Dooms Day Book

by Connie Willis

  Blackie had too much handling, Kivrin thought. He had been passed from hand to hand, squeezed, trodden on, half choked. Killed with kindness. And on Christmas, though Agnes didn’t seem particularly upset.

  “Will there be a funeral?” she asked, putting out a tentative finger to Blackie’s ear.

  No, Kivrin thought. There hadn’t been any shoebox burials in the Middle Ages. The contemps had disposed of dead animals by tossing them into the underbrush, by dumping them in a stream. “We will bury him in the woods,” she said, though she had no idea how they would manage that with the ground frozen. “Under a tree.”

  For the first time, Agnes looked unhappy. “Father Roche must bury Blackie in the churchyard,” she said.

  Father Roche would do nearly anything for Agnes, but Kivrin couldn’t imagine him agreeing to Christian burial for an animal. The idea of pets being creatures with souls hadn’t become popular until the nineteenth century, and even the Victorians hadn’t demanded Christian burial for their dogs and cats.

  “I will say the prayers for the dead,” Kivrin said.

  “Father Roche has to bury him in the churchyard,” Agnes said, her face puckering. “And then he must ring the bell.”

  “We cannot bury him until after Christmas,” Kivrin said hastily. “After Christmas I will ask Father Roche what to do.”

  She wondered what she should do with the body for now. She couldn’t leave it lying there where the girls slept. “Come, we will take Blackie below,” she said. She picked up the puppy, trying not to grimace and took it down the ladder.

  She looked around for a box or a bag to put Blackie in, but she couldn’t find anything. She finally laid him in a corner behind a scythe and had Agnes bring handfuls of straw to cover it with.

  Agnes flung the straw on him. “If Father Roche does not ring the bell for Blackie, he will not go to heaven,” she said, and burst into tears.

  It took Kivrin half an hour to calm her down again. She rocked her in her arms, wiping her streaked face and saying, “shh, shh.”

  She could hear noise from the courtyard. She wondered if the Christmas merrymaking had moved into the courtyard. Or if the men were going hunting. She could hear the whinny of horses.

  “Let’s go see what’s happening in the courtyard,” she said. “Perhaps your father is here.”

  Agnes sat up, wiping her nose. “I would tell him of Blackie,” she said, and got off Kivrin’s lap.

  They went outside. The courtyard was full of people and horses. “What are they doing?” Agnes asked.

  “I don’t know,” Kivrin said, but it was all too clear what they were doing. Cob was leading the envoy’s white stallion out of the stable, and the servants were carrying out the bags and boxes they had carried in early this morning. Lady Eliwys stood at the door, looking anxiously into the courtyard.

  “Are they leaving?” Agnes asked.

  “No,” Kivrin said. No. They can’t be leaving. I don’t know where the drop is.

  The monk came out, dressed in his white habit and his cloak. Cob went back into the stable and came out again, leading the mare Kivrin had ridden when they went to find the holly and carrying a saddle.

  “They are leaving,” Agnes said.

  “I know,” Kivrin said. “I can see that they are.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kivrin grabbed Agnes’s hand and started back to the safety of the barn. She must hide until they were gone. “Where are we going?” Agnes asked.

  Kivrin darted around two of Sir Bloet’s servants carrying a chest. “To the loft.”

  Agnes stopped cold. “I do not wish to lie down!” she wailed. “I’m not tired!”

  “Lady Katherine!” someone called from across the courtyard.

  Kivrin scooped Agnes up and started rapidly for the barn. “I am not tired!” Agnes shrieked. “I am not!”

  Rosemund ran up beside her. “Lady Katherine! Did you not hear me? Mother wants you. The bishop’s envoy is leaving. She took hold of Kivrin’s arm and turned her back toward the house.

  Eliwys was still standing in the door, watching them now, and the bishop’s envoy had come out and was standing beside her in his red cloak. Kivrin couldn’t see Imeyne anywhere. She was probably inside, packing Kivrin’s clothes.

  “The bishop’s envoy has urgent business at the priory at Bernecestre,” Rosemund said, leading Kivrin to the house, “and Sir Bloet goes with them.” She smiled happily at Kivrin. “Sir Bloet says he will accompany them to Courcy that they may lie there tonight and arrive in Bernecestre tomorrow.”

  Bernecestre. Bicester. At least it wasn’t Godstow. But Godstow was along the way. “What business?”

  “I know not,” Rosemund said, as if it were unimportant, and Kivrin supposed for her it was. Sir Bloet was leaving, and that was all that mattered. Rosemund plunged happily through the melee of servants and baggage and horses toward her mother.

  The bishop’s envoy was speaking to one of his servants, and Eliwys was watching him, frowning. Neither of them would see her if she turned and walked rapidly back behind the open doors of the stable, but Rosemund still had hold of her sleeve and was pulling her forward.

  “Rosemund, I must go back to the barn. I have left my cloak—” she began.

  “Mother!” Agnes cried and ran toward Eliwys and nearly into one of the horses. It whinnied and tossed its head, and a servant dived for its bridle.

  “Agnes!” Rosemund shouted and let go of Kivrin’s sleeve, but it was too late. Eliwys and the bishop’s envoy had already seen them and started over to them.

  “You must not run among the horses,” Eliwys said, catching Agnes against her.

  “My hound is dead,” Agnes said.

  “That is no reason to run,” Eliwys said, and Kivrin knew she hadn’t even heard her. Eliwys turned back to the bishop’s envoy.

  “Tell your husband we are grateful for the loan of your horses, that ours may be rested for the journey to Berncestre,” he said, and he sounded distracted, too. “I will send them from Courcy with a servant.”

  “Would you see my hound?” Agnes said, tugging on her mother’s skirt.

  “Hush,” Eliwys said.

  “My clerk does not ride with us this afternoon,” he said. “I fear he made too merry yestereve and feels now the pains of too much drink. I beg you indulgence, good lady, that he may stay and follow when he is recovered.”

  “Of course he may stay,” Eliwys said. “Is there aught we can do to help him? My husband’s mother—”

  “Nay. Leave him be. There is naught can help an aching head save sleep. He will be well by evening,” he said, looking like he had made too merry himself. He seemed nervous, inattentive, as if he had a splitting head himself, and his aristocratic face was gray in the bright morning light. He shivered and pulled his cloak around him.

  He hadn’t so much as glanced at Kivrin, and she wondered if he had forgotten his promise to Lady Imeyne in his haste. She looked anxiously toward the gate, hoping Imeyne was still chastising Roche and wouldn’t suddenly appear to remind him of it.

  “I regret that my husband is not here,” Eliwys said, “and that we could not give you better welcome. My husband—”

  “I must see to my servants,” he interrupted. He held out his hand and Eliwys dropped to one knee and kissed his ring. Before she could rise, he had stridden off towards the stable. Eliwys looked after him worriedly.

  “Do you want to see him?” Agnes said.

  “Not now,” Eliwys said. “Rosemund, you must make your farewells to Sir Bloet and Lady Yvolde.”

  “He is cold,” Agnes said.

  Eliwys turned to Kivrin. “Lady Katherine, know you where Lady Imeyne is?”

  “She stayed behind in the church,” Rosemund said.

  “Perhaps she is still at her prayers,” Eliwys said. She stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowded courtyard. “Where is Maisry?”

  Hiding, Kivrin thought, which is what I should be doing.

  “Would you
have me seek for her?” Rosemund asked.

  “Nay,” Eliwys said. “You must bid Sir Bloet farewell. Lady Katherine, go and fetch Lady Imeyne from the church that she may bid the bishop’s envoy goodbye. Rosemund, why do you still stand there? You must bid your betrothed farewell.”

  “I will find Lady Imeyne,” Kivrin said, thinking, I’ll go out through the passage, and if she’s still in the church, I’ll duck behind the huts and go into the woods.

  She turned to go. Two of Sir Bloet’s servants were struggling with a heavy chest. They set it down with a thunk in front of her, and it tipped over onto its side. She backed up and started around them, trying to keep from walking behind the horses.

  “Wait!” Rosemund said, catching up with her. She caught hold of her sleeve. “You must come with me to bid Sir Bloet farewell.”

  “Rosemund—” Kivrin said, looking toward the passage. Any second Lady Imeyne would come through there, clutching her book of hours.

  “Please,” Rosemund said. She looked pale and frightened.

  “Rosemund—”

  “It will but take a moment and then you can fetch Grandmother.” She pulled Kivrin over to the stable. “Come. Now, while his sister-in-law is with him.”

  Sir Bloet was standing watching his horse being saddled and talking to the lady with the amazing coif. It was no less enormous this morning, but had obviously been put on hastily. It listed sharply to one side.

  “What is this urgent business of the bishop’s envoy?” she was saying.

  He shook his head, frowning, and then smiled at Rosemund and stepped forward. She stepped back, holding tightly to Kivrin’s arm.

  His sister-in-law bobbed her wimple at Rosemund and went on, “Has he had news from Bath?”

  “There has been no messenger last night or this morning,” he said.

  “If there has been no message, why spoke he not of this urgent business when first he came?”

  “I know not,” he said impatiently. “Hold. I must bid my betrothed farewell.” He reached for Rosemund’s hand, and Kivrin could see the effort it took her not to pull it back.

  “Farewell, Sir Bloet,” she said stiffly.

  “Is that how you would part from your husband?” he asked. “Will you not give him a farewell kiss?”

  Rosemund stepped forward and kissed him rapidly on the cheek, then stepped immediately back and out of his reach. “I thank you for your gift of the brooch,” she said.

  Bloet dropped his gaze from her white face to the neck of her cloak. “‘You are here in place of the friend I love,’” he said, fingering it.

  Agnes ran up, shouting, “Sir Bloet! Sir Bloet!” and he caught her and swung her up into his arms.

  “I have come to bid you goodbye,” she said. “My hound died.”

  “I will bring you a hound for a wedding gift,” he said, “if you will give me a kiss.”

  Agnes flung her arms around his neck and planted a noisy kiss on each red cheek.

  “You are not so chary of you kisses as your sister,” he said, looking at Rosemund. He set Agnes down. “Or will you give your husband two kisses as well?”

  Rosemund didn’t say anything.

  He stepped forward and fingered the brooch. “‘Io suiicien lui dami amo,’” he said. He put his hands on her shoulders. “You must think of me whenever you wear my brooch.” He leaned forward and kissed her throat.

  Rosemund didn’t flinch away from him, but the color drained out of her face.

  He released her. “I will come for you at Eastertide,” he said, and it sounded like a threat.

  “Will you bring me a black hound?” Agnes said.

  Lady Yvolde came up to them, demanding, “What have your servants done with my travelling cloak?”

  “I will fetch it,” Rosemund said and darted off toward the house with Kivrin still in tow.

  As soon as they were safely away from Sir Bloet, Kivrin said, “I must find Lady Imeyne. Look, they are nearly ready to leave.”

  It was true. The jumble of servants and boxes and horses had resolved itself into a procession, and Cob had opened the gate. The horses the three kings had ridden in on the night before were loaded with their chests and bags, their reins tied together. Sir Bloet’s sister-in-law and her daughters were already mounted and the bishop’s envoy was standing beside Eliwys’s mare, tightening the cinch on the saddle.

  Only a few more minutes, Kivrin thought, let her stay in the church a few more minutes, and they’ll be gone.

  “Your mother bade me find Lady Imeyne,” Kivrin said.

  “You must come with me into the house first,” Rosemund said. Her hand on Kivrin’s arm was still trembling.

  “Rosemund, there isn’t any time—”

  “Please,” she said. “What if he comes into the house and finds me?”

  Kivrin thought of Sir Bloet kissing her on the throat. “I will come with you,” she said, “but we must hurry.”

  They ran across the courtyard, through the door, and nearly into the fat monk. He was coming down the steps from the bower, and looked angry or hungover. He went out through the screens without a glance at either of them.

  There was no one else in the house. The table was still covered with cups and platters of meat, and the fire was burning smokily, untended.

  “Lady Yvolde’s cloak is in the loft,” Rosemund said. “Wait for me.” She scrambled up the ladder as though Sir Bloet were after her.

  Kivrin went back to the screens and looked out. She couldn’t see the passageway. The bishop’s envoy was standing over by Eliwys’s mare with one hand on the pommel of its saddle, listening to the monk, who was leaning close as he spoke. Kivrin glanced up the stairs at the shut door of the bower, wondering if the clerk was truly hungover or had had some sort of falling out with his superior. The monk’s gestures were obviously upset.

  “Here it is,” Rosemund said, climbing down, clutching the cloak in one hand and the ladder in the other.

  “I would have you take it to Lady Yvolde. It will take but a minute.”

  It was the chance she’d been waiting for. “I will,” she said, took the heavy cloak from Rosemund and started out. As soon as she was outside, she would give the cloak to the nearest servant to deliver to Bloet’s sister and head straight for the passageway. Let her stay in the church a few more minutes, she prayed. Let me make it to the green. She stepped out of the door, into Lady Imeyne.

  “Why are you not ready to leave?” Imeyne said, looking at the cloak in her arms. “Where is your cloak?”

  Kivrin shot a glance at the bishop’s envoy. He had both hands on the pommel and was stepping onto Cob’s linked hands. The friar was already mounted.

  “My cloak is in the church,” Kivrin said. “I will fetch it.”

  “There is no time. They are departing.”

  Kivrin looked desperately around the courtyard, but they were all out of reach: Eliwys standing with Gawyn by the stable, Agnes talking animatedly to one of Sir Bloet’s nieces, Rosemund nowhere to be seen, presumably still in the house, hiding.

  “Lady Yvolde bade asked me to bring her her cloak,” Kivrin said.

  “Maisry can take it to her,” Imeyne said. “Maisry!”

  Let her still be hiding, Kivrin prayed.

  “Maisry!” Imeyne shouted, and Maisry came slinking out from the brewhouse door, holding her ear. Lady Imeyne snatched the cloak out of Kivrin’s arms and dumped it on Maisry’s. “Stop snivelling and take this to Lady Yvolde,” she snapped.

  She grabbed Kivrin by the wrist. “Come,” she said, and started toward the bishop’s envoy. “Holy Father, you have forgotten Lady Katherine, whom you promised to take with you to Godstow.”

  “We do not go to Godstow,” he said and swung himself into the saddle with an effort. “We journey to Bernecestre.”

  Gawyn had mounted Gringolet and was walking him toward the gate. He’s going with them, she thought. Perhaps on the way to Courcy I can persuade him to take me to the drop. Perhaps I can persua
de him to tell me where it is, and I can get away from them and find it myself.

  “Can she not ride with you to Berncestre then, and a monk escort her to Godstow? I would have her returned to her nunnery.”

  “There is no time,” he said, picking up the reins.

  Imeyne grabbed hold of his scarlet cope. “Why do you leave so suddenly? Has aught offended you?”

  He glanced at the friar, who was holding the reins of Kivrin’s mare. “Nay.” He made a vague sign of the cross over Imeyne. “Dominus vobiscum, et cum spiritu tuo,” he murmured, looking pointedly at her hand on his cope.

  “What of a new chaplain?” Imeyne insisted.

  “I am leaving my clerk behind to serve you as chaplain,” he said.

  He’s lying, Kivrin thought, and glanced up sharply at him. He exchanged another, secretive glance with the monk, and Kivrin wondered if their urgent business was simply getting away from this complaining old woman.

  “Your clerk?” Lady Imeyne said, pleased, and let go of the cope.

  The bishop’s envoy spurred his horse, and galloped across the courtyard, nearly running down Agnes, who scurried out of the way and then ran to Kivrin and buried her head in her skirt. The monk mounted Kivrin’s mare and rode after him.

  “God go with you, Holy Father,” Lady Imeyne called after him, but he was already out the gate.

  And then they were all gone, Gawyn riding out last at a flashy gallop to make Eliwys notice him, and they hadn’t taken her off to Godstow and out of reach of the drop. Kivrin was so relieved she didn’t even worry over Gawyn’s having gone with them. It was only a half-day’s ride to Courcy. He might even be back by nightfall.

  Everyone seemed relieved, or perhaps it was only the letdown of Christmas afternoon and the fact that they had all been up since yesterday morning. No one made any movement to clear the tables, which were still covered with dirty trenchers and half– full serving bowls. Eliwys sank into the high seat, her arms dangling over the side, and looked at the table disinterestedly. After a few minutes she called for Maisry, but when she didn’t answer, Eliwys didn’t shout for her again. She leaned her head against the carved back and closed her eyes.