Chapter Eight
St. Andrews Church
Berwick
Just a little further…
The world, as dawn approached, was damp and cold and covered in the mist that had rolled in from the sea overnight. The streets of Berwick smelled heavily of human habitation and rubbish, the dirt slick with things that stuck to one’s shoes and refused to come off.
Claudius found himself on one of those streets, a heavily traveled one, as he headed toward the cathedral of St. Andrews. Just a little further, he told himself. Being out on the dark street made him nervous, but he had a rendezvous to make.
He didn’t want to be late.
St. Andrews Cathedral was an enormous structure built upon the foundation of an even older church, one that had been used by the Saxons and the Picts of days past. It was square in nature, constructed with the brown stone that was quarried down by Middlesbrough.
It had seen years of warfare, of Scots, of English, and even the occasional Northman from time to time, because the Danes weren’t strangers to Berwick either.
The old church had seen a great deal in its lifetime, looking up on Berwick with its weathered walls and warped doors.
And it smelled.
Because the climate could be terrible this time of year, the priests allowed the homeless and destitute to sleep in the sanctuary, so it smelled like a sewer.
Claudius entered from the main door, which was unlocked at this hour, but there were still groups of people sleeping inside.
Since Claudius had told Lord Gavinton in the missive he sent him right before leaving Raisbeck Castle that Maximilian’s marriage was to take place sometime during the second week of the following month, he had advised that Lord Gavinton send two men to Berwick to receive the confirmation.
They were to appear early at the cathedral in Berwick, every morning, and Claudius would contact them once the marriage was completed.
He’d further told Gavinton that he would be wearing a red cloak so the Scots would know him.
He was wearing that cloak this morning.
It was a blood-red woolen cloak that had belonged to his wife long ago.
If he’d been a romantic, he would have thought the cloak carried her spirit with her, but he wasn’t romantic and hadn’t been particularly fond of his wife, so it was simply a garment like any other.
He entered the church and hung back by the door, back where the prayer candles were softly glowing and where the stone basin of holy water was frozen over in the icy morning.
A priest was trying to break up the ice with a piece of stone as Claudius stood near the prayer candles because they were the only thing giving off heat, minimal as it was.
And he waited.
People began arriving for lauds, or the first mass of the day.
The people who had been sleeping inside the church didn’t move aside too much to make way for parishioners, so those who had come to worship had to stand around them.
The priests intoned the mass, mixing the pungent scent of incense with the smell of human habitation.
Claudius stood by the candles, smelling that horrific aroma but paying little attention to the priests. He was looking for Scots.
But the Scots didn’t come.
Prime, the second mass after dawn when the sun was rising, came.
People filtered in and out of the church, praying with the priests or huddling together in groups as the mass was conducted.
Some of the groups simply seemed to be talking amongst themselves and not paying attention to the mass.
By the time prime was over, Claudius was beginning to wonder if it was time for him to leave.
He would come back on the morrow, and every morning he was at Berwick, until Gavinton’s men appeared.
He felt stupid for thinking they would come the very first day he’d shown up in the red cloak.
As he stood there, thinking that he should probably leave, a poor man in a tattered cloak limped up to him, holding out his hand and begging for alms. Claudius brushed him off, but there were others.
He moved away from the prayer candles, because they seemed to be congregating over there, and walked to the area where the holy water basin was.
A few people were taking cups of the water, no doubt to bless things around their home, but even over here, he was accosted by dirty, smelly men who were begging for money.
He brushed them off again, and was prepared to leave the cathedral completely until one of them spoke in a sentence in a Scots accent that had nothing to do with begging.
“Gavinton favors the generous, m’lord.”
That brought Claudius to a halt. He turned to the men, three of them, all of them dressed in the most terrible rags he’d ever seen. They smelled worse than the church did. But what they’d said… Gavinton favors the generous… had his attention.
It also had the attention of someone else.
*
Addax was watching.
As a courtesy, Bretherdale had been housed in the keep of Berwick.
Cole thought it only appropriate, given the man’s rank, but also because he wanted to keep an eye on him.
Addax and Essien had watched the earl’s chamber door all night, taking shifts, and it had been on Addax’s shift about an hour before dawn when Claudius emerged from his darkened chamber and headed out into the icy predawn day.
Clad in a gray cloak and dressed in an ensemble to blend in to the mist that had come in overnight, Addax followed Claudius through the darkened streets until they reached St. Andrews Cathedral.
Claudius slipped inside the main entrance while Addax waited outside for a few minutes, entering with a group of worshippers so he would not be noticed entering alone.
After that, he ducked back into the shadows.
The morning, from that point, was uneventful.
Two masses were held as her remained in a corner of the church so he could watch Claudius’ every move.
The man seemed particularly nervous, milling around by the iron bank of prayer candles before moving over to the holy water basin.
He looked at the face of every person who entered the church, and Addax could clearly see that the man was expecting someone.
But who?
Pulling the hood of his cloak down over his face so that only one eye was exposed, Addax moved over to the area where Claudius was.
It was easy for him because there were several beggars back there, tugging at Claudius, who was pushing them away.
All Addax had to do was lose himself in the beggars to keep watch over Claudius until three beggars in particular seemed to have his attention—suddenly had his attention with just a few spoken words.
“Gavinton favors the generous, m’lord.”
Addax had no idea who Gavinton was, but he was about to find out.
*
“They moved to an area inside the nave, which was perfect for me because I was able to position myself just around the corner. The shape of the nave amplified their voices, and they were not aware of it.”
Cole was hanging on Addax’s every word. “And?” he said. “What did you hear?”
Addax was seated on a cushioned chair in Cole’s solar.
It was around noon, and the sounds of the bailey wafted in through the lancet windows.
The mist that had blanketed the land that morning had lifted, and gulls cried overhead, riding the sea breeze—but inside the solar, all attention was focused on Addax.
He propped a booted foot wearily on a nearby table.
“Evidently, someone named Lord Gavinton is Bretherdale’s contact within the Scottish court,” he said.
“Claudius’ discussion was with three of Gavinton’s men, who had come to receive confirmation of Max’s marriage to Lady de Witt.
It’s as you suspected, Cole. Bretherdale has promised the Scots raw material from the de Witt mines at reduced prices in exchange for lands in Scotland.
Lands for him, not Max. This is all for Bretherdale. ”
Cole drew in a long, thoughtful breath as he sat back in his great chair, the one his mother had gifted him for a birthday. It was enormous and elaborate, like a throne, and Cole’s wife thought it was ridiculous, but given that it was his mother’s gift… Cole used it.
Even if he did look like Caligula when seated upon it.
“How soon is this exchange supposed to happen?” he finally asked.
Addax shrugged. “As soon as Bretherdale returns to Raisbeck, I suppose,” he said. “They did not speak on that, so we can only assume.”
Cole nodded, pondering the information for a moment. “I would say that makes it imperative that you somehow ingratiate yourself enough to Bretherdale that he allows you to return home with him,” he said. “We must have eyes on any transactions with the Scots.”
Addax yawned; having only gotten a couple hours of sleep the night before, he was exhausted.
“I have a better idea,” he said. “Max broke his arm last night, so he can no longer ride the tournament circuit. I suspect he’ll be going home with his new bride, so I will go with him.
I’ll make up some excuse. But staying close to Max means I will be privy to any business dealings involving his father.
Bretherdale cannot sell any ore to the Scots without Max, or his wife, knowing about it. ”
Cole nodded. “That sounds more reasonable to me,” he said. “Max will welcome your company.”
“Indeed, he will,” Addax said. “I had the opportunity to speak with the new Lady de Grey yesterday. You understand that this marriage was not welcome, to either Max or the lady. Bretherdale forced it on them both.”
Cole glanced at him. “Do you mean to ask if I know what she did last night?” he said. “I know. You should have told me when it happened.”
Addax knew what he meant. “There wasn’t the opportunity,” he said. “Who told you?”
“De Wolfe. He said you had to fish her out of the river.”