The Butcher of Avignon by Cassandra Clark Page A

concluded it could not be done without a hefty bribe. Had Athanasius thought of that?
    **
    The little jewelled dagger. One such as you or I might carry.
    Really?
    Finding the bed chamber empty for once, she sat on her mattress and considered the purpose of daggers.
    Why would an old monk confined to his cell need to carry a dagger? Why would a cardinal need one?
    Hildegard’s attention moved to the cardinal.
    Clearly the pope’s man. It would be almost impossible to be appointed to his position without convincing the Conclave that he was loyal to Pope Urban’s opponent.
    She considered the interesting fact of his residence in England. Specifically in York, not far from Meaux. His apparent affection for the dead acolyte seemed unequivocal. To see him, nevermore. She had little reason to believe he had been referring to the murdered youth, it was merely supposition and the bewildered grief on his face that made her think so.
    As for a dagger again. Such were the times, men of every description and most women carried such things concealed in their clothes. She carried a dagger herself. Why should Athanasius and Grizac be an exception?
    Thankful she was alone in the bed chamber, she went over to her leather travel bag and rummaged inside. Here it was, nicely honed, more or less unused except for skinning the odd rabbit now and then and hacking through the meat she rarely ate. It had got her out of one or two difficult situations, more by the surprise of its appearance than her skill in using it in self-defence. That had yet to be tested. She wondered if many nuns thought to carry such weapons these days. Maybe her cell sister had one. Morose, she had barely managed to exchange a single word with Hildegard since her arrival. Now she glanced over at the scrip lying on the mattress on the other side of the chamber.
    There might well be a knife concealed in there. She gave it a distant though careful look.
    **
    ‘Hildegard!’
    At the sound of her name she swivelled in surprise. ‘My lord abbot.’ Suddenly cold, she dropped to her knees.
    ‘Get up. We need to talk. Come to me in the little garden with the fountain before vespers.’
    ‘The garden with - ?’
    ‘You know the one. Why didn’t you speak to me in the Tinel earlier? I thought I was dreaming.’
    ‘I – ’ Unable to finish, she merely shrugged.
    ‘Just a glimpse, then you vanished. I also thought I saw you in the audience chamber soon after we arrived but put it down to an hallucination caused by exhaustion after the journey.’ When she was still unable to speak he said, ‘I heard you might be down here but I must say I’m amazed you arrived first. I can scarcely believe it. You made very good time.’
    ‘From England?’
    ‘Of course from England.’ He gave her a searching glance. ‘Are you all right?’
    ‘I didn’t know you were coming to Avignon.’ She was in a daze but pulled herself together. ‘If I’d known it was a race I’d have put on a little more speed.’ She couldn't help smiling.
    He peered into her face again. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You’re very pale.’
    ‘I’m tired from the journey I expect – and from everything that’s happened since.’
    ‘We had hellish problems with Burgundy’s militia.’ He gave that sudden boyish smile she knew that showed whatever the problems a skirmish with the enemy presented he had relished every moment.
    Now his gaze had lifted from her face and was fixed on something behind her. She saw him make a sign of greeting then turn abruptly, pacing away along the corridor with a measured tread unlike his usual brisk walk.
    When she turned she found the cardinal whose little daughter had nearly lost her pet squirrel standing behind her. It was difficult to tell how long he had been there. Hubert’s attention had not shifted from her face until just before he turned away.
    ‘Domina, we meet again,’ the cardinal now said. He was affable and full of smiles.
    ‘And how is the squirrel