you were doing trespassing in the mortuary. This here”—he cuffed his neighbour on the shoulder—“is Matt. Apprentice stonemason.”
“Aye and general dogsbody.” He was a tough-looking lad of sixteen or so with rumpled mouse-coloured hair kept back from his brow by a band of coloured leather. He gave Hildegard a wide grin.
“This here’n is our strong man—”
“Chief stone carrier,” explained an older man, red-whiskered and offering a toothy smile. “Will of Durham at your service.”
“And if you’ve noticed the legs on this one, mistress, you’ll guess he’s our windlass man, Hamo of Easington.” He nodded a silent greeting, then turned back to the brazier.
Replied Hildegard, “And you already seem to know who I am.”
‘They’re telling us you be Prioress Basilda’s guest?” Will eyed her with undisguised speculation.
“I am.”
“Strange place to come guesting?”
She nodded. “As I’m beginning to discover.”
“So you know her history, do you?” asked the windlass man.
“Does she have one?”
Glances were exchanged.
Dakin spoke up. “That’s something we would all like to know. Blows in here, throws a few nuns out, or so we’re told, brings in Master Fulke, hires us. We’re not complaining. Just curious. We don’t come cheap.”
“The Benedictines are not an impoverished Order,” Hildegard replied with caution. “They’re well able to afford new buildings.”
Dakin threw back his head with a jeering laugh. “Our master is one of the highest-paid masons in the north. We are, likewise, as his chosen men. We’re not used to working in a back-of-beyond place like this. Cathedrals are more our line.”
“You sound sorry you’ve been hired?” She was interested.
“We don’t complain about the job. It’s the strange obligations she puts us to that makes us curious.”
“Such as?”
“No going off-site until we’re finished? Working through the winter? Well, we can’t do much in this weather and we told her, didn’t we, fellas? We can’t put the roof up until the weather improves. Still she wants us here. No visitors. No women. Maybe she thinks she can turn us into monks?”
There were raucous laughs. “We won’t be out of here till Bartholomew’s Day. Might as well be monks,” added Will.
“And then there’s Giles.”
The men sobered at the name and crossed themselves with differing degrees of piety.
“Giles?” asked Hildegard, already guessing what they would say. “Was that his body in the mortuary? I saw him—his terrible wounds—”
“Aye, you saw him. I know that,” said Dakin. “Having a good look like any old leech woman. I went to make sure the candle was still alight. I guessed who you were when you spoke. They’d warned us there would be an outsider living in for a while. And they warned us not to entice you from your meditations or speak with you.”
“That’s a strange rule to put on you. I see you’re obedient types.”
“It’s one rule among many we’re happy to flout.” Dakin gave a grim smile.
“I heard a strange story from the priest back there about a dragon. Indeed, the whole priory seems to be in thrall to such nonsense, so may I ask how your workmate met such a gruesome death?”
“Whose story do you want, the official one or the one we believe?”
“Both, if you choose.”
“Official—it was the dragon of Handale did for him. Unofficial—somebody attacked him with a grappling iron.” He nodded over towards the half-finished building, where the scaffolding was hung with ropes and pulleys. It was festooned with hooks. For that matter, the masons’ tools were lying around where they had evidently been using them shortly before she arrived.
“Do you have any idea who would attack him?”
“Your guess, mistress.” Dakin shrugged. He had blue eyes of a particularly icy hue. They were like a blizzard now. “Giles never harmed a soul in his life. Good worker. No reason for getting killed.
“Aye and general dogsbody.” He was a tough-looking lad of sixteen or so with rumpled mouse-coloured hair kept back from his brow by a band of coloured leather. He gave Hildegard a wide grin.
“This here’n is our strong man—”
“Chief stone carrier,” explained an older man, red-whiskered and offering a toothy smile. “Will of Durham at your service.”
“And if you’ve noticed the legs on this one, mistress, you’ll guess he’s our windlass man, Hamo of Easington.” He nodded a silent greeting, then turned back to the brazier.
Replied Hildegard, “And you already seem to know who I am.”
‘They’re telling us you be Prioress Basilda’s guest?” Will eyed her with undisguised speculation.
“I am.”
“Strange place to come guesting?”
She nodded. “As I’m beginning to discover.”
“So you know her history, do you?” asked the windlass man.
“Does she have one?”
Glances were exchanged.
Dakin spoke up. “That’s something we would all like to know. Blows in here, throws a few nuns out, or so we’re told, brings in Master Fulke, hires us. We’re not complaining. Just curious. We don’t come cheap.”
“The Benedictines are not an impoverished Order,” Hildegard replied with caution. “They’re well able to afford new buildings.”
Dakin threw back his head with a jeering laugh. “Our master is one of the highest-paid masons in the north. We are, likewise, as his chosen men. We’re not used to working in a back-of-beyond place like this. Cathedrals are more our line.”
“You sound sorry you’ve been hired?” She was interested.
“We don’t complain about the job. It’s the strange obligations she puts us to that makes us curious.”
“Such as?”
“No going off-site until we’re finished? Working through the winter? Well, we can’t do much in this weather and we told her, didn’t we, fellas? We can’t put the roof up until the weather improves. Still she wants us here. No visitors. No women. Maybe she thinks she can turn us into monks?”
There were raucous laughs. “We won’t be out of here till Bartholomew’s Day. Might as well be monks,” added Will.
“And then there’s Giles.”
The men sobered at the name and crossed themselves with differing degrees of piety.
“Giles?” asked Hildegard, already guessing what they would say. “Was that his body in the mortuary? I saw him—his terrible wounds—”
“Aye, you saw him. I know that,” said Dakin. “Having a good look like any old leech woman. I went to make sure the candle was still alight. I guessed who you were when you spoke. They’d warned us there would be an outsider living in for a while. And they warned us not to entice you from your meditations or speak with you.”
“That’s a strange rule to put on you. I see you’re obedient types.”
“It’s one rule among many we’re happy to flout.” Dakin gave a grim smile.
“I heard a strange story from the priest back there about a dragon. Indeed, the whole priory seems to be in thrall to such nonsense, so may I ask how your workmate met such a gruesome death?”
“Whose story do you want, the official one or the one we believe?”
“Both, if you choose.”
“Official—it was the dragon of Handale did for him. Unofficial—somebody attacked him with a grappling iron.” He nodded over towards the half-finished building, where the scaffolding was hung with ropes and pulleys. It was festooned with hooks. For that matter, the masons’ tools were lying around where they had evidently been using them shortly before she arrived.
“Do you have any idea who would attack him?”
“Your guess, mistress.” Dakin shrugged. He had blue eyes of a particularly icy hue. They were like a blizzard now. “Giles never harmed a soul in his life. Good worker. No reason for getting killed.
Similar Books
