♦ ♦ ♦
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sister Agatha hobbled to the gatehouse in response to the loud knocks.
Her painful hips would allow a certain speed and no more.
Another series of knocks, harder this time.
She sucked a piece of meat from her three remaining teeth and chewed it fast in annoyance. It were that busy today, she’d hardly had time to settle, let alone enjoy her lunch.
First the broad young man who needed a shave, with his companion. A woman of God, but with no habit? What was the world coming to?
The knocks were more a pounding now. Did some folk have no manners?
“I said, I’m coming.” Agatha entered the gatehouse and undid the shutter. She slid it across.
A pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen met hers.
“My apologies, good Sister.” A male voice, the tones of a cultured man.
“What is your business, sir?”
“I have an injured companion. A bad dog bite. I entreat you to provide him with your excellent ministrations.”
Agatha sniffed at such fancy talk. “You mean you want the infirmary?”
“If you please, Sister.”
Second time today she’d have to open this big door. With a wince of shoulders that were stiffer than her legs, Agatha turned the key and opened up the door to the strangers.
CHAPTER 17
Palmer stood by Mother Ursula’s desk with Theodosia as the Abbess bent to the small wooden chest under the window. She undid the shiny brass clasp that held it shut, then reached in and took out a tightly rolled piece of manuscript.
Palmer’s flesh prickled. It indeed bore the seal of Canterbury.
“There you are, my child.” She laid it on Theodosia’s outstretched palms.
Theodosia opened it out and scanned it, eyes moving along the many lines of shapes, swirls, and forms. “Oh, Brother Edward.” It came out as a near sob. “What do you think?” She turned to Palmer.
“I don’t know what it says,” he said. “I can’t read.”
The two women exchanged glances.
“I’ve used my wits for fighting, not letters. Just read it to me.”
“Do you want me to leave?” asked the Abbess.
“Please stay,” said Theodosia. “My mother was in your exemplary protection for many years. It is from Brother Edward Grim,” said Theodosia. “A good, holy monk, Mother. He was Thomas’s aide for as long as I can remember. He was injured trying to protect the Archbishop from the knights’ attack.”
The tall monk, with his surprising valor for an unarmed man of the cloth. Palmer had noticed it on that night. The night he’d been with the murderers, serving Fitzurse. What a wrong choice he’d made.
Theodosia looked to the jumbled squiggles again.
In a steady voice, with not a stop or a stutter, she made them speak.
“My dear Amélie,
I hope and trust with all of my faith that this message finds you safe and well. I came across your location in Archbishop Becket’s private papers. It was my sorry task to have to go through them, for, Amélie, terrible events have taken place.
Our beloved Thomas Becket is dead, murdered defending you and your secret. I, useless creature, could not defend him in turn, and my failure will be on my soul forever. Grief weighs heavy on my heart, as it does on all who served him here. My only consolation at this time is that he will now be seated in his rightful place in heaven with Almighty God.
His life was taken by a group of five knights, led by one named Sir Reginald Fitzurse. Fitzurse and his men are in pursuit of you, and want to do you the greatest of harm.
I have worse to tell, though I know it will break your heart if it is not broken already to hear of Thomas. They have taken your beloved Laeticia, and I fear for her to the depths of my soul.
I sail to France on the feast of Saint Theodosius, whose name I praise and pray for his special intervention, from the port of Southampton. I go to bear witness in an audience with King Henry, to tell of the terrible crimes that have been committed.
I beg you to come with me. If you remain where you are, I believe you will be in great peril, with your life at risk.
Travel with the monastic posts; they are swift and will offer you protection. I will await your arrival and hide you until our departure.
May Saint Christopher keep you safe on the sinful perils of the road. God bless you.
Brother Edward Grim.”
Theodosia lowered the page. Edward’s neat script proclaimed his anguish at what had taken place; his holy grief leapt from the paper, burrowed into her heart. “How he blames himself for the sin of others. No one could have stopped that attack. No one.”
“I blame myself far more than Brother Edward.” Frustration burned in Benedict’s dark eyes. “He’s only a monk. I’m a knight. I had a sword. Had I not been a fool, I could have done something. And Archbishop Becket might still be alive.”
“Thanks to your protection, Sister Theodosia is still alive,” said the Abbess, “and Sister Amélie has her guardian angel in Brother Edward Grim. We cannot change the sins or omissions of the past, much as we’d like, Sir Palmer. But what we can do is make amends, make restitution. What do you propose to do?”
Benedict went to the window, broad shoulders framed against the light. “Mother, Theodosia and I have been hounded for our lives by Reginald Fitzurse. Sister Amélie has been in mortal danger too. We know Archbishop Becket was murdered for that secret, whatever that is.”
The Abbess shook her head. “I know not.”
Benedict gestured to the convent buildings outside. “Theodosia, I know this is your world, a world you’re desperate to return to.”
Return to order, calm, silence. Peace. Holiness. Her vocation, her life. “I am.” So why did her reply sound so weak?
“But?” said Mother Ursula.
“But we still don’t know why all of this has happened,” said Benedict. “Brother Edward seeks an answer too, by going to bear witness to the King. We, as the other Canterbury witnesses, should go too. It’s the only way to finish this.”
Go back out into the sinful world again. But a world where she might find Mama. She steeled herself against her longing. She should not let her ten-year-old heart rule. Benedict ran a broad hand through his dark hair as he looked out the window again. Nor her nineteen-year-old one. Her place was in here, not with him. Nor any man. “You can go, Benedict. You do not need me.”
He turned back to her and Mother Ursula. “As far as Edward knows, I’m one of the murderers, one of your abductors. If he sees me alone in Southampton, he’ll run a mile. Or, from what I’ve seen of him, have me arrested and executed as fast as he can. Am I right, Theodosia?”
“Brother Edward has a steely reputation for righteousness,” she replied.
Ursula raised her eyebrows. “In a monk, that’s a fearsome quality.” She laid a hand on Theodosia’s arm. “My child, I swear to you, I wouldn’t send you or any other soul to harm. But a terrible storm of evil descended on you out of nowhere. Unless you and Sir Palmer find your answers and put an end to this once and for all, who’s to say it will not happen again?”
Her words sparked Theodosia’s earlier fears back into life. “You think Fitzurse is still alive. Both of you.”
“From what you’ve both said — indeed, from what you’ve not said — that may be true,” said Ursula. “But who’s to say he needs to be? You can cut and cut at a serpent’s tail. Unless you sever the head, it can still devour you.”
“Wise words, Mother,” said Benedict.
Ursula released Theodosia’s arm with a squeeze. “Then go after Sister Amélie to Southampton. There may still be time to find her before she sails to France.”
“When is the feast of Saint Theodosius?” said Benedict.
Theodosia allowed herself a small smile. “I know that at once, for he is one of my patrons. It’s in four days’ time.”
Ursula nodded. “It is indeed.
Maybe the blessed saint himself is showing you the way.”
Benedict clenched a fist. “Then we can do it. I swear to you.”
The Abbess clapped him on the back. “I was a witness to that. Now, to your horses, both of you. Order them saddled up. I’ll go and find that serving girl of mine, and she can pack you up enough food for the journey. Clean clothes too.”
Theodosia held up Edward’s letter. “What should I do with this? Should we take it with us?”
Benedict walked from the window with a shrug. “Throw it away if you like. Doesn’t matter now we’ve read it.”
“Not we. I.” She smarted at his dismissal of her skill. “Of course it matters. The written word has great power.”
“Only if you smother someone with it.” He moved to the door. “Now, let’s be off. Every second is precious.”
Theodosia tightly rolled the letter once more and handed it back to the Abbess. “I think it is safest with you, and not my heathen companion. If anything were to happen to us, to Edward…” She couldn’t continue.
Ursula finished for her. “We would still have a robust account with which to bring the murderers to justice.” She replaced it carefully in the little chest and patted the closed lid. As she stood up, her look met Theodosia’s. “Oh, my child,” she said, her voice hoarse with sudden emotion. “I understand your struggle for your vocation, the obstacles in your life that seem too high. God will guide you, I can promise you that.”
“Thank you, Mother. I will try and think of your words often.”
“Think too of Amélie’s joy when she sees you, and yours when you see her,” said Ursula. “A glorious reward for your courage, Laeticia.” She gave Theodosia a soft pat on the cheek. Composing herself, she returned to her brisk demeanor with a clap of her hands. “Now, come. Let us make all haste.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“Wilfreda!”
The call cut through the hubbub of the busy kitchen.
Wilfreda paused from her scrubbing of a copper pot, wet bran stuck to her fingers.
Stood in the doorway, one of the infirmary sisters beckoned to her across the noisy room. “We have two new arrivals. Bring a pail of hot water. At once!”
Wilfreda looked to the nearby cook for permission.
The cook nodded. “The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you’re back. Don’t dally.” She returned to her supervision of a young sister who prepared a pile of sheep’s hearts for the evening meal.
With a quick wipe of her hands on the front of her apron, Wilfreda filled a wooden pail from one of the large boiling vats that would cook the peeled and chopped carrots and parsnips. She hurried out to follow the nun across the courtyard, glad to leave the steamy kitchen and its heavy scent of uncooked meat. She liked the infirmary, liked it much better than waiting on tables, where people who didn’t know her would stare at her one eye. Sick people were a lot kinder than hungry people. Patients with a fever cared not if you were disfigured. They cared only that you could damp down the raging fire within them.
She could do that. Sit there, by the bedside, as the night stretched long and dark. Put the cloth in the bowl of iced water. Wring it out. Put it on the sweltering brow. Soon as the cold left the cloth, put it back into the water. Wring it out. Back on the brow. Over and over again, till the burning left the sufferer. Time didn’t matter when you were with the sick. All that mattered was that they got well.
As Wilfreda entered the infirmary behind the nursing nun, the familiar sight met her.
Neat beds, calm, order, with the settled half a dozen patients. A flurry of activity around the new, as the groans of the injured man drew nosy looks from the rest.
Three sisters attended to a huge knight stretched out on the bed, the sleeves of their black robes rolled up to reveal pale busy arms and hands. A second knight, soiled from battle of some sort, stood over him too.
Wilfreda approached, pail handle secure in both hands, ready for her instructions, ready for the companion’s look of mock, of disgust. She cared not. One day, she’d be first round the bed, checking the wound, guessing the rash, judging the strength of the fever. For now, all she could do was watch, learn.
“A dog bite, you say?” The head sister addressed the second knight.
“More serious,” he said. “A wolf. We were attacked as we rode through the forest.”
This knight must be a high-ranking one. His tones were definitely those of a gentleman.
“Is it only this one at the top of his leg?” said the sister.
“That is the worst,” said the knight. “He has a number of scrapes and scratches, as do I, but not anything to cause harm.”
The sister bent to make a closer examination.
The big knight gave a muted gasp of pain as his heavy brows drew together and his scarred mouth closed tight.
Wilfreda panged inside. He too bore the cross of a damaged face.
“Make up an onion poultice,” said the sister as she straightened up. Her two assistants hurried off at her order. “His breeches need to come off. Wilfreda, I need your help.”
Wilfreda stepped forward. “P-pardon me, sir.”
The second knight moved back to let her past as she placed her pail next to the bedside.
His fine looks matched his voice. Eyes of startling blue, high cheekbones. His gaze upon her was intent, and the back of her neck warmed. She wasn’t used to male attention. With looks like hers, they always moved on quickly.
With a clear view of the injured man on the bed, she admired his restraint in complaint. A large chunk of muscle had been torn from the top of his thigh, the wound deep and open and glistening.
The sister produced a pair of long scissors. “We will be quick, sir knight.”
The big man nodded as his large hands formed fists.
“Do we need to restrain him?” asked the sister of the blue-eyed knight.
“Do it.” The big knight’s voice rumbled deep in his chest.
“You need have no fear of him,” said the blue-eyed one.
The sister nodded to Wilfreda, who bent to the knight’s torn breeches. She held the thick woolen material as still as possible. With a flash of the scissors, the sister cut around it. Only jagged strips of material remained, stuck to the moist wound.
“I will check on the poultice,” said the sister. “Wilfreda, remove those bits of material. Use this.” She handed the novice a piece of fresh linen, then made for the small room at the back of the infirmary with quick steps.
Wilfreda sat on the edge of the bed and immersed the cloth in the hot water.
The big knight watched her, silent except for his breath loud through his wide nostrils.
“What are you doing, Wilfreda?”
She looked up at the question, surprised the blue-eyed knight should have remembered her name. So many folk didn’t. “I’m going to soak the wool stuck to his wound. It should come away easier.”
“Good.” He nodded in approval.
She took out the wet linen and placed it carefully over the matted, bloodstained fragments that edged the wound.
The big man held still.
She judged her time and carefully peeled the offending material away.
Her patient stiffened, then relaxed as he realized the delicacy of her actions.
“Well done. You indeed have a skilled pair of hands. It is a pleasure to see you work.”
Wilfreda shot a glance up at the second knight. His smile was wide, his expression set in admiration.
“Th-thank you, sir knight.” She resumed her task, mortified yet delighted at his praise.
“Do you concur, le Bret?” said her observer.
The patient grunted but seemed content.
“That is praise from my companion, my dear,” said the second knight. “He’s a man of few words.” He bent closer to look at her progress. “My word. You are a miracle worker. An angel of mercy, one might say.”
Wilfreda shook her head, a huge lump of pride in her throat.
; “Even more remarkable, given your sad affliction.” His blue gaze held hers.
He…he didn’t mind her eye.
“How many years have you been an infirmary sister?”
She would have laughed, but it would have made her hand shake. “I’m no infirmary sister, sir. I’m only a lay postulant, a servant to the Abbess.”
“What? With healing hands like yours?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A shocking waste. Do you agree, le Bret?”
The big knight nodded, eyes closed.
Wilfreda’s heart soared. She must have this talent, if this grand knight thought so. Maybe this was God’s way of showing her true vocation.
“And what did the Abbess have you doing today?”
She dipped another piece of clean linen in the hot water. “S-serving at table.”
The knight raised a mocking eyebrow. “The Abbess is too grand to serve herself?”
“N-no.” Wilfreda gave a shocked giggle. Fancy her joking about the Abbess with this gentleman. “She has visitors today.”
“Of course,” he said. “Nuns like to show off to each other.”
She shook her head as she picked off some stray strands of wool from the oozing wound, mindful of not touching the agonized flesh. “One was a nun, well, an anchoress. The other was a knight.”
“An anchoress and a knight? How odd. Here, let me take those from you.” He held out a sheet of clean linen for her to place the bloodied wool within.
“I’m near finished, sir knight.” She spoke reassuringly to the injured man. Emboldened by his friendliness, she addressed his companion. “How did the wolf get him?”
“We were traveling at night, through the forests.”
“From what I know, sir, that’s very dangerous.”
E. M. Powell Page 19
