‘No, sire. After we scored, the bladder came back to me and I managed to give an underarm pass to the man nearest me and he would have scored, sire, but unluckily he was tripped up and the bladder passed to the other side but later - ’

‘Enough! I’m not interested in your blasted bladder! Anyone else go near the tower?’

‘I, too, sire,’ piped Elfric. ‘But it was earlier than that. It was when I went to deliver your shirt to the laundress.’ Elfric, as innocent as a lamb. ‘I had to walk past the tower at a distance of maybe five yards, sire.’

‘I, also, my lord,’ Simon pushed his way forward. ‘I was near the tower, I’m sure, but I forget when.’

‘I, too. I was near there only yesterday.’

‘And I, my lord. But it was while we were trouncing the choristers in the game. I ran very close to the tower and almost touched it.’

‘And I - ’

‘Shut up, you dolts!’

The chorus of confessions, some even from those not in the know, was silenced and very soon the meeting broke up with dark oaths from Fitzjohn. Edmund was ordered to fetch his lord’s armour and buckle it on without delay.

**

Fitzjohn accosted Hildegard in the passage outside the audience chamber. His mailed boots clanked on the stone flags.

‘What do you know about the two miners, domina?’

‘I know that which I’ve already told you.’

He squinted into her face. ‘Are you prevaricating?’

‘What has happened?’ Stalling.

‘You heard. Gone.’

‘Abducted again, my lord?’

He stared at her. ‘Sarcasm will be your downfall, domina.’ He strode off.

Then abruptly he stopped and glowering back at her said something that made her blood run cold.

‘Athanasius may be your protector and praise God he remains so, as your life depends on it. But know this, when I find out who is behind the escape of those two, if it’s you, you’ll need all the protection he and his inquisitors can summon.’

With one final glare he clanked off down the passage.

**

Despite the fear Fitzjohn’s words aroused, and her lip-biting concern for the miners, and the storm which raged even more violently and kept doors banging all night, Hildegard fell straight into a deep and dreamless sleep. She was dog tired after a very long day. It was well after prime when she awoke. Fitzjohn, she thought at once, with dull dread. What had he meant?

Rain was still clattering into the yard. The other occupant of the cell had crept out without making a sound. Hildegard gave a passing thought to what the woman was doing in Avignon. She lacked any aura of ambition, nor did she look like the close companion of any of the prelates, but then, there was no accounting for taste.

Chiding herself for uncharitable thoughts, she stretched and listened. It was quiet outside apart from the rain. Ominously so. The usual racket from the courtyard three floors below was subdued. It must be the weather, keeping everyone indoors. She began to worry about the miners again, soaked to the skin no doubt, maybe lost in the wilderness that was the French campagne.

Quickly dressing and buckling on her belt with the scrip and knife attached, she went out into the passage and made her way down to the Tinel to break her fast.

**

The Fitzjohn pages were just coming out looking replete although with heavy eyes from lack of sleep.

‘Is your lord back from his hunting trip?’ she asked.

Bertram shook his head. ‘Edmund had to go with them. We’ll let you know as soon as they ride in.’

‘I shall be in the Audience Chamber.’

Bertram nodded. His face was deathly pale.

‘Don’t fret,’ she reassured him. ‘I’m sure they’ll be well away by now. They had the advantage of several hours lead.’

‘It’s not that, domina.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It’s Taillefer. He did not return last night.’

**

Assuming he must have decided to find shelter from the storm somewhere outside the enclave, she gave Taillefer’s absence only passing consideration. What she remembered was his insistence on mutual help and it made her resolve to do more to find the little dagger Maurice had been clutching as he died. Someone must have it.

She went up to see the magister. Before she knocked on his door she recalled Fitzjohn’s parting shot in the early hours and thought God help me. My protector?

**

‘My dear lady,’ he sighed, as she finished her careful report of the previous night’s events. She had told him only enough to include what would be generally known and no more.

He tutted and fussed with some beads for a moment then, unexpectedly, mentioned the wide and uninterrupted view from one of the towers. ‘If you mention my name the guard will allow you up the final, private flight of stairs onto the roof. From there you might be able to observe the movements of Sir John’s search party. You will be able to make out whether they have prisoners with them as they return.’

‘Before I do that, magiser, may I ask if you have had further thoughts about the missing dagger?’

‘None. Only that it must be found.’

‘An impossible task I would imagine. Where would one even start?’

‘It will show itself before long.’ He gave his catlike smile and she imagined him sitting patiently outside a mousehole waiting for his supper.

‘How is the cardinal today, magister? Is he any nearer finding the murderer of that poor boy?’

Athanasius shook his head. ‘He is over at Villeneuve on his estate. He won’t find any clues there, that’s for sure. I think the poor fellow is quite overwhelmed with grief. He has had a sad life, one way or another.’

‘Oh?’

Athanasius smiled. ‘He has the misfortune of being the younger brother of the old Pope, Urban V, second-fiddle all his life to his illustrious elder brother. He then had the misfortune not only to fail in his attempt to bring Cesena and Forli back within the jurisdiction of the papacy - but to have Clement, when he was merely Robert of Geneva, achieve the laurels of success. To add to this, his expectation of being elected pope were doomed when his fellow cardinals chose Robert instead. Jealousy has been his constant companion from the day he was born.’

‘He does not seem bitter.’

‘He feigns, dear lady, he feigns.’

**

The panorama from the top of the tower was, as Athanasius had hinted, spectacular. Despite the torrential rain she managed to find a sheltered spot behind the battlements where she had a clear view of the River Rhone. Now it was surging down more powerfully than ever past the outer walls of the city. From this height it seemed to coil round them like a living creature.

Cutting across the water was the long and graceful bridge of St Benezet, the bridge of Avignon, with its many arches, linking the peninsula where the cardinals’ private estates lay. The grey walls of the abbey were visible behind a curtain of rain with the garden of the old pope below.

With a slight turn of her head she could even see far downstream where the Rhone met two smaller rivers, the Sorgue and the Durance with a litter of small craft moored against the walls of the quays. She realised that the city was in an ideal location for trade through the Mediterranean and to the Lombard city states. Good connections. John and Peter would surely find a way to safety.

Lifting her glance she could see right across the wide plain to where innumerable small farms glimmered in the harsh light, milch cows sheltered under thatch in the water-logged meadows, and the cross-hatched fields of the arable strips, bare now, glinting with puddles, lay in what would be the Kingdom of France. Closer, on the bank of the peninsula, guarding the frontier, was the gaunt watch tower built by Philippe le Bel.