Wheel of Fate by Kate Sedley Read Free Book Online Page A

Hercules as I tiptoed towards the door at the far end of the dormitory.
    Of course he came too, snuffling with delight at the prospect of a midnight excursion. There was nothing to be gained by arguing with him.
    I made my way to the abbey’s west gatehouse, with its adjoining chapel, where I judged most of the noise was coming from. And, indeed, I was not mistaken, the courtyard being overpoweringly full of horses and riders, the former breathing gustily through distended nostrils, their flanks heaving and sweating. Torches flared as monks ran from the abbey, calling to the grooms to rouse themselves and come at once to tend my lord bishop’s cavalcade. Light flickered on the azure and silver threads of the saltire cross of St Andrew, emblazoned on saddles and cloaks, and I realized with a jolt of surprise that I recognized the central figure of the party as Robert Stillington, Bishop of Bath and Wells. My lord was not dressed so magnificently as usual, the splendid silks and velvets that he normally wore being replaced by the coarse black frieze of mourning. Members of his entourage, too, were all similarly attired.
    The abbot appeared, looking flustered, his eyes blinking owl-like in the sudden blaze of light, the creases of sleep still wrinkling his cheeks.
    â€˜Your Grace! My lord bishop!’ he exclaimed, hurrying to where Stillington was just dismounting, assisted by John Gunthorpe, his dean.
    Stillington nodded, saying jovially, ‘My lord Abbot, I trust you can offer me a bed for the night?’ Having received the abbot’s (probably mendacious) assurance that his own couch would be given up to the distinguished guest with the utmost pleasure, the bishop asked abruptly, ‘What is your latest information from London? Has my lord Gloucester arrived there yet?’
    â€˜No, nor will he for some days, or so I understand.’ The abbot dodged out of the path of the scurrying grooms as they led away their charges towards the stables. ‘I sent one of the lay brothers to Windsor last week to discover what he could and he returned only this afternoon. But come in, my lord. You’ll be in need of refreshment.’
    The bishop, however, was more interested in such news as the abbot could give him.
    â€˜And what did this man of yours find out? When is Gloucester expected? And what of the . . . king?’
    The abbot seemed not to notice Stillington’s slight hesitation before the word ‘king’, but I did, as I sheltered in the lee of the church, holding an indignant Hercules firmly in my arms (the only way to prevent him from attacking the episcopal party). I edged forward a little as the two men, now arm in arm, began moving in the direction of the abbot’s lodging.
    The latter’s voice, high-pitched and clear, carried easily on the still night air.
    â€˜My man spoke to Lord Hastings, after the late king’s funeral, and my lord says that His Highness and Lord Rivers will not leave Ludlow before this coming Thursday at the earliest, and that my lord Gloucester has arranged to rendezvous with them at Northampton in a week’s time so that he and the king may enter London together. Of course, whether or not matters will fall out as planned, who can tell? But it’s certain that Lord Hastings is most anxious to see my lord Gloucester in London as things go from bad to worse there, with the queen’s family having it all their own way . . .’
    The voices gradually faded and died, the courtyard slowly emptied until nothing could be heard but the harsh cry of a nightjar in one of the neighbouring trees. I set Hercules down again and made my thoughtful way back to the dormitory, followed by a reluctant dog who thought poorly of my decision to return to bed so soon and after such tame sport. He had not even been allowed to bite a fat monk’s leg.
    All the same, he settled down again surprisingly quickly, curling up in his former position