London - Edward Rutherfurd [118]
The truth was, she realized, that she had become sick of them all, of Henri, of Ralph, of the Normans and their rule. There was, of course, nothing she could do about any of it. Except, perhaps, for one thing.
“You must be very proud,” she said to Ralph as she left him.
She was due to go up to her father-in-law’s estate at Hatfield the next week, where she would stay for a month. It was not a prospect she relished much, and so she had arranged to enjoy a quiet walk with Barnikel that evening, knowing it was the last they would have for some time.
When they met at St Bride’s, therefore, and began their usual stroll towards the Aldwych, she quietly confided to him everything that Ralph had told her, adding: “I know, after all, that you are no friend of the Normans. So if you know who should be warned, will you do it?”
It was then, on seeing Barnikel’s evident dismay at the news, and shrewdly guessing he must be more closely involved than she had realized, that Hilda, with a sudden and generous impulse, caught the older man’s arm and softly asked: “Is there some way, dear friend, that I can help you?”
The road north from London first passed across marshy meadows and fields and then, as the ground began to rise, entered the forest of Middlesex near the old Saxon village of Islington.
Ten days after his meeting with Mandeville, a hot Ralph Silversleeves, accompanied by a dozen armed riders, rode southwards out of the forest in a lather of frustration.
He had just come from a meeting with his men, and it had not been a happy experience. His spies had found nothing. “Not so much as a pitchfork,” one of them told him grumpily. “Maybe they were tipped off,” he had added. “Impossible!” Ralph had cried. When another had asked him, “Are you sure you know what you are doing?” he had struck the fellow in a fury.
Now, as he rode back, he could sense that the men behind had little confidence in him. Somehow, he had no idea how, he had the feeling that he had been duped. He was even becoming suspicious of his own spies.
And then he saw the wagon.
There was clearly something suspicious about it. It was large and covered, and was obviously carrying a heavy load as it creaked along, pulled by four big horses. Beside the driver sat a figure in a hood.
It was now that Ralph lost his presence of mind. It seemed to the overwrought Norman that at last he might have found his quarry. Forgetting entirely his instructions from Mandeville, he rode straight at the wagon, as though it might take wings and fly, bellowing at the driver to stop. “Halt and uncover, you traitors,” he screamed. “You dogs!”
Only as he drew up, panting, beside them, did the mysterious figure throw back her hood and cast at him a look of utter scorn. It was Hilda.
“Idiot!” she cried so that all his men could hear. “Henri always told me you were a fool.” Then, whipping back the cover from the wagon, she revealed its harmless cargo. “Flagons of wine,” she shouted. “A present from your own brother to your father. I’m taking them up to Hatfield.” And she made as if to strike him with the driver’s whip so convincingly that he backed away hastily, puce in the face.
There was laughter from the men. Humiliated and enraged, Ralph shouted for them to follow, and without even glancing behind, rode quickly down the lane towards London.
Five weeks later, by the church of St Bride, where no one seemed to be about, Barnikel of Billingsgate allowed himself to place a chaste kiss upon the forehead of his new conspirator.
Then they walked contentedly along the riverbank.
It did not occur to either of them that this time they were being discreetly followed.
1081
It was in his twentieth year that Osric became aware of the girl. She was sixteen.
He did not tell anyone about her. Not even his friend Alfred the armourer.
It was curious to see the two men together. Alfred was master of the armoury now. The shock of white hair over his forehead had become almost invisible since the rest of his hair had gone grey. He had