‘This stranger?’

‘Scar faced. A mercenary in the French wars? I didn’t ask. He was looking for a buyer for a little jewelled dagger. Showed it me. Pretty little thing worth a small ransom.’

‘And you thought it was the one the young courtier was looking for?’

‘Me, middle man. Word gets out. No harm. Pope gets enough in taxes.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The young lad asks around and somebody points out the stranger and says, ask him, so what does he do? He goes right up to the fella, looks at the dagger and offers money, straight off.’

‘So did he have to pay a large sum to get it back?’ She wondered where Taillefer had got the money.

The inn keeper shook his head. ‘Not a bit of it. The strange fella refused point blank. Said his instructions didn’t involve entering into a bargain with some losel without a silver coin to his name and to bugger off.’

‘That wouldn’t go down well.’

‘It didn’t. But this is the bit that made us laugh. The lad insisted, the stranger refused, the lad insisted again so the stranger says, “All right, let’s see the colour of your money or go to the devil,” and you know what the lad does? He offers him a bill of credit! Laugh? We nearly wet our britches.’

‘So what next?’

‘This is where he brought trouble on himself. He scraped to the bottom of his money pouch for a night with Yolande then when we were all asleep he creeps out in the dark and sneaks this dagger from out of the stranger’s pack, brazen as you like. He gets out into the street before the fella realises his pack has been tampered with. When he finds sout he lets out a bellow enough to wake the dead. I thought, there’s a stabbing now. I’m down them stairs in a trice with my knife at the ready but I only got there in time to see scarface disappearing down the street. The wench he’d been with, Juliette, stands at the top of the stairs with just a sheet round her shrieking, “Leave be, master!” she says. “He’s a violent bugger and he’s in a fury. Leave him or get a knife in your gut!” And she was right there, wasn’t she, considering what happened next? I had my angels watching over me that night, praise the saints.’

‘So you stayed inside?’

‘I did. Not my business, is it? An ill star was shining. I didn’t reckon he’d catch the lad but he did and that’s that. Pity. He was a regular paying customer, the lad I mean.’

He wiped his hands on his apron and went to the tun to pour more ale into one of the jugs a customer was holding out.

‘So the stranger got away with it,’ Hildegard’s neighbour observed. ‘Me, I wouldn’t want to be walking around here at night by myself with him on the loose.’ She touched her companion on the arm and they exchanged glances.

She turned to Hildegard. ‘I don’t want to alarm you in view of what we’ve just been saying, mistress, but there’s a fella watching you. Don’t look now. He’s sitting over there by the door.’

When she had an opportunity Hildegard half turned her head. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was Hubert de Courcy. His give-away white robes were concealed under a thick black cloak but his features were unmistakable despite the hood he wore. She gave an involuntary scowl and he raised his stoup of ale to her.

‘You’ve got custom,’ chuckled the woman’s man friend.

‘He’s well set up by the looks of that cloak,’ observed the woman.

Hildegard accepted the offer of ale in return for the one she had bought them and turned her back on Hubert. Let him sit there all night. She refused to leave just yet. Not until she was sure there was nothing else to discover. Who was the scar-faced stranger? That was the question. It must be the one who had stolen the dagger from the mortuary. At last, she was getting somewhere.

‘Did this stranger not return?’ she asked the inn keeper when he came over again.

He nodded. ‘He was back a while later as brazen as you like. “Damned thief got clean away,” he said. “I’m getting my pack. I’m not staying here in this den of thieves.” And he got his gear and left.’ He gazed off into the distance. ‘Of course at that time we didn’t know he’d done for the lad.’

‘Surely there was blood on his hands?’

‘None that I saw.’

To her new companions Hildegard said, ‘At least we know the fellow over by the door isn’t the murderer of that poor boy. No scars.’

They all turned to stare at Hubert’s hawkish, alabaster features in silence.

**

It was close to midnight. The inn was at its rowdiest. Suddenly she felt a tap on her shoulder and a voice whispered, ‘Isn’t it time for matins?’

She swung round. ‘I told you not to follow me, Hubert.’

‘In most things I’m your obedient servant but not on this occasion. Let’s go.’

‘I need to speak to the girl Taillefer was with last night.’

‘Who was that?’

‘Yolande.’

Hubert said nothing. He simply closed his eyes in exasperation, turned on his heel and walked away. She expected him to leave then but to her surprise he went over to the innkeeper and she saw him mutter something. Money changed hands. He’s settling his bill and then he’ll leave, she thought.

But instead the innkeeper went into the back room, re-emerging a moment later with the girl she had seen earlier. To her even greater astonishment Hubert put his arm round her and led her into the back room.

‘That’s him sorted,’ sniggered the woman beside her, having watched this charade with interest. ‘I wondered who he was queuing for. You should have taken your chance when you had it.’

Her companion grunted, ‘Pretty face, that Yolande. She certainly pulls in the punters.’

For that he got a slap from his woman.

**

The great bell in the tower over on Villeneuve had boomed out its count of twelve.

Hildegard stood in the doorway of le Coq d’or preparing to hurry out into the rain to cross back to the palace gatehouse when Hubert came up behind her and put his arms round her in a blatantly familiar fashion.

‘Don’t come near me!’ She knew it was him before she even turned because she recognised the alluringly masculine scent of limes and sandalwood he used.

She swivelled to face him. ‘Go away!’

A faint smile flickered over his lips at her response. ‘Tonight I’m your disobedient servant. You’ll thank me tomorrow. There are three or four blackguards giving you looks I wouldn’t want if I were you.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘It’s not nonsense, Hildegard. Just step outside now, into the rain with me. It’s dark away from the lights of the inn. We’ll hurry and we’ll pretend you’re my woman.’

‘I don’t need a man to protect me. I’ve got a knife.’

‘We know about the usefulness of knives,’ he observed, ignoring her attempt to pull away. ‘Put your hood up. This rain is really coming down.’

Resigned to leaving with him but determined to get away as soon as they reached the palace gatehouse, she allowed him to put his arm round her and lead her away from the lights of the inn.

They had gone no further than a dip in the lane that led to the palace when there was a scuffle behind them. Hubert staggered back and Hildegard felt some other hands grip hold of her and a voice in French said, ‘I’ve got her.’

Then her attacker was trying to drag her away, along the lane to where it met the bridge and she was kicking out but failing to free herself. A gasp of someone receiving a hard blow confused her. They were attacking Hubert. There were shouts. More sounds of bone on flesh. Shapes appeared and disappeared in the darkness of the unlit lane.

There were three of them. No, four. The one holding her tried to drag her towards the bridge. She turned and smacked one hand hard against the side of his head, catching him off balance and as he stumbled she nearly managed to free herself but then one of the others grabbed her arms and pinned them behind her back. A voice somehow familiar shouted, ‘Watch out, the bastard’s armed!’