by Kate Ellis
He helped his chattering passengers to unload their market day acquisitions: a brace of clucking hens; bales of cloth; plump cheeses; even a remarkably well behaved goat. Bartholomew smiled cheerfully as he worked and touched the purse that hung from his belt. Market days paid well.
There was nobody waiting on the Birkenhead side. Soon the beacon would be lit on the Liverpool strand, a signal that more people waited to return home over the water. But until then, with the tides satisfactory for the next couple of hours, Bartholomew could stretch his legs. He pulled his cloak around him against the chill of the wind and strode off in the direction of Tranmere Pool.
He could just see the Priory at the top of the rocky cliffs. It was now falling into ruins as local people took advantage of the ready supply of good stone to repair and build their homes and barns. Nature was encroaching on the great buildings and soon the red stones would blend with the woodland beyond. To this place of peace Bartholomew had come, expecting to lead a life of contemplation; to die and be buried with the other brothers in the shadow of the great Priory church. But times had changed.
Tranmere Pool, that tree lined inlet just south of the Priory grounds, was a place where the river's dead came to shore. Bartholomew had dragged many unfortunates from the water there and taken the soaked corpse to lie in the Priory church and receive Christian burial. He was no stranger to death by drowning.
When he saw the billowing bundle of clothes near the shore and the golden hair spread out in the water, shining like salmon in the weak autumn sunlight, he knew. He quickly made the sign of the cross and uttered a prayer for the dead. Then he waded out to the body and disentangled the clothing from the clinging seaweed.
He looked at the face, serene and lovely in death...released from all the troubles of this world. He knew her. Poor girl. Poor lovely girl. Poor Agnes.
CHAPTER 7
Bartholomew's heart beat fast as he navigated the ferry over the choppy waters of the Mersey, the wet sleeves of his gown clinging to his flesh. He had picked Agnes out of the shallow water gently, almost reverently, and carried her up to the Priory church, her garments dripping and adorned with seaweed. Tears had pricked his eyes as he had laid his burden - a surprisingly light burden - on the spot where the great stone altar had been. He recalled the last occasion he had carried her thus; but then she had been alive, there had been hope. Now Agnes was dead and he would pray for her soul and for the forgiveness of her sins. According to Brother Valentine, she had talked much of her sins: but she was so young and her face so innocent in death. Surely God would have mercy on poor Sister Agnes.
A sudden squall rocked the boat and the wind caught against the sail almost turning the vessel over. Bartholomew wasn't concentrating. He tried to bring his mind back to the task in hand. He had to cross the river safely; to see Brother Valentine and share the knowledge of Agnes's death. He needed to talk to someone who would understand.
He reached the Liverpool side, still dazed, and tied the boat against the jetty automatically: he had performed that action so many times that it did not need thought or concentration. There were a handful of passengers starting to arrive at the jetty carrying their market day purchases but, Bartholomew told himself, they would have to wait. He ran past them with no explanation and he didn’t hear their muttered grumbles as they saw their ferryman deserting his post.
Bartholomew pressed through the chaos of the market around the High Cross, cursing the crowds that slowed his progress and made him take tiny steps when his urge was to run as fast as he could.
Valentine was in the back of the shop crushing herbs calmly with a pestle. He looked up and smiled when he saw his visitor: it was good to see one's brothers. But he sensed that something was wrong.
Bartholomew put his head in his hands, too distressed to speak. Will had been sent by Katheryn earlier that day to inform Valentine of Agnes's disappearance. He made a guess. "Is it Agnes? Has she been found?"
Bartholomew nodded. Then the tears came. Valentine put a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder.
"It’s my fault," Bartholomew muttered between sobs.
"How so, brother? Surely you have not harmed her?"
"I had such thoughts about her...desires. I have never thought that way about a woman before and when I first held her in my arms..."
Valentine could see the way Bartholomew's thoughts were turning. "So you were attracted to her. It happens, brother."
"Now she is dead and it is a judgement on me. What must I do?"
"How did she die?"
"Drowned. I found her in Tranmere Pool. I took her to our church." His sobs resumed. Valentine watched him speculatively.
"You had nothing to do with her death?"
Bartholomew looked up horrified. "How can you say that? I...I loved her."
Valentine spoke gently. "There is no shame in love, brother. Your conduct towards her was ever honourable. You have nothing to blame yourself for."
"But my vows..."
“There is nothing sinful about love, brother, and your love for Agnes, brief though it was, was sincere, was it not?"
Bartholomew nodded, reassured.
"She was drowned, you say?"
"It appears so, brother."
Valentine thought for a moment. "I will send the boy Ralph to fetch Lady Katheryn. She will want to know the news, bad though it is."
He said a few words to the boy who had been sweeping the shop floor assiduously while they talked, and the lad disappeared into the crowded street, glad to be relieved of his tedious task. Valentine gave Bartholomew a calming infusion of herbs while they waited for Katheryn to arrive.
Bartholomew felt steadier and took several deep breaths, ready to face the ordeal ahead. Valentine was right; his behaviour towards Agnes had never been too forward. But a niggling, sinful thought in the back of his mind suggested to him that maybe, in view of the briefness of life, he should have been bolder.
When Katheryn arrived with Ralph, Valentine told her the news as gently as he could, and the three sat for a while in silent prayer for Agnes's troubled soul.
"We must bring her home," said Katheryn quietly. Bartholomew nodded.
Katheryn drew Valentine to one side and spoke softly, not wishing Bartholomew to hear. "Do you know how she died?"
"Drowning. Bartholomew found her in Tranmere Pool. If a body goes into the river on the far side, it commonly ends up there."
She nodded. "An accident then?"
"I shall examine the body. If there are signs of anything else, I shall see it. I wish this affair had ended happily. You come all the way here to care for the girl and..."
"If she has come to harm through the wickedness of others, Master Valentine, I wish to discover it."
"Of course, my lady. But what makes you think...?"
"Agnes was seen last night going towards the castle. She slipped out of Mistress Moore's house and was alone. But I believe she may have been followed."
Valentine sighed. "I see." He turned to Bartholomew. "Are you ready to return to Birkenhead, brother. We should go soon before the tide turns."
The three walked through the bustling streets to the strand in solemn silence.
*
The passengers on the ferry found their ferryman morose and silent. He collected their money without a smile. The ferry secured, Bartholomew led his two companions up to steep pathway to the deserted Priory.
It was almost three years since the Priory had been abandoned. The lead from the roofs had gone first, stripped off by the commissioners, allowing the elements to do their destructive work in the refectory and the dormitories. The chapter house with its scriptorium above stood virtually intact but the sandstone walls of the remaining buildings were being eaten slowly away by nature and theft.
The once beautiful priory church with its fine windows and elaborately tiled floor was now a shell. They approached the west end of the great church and entered through the great west door, now hanging off its iron hinges like
the door of an derelict barn. Ahead lay the stone slab that marked the site of the altar, and lying on it the bundle of black sodden rags that had once been Agnes Moore.
Katheryn paused in the doorway. Her beautiful abbey at Godstow would soon be like this; weeds growing through the floor of the choir; the great carved roof open to the sky. She felt a pang of bitter regret for the passing of their way of life. The three made their way eastward in quiet procession, as they had done many times before to sing the offices of the day. Agnes lay there, serene, as the three crossed themselves and knelt to pray for her soul.
It was Valentine who stood first and, brisk and businesslike, undid Agnes's cloak, the better to view the body. Katheryn, still kneeling, watched him as he examined the face and neck. He turned to her.
"I will not be able to say for certain until I have had a chance to examine her further but my first observations tell me that Agnes's death may not have been accidental.
Bartholomew looked up sharply. "What do you mean, brother. Surely nobody would..."
Valentine turned to the body and gently pushed back the damp strands of fair hair from the face. "Do you see these marks?" He put his hand gently over the dead girl's face. "Like the marks left by fingers...by a hand? They were made when she was alive. Somebody held her head under the water as she struggled. She faced him and he put his hand to her face and pushed her backwards. See?"
Katheryn, now bent over the body, nodded in agreement. "Who would do such a thing to the poor child?"
"You must remember, my lady, that she was attacked before. Somebody wanted Agnes Moore dead. I hate to speak of such wickedness, but I fear it is true."
"What could one such as Agnes have done to arouse so much hatred? She was young and innocent. She had no real knowledge of the world. Who would hate her so much?"
"Maybe not hate, my lady," Bartholomew said quietly. "Maybe love...jealousy."
"Why do you say that, brother?" asked Katheryn sharply.
Bartholomew looked flustered. "I did not mean... It was just a thought."
"Or perhaps she knew something. Perhaps she’d seen something she shouldn't have seen. Perhaps someone was afraid that she would betray them," suggested Valentine.
"I think that more likely," said Katheryn thoughtfully. "Poor Agnes was not one to inspire hate enough to lead to murder. Of love I cannot say," she smiled wistfully. "Having no knowledge of such matters myself."
"We must take her back to Liverpool," said Valentine, laying a comforting hand on Katheryn's arm. "Take her to the church for requiem mass and burial."
Katheryn nodded and looked down. She did not want the two men to see the tears that had begun to fill her eyes as she thought of young Agnes growing to womanhood at Godstow...and now lying lifeless before her.
They stood for a minute in silence, heads bowed in the presence of death. Then Bartholomew lifted Agnes in his arms and started back towards his boat. The other two followed, a strange little funeral procession, and boarded the ferry without a word.
*
Marjory Moore took the news calmly. "I dare say I could have predicted it, my lady. The girl brought nothing but trouble." She sat there looking at Katheryn, her face impassive. "Of course I'm sorry that the poor child's dead, God rest her soul. But I can't help feeling that she probably brought about her own misfortune. If a girl behaves thus, she must accept the consequences."
Katheryn wrestled hard with her temper. "But Agnes was killed, Mistress: probably murdered."
"Agnes was a fool. Didn't you teach her anything about the world at that nunnery of yours? The girl becomes enamoured of the first undesirable man she meets and this is what happens." She looked challengingly at Katheryn.
"Nunneries, I confess, are not the best places to learn of the world but then we never thought to be part of it.” If Marjory was trying to lay the blame for Agnes's death at her door, Katheryn was not going to let her get away with it. "If she had been shown more understanding when she entered the outside world..."
"Do you suggest, my lady, that the girl was not well cared for?" Marjory leaned forward angrily. "Did I not take her under my roof and care for her? At my own expense, I may add...and for no thanks."
"I blame no one, Mistress. Please, let us be calm and remember that Agnes needs our prayers.”
"The girl has brought nothing but trouble to my family. My son, Master Francis of Bank Hall, says it is the last time I should let anybody take advantage of my generous nature."
Katheryn, who had seen many examples of Marjory Moore's generous nature, thought it best to take her leave before she was tempted to confront her hostess with a few home truths.
"I shall not prevail on your hospitality any longer, Mistress. I shall seek lodging elsewhere. I thank you for your hospitality. I shall not forget it."
Marjory nodded smugly. To have the sister of Sir Richard Bulkeley of Beaumaris praise her hospitality was a small advancement in the Moore family’s social standing, so precious to Marjory's heart. "You are welcome to stay on at Old Hall, my lady. It would be an honour," she said with as much sincerity as she could muster, hoping Katheryn would refuse. The woman was too observant by half...and she had strange notions about how to treat those of lower social rank.
"That is most kind but I have intruded enough. When Agnes has been buried, I shall depart. I have taken the liberty of bringing her body to lie in the church of Our Lady and St. Nicholas for the time being. If you wish to make arrangements for her burial..."
Marjory was relieved. She wanted no part in the disposal of Agnes's body: she did not even want to be reminded of the fact that the girl had existed. "No, I insist, my lady, you must do as you think fit. You knew her better than I and she would have wished you to make the arrangements. She thought highly of you."
So Marjory was washing her hands of the whole thing. It did not surprise Katheryn, who smiled sweetly and agreed that she would put all the necessary arrangements in hand and would even pay for the funeral from her own pocket...a welcome suggestion for Marjory who was already thinking how she could cut down on the costs that would be bound to accrue from a funeral, however humble
*
Katheryn took her leave of Marjory and made her way with Jane to the church where she had agreed to meet Valentine. The market stalls were being dismantled and the debris thrown into the middle of the streets. On their way to the church they passed many people wending their way home; some drunk, some sober; most subdued after a long day at market. Of the juggler and the other entertainers there was no sign. They would be in the ale houses spending their earnings.
Agnes lay in a coffin of plain wooden boards, hastily knocked together by a nearby carpenter who owed Valentine money for medicines and was only too glad to pay in kind. Mother Bilton, who assisted the townsfolk of Liverpool at the start and the end of their lives, being midwife as well as tending to the dead, had washed Agnes and dressed her in a clean linen shift ready for burial.
Valentine kept vigil, kneeling in prayer by the coffin in the chapel of St. Nicholas. Katheryn found him thus and knelt beside him. Jane did likewise.
Their spiritual duty done, they stood up, their eyes drawn to the face of the girl in the coffin, a pretty face; sweet and innocent. Such a waste.
"Father James will bury her on Monday," Valentine said practically. “And he will say a mass for her tomorrow."
"I will pay for a mass to be said for her once a week," said Katheryn, staring at the lifeless beautiful face. "It is the least that I can do."
"Your generosity does you credit, my lady."
"It is not generosity. I could have done more for her when she was alive; perhaps prevented this."
"You must not feel guilt for something you could do nothing about. She is at peace now and our prayers will shorten her time in purgatory."
Katheryn was surprised to find herself leaning for comfort against Valentine's shoulder, his arm about her supportively. He smelled of herbs and clean linen. She stayed there longer than she kne
w was proper, drawing warmth and strength from his closeness.
Valentine spoke first. "While Mother Bilton was about her work, I had the opportunity to examine the body more closely."
"Did you discover anything?" She stood back slightly as Valentine's arm slipped away from her shoulder.
"Apart from the bruising I observed on her face, there was bruising to her thighs. I cannot be sure you understand..."
"You think she was violated before death?"
"It is possible."
"Poor Agnes." Katheryn tore her eyes away from the dead girl's face.
"We must find the man responsible for her death, Katheryn.” He spoke with quiet determination.
