Wicked

by Jill Barnett

  The food was some of the best she had ever tasted and she ate until she could barely move and hardly had any room left for the strawberry tart with clotted cream flavored with almond paste and raisins.

  She leaned toward Sister Katherine and whispered, “Please tell me that you eat such wonderful feasts on every holiday.”

  Katherine looked at her, then frowned. “Aye.”

  Sofia sighed happily and smiled. “I can eat the salt fish and turnips day in and day out if I know I shall eat like this one time every month or two.”

  “One time every month or two?”

  “Aye. On the feast days, when we do not have to eat salt fish and turnips.”

  Sister Katherine looked to be thinking hard about what Sofia was saying, then she began to laugh loud and hearty.

  The others turned and looked at her.

  “Tell us all what is so amusing, sister,” Judith said.

  “Lady Sofia thought we ate naught but salt fish and turnips every day!”

  All the nuns laughed as if that were the most humorous of jests.

  Sister Judith chuckled and said, “It seems that our Lady Sofia needs to check a calendar.”

  Sofia frowned.

  Sister Katherine turned and patted her chapped hand.

  “’Twas Lent, my dear. The salt fish, turnips, and dark bread were all we have for our penitential meals.”

  “Do you mean I shall not have to eat salt fish again?”

  “Not till next year.”

  Sofia gave a loud whoop of joy and they all laughed.

  The de Clare messenger, Squire Thwack, rode wildly up to Windsor Castle and reined in his mount.

  “Who goes there?”

  “Thwack of Camrose, squire to Sir Tobin de Clare! I have urgent business with the King!”

  The drawbridge dropped down and they raised the portcullis. The squire rode through faster than a charging knight. A short time later the doors opened to the King’s war room, where Edward was going over maps with his advisers.

  The squire came through the doors, bowed deeply, then handed a sealed parchment to one of the King’s men, who took it to Edward.

  He was sitting in a huge chair before the massive map table. “What is this that has your breath escaping you so, lad?” He glanced down and examined the seal. He looked up. “This is from your master?”

  “Aye, sire.”

  Edward broke the seal and unrolled the message. He looked up a few moments later, his eyes narrowed and his manner stiff and controlled, then tossed the message aside. “It seems some of the clans object to the negotiations between my sister’s husband and myself. They confiscated the documents and have de Clare and his men. They demand terms and ransom, from both Alexander and myself.”

  The room erupted in protests and Edward raised his hand. “Cease.” He looked at the Exchequer. “How are the coffers?”

  “All of the scutage from this year is promised, sire. We cannot possibly—”

  “Fine!” Edward cut him off. “Send word to Gloucester. See if he will ransom his son. We cannot.” He looked at de Clare’s squire. “Ride back and tell them we are unconcerned. They can have de Clare.”

  “Sire?” Thwack gaped at his king.

  “I shall deal with my wife’s brother directly,” Edward told the others, then turned to the squire. “You are still here?”

  “Nay, sire.” Thwack turned and left the room and the castle, made haste not for Scotland, but instead for Camrose, to notify Earl Merrick.

  It was with renewed strength from such a fine meal that Sofia rose the next day and went about her duties. She had finished the laundry and was in a hurry to take a huge stack of towels down the steep stone stairs of the convent’s east wing. She had promised Sister Katherine she would help her with the convent’s account books, which was better work since it was raining something fierce outside.

  Sofia came around the curve in the steep stairs at a half run, and hit someone. Hard. Towels flew everywhere. She shrieked and fell backward, slamming her back so hard on the edge of a stone stair that she saw stars for a moment.

  She winced as she pushed herself up and blinked. She looked around and saw Sister Judith lying at the bottom of the stairs, her crutch a few feet behind her and her face a mask of pain.

  “Sister Judith!” Sofia stood and ran down the stairs. “I am so sorry. Oh. Please. Are you hurt badly?”

  Judith shifted a little and winced. “I think I shall be all right. Help me up, child.”

  Sofia slid her arms under her shoulders and helped her sit upright.

  “Fetch my crutch.”

  Sofia scooted across the stones and grabbed the crutch, then crawled back and set it against the wall. “Let me help you. Please, sister. I feel just horrid. I swear I did not see you.” She grasped the woman under the arms and tried to lift her up, but she did not have the strength, for Judith was a tall and robust woman, in spite of her withered leg.

  “Just give me the crutch, girl, and I shall do it alone.” Judith’s voice was sharp and angry.

  Sofia sat back, feeling more wretched. She handed Judith the crutch and began to pick up and refold the towels.

  The sister struggled with the crutch, then managed to get it at an angle so she could use it to help her rise. She struggled and shifted and gave a couple of gasps that sounded as if she were in the greatest pain.

  Sofia wanted to reach out and help, but she did not. She was afraid Sister Judith would snap at her again. Instead Sofia stood up, feeling useless and uncomfortable, not speaking, just chewing her lip. Then she said quietly, “I am truly sorry.”

  “I know, I know . . . ” Judith muttered impatiently, waving one hand in dismissal as she hobbled off down the hallway toward the cells.

  Chapter 23

  Judith lay on the narrow bed. Cursing her pride, for had she been born with more humility, she would not have fallen down those blasted stairs.

  It was not poor Sofia’s fault. There was a hand rail on that stair wall. But she was an old fool who was too full of pride and did not use railings because she wanted to prove to all that she was still as good as before she was crippled.

  So Judith was good and angry, good and angry at her own stupidity.

  As she lay there, the pain in her leg was excruciating; it shot through her bones and her muscles, up her hip. She could feel it clear into the marrow of her back teeth. She gritted her teeth together and continued to lie there, waiting for the pain to subside.

  She flung her arm over her moist eyes and waited, until finally she gave into those tears of pain she fought so hard against. Judith hated those blasted tears. They were a tangible sign that she was weak and more human than she would have liked. She despised weakness, because she always felt she was no sniveler and never had she been a weak woman. ’Twas something she took great pride in.

  There was a sharp rapping at the door. Judith raised up on her elbows and stared at the door through the mist of those tears that still remained in her eyes. She took a deep breath and called out, “Aye?”

  “’Tis I, Sofia.”

  “I am resting.” She lay back down and exhaled tiredly.

  There was a long moment of silence, but Judith did not hear the girl’s retreating footsteps. She listened again, her ears sharp. Then she realized she was listening for something she would never hear and called herself even more foolish to expect it. Sofia was not one to retreat for any reason.

  “May I come in?” the girl asked through the wooden door.

  Judith shifted again and tried to pull herself up. It hurt like the very Devil, but she shifted and arched her back, then scooted up, dragging the dead weight of her leg until she was sitting with her back resting against the straw and plaster wall behind the bed.

  She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, until the sharp repercussions of her motions subsided and there remained only a dull and aching throb.

  She took a deep breath and exhaled, then she looked up. “Come in.”

&nbs
p; The door opened with a loud squeak that almost sounded as if the old iron hinges were crying, too. Sofia’s dark head peeked out from around the half-open door. She stared at Judith from those wide and curious purple eyes of hers, then stepped inside and turned to quietly shut the door.

  “What do you want?” Judith asked, trying to keep the pain she was feeling from showing in her voice.

  Sofia cocked her head slightly and looked at her with a thoughtful and perceptive expression. “I wanted to ask if you were badly hurt when you fell?”

  Judith closed her eyes for a moment and admitted, “I have some pain.” When she opened them again she found Sofia sitting on the bed staring down at her lame and useless leg.

  A second later the girl placed her hands on Judith’s calf and she began to knead the muscles. “It must hurt terribly, this leg, I mean. Even under my hands it feels so tight and knotted.”

  Judith sucked in a deep breath, because it did hurt and the working of the girl’s hands was like a gift from heaven above on her tight and cramped muscles.

  Sofia stilled her hands. “Am I hurting you even more?”

  Judith shook her head. “I was in so much pain you could not have hurt me more.” She opened her moist eyes and told Sofia truthfully, “You are making it hurt less.” She paused for a moment, then added. “Thank you.”

  “What happened to your leg and to your face?”

  Judith smiled a little. The girl was very forward and outspoken. Like she had been. Judith would not scold her for it, for she had heard scolding words often enough over her lifetime. She gave Sofia a direct look at matched hers. “I fell from a horse.”

  Sofia looked at her leg, then her look drifted up to Judith’s neck and face and the girl frowned. “What did you fall on to cut your face and neck that way?”

  Judith sighed. She could not evade with this one. “The scar is the reason I fell off the horse. I was on my mount, fighting to defend Antioch.”

  Sofia’s hands froze on Judith’s leg and she gaped at her. “You? You were one of the warrior nuns?”

  “Aye.”

  “The nuns who fought like men. Like the knights did? Oh! I heard about the bravery of those nuns. Once I heard of it, I dreamed of it. I wanted to fight in a war and wield a sword and do all the things men can do and women are not supposed to do.”

  “If the truth be told, Sofia, there is little glory in war. But that is where I was injured. A Mameluke rider came at me swiping the air with his sword. I missed a block and he caught my face, this whole side, actually. And I fell from the horse. He struck the horse and it fell on top of me and broke my hip. I do not remember much. I lay there, taken for dead. When someone finally found me, well, this was what I was left with.”

  “I am sorry.”

  Judith smiled and shook her head slightly. “I am not. I would not change my life for anything. Not one single day of it.”

  “Neither would I if I could have gone to war. So tell me . . . ” Sofia straightened, which made her bounce on the mattress a bit. “Where did you learn to fight?”

  “To be a warrior you must have many skills, child. Many. Fighting was only part of the skills demanded. The first of which is to be able to ride. I was fortunate. My father was stablemaster at Warwick Castle. I grew up around horses and he made certain I could ride.”

  “I can ride,” Sofia said with pride.

  “Not pillion, child, but astride.”

  Sofia stiffened and stuck her chin up. “I do not ride pillion. I ride astride.” She tapped a thumb against her chest. “I could outride some of Edward’s men-at-arms before I was ten.”

  Judith smiled. “Good girl. Men should not be the only ones given the freedom of riding over the hills and valleys of this land.”

  “So tell me what weapon you mastered?”

  Judith shrugged. “Not only one. Most of them. I had to be able to wield a sword or an axe. I can use a bow and a crossbow, the lance and a staff.”

  “The lance?” Sofia perked up the way a small dog does when you toss it a meaty bone.

  “Aye. Why?”

  “Did you work at the quintain?” Judith nodded.

  “Teach me.”

  Judith began to laugh. “Nay. There is no war for a woman to fight and even if there were, I would not see you go. These are the days of court and manners, not wild wars and battles. The Crusades are over. Besides which, you are the King’s cousin. He would never allow you to ride into a skirmish, let alone a war battle.”

  “Nay, he would not. Which is why ’tis so important for me to have the skill.”

  “You want to learn only to naysay the King.”

  “That is not so. When you say it like that it makes me sound like a small child.”

  “Then give me a good reason.”

  Sofia thought about it for a moment. “He wished me to learn humility and obedience. Bah! I shall only learn what I wish to learn.” She faced Judith. “And I wish to learn to use the lance, and perhaps the bow and I would love to wield a sword.”

  “Nay.” Judith shook her head. “Nay, Sofia. ’Tis not for your kind.”

  “What kind am I?”

  “You are a lady. You will marry your knight and never need such skills. Edward would have my head on a pike.”

  “I will never tell him. Surely I swear to you that I shall go to my grave with the secret. Truly. Please, Sister Judith. Teach me to be a knight.”

  “Nay.”

  “But . . . ”

  Judith held up her hand and shook her head. “Do not ask again. I cannot. Now leave me. I need to get some sleep. Morning comes swiftly this time of year, and I am tired and sore and when I am asleep, I do not feel the pain.” Judith stopped, then added, “You should do the same.”

  Sofia stood in front of Judith, her face a mixture of frustration and thought. Then she sighed and turned toward the door. She stopped and turned back. “Please?”

  Judith shook her head. “Goodnight to you, Sofia.”

  The girl started to open her mouth again.

  Judith held up her hand. “Goodnight.”

  Sofia closed the door, but Judith knew this was not over. Telling Sofia Howard about her past was like dangling a sweet before a child. She shook her head. “You should have never told her, you old foolish woman,” she said to herself. “Never.”

  Thanks to Sofia’s long and mutinous relationship with her cousin, King Edward the Hardheaded, she’d had many years of experience at discovering how to get her own way.

  She was accomplished at pestering.

  For the next fortnight, pester was what she did to Sister Judith. Sofia had a good motive. She knew that if Judith did not believe she wanted to learn a knight’s skills with her whole heart and her whole soul, then she would never give in, and Sofia would lose this opportunity, one surely given her by God.

  So late one afternoon, after Sofia had done her chores and taken on a few more for good measure, she tracked down Judith in the accounts room, where she was handling the account books.

  Sofia rapped on the door.

  “Come in.”

  She opened the door with an air of confidence and stood there with her shoulders back and her look as direct as possible, to show the prioress her ability to take the initiative. “Sister Judith? I truly want to learn those skills that only you can teach me. I suppose I could attempt to learn on my own. But surely you would not want me to learn in a ragtag manner, now would you? Certainly there is pride in the instruction as well as the learning? We would be a team, rather like knight to squire. Aye, that’s it! Think of me as your squire.”

  Judith was leaning back in her chair, a long counting instrument with wooden beads held thoughtfully in her hands, as she listened with what looked to Sofia as quiet interest . . . a hopeful sign, surely. After a moment during which Judith looked at her rather intently, she put down the beaded stick she had been holding, raised her hand and pointed at the door. “Go.”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

/>   Sofia rose an hour earlier than was her usual, which was when Sisters Katherine or Alice had to pound on her door to get her moving. But not this day. Sister Judith was to be up early and tend the convent’s sheep shearing.

  Sofia sauntered up to the small, fenced area where the shearing was taking place. She had her hands clasped innocently behind her back as she watched the sheep shearing with rabid interest and acute observation—this of course would show Sister Judith what an attentive and fine student Sofia would be. “I say there, what a fine day this is for shearing sheep, do you not agree?”

  Judith did not look at Sofia, but continued to give instructions to the other nuns, who were holding the waiting sheep while the shearman and his holders shaved off the thick woolly coats.

  “Why, look at all the wool!” Sofia bent and tried to look closer, a ploy to show off her attentiveness, since every good student must be attentive. “I did not know one single ewe could produce so much wool.” She thought her comment to detail, such as showing her awareness that the beast was a ewe and not a ram, was a nice example of sharp sight.

  “Tell me, do the shears have to be sharpened regularly? I can see the blades, right there . . . ” She reached out and pointed and the shearer stopped, looked up at her and scowled.

  Sofia had her hands resting on her knees and her head was turned sideways so she could watch the shearing more closely. She smiled up at the man. “The blades seem sharp. Do you oil them?”

  “Aye,” he answered in a gruff voice.

  “Which oil do you prefer? Linseed oil, the kind one would use to polish a sharpened broadsword, or palm oil from the East, which of course is used for axe blades, knives and such?”

  “Sofia!” Judith snapped.

  Sofia turned her head. “Aye, sister?”

  “Run along and finish your duties.”

  “I have finished.” Sofia straightened.

  Judith frowned. “You have watered all the plants in the garden?”

  “Aye. And I plucked out every single new weed that was beginning to grow.”

  “Gathered the eggs?”