Edmund, the dutiful esquire, had already stepped from behind the door and, looking well-turned out himself, offered a deep and courtly flourish. ‘Domina, may I conduct you into the presence of my lord, Sir John Fitzjohn.’

Hildegard followed. Then Sir John was standing over her.

**

‘Anyone from England is welcome here, domina. Have you news from Westminster?’

‘None that you will not already know, my lord.’

He smiled faintly. ‘You overpraise my intelligencers.’

She noticed now that he had a thin line of carefully razored blond hair on his upper lip and a slight cast in one eye. He was still physically daunting. She was reminded of his younger brother, Escrick, also a bastard son of John of Gaunt, and thought how different they were in appearance, Escrick dark and brutish, with a chip on his shoulder that made him unpredictably dangerous, and this smiling fair-haired and courtly knight.

A few pleasantries were exchanged although he did not offer her a seat or anything to drink from the silver wine flagon on the table at his side.

Picking up his goblet he drank deeply, staring at her over the rim, before asking, ‘So what may I do for you, domina?’

‘I have some information. It is something of which you cannot be aware, given the honour in which you stand.’

A small scowl flickered over his face and he gestured impatiently for her to continue.

‘It has been brought to my notice that two men have been brought to Avignon against their will.’

A long pause followed until he drawled, ‘What’s that to me?’

‘I believe you are aware of these men and that perhaps they were brought as a gift from England for his Holiness?’

‘I brought several men in my retinue but as a gift?’ He feigned amused astonishment.

‘I believe so. A gift, yes, because of what they know.’

‘Go on.’ His initial charm was fading.

‘They are two miners. I have seen where they are being held. They are suffering the most abject conditions. One of them has already been tortured.’

His lips tightened. ‘I ask again, what has this to do with me?’

‘They are your countrymen, my lord. They arrived in your retinue.’

He glared at her and she saw the colour rise to his cheeks. He turned on Edmund who was obediently standing by and cuffed him sharply on the side of the head. ‘What are you gawping at, dolt? Go and find a job, you idle devil.’

Edmund bowed his head quickly but not before Hildegard saw the dart of rage in his eyes.

Before he reached the door, Fitzjohn called him back. ‘On second thoughts, stay here and learn something if you can get anything into that fat head of yours.’

Edmund came back and stood beside Fitzjohn with his glance fixed on the floor and his cheeks flaming in anger.

Fitzjohn turned to Hildegard. With an air of exaggerated politeness he said, ‘I am at a loss, domina. You come to me in order to inform me that two Englishmen have been abducted and are now being tortured by my host, his holiness Pope Clement?’

‘One tortured, so far,’ she corrected.

She did not want to add oil to fire but she needed to make things plain. ‘As an Englishwoman I find it a most heinous insult to our king that his subjects should be punished by a foreign power, one whose authority our king does not recognise. I understand that you are in ignorance of this treatment, of course, otherwise you would not countenance the stain on your own honour and that of your country.’

He pulled at his stripling moustache for a moment. Took another drink from his silver goblet. ‘Torture?’ he said at last. ‘No, that will not do. But you see the difficulty of my situation, domina?’

She waited for him to continue.

‘Let’s assume they were brought over here in my entourage somehow or other. As a woman, as a nun, you will not understand the delicate nature of our policy towards our host.’

Hildegard showed no sign of how she felt at his words.

He mistook her silence for encouragement. ‘What steps can I take that will not offend his Holiness? Can I go to him and say, “Clement, this will not do?” No, of course not. These men you mention, whoever they are, must have earned their punishment. We are now, I’m afraid to say, within the jurisdiction of the papal court of our most holy father, Pope Clement. Do you see that?’

‘I see my countrymen being tortured for no fault of their own. Your men, Sir John, ones you brought over here.’

‘They say that, do they?’ His eyes narrowed.

‘They have no idea who brought them here.’

‘So as I said before, what has this to do with me?’

Hildegard waited. They both knew the truth.

Fitzjohn’s expression hardened. ‘Understand this, I will not jeopardise the interests of my lord, earl Thomas of Woodstock, the Duke of Gloucester, no less, for the sake of a little discomfort suffered by two miners. They should tell the pope’s men what they want and then go free. This mulish resistance to a perfectly acceptable exchange of information is absurd. What is wrong with the men that they should refuse to cooperate? Are they traitors to England’s prince?’

Before she could summon an answer he ground on, ‘It seems like it. They deserve all they get! If they don’t want to serve the prince and his interests then I’ll send men down myself to see if our methods are more persuasive than those of the pope. Now, if you’ll excuse me, lady, I suggest you stop meddling in things that don’t concern you and get back to your prayers. I have pressing matters deserving my attention.’ He gave a dismissive bow.

Edmund, glance averted from his lord, stepped smartly in front of her, and indicating that she should follow, briskly marched from the chamber.

When the door closed behind them Edmund would not look at her but tried to lead her back down the corridor with his head averted.

‘Edmund, wait.’ She put out a hand to detain him before they turned the corner to where the steward’s dog kennel was. ‘Does that happen often?’

His eyes were glistening with rage. He nodded.

‘It was uncalled for.’

‘It can be worse.’

‘This is not ended. None of it. Trust me.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I may need your help and that of your guild of pages. Is there somewhere private where we can meet?’

**

Hubert’s strong profile was visible between the banners held aloft by the pope’s retinue of clerks and choristers as they processed through the crowds of petitioners into the Great Audience Chamber. He was standing on the opposite side of the nave with the other Cistercians to witness the proceedings.

Hildegard had convinced herself that his coldness towards her was what she desired. She had no with to restart their little amour if that’s what it had been. It would be wrong on every level. She could not help recalling, however, Hubert’s declaration of desire two years ago under the soaring arches of Beverley Minster. That had been no trifling fancy. His words, vibrating with the intensity of his feelings, had left her in no doubt of the depth of his emotions. Now, it seemed as much a chimera as the page’s promise of riches. Put not thy trust in mortal things.

Well, fools might. She wouldn’t, she hadn’t, and Hubert could go to perdition as he had told her to. It was better this way. She had no right even to remember anything of that period of her life when her vows had been so shaken by the feeling of desire he aroused.

The chamber, large as it was, filled rapidly as more and more petitioners tried to enter. Soon it was crammed to the walls.

Most had been waiting since before dawn, some even feeling their way in the darkness straight from lauds. Patience, it seemed, was a virtue much practised.

Many Scots had arrived, she noticed, Clement being their chosen pope with preferment in his gift. A canon of Eglinton, for instance, lecturing in Paris, was one of the first to present his petition. It was for a benefice in the gift of the abbot of the convent of St Andrews. He excused the fact that he already received the profits from the priory of Blantyre by saying that he would resign it in favour of St Andrews, the richer one, she supposed.