Elias of St Edmondsbury, master mason, stood with the heat of the midsummer sun on broad back and thinning pate, rivulets of sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades. The wooden scaffolding clasped the north transept of the abbey church, close as ivy. Where he stood, at the top, there was no shade from the glare when the noontide sun was so high, and today there was little hint of a breeze. The fresh-cut stonework reflected the light back at him, and his eyes narrowed against the brightness. He turned away, blinking, and then looked down to the eastern end of the abbey foregate, where the usual bustle of the little market town of Pershore was subdued. It was too hot for the children to play chase; many had already sought the cool of the river and its banks, although even the Avon flowed sluggishly, too heat-weary to rush. As many of their seniors as could afford to do so were resting indoors. The midsummer days were long, and the townsmen could conduct their trade well into the cooler evening, though the rhythmic ‘clink, clink’ from the smithy showed that some labour continued. The smith was used to infernal temperatures, thought Master Elias, and probably had not noticed the stultifying heat as he laboured at his craft.
One industrious woman was struggling with a heavy basket of washing she had brought up from the drying grounds to the rear of the burgage plots. She halted to ease her back and brush flies away from her face, then stooped to pick up her load once more. As she straightened she had to step back smartly to avoid being run into by a horseman who rounded the corner at a brisk trot, raising unwelcome earthy red dust as he did so. The man, who rode a showy chestnut, was followed by two retainers. The woman shouted shrill imprecations after the party as they passed from Master Elias’s view, turning along the northern wall before entering Pershore Abbey’s enclave, but he would vouch that they ignored her as they had her now dusty washing.
The scaffolding afforded a grand view of the comings and goings at Pershore, though Master Elias would have taken his hand to any of his men whom he saw gawping in idleness. As master mason, however, he could take the time to survey the scene if he wished. He never failed to be amazed at how much could be learnt of the world from the height of a jackdaw’s roost, and he had an eye for detail, which was one of the reasons his skills were so valued. As the sun rose, heralding this hot day, and he had taken his first breath of morning air from his vantage point, he had watched as a troop of well-disciplined horsemen passed through the town, led by a thickset man who rode as if he owned the shire. Master Elias would have been prepared to bet that he did indeed own a good portion of it. Few lords had men with guidons, though he did not recognise the banner. They were also heavily armed, not just men in transit, and they rode with menacing purpose. The latest arrival, in contrast, was a young man in a hurry, for his horse was sweated up and he had not bothered to ease his pace in the heat of the day. His clothing, which proclaimed his lordly status, was dusty, and Elias did not relish the duties of his servants who would have to see to hot horses and grimy raiment before they could so much as contemplate slaking their own thirst.
The nobleman who had arrived earlier in the day had been much more relaxed. He had more men but had ridden in on a loose rein, one arm resting casually on his pommel. Everything about him had proclaimed a man who knew his own worth and had nothing to prove. Something about him was vaguely familiar to Elias, and the thought that he had seen him before was still niggling at his brain. It was a cause of some irritation, like a stone in a shoe. Elias liked everything in order, from his workmen’s tools to his own mind. A question from one of his men dragged both thoughts and eyes away from the world below, and he turned back to the task in hand with a sigh.
Miles FitzHugh dismounted before the guest hall, head held proud. He rather ostentatiously removed his gauntlets and beat them against his leg to loosen the dust, bu
