London - Edward Rutherfurd [117]
There were good reasons why this magnificent work of art should so infuriate Hilda. She had not wanted to take part, but Henri had forced her to join the ladies who had been meeting in the king’s hall at Westminster to work on the project. “You will please Bishop Odo,” he had said, even though it was Odo who had been granted half of Kent and one of Odo’s knights who now occupied her own family’s ancestral estate at Bocton. Henri knew this, but did not care. The tapestry, with its vivid portrayal of events, always reminded her painfully of the loss of her old home, of her country, and of the long years of service to her husband’s cold and cynical nature.
As she returned from the ladies at Westminster that morning, therefore, Hilda’s anger was still raging.
And then she saw Ralph.
It was clear that he was excited. His heavy face was animated, his normally dull eyes were shining as, unasked, he fell into step beside her.
“Would you like to know a secret?” he began.
Sometimes Hilda felt sorry for Ralph. Partly it was because Henri despised him, but perhaps more it was because he was still unmarried.
Indeed, he had no woman. Sometimes he would cross the bridge to the south side where a small community of whores dwelt along the bankside, but even these ladies, it was said, were not enthusiastic for his blunt attentions. Occasionally she had suggested finding him a wife, but Henri had discouraged her. “Then he’ll have heirs to inherit,” he would remind her. And once he had remarked drily: “I look after the family money. And I intend to outlive him.” So as the curious fellow strode by her side, she forced herself to give him a smile.
If he had not seen his sister-in-law quite so soon after his meeting with the great Mandeville, Ralph might not have been so indiscreet. He liked Hilda. “I’m not such a fool as Henri thinks,” he had once plaintively told her. Now, flushed with excitement, he could not resist the chance to impress her.
“I have been given an important mission,” he said.
The conversation between Ralph and Mandeville had been brief but important. It was the business of the great magnate to be well informed, and little that passed in south-east England escaped his notice. From the interview, Ralph learned that there were indeed fears of further trouble in the countryside. “In the rebellion of three years ago,” Mandeville had told him, “we think they got arms from London. We want to put a stop to that.”
Having considered the matter, Mandeville had decided that to oversee the little operation he had in mind he needed a man who was suspicious, small-minded and ruthless.
“It’s a good opportunity for you to show what you can do,” he informed Ralph as he explained the plan. “You will need to be patient, and you will need spies.”
“I’ll tear apart every cart that leaves London,” the overseer cried.
“You will do no such thing,” Mandeville replied. “In fact, I want you to relax the inspection of goods leaving the city.” He smiled. “The trick is to lull their suspicions. Have men posted in the woods instead, and when they see any suspicious shipments, follow them. We don’t just want to stop the arms. I want them to lead us to any rebels. Above all, tell nobody. Do you understand?”
Indeed he did. A position of trust. A secret commission. Bursting with pride, Ralph had walked through the city. It was hardly surprising that, seeing Hilda and anxious to impress her, he had instantly decided:
“I can tell you, of course, because you’re my own family.”
If it had not been for her irritation over the morning’s needlework, Ralph’s confidence might not even have interested her. But now, as she looked at his heavy face, a brutish version of her own husband’s, and thought of the wretched English – her own people – whom he would trap