Chapter Eleven

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I n thestreets of Winchester the stinking, blackened debris of firewas beginning to give place to the timid sparks of new hope, asthose who had fled returned to pick over the remnants of theirshops and households, and those who had stayed set to work brisklyclearing the wreckage and carting timber to rebuild. The merchantclasses of England were a tough and resilient breed, after everyreverse they came back with fresh vigour, grimly determined uponrestoration and willing to retrench until a profit was againpossible. Warehouses were swept clear of what was spoiled, and madeready within to receive new merchandise. Shops collected what wasstill saleable, cleaned out ravaged rooms and set up temporarystalls. Life resumed, with astonishing speed and energy, itsaccustomed rhythms, with an additional beat in defiance ofmisfortune. As often as you fell us, said the tradesmen of thetown, we will get up again and take up where we left off, and youwill tire of it first. The armies of the queen, secure inpossession here and well to westward, as well as through thesouth-east, went leisurely about their business, consolidating whatthey held, and secure in the knowledge that they had only to sitstill and wait, and King Stephen must now be restored to them.There must have been a few shrewd captains, both English andFlemish, who saw no great reason to rejoice at the exchange ofgenerals, for however vital Stephen might be as a figurehead to beprized and protected at all costs, and however doughty a fighter,he was no match for his valiant wife as a strategist in war. Still,his release was essential. They sat stolidly on their winnings, andwaited for the enemy to surrender him, as sooner or later theymust. There was a degree of boredom to be endured, while thenegotiators parleyed and wrangled. The end was assured.

Nicholas Harnage, with the list of Julian Cruce’svaluables in his pouch, went doggedly about the city of Winchester,enquiring wherever such articles might have surfaced, whetherstolen, sold or given in reverence. And he had begun with thehighest, the Holy Father’s representative in England, thePrince-Bishop of Winchester, Henry of Blois, just shaking togetherhis violated dignity and emerging with formidable resolution intothe field of discussion, as if he had never changed and rechangedhis coat, nor been shut up fast in his own castle in his own city,in peril of his life. It took a deal of persistence to getadmission to his lordship’s presence, but Nicholas, in hispresent cause, had persistence enough to force his way through eventhese prickly defences.

“Do you trouble me with such trifles?” Bishop Henryhad demanded, after perusing, with a blackly frowning countenance,the list Nicholas presented to him. “I know nothing of anysuch tawdry trinkets. None of these have I ever seen, none belongsto any house of worship known here to me. What is there here toconcern me?”

“My lord, there is a lady’s life,” saidNicholas, stung. “She intended what she never achieved, alife of dedication in the abbey of Wherwell. Before ever reachingthere she was lost, and what I intend is to find her, if she lives,and avenge her, if she is dead. And only by these, as you say,tawdry trinkets can I hope to trace her.”

“In that,” said the bishop shortly, “I cannothelp you. I tell you certainly, none of these things ever came intothe possession of the Old Minster, nor of any church or conventunder my supervision. But you may enquire where you will amongother houses in this city, and say that I have sanctioned yoursearch. That is all I can do.”

And with that Nicholas had had to be content, and indeed it didgive him a considerable authority, should he be questioned as towhat right he had in the matter. However eclipsed for a time, Henryof Blois would rise again like the phoenix, as formidable as ever,and the fire that had all but consumed him could be relied upon toscorch whoever dared his enmity afterwards.

From church to church and priest to priest Nicholas carried hislist, and found nothing but shaken heads and helplessly knittedbrows everywhere, even where there was manifest goodwill towardshim. No house of religion surviving in Winchester knew anything ofthe twin candlesticks, the stone-studded cross or the silver pyxthat had been a part of Julian Grace’s dowry. There was noreason to doubt their word, they had no reason to lie, none even toprevaricate.

There remained the streets, the shops of goldsmiths,silversmiths, even the casual market-traders who would buy and sellwhatever came to hand. Nicholas began the systematic examination ofthem all, and in so rich a city, with so wealthy a clientele oflofty churchmen and rich foundations, they were many.

Thus he came, on the morning of this same day when BrotherHumilis entreated passage to the place of his birth, into a small,scarred shop in the High Street, close under the shadow of SaintMaurice’s church. The frontage had suffered in the fires, andthe silversmith had rigged a shuttered opening like a fairgroundbooth, and drawn his workbench close to it, to have the fulldaylight on his work. The raised shutter overhead protected hisface from glare, but let in the morning shine to the brooch he washandling, and the fine stones he was setting in it. A man in hisprime, probably well-fleshed when times were good, but now somewhatshrunken after the privations of the long siege, for his skin hungon him flaccid and greyish, like a too-large coat on a fasting man.He looked up alertly through a forelock of greying hair, and askedif he could serve the gentleman.

“I begin to think it a thin enough chance,” admittedNicholas ruefully, “but at least let’s make the assay.I am hunting for word, any word, of certain pieces of church plateand ornaments that went astray in these parts three years ago. Doyou handle such things?”

“I handle anything of gold or silver. I have made churchplate in my time. But three years is a long while. What is sonotable about them? Stolen, you think? I deal in no suspect goods.If there’s anything dubious about what’s offered, Inever touch it.”

“There need not have been anything here to deter you. Trueenough they might have been stolen, but there need be nothing totell you so. They belonged to no southern church or convent, theywere brought from Shropshire, and most likely made in that region,and to a man like you they’d be recognisable as northernwork. The crosses might well be old, and Saxon.”

“And what are these items? Read me your list. My memory isnot infallible, but I may recall, even after threeyears.”

Nicholas went through the list slowly, watching for a gleam ofrecognition. “A pair of silver candlesticks with tall sconcesentwined with vines, with snuffers attached by silver chains, thesealso decorated with vine-leaves. Two crosses made to match insilver, the larger a standing cross a man’s hand in height,on a three-stepped silver pedestal, the other a small replica on aneck-chain for a priest’s wear, both ornamented withsemi-precious stones, yellow pebble, agate andamethyst…”

“No,” said the silversmith, shaking his headdecidedly, “those I should not have forgotten. Nor thecandlesticks, either.”

“… a small silver pyx engraved withferns…”

“No. Sir, I recall none of these. If I had still my booksI could look back for you. The clerk who kept them for me wasalways exact, he could find you every item even after years. Butthey’re gone, every record, in the fire. It was all we coulddo to rescue the best of my stock, the books are allash.”

The common fate in Winchester this summer, Nicholas thoughtresignedly. The most meticulous of book-keepers would abandon hisrecords when his life was at risk, and if he had time to takeanything but his life with him, he would certainly snatch up themost precious of his goods, and let the parchments go. It seemedhardly worth listing the small personal things which had belongedto Julian, for they would be less memorable. He was hesitatingwhether to persist when a narrow door opened and let in light froma yard behind the shop, and a woman came in.

When the outer door was closed behind her she vanished againbriefly into the dimness of the interior, but once more emergedinto light as she approached her husband’s bench and thebright sunlight of the street, and leaned forward to set a beakerof ale ready at the silversmith’s right hand. She looked up,as she did so, at Nicholas, with candid and composed interest, agood-looking woman some years younger than her husband. Her facewas still shadowed by the awning that protected her husband’seyes, but her hand emerged fully into the sun as she laid the cupdown, a pale, shapely hand cut off startlingly at the wrist by theblack sleeve.

Nicholas stood staring in fascination at that hand, so fixedlythat she remained still in wonder, and did not withdraw it from thelight. On the little finger, too small, perhaps, to go over theknuckle of any other, was a ring, wider than was common, its edgeshowing silver, but its surface so closely patterned with colouredenamels that the metal was hidden. The design was of tiny flowerswith four spread petals, the florets alternately yellow and blue,spiked between with small green leaves. Nicholas gazed at it indisbelief, as at a miraculous apparition, but it remained clear andunmistakable. There could not be two such. Its value might not begreat, but the workmanship and imagination that had created it setit apart from all others.

“I pray your pardon, madam!” he said, stammering ashe drew his wits together. “But that ring… May I knowwhere it came from?”

Both husband and wife were looking at him intently now,surprised but not troubled.

“It was come by honestly,” she said, and smiled inmild amusement at his gravity. “It was brought in for salesome years back, and since I liked it, my husband gave it tome.”

“When was this? Believe me, I have good reasons forasking.”

“It was three years back,” said the silversmithreadily. “In the summer, but the date…that Ican’t be sure of now.”

“But I can,” said his wife, and laughed.“And shame on you for forgetting, for it was my birthday, andthat was how I wooed the ring out of you. And my birthday, sir, isthe twentieth day of August. Three years I’ve had this prettything. The bailiffs wife wanted my husband to copy it for her once,but I wouldn’t have it. This must still be the only one ofits kind. Primrose and periwinkle… such soft colours!”She turned her hand in the sun to admire the glow of the enamels.“The other pieces that came with it were sold, long ago. Butthey were not so fine as this.”

“There were other pieces that came with it?”demanded Nicholas.

“A necklace of polished pebbles,” said the smith,“I remember it now. And a silver bracelet chased withtendrils of pease—or it might have been vetch.”

The ring alone would have been enough; these three together werecertainty. The three small items of personal jewellery belonging toJulian Cruce had been brought into this shop for sale on thetwentieth of August, three years ago. The first clear echo, and itsnote was wholly sinister.

“Master silversmith,” said Nicholas, “I hadnot completed the tale of all I sought. These three things camesouth, to my certain knowledge, in the keeping of a lady who wasbound for Wherwell, but never reached her destination.”

“Do you tell me so?” The smith had paled, and wasgazing warily and doubtfully at his visitor. “I bought thethings honestly, I’ve done nothing amiss, and know nothing,beyond that some fellow, decent enough to all appearance, broughtthem in here openly for sale…”

“Oh, no, don’t mistake me! I don’t doubt yourgood faith, but see, you are the first I have found that even mayhelp me to discover what is become of the lady. Think back, tellme, who was this man who came? What like was he? What age, whatstyle of man? He was not known to you?”

“Never seen before nor since,” said the silversmith,cautiously relieved, but not sure that telling too much might notsomehow implicate him in dangerous business. “A man much ofmy years, fifty he might be. Ordinary enough, plain in his dress, Itook him for what he claimed, a servant sent on anerrand.”

The woman did better. She was much interested by this time, andsaw no reason to fear involvement, and some sympathetic cause tohelp, insofar as she could. She had a sharper eye for a man thanhad her husband, and was disposed to approve of Nicholas and desirehis goodwill.

“A solid, square-made man he was,” she said,“brown as his leather coat. That was not a hot summer likethis, his brown was the everlasting kind that would only yellow alittle in winter, the kind that comes with living out of doorsyear-round—forester or huntsman, perhaps. Brown-bearded,brown-haired but for his crown, he was balding. He had a bold,oaken face on him, and a quick eye. I should never have rememberedhim so well, but that he was the one who brought my ring. But Itell you what, I fancy he remembered me for a good while. He gaveme long enough looks before he left the shop.”

She was used to that, being well aware that she was handsome,and it was one more reason why she had recalled the man so well.Good reason, also, for paying close attention to all she had to sayof him.

Nicholas swallowed burning bitterness. It was not the fiftyyears, nor the beard, nor the bald crown, nor even the weatheredhide that identified the man, for Nicholas had never seen AdamHeriet. It was the whole circumstance, possession of the jewellery,the evidence of the date, the fact that the other three had beenleft in Andover, and in any case Nicholas had seen them forhimself, and none of them resembled this description. The fourthman, the devoted servant, the fifty-year-old huntsman and forester,a stout man of his hands, a man Waleran of Meulan would thinkhimself lucky to get… yes, every word Nicholas had heardsaid of Adam Heriet fitted with what this woman had to say of theman who had sold Julian’s jewels.

“I did question possession,” said the silversmith,still uneasy,’“seeing they were clearly a lady’sproperty. I asked how he came by them, and why he was offering themfor sale. He said he was simply a servant sent on an errand, hisbusiness to do as he was told, and he had too much sense to quibbleover it, seeing whoever questioned the orders that man gave mightfind himself short of his ears, or with a back striped like a tabbycat. I could well believe it, there are many such masters. He wasquite easy about it, why should I be less so?”

“Why, indeed!” said Nicholas heavily. “So youbought, and he departed. Did he argue over the price?”

“No, he said his orders were to sell, he was no valuer andwas not expected to be. He took what I gave. It was a fairprice.”

With room for a fair profit, no doubt, but why not? Silversmithswere not in the business to dole out charity to chance vendors.

“And was that all? He left you so?”

“He was going, when I did call after him, and asked himwhat was become of the lady who had worn these things, and had sheno further use for them, and he turned back in the doorway andlooked at me, and said no, for such she had no further use at all,for that this lady who had owned them was dead.”

The hardness of the answer, its cold force, wasthere in the silversmith’s voice as he repeated it.Remembering had brought it back far more vividly than ever he haddreamed, it shook him as he voiced it. Even more fiercely itstabbed at Nicholas, a knife in the heart, driving the breath outof him. It rang so hideously true, and named Adam Heriet almostbeyond doubt. She who had owned them was dead. Ornaments were of nofurther concern to her.

Out of the chill rage that consumed him he heard the woman,roused now and eager, saying: “No, but that’s not all!For it so chanced I followed the man out when he left, but softly,not to be seen too soon.” Had he given her an appraisinglook, smiled, flashed an admiring eye, to draw her on a string? No,not if he had anything to hide, no, he would rather have slid awayunobtrusively, glad to be rid of his winnings for money. No, shewas female, curious, and had time on her hands to spare, she wentout to see whatever was to be seen. And what was it she saw?“He slipped along to the left here,” she said,“and there was another man, a young fellow, pressed closeagainst the wall there, waiting for him. Whether he gave him themoney, all of it or some of it, I could not be sure, but somethingwas handed over. And then the older one looked over his shoulderand saw me, and they slipped away very quickly round the cornerinto the side street by the market, and that was all I saw of them.And more than I was meant to see,” she reflected, herselfsurprised now that she came to see more in it than was natural.

“You’re sure of that?” asked Nicholasintently. “There was a second with him, a younger man?”For the three innocents from Lai had been left waiting in Andover.If it had not been true, one or other of them, the simpletonsurely, would have given the game away at once.

“I am sure. A young fellow, neat enough but homespun, suchas you might see hanging around inns or fairs or markets, the bestof them hoping for work, and the worst hoping for a chance to get ahand in some other man’s pouch.”

Hoping for work or hoping to thieve! Or both, if the workoffered took that shape—yes, even to the point of murder.

“What was he like, this second?”

She furrowed her brow and considered, gnawing a lip. She was instrong earnest, searching her memory, which was proving tenaciousand long. “Tallish but not too tall, much the olderone’s height when they stood together, but half his bulk. Isay young because he was slender and fast when he slipped away, andlight on his feet. But I never saw his face, he had the capuchonover his head.”

“I did wonder,” said the silversmith defensively.“But it was done, I’d paid, and I had the goods. Therewas no more I could do.”

“No. No, there’s no blame. You could notknow.” Nicholas looked again at the bright ring on thewoman’s finger. “Madam, will you let me buy that ringof you? For double what your husband paid for it? Or if you willnot, will you let me borrow it of you for a fee, and my promise toreturn it when I can? To you,” he said earnestly, “itis dear as a gift, and prized, but I need it.”

She stared back at him wide-eyed and captivated, clasping andturning the ring on her finger. “Why do you need it? Morethan I?”

“I need it to confront that man who brought it here, theman who has procured, I do believe, the death of the lady who woreit before you. Put a price on it, and you shall have it.”

She closed her free hand round it defensively, but she wasflushed and bright-eyed with excitement, too. She looked at herhusband, who had the merchant’s calculating, far-off look inhis eyes, and was surely about to fix a price that would pay therepairs of his shop for him. She tugged suddenly at the ring,twisted it briskly over her knuckle, and held it out toNicholas.

“I lend it to you, for no fee. But bring it back to meyourself, when you have done, and tell me how this matter ends. Andshould you find you are mistaken, and she is still living, andwants her ring, then give it back to her, and pay me for itwhatever you think fair.”

The hand she had extended to him with her bounty he caught andkissed. “Madam, I will! All you bid me, I will! I pledge youmy faith!” He had nothing fit to offer her as a returnpledge, she had the better of him at all points. Her husband waslooking at her indulgently, as one accustomed to the whims of avery handsome wife, and made no demur, at least until the visitorwas gone. “I serve here under FitzRobert,” saidNicholas. “Should I fail you, or you ever come to supposethat I have so failed you, complain to him, and he will show youjustice. But I will not fail you!”

“Are you so ready to say farewell to mygifts?” asked the silversmith, when Nicholas was out ofsight. But he sounded amused rather than offended, and had turnedback to his close work on the brooch with unperturbedconcentration.

“I have not said farewell to it,” she said serenely.“I trust my judgement. He will be back, and I shall have myring again.”

“And how if he finds the lady living, and takes you atyour word? What then?”

“Why, then,” said his wife, “I think I mayearn enough out of his gratitude to buy myself all the rings Icould want. And I know you have the skill to make me a copy of thatone, if I so wish. Trust me, whichever way his luck runs—andI wish him better than he expects!—we shall not be thelosers.”

Nicholas rode out of Winchester within the hour,in burning haste, by the north gate towards Hyde, passing close bythe blackened ground and broken-toothed walls of the ill-fatedabbey from which Humilis and Fidelis had fled to Shrewsbury forrefuge. These witnesses to tragedy and loss fell behind himunnoticed now. His sights were set far ahead.

The inertia of despair had lasted no longer than the length ofthe street, and given place to the most implacable fury of rage andvengefulness. Now he had something as good as certain, a smallcirclet of witness, evidence of the foulest treachery andingratitude. There could be no doubt whatever that these modestornaments were the same that Julian had carried with her, no chancecould possibly have thrown together for sale three such others. Twowitnesses could tell of the disposal of that ill-gotten plunder,one could describe the seller only too well, with even morecertainty once she was brought face to face with him, as, by God,she should be before all was done. Moreover, she had seen him meetwith his hired assassin in the street, and pay him for hisservices. There was no possibility of finding the hireling,nameless and faceless as he was, except through the man who hadhired him, and such enquiries as Nicholas had set in motion afterAdam Heriet had so far failed to trace his present whereabouts.Only one company of Waleran’s men remained near Winchester,and Heriet was not with them. But the search should go on until hewas found, and when found, he had more now to explain away than afew stolen hours—possession of the lost girl’s goods,the disposal of them for money, the sharing of his gains with somefurtive unknown. For whatever conceivable purpose, but to pay himfor his part in robbery and murder?

Once the principal villain was found, so would his tool be. Andthe first thing to do now was inform Hugh Beringar, and acceleratethe hunt for Adam Heriet in Shropshire as in the south, until hewas run to earth at last, and confronted with the ring.

It was barely past noon when Nicholas rode out of the city. Bydusk he was near Oxford, secured a remount, and rode on at asteadier and more sparing pace through the night. A hot, sultrynight it was, all the more as he went north into the midlands. Thesky was clear of cloud, yet without moon or stars, very black. Andall about him, in the mid hours of the night, lightnings flared andinstantly died again into blackness, conjuring up, for thetwinkling of an eye, trees and roofs and distant hills, only toobliterate them again before the eye could truly perceive them. Andall in absolute silence, with nowhere any murmur of thunder tobreak the leaden hush. Forewarnings of the wrath of God, or of hisinscrutable mercies.