go forth with our blessing.’
Wondering how much a blessing by these two was worth, Hildegard left them to their alternate wailings and reassurances, and went in search of the Benedictine sisters.
**
They were found easily enough, two black robed women, one young and one old, in the warming room in the kitchen tower. Hildegard sat down beside them. She stretched her legs, gave a yawn and followed it by a heavy sigh. ‘So sad,’ she murmured. ‘That poor murdered boy.’ Real tears pricked her eyes.
‘So young,’ agreed one of the nuns, putting out a hand to console her. ‘We thank you for your help in our task, domina.’
‘Are you called upon to do this service often?’ Hildegard asked.
‘We do whatever our superiors bid us do. In times of war - ’ her hand circled to include the idea of many dead, ‘who else but us can lay out the bodies with any decency and pray for them?’
A silence followed while the three of them sat in as companionable a fashion as the subject would allow.
One of them eventually got up and went to the flagon on a nearby serving table, poured out a mug of wine for Hildegard, refilled her own mug and that of her companion then returned to her seat. It was a sign that conversation would be welcome.
Hildegard explained she was from the Abbey of Meaux in the north of England. Speaking French, she told them that she had only been in Avignon for a few days and yet already it seemed like months. So much had happened. It was very confusing. She did not know what to make of it all.
The nuns were sympathetic. Even the younger one with the cruelly tight wimple seemed kinder now as if by sharing their gruesome task Hildegard had passed a test and could be accepted as one of them.
They were both from a priory in Burgundy, they explained, where there was much fighting, not only with the English chevauchees, incessantly raiding the countryside and reducing the peasants to starvation, but by the Flemish who believed they had a right to defend their Ghent weavers from coercion by the Duke of Burgundy.
‘We’re caught in the middle, there to clean up after them. There to bury the bodies.’
Slowly Hildegard got round to the question of the dagger.
Both women looked blank. ‘It was certainly in his hand when he was lying in the mortuary,’ one of them agreed, ‘but when we came to lay out the body, after the rigor had
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