Hugh followed Heloise down the steps which led to the hospital’s undercroft. After the warmth of the refectory’s blazing fire the undercroft felt cold and dark, lit only by a few rush lights. His eyes began to adjust to the gloom and the shadows cast by the flickering lights. A series of pallets stretched out between the supporting rounded pillars. The arrangement appeared temporary, undoubtedly due to the influx of pilgrims since the opening of St Thomas’ new shrine in July.
“Mind your own business you French bastard!” Richard’s harsh voice bounced loudly off the stone walls. Hugh felt impatience twist with anger in his gut. He had left his friend alone for less than five minutes and already he was in trouble again. Hugh swore that this was the last time he’d bail him out. Stepping around Heloise, Hugh strode towards the commotion, his tone even but commanding.
“What in God’s name is going on here?” Richard stood muscles tensed and braced for a fight. One hand was clamped around the throat of a thin bird like man with a prominent nose. To his right stood a tall elegant figure that Hugh guessed to be the ‘French bastard’. His thick black hair and rich colouring spoke of possible Aquitanian roots. The tableau remained frozen as Hugh approached. “Richard.” Hugh snapped, exerting his position of authority over the younger knight.
“I caught this snivelling wretch searching through our belongings.” Richard indicated the man he had grip of, a globule of spit falling to the floor beneath his dangling feet.
“I tried telling him there were better ways of resolving this.” The Frenchman’s tone was smooth and reasonable.
“And I told you to mind your own business. I don’t need some cock-loving Frenchman telling me what to do.” Richard bellowed, his temper boiling over. The Frenchman merely raised an expressive eyebrow which infuriated him further. Letting go of the man’s throat Richard swung a fist at the Frenchman, only to be blocked by Hugh.
“Christ’s wounds Richard. Use that thick head of yours for five seconds and consider.” Richard straightened, his eyes remaining fixed on the Frenchman, hatred turning his blue gaze to ice. The calm and authoritative presence of Hugh in the undercroft was like a bucket of cold water thrown on the flames of Richard’s temper. Never one for backing down or apologising, he wheeled around muttering “I need a drink”. He left the undercroft barrelling into the startled but curious figure of Heloise.
Silence descended on the group, punctuated only by the raspy and gulping breaths taken by the hunched figure Richard had attacked.
“Did you do it?” Hugh asked wearily, “Did you search our bags?” The man looked up from beneath a fringe of lank greasy hair.
“No sir. I thought I had a placed something there earlier and that it might have gotten mixed in with your things.” It was a poor excuse and fooled nobody, which was clear even to him as his gaze nervously flicked from one silent figure to the other. Hugh had no wish to further exacerbate the situation created by Richard’s short temper. Their stay in the hospital and in Canterbury was to be short and he would keep a close eye on the man and his wandering hands. There was no need to do anything more for the moment. Hugh leant towards the man, the mundaneness of his words belying their threat.
“I hope you found whatever it was you had misplaced. I do not think it wise to look for it again. Do you?” The man shook his head uneasily. The quiet menace of Hugh was just as dangerous as the physical strength and brutality of Richard. “And what is your name? As we shall be staying here together it is best that we are acquainted with one another.”
“John. John of Tewkesbury.” Hugh studied the nervous figure before him. The hunched shoulders, thin limbs and sharp nose did give him a bird-like appearance, as did the voluminous grey robe he wore. John smiled ingratiatingly, revealing a set of blackened teeth. “I am a relic seller. Perhaps I could offer you something. At a cut-price rate, of course.” Hugh regarded him in distaste. Relic sellers, like pardoners, preyed upon the needy and desperate. People seemed willing to swallow whatever stories a relic seller concocted, but most relics he thought should have been approached with caution. If everyone possessed a true finger of Saint Peter, then Saint Peter had more than the requisite ten fingers. “Or perhaps you already possess a relic you’d like to trade?” John’s eyes were locked acquisitively on the amulet that hung around Hugh’s neck. “What does it contain? A piece of the Virgin’s shift?” He trailed off, noticing the tension that had infused Hugh’s body. John rubbed his hand across the red marks left by Richard’s chocking grip, he had no wish to repeat the experience. Shrivelling somewhat under Hugh’s narrow gaze, John stammered, “Yes…Well…I better…Yes.” With a last furtive glance around he sidled out of the undercroft, leaving a pungent smell of unwashed clothing in his wake.
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