**

Athanasius was looking worse than ever. He waved her back when she appeared.

‘Approach not, domina, for fear of contagion.’

Hildegard regarded him dubiously. ‘I can’t recall a cure more effective than the one you’re already using.’

‘Not your concern. Anything to report?’

‘How is Cardinal Grizac this morning? Still at liberty, I trust?’

‘He has been appointed official searcher on the grounds that the victim was his own retainer. His spirits are consequently much lighter.’ Athanasius gave an ironic shrug. ‘He believes it shows he is trusted.’ He gave her one of his long, considering stares. ‘What do you think, domina? Would you feel trusted in similar circumstances?’

‘I can hardly have an opinion, magister. Are you hinting that they’re mistaken?’

‘Do not disappoint me, domina. Now we’re alone you can speak your mind. Tell me what you think about our absent friend.’

She decided to answer directly rather than feign ignorance. He was accusing Grizac of being behind Maurice’s treasury break-in. ‘I fail to see any motive for encouraging Maurice to commit a crime against his Holiness.’

There, it was said, the invitation issued, and she watched the old monk for his first unguarded response. His expression did not change, however. Instead, he remained wooden-faced and stared thoughtfully at her for a few moment before saying, ‘Come now, don’t fail me. We can’t ask who gains, because clearly anyone who gets their hands on Clement’s treasure gains a fortune. Better to ask who would imagine that was a sufficient motive to take such a risk?’

‘I imagine the cardinal is uninterested in acquiring even more wealth than he already has.’

‘Sometimes there’s no limit to greed, you would agree?’

‘Do you see your friend as someone driven by greed?’

‘Oh, now, you can’t ask me that. Think, there’s another question we need to ask but what is it?’

‘I’m at a loss, magister.’

He would have to be satisfied with that but he gave a scornful shake of his head. ‘Disappointing of you.’

She ignored that. ‘Tell me, magister, to return to your first question, is it your opinion that recognition by the concilium increases or decreases the likelihood of his eminence being taken into custody?’

‘You’re not as easily convinced as our dear friend by such an unexpected move by the concilium?’ he countered.

Hildegard hesitated. What might it imply about papal involvement in the murder if she answered no? Should Grizac bring any findings to them they did not like, she knew they could easily let them disappear into the depths of the archives. Grizac along with them. She was familiar with the methods of the inquisitors. They worked to a secret agenda which was often obscure until too late, and innocent and guilty alike had condemned themselves through lack of caution.

That they might be working towards such a conclusion with Grizac was too explosive a thought to utter to a man she did not know well and did not completely trust. She would also condemn herself if she accidentally showed she was getting close to the truth.

Instead, watching him, she said, ‘I wonder if his eminence is aware that the brother of his acolyte arrived in the entourage of Sir John Fitzjohn?’

The friar’s expression did not change and his eyes held the same unflickering expression whether he was considering a youth’s death or whether to take another sip of his cure.

He dabbed his clean-shaven upper lip with a napkin. ‘Are you telling me Maurice’s identity is now known by every pot-scourer and gong-master in the palace? The connection with our friend Grizac will be bruited from one side of the purlieu to the other. The rumour-mongers will be in paradise. I’ll make sure his eminence is informed to add to his burden.’ It was a careful reply. ‘And you, domina, do you believe this familial connection has any significance?’

‘I have no idea. I believe it might be merely geographical. These Yorkshiremen are a restless breed. They turn up everywhere.’ Working on the assumption that he knew more about it than she did she added, ‘It must surely be coincidence that the brother is in Jack Fitzjohn’s entourage.’

He was nodding his head.

She could not tell whether it had been news to him or not.

He gave her a sudden flashing smile. ‘Keep up the good work, domina. A word here, a word there, eh? I am confined to my bed for yet another day. You have been most helpful.’ He leaned forward. ‘I shall ensure that the appropriate examiners are aware of your assiduous work when the question of preferment at the Priory of Swyne comes up.’ He gave her a searching glance. ‘That is the reason your prioress sent you here, is it not? In order to further your personal ambition?’

A jolt passed through her while she was grappling with the unpleasant view of spying he had just drawn, and she quickly covered her aversion to what he said. ‘Most certainly, my holy mother is ever considerate for the welfare and benefit of her sisters as you will no doubt remember. I’m fortunate that she believes I might follow her precedent in time.’

She changed the subject to the rain and the floods it had brought and later, as she left, warned herself to be more guarded in future. Despite his conciliatory manner he had almost managed to make her say more than was wise. His eyes had needled into her face as if to extract secrets from her. It was easy to see him inviting some poor fool to confess more than was safe and then bring down the severest penalty of the inquisitors.

Her ignorance of any other motive than greed must have been convincing. It happened to be the truth. He could not suspect the prioress’s purpose in sending her here. She hardly knew it herself. Presumably, if he had known the prioress well he would have a good idea of her opinions. She was ever blunt about her superiors and unfailingly forthright in her views on those who ruled, took their helping of taxes and expected uncritical loyalty in return.

Her allegiance, as Hildegard knew, was unwavering, too, on the subject of the right to the English throne. Only one man had that right. Richard had been anointed with the holy chrism as King of England at the age of ten, an event witnessed in Westminster Abbey by all the prelates, nobles and shire knights of England when they gave their oath of fealty. That was enough to offer him her unstinting loyalty.

The prioress, like Hildegard herself, owed nothing to the Butcher of Cesena and his vassals.

**

There was something in the lining of her sleeve. She pressed it with her fingertips, decided she was not mistaken, and pushed her sleeve up to have a look inside. The thick seam was about an inch deep and when she worked inside it she discovered the small silver charm given her by the apothecary earlier. She had quite forgotten it. Now she wondered how Athanasius had managed to get on without it.

Sighing she thought about taking it along to him but could not summon up the enthusiasm to enter his foul-smelling lair so soon.

What if he had the plague, or something similar? She had managed a discrete look at his neck when she had attended him and had seen no buboes there. Hopeful that he would have warned everyone if he had been really sick she put his ailment down to his advanced years and the cold weather.

He had no heating whatsoever in his cell. Not even a hand warmer. He was like the prioress in that respect. She never seemed to feel the cold and perhaps the two elderly monastics were more similar than she realised. Both brought up under the same harsh discipline. Thriving on austerity. Given to a life of secret affinities. What little she was learning about Athanasius’s character told her that much. Alike. Yes. And yet in some way she had not fathomed, not alike in any profound way, in spirit deeply different.