Obediently, the lad jammed the hat on his head. ‘Father Simon gave me an apple this morning for delivering a prayer to St Hugh. He is so busy with preparations for his installation that he forgot to leave it, and he asked me to do it instead.’ There was a sly gleam in his eye that did not go unnoticed by the observant Eleanor.
‘You mean the written prayer he inserts into the Head Shrine at the beginning of every week?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And where did you leave it?’
Hugh’s face was the picture of innocence. ‘He just said with St Hugh.’
‘You are a wicked boy,’ said Eleanor sternly, although there was no real sting in her voice. Hugh looked suitably chastened, though. ‘You know perfectly well which shrine he meant, and I can see from your face that you gave his prayer to Little Hugh instead. You must put it right immediately.’
Hugh sighed, caught out. ‘All right. I will do it after I have collected the bishop’s pastries.’
He skipped away, although not towards the bakery: the freedom of an errand was too good an opportunity to squander, and he was clearly intent on enjoying it to the full.
‘Christiana tells me you are concerned about Matilde,’ said Eleanor, when he had gone. ‘Apparently, she left Cambridge too suddenly, and you would like to ensure she is safe and happy.’
Bartholomew nodded. ‘It seems she left Lincoln suddenly, too.’
‘Yes, just after Christiana’s mother died. She thought Ursula had prescribed the wrong potion deliberately, although she had no proof. My Christiana believes her mother swallowed the cuckoo-pint to avoid marrying Kelby. Then, the day after Christiana’s funeral, Spayne proposed to Matilde.’
‘That does not sound like good timing.’
‘Yes and no. He felt her slipping away from him, and wanted to arrest the process. She did not love him, though, for all his good looks and riches. Other women cannot imagine why she refused such a man, but Matilde is a lady for whom a handsome face and untold wealth mean very little.’
‘Why did she not love him?’ asked Bartholomew, wondering whether the same might apply to him. He had assumed she was fond of him, but she had never told him so, just as he had never told her. And while he could not offer ‘untold wealth’, the gold he had been awarded for his actions at Poitiers meant he was no longer poor, and he had assumed a degree of financial security might make a difference to her decision. But perhaps it would not.
‘She did not know why. It was just one of those things.’
‘Do
‘Christiana is preparing a list and I shall give her my ideas. You can have it when it is complete.’
‘Why not tell me now?’
She regarded him astutely. ‘Is there some urgency in this quest, then? There is more to your search than just ensuring she is well?’
‘No, My Lady,’ replied Cynric, before Bartholomew could think of a good way to answer for himself. ‘It is just that the roads are getting bad for travel, and we want to be on our way as soon as we can.’
‘You will not leave before Michael’s installation, though, and we shall have our list to you before then,’ said Eleanor.
Bartholomew was not sure whether Cynric had been fully believed, so he changed the subject before she could ask him anything else. ‘You were about to walk up the hill. Is there something I can do for you, to save you the journey?’
‘I need to see Ravenser or John Suttone, who are duty librarians this week. I must return the book they loaned me, because someone else wants to read it.’
‘I can do that.’
She relinquished a slim volume, which she had kept protected under her cloak. ‘Do not give it to the dean, though. He may offer to see it back on its shelf, but you must hand it to Ravenser or John.’
‘Why not the dean?’
She regarded him oddly. ‘Because he is forgetful,’ she replied after a moment.
With the natural curiosity of the scholar for any book, he unfolded the cloth in which it was wrapped. ‘Hildegard of Bingen – her mystical visions. And there is an appended chapter by Trotula. I have always admired Trotula.’
She was surprised. ‘There are not many physicians who regard her a worthy authority, and I am inclined to think they are right. That particular epistle contains her thoughts on childbirth, and I found it confusing and contradictory. It is obvious she was no scholar, not like Hildegard.’
‘Why are you interested in childbirth?’
‘I am not, but the scribe who copied the Hildegard found himself with a few empty pages at the end of the tome, so he added the Trotula to use them up. It is a common practice in scriptoria, as you know. So, when I finished the Hildegard, I discovered a short essay all about how some plants can be used to a mother’s advantage, but how misuse can kill. There is one particularly horrible herb called wake-robin, which Trotula said brings fits and death. It did not make for pleasant reading.’
