CASSANDRA CLARK

2014

THE HILDEGARD OF MEAUX SERIES

BOOK 6 - THE BUTCHER OF AVIGNON

© 2014 Cassandra Clark

Cassandra Clark has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act

1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in eBook format in 2014

ISBN: 9781783016181

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All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Contents

The Butcher of Avignon

Author Note

When news of the battle at Cesena comes through every man, woman and child in England is sickened by the violence inflicted on the innocent inhabitants of the little town. Their own countryman, Sir John Hawkwood, the most infamous mercenary in all Europe, has committed an atrocious crime involving a nun. It is rumoured to be so vile that even the most brutal fighting men had vomited on the battlefield in revulsion. But that was not the worst of it for the inhabitants of the town.

Hawkwood is outdone in brutality by a churchman. Robert of Geneva.

It happened like this. Unable to break the resistance of the townsfolk, Robert, a papal legate, offers to pay Hawkwood for the short-term hire of his troops. His idea is that he will use military force against Cesena’s inhabitants since he cannot talk them into accepting the pope’s rule. The army, handed over in exchange for gold, surround Cesena. The citizens resist this form of persuasion. Of the menfolk not already slaughtered on the battle field the remaining ones are now slaughtered on the battlements. The surviving women, children, the old and infirm, are as staunch in refusing the papal takeover as their slaughtered husbands, brothers and sons. They resist. Next comes a new order. Everyone still residing in Cesena is to be put to the sword.

The mercenaries are there to carry out orders. They make sure that with over 3,000 unarmed citizens within the walls, no-one is left alive. Three thousand? Others claim it is more like eight thousand. Whichever it is, the entire population of this little walled town in the region of Forli is massacred.

This is not the end of the matter. A few months later this same Robert, son of the Count of Geneva, and now known throughout Europe as the Butcher of Cesena, is chosen as Pope Clement VII by the French cardinals, in opposition to the elected Pope, Urban VI, who sits in Rome. So begins the Schism and the rule of two infallible popes.

That was ten years ago, in 1377, the same year the ten year old Richard Plantagenet inherited the English crown from his grandfather, that old war hero King Edward III. And still the Butcher of Cesena, styled Clement VII, is pope in Avignon.

**

Hildegard. Getting dressed in the dark. Sickly smell of the other nun, sweating unwashed in her straw. Found her winter shift and pulled it on over her linen. Fumbled for her boots. One. But where was the other one? Fingers closing over the stout leather when she scrabbled under the bed. Thrusting in her foot, rapidly tightening the laces then pulling her cloak from the tangle of blankets, straightening as she dragged it over her shoulders.

A courier had ridden into the palace in Avignon as night fell. Ahead of the pack, bringing fresh news from England.

It was utterly unbelievable.

Appalling. If what he said was true it was the beginning of the End Days.

She forced herself to dismiss his words as nothing but malicious tittle-tattle. The gloating delight in his voice at the confounding of the English repelled her. But, only moments ago, the clatter of hooves in the forecourt had drummed into an alluring dream - in it she was riding out with Hubert on a hunting day, his hawk regarding her with sombre jealousy, and Hubert himself turning in the saddle to call to her - when the clopping of hooves on the cobble stones and the shouting of English voices below the window jerked her awake. Now, boots on, cloak pulled tight, she ran to the window slit again and looked down into the yard.

Banners. Flaring cressets. Steel. A tumult of horsemen jostling in and out of the shadows and smoke.

And she knew at once that last night’s rumour was true. Something momentous had taken place. The courier was the mere harbinger.

The door creaked as she pushed at it and her cell sister muttered something about cats but Hildegard was already out in the freezing corridor, treading as swiftly as she could over the flag stones, guessing her way through the palace labyrinth where Pope Clement VII, a black spider, crouched at its heart over his hoard of gold.

She was stopped at the outer doors by the sentry.

‘More news from England?’ she asked hurriedly in French.

‘More than that, a knight and his retinue. I trust we’re not at war, domina.’

‘Pray it’s a problem we can overcome.’

He let her pass, his fear not, my lady echoing along the passage.

As she hurried down the wide steps leading into the Great Courtyard her thoughts ran wildly over the facts.

The first attack against King Richard was aimed at his chancellor Michael de la Pole, impeached at the behest of the king’s enemies last autumn. That was one thing. The King, defiant, had given de la Pole a good Christmas at Windsor, seating him at his right hand to show what he thought to the arrogance of the barons in calling de la Pole to stand before the court and, against all the evidence, daring to accuse him of embezzlement. The Chancellor. The king’s trusted advisor.

What had come next, according to last night’s courier, was a thousand times worse.

Sir Simon Burley, the renowned war hero and the kings’ personal tutor, was now indicted on a charge of treason. Penalty, beheading.

The Chief Justiciar, Tresillian, also accused of treason. Penalty, beheading.

Five chamber knights similarly accused and threatened with the same penalty.

The Archbishop of York indicted on the same charge. As a churchman his penalty would be to lose all his possessions and to live the rest of his life in exile.

Archbishop Neville? A traitor?

It was beyond belief.

But this was what the courier had announced. Gleeful. Shouting in triumph. England on the brink of civil war!

Only last year Hildegard had travelled with the Archbishop from his diocese of York to attend the Westminster parliament, called by King Richard to counter a threatened French invasion. The archbishop had been at the height of his powers then. Even so, he told her of his fears for the future, warned her to return to her nunnery and live a quiet and blameless life.

The king’s enemies will not sleep until they have his crown. They will destroy his allies, however powerful. No-one will be safe.

And now the Archbishop was under arrest?

It was rumoured that King Richard’s uncle, the royal prince, Thomas of Woodstock, was behind a plot to isolate the young king so that he himself could rule instead.