A Gathering of Ghosts

by Karen Maitland

  Somehow the presence of the two brothers at meals always left me exhausted. What was the word Alban had used so contemptuously about our sisters at Buckland? Hinds? Yes, and the two men were like rutting bucks, always roaring and charging at one another. It should have been easier when my sisters were present, but I found myself in a constant state of tension in case one prattled some indiscretion, which Nicholas would pounce on. I found myself trying to listen to half a dozen different conversations at once, so I could step in and deflect the speaker if they were drifting into perilous waters.

  Fina was the worst for, like a small child or a moon-crazed beggar, whatever thought came into her head burst from her lips. Without warning she would hurl some bizarre remark across the refectory table or toss it into the courtyard. She seemed to have convinced herself that all that had befallen the well of late was somehow an attack on her, because she was its keeper. Though I had succeeded in convincing her that it was dangerous to speak of Cosmas in front of the brothers, I knew I had been unable to persuade her that the little boy was not cursing the holy spring.

  Clearly the responsibility for the well had become too heavy a burden for her and I was annoyed with myself for not realising it before. Several times I had been on the verge of informing her that, when the spring started to flow again and the well reopened, I would give the charge of it to another of the sisters. But that seemed to be what she feared most, that the boy was trying to drive her away from it, steal it from her. I feared that telling her I was going to give the task to another, far from easing her mind, would only increase her unreasoning hatred of the boy and, indeed, of me. Sometimes I caught her glaring at me with such malice, it seemed she thought I was as much to blame as the child for the spring drying up. Perhaps I was. Perhaps God was punishing me for my deception.

  With every day that passed, word would spread like a ripple on the pond that the well was dry, and who knew if the pilgrims and their offerings would return even when the waters flowed once more? That would give Nicholas yet more to write about in his letters. Not that any of his reports had so far reached Buckland, for Sister Clarice had paid off the messengers before they set out and retrieved the parchments. She had even recruited the ever-loyal Meggy to keep watch for signs of any servant preparing for a journey in case our brother might try to dispatch them with one of his letters. Nicholas could wait until his beard grew as white and long as winter, Buckland would not be sending any knights. And so long as I remained prioress, I would do all in my power to ensure they never did, if I had to burn a thousand reports or bribe a hundred messengers.

  But even if our brother’s reports never reached Buckland or Clerkenwell, how long could we keep going? The infirmary was filling with the frail and those made sick from starvation or eating grass to stave off the agonies of hunger. The old were being left at our doorstep by families who could no longer feed them, and the crowd begging for alms at the window grew larger and more pitiful by the day, but we had less and less to give them. I had talked glibly about Hob not returning until the ground hardened, but what if he never came back? The famine was not confined to the moor: the whole of England was suffering. The time would come, if it hadn’t already, when Buckland had no food to spare for us.

  If we had to survive alone and feed all those so desperately in need who came to us, the money Clarice and I had hidden would be our priory’s only hope. I would have to send her out with a couple of strong servants to Exeter or one of the ports to see what she could buy from any ships that docked. The merchants were already exploiting the famine and charging a king’s ransom for a sack of grain, but if anyone could drive them down it was Clarice. She knew how hard won every coin we possessed had been and she would not waste a single farthing.

  But first we had to rid ourselves of our two brothers. Even if she managed to slip away without Nicholas or Alban noticing, Nicholas would demand a reckoning when she returned with supplies, and not even Clarice could disguise the fact that she had spent more than we had claimed to have. Nicholas had made it his business to learn the price that was charged for every pot, fish and nail in these parts and I knew he was watching every bale and basket brought into the priory, adding up what we were spending. He was determined to prove we had money we had not accounted for. That man could turn a saint to murder, and with every day that Nicholas was here, the guilt I felt at deceiving the order was slowly dissolving, like salt left in the rain.

  My head jerked up as a blast of cold air struck my cheek. Had I been dozing? For the third time that evening, smoke and ash swirled about me as the door opened and slammed shut.

  ‘I’ve been searching all over for you. You’d best come quick.’

  Beating the smoke away, I struggled up to see Sister Clarice, her hand already on the latch, as if she was about to dash away again. My heart quickened.

  ‘What is it? Don’t tell me we’ve another plague of creatures down in the holy well.’

  She shook her head. ‘Sebastian.’

  I didn’t wait for more. We hurried out into the cold night air. Before we even reached the door of the infirmary, I heard the shrieks and crashes coming from inside, but the shouts were not the usual cries of Sebastian’s night terrors. I ran the last few paces and burst in. I couldn’t see him at first, but I could tell from the terrified glances of the other patients where he must be. Those who could walk were huddled together at one end of the room, those still in bed had shrunk beneath their blankets. Cosmas alone sat motionless on the end of his bed, as if he was deaf as well as blind. Basilia was standing in the centre of the hall, gnawing her lip, as she turned to me, her expression wavering between relief and fear. Tears welled in her eyes.

  ‘We never thought to keep it from him.’ She gestured helplessly towards the far end of the infirmary. ‘Didn’t think he could use it.’

  I still couldn’t see Sebastian, but hurried down to where he slept.

  ‘Careful!’ Basilia called behind me. ‘He’s not himself. If he doesn’t know you, there’s no knowing what he might . . .’ Her words trailed off as I reached the furthest wall.

  Sebastian sat curled on the floor, hidden by his bed, his head tilted sideways and his eyes squeezed shut. I stifled a gasp. His white woollen nightshirt was streaked with blood, and more oozed from beneath his fingers. At first, I thought he must have fallen and grazed himself, but there was too much blood for that. His shrieks had subsided into long, body-shuddering moans.

  ‘Sebastian? It’s Prioress Johanne. You know my voice, don’t you? Open your eyes. Look at me.’

  His eyelids fluttered open, but he wouldn’t look up. ‘Go! Go . . . away. I can finish this . . . want to finish this.’

  ‘Finish what?’ I laid my hand on his twisted leg. He was chilled to the marrow and little wonder, lying on the cold flags. ‘Come, let’s get you back into a warm bed. I’m sure Sister Basilia will have an unguent to soothe those fingers.’

  I tried to take one of his hands in mine so that I could examine his palm. ‘What have you been doing to them now?’ I could hear myself speaking in the tone a mother might use to a little child. Sometimes when he was in the grip of a night terror it calmed him, but this time, he jerked furiously away from me.

  ‘Leave me! Get away. I want this to end. In God’s mercy, let me finish it, if you will not.’ He lashed out, flailing his arm, though the pain of doing so made him shriek. His elbow struck my cheek. He was too weak and the limb too wasted to do me any serious injury, but the bone was sharp and I jerked back.

  The violent movement of his arm had unbalanced him and he rolled sideways away from the bed. It was only then that I saw what his thin chest had been covering. A long, sharp knife had been wedged into the gap between the bed and the wall, so that the blade pointed out into the room.

  ‘Who left that . . .’

  But even as I spoke, I realised what Basilia had been trying to tell me. Sebastian had wedged the knife there himself. He’d cut his fingers on the blade as he’d tried to thrust the
handle hard into the gap. I could only imagine the pain and effort it had cost him. His joints were so crippled that on most days he could barely grip a piece of bread and raise it to his mouth, much less spoon broth from a bowl or comb his hair.

  Sebastian began throwing himself from side to side, and at once I realised what he intended to do. He was trying to use his momentum to impale himself on the blade, for he had not strength or control to stab himself using his hands. I seized his shoulders, trying to drag him away from the knife, but for all that he was weak, he was in the grip of such a terrible agony of the mind that it lent him a strength even I could not overcome. I came close to being flung against the point of the blade myself in the struggle.

  ‘Help me hold him!’ I yelled.

  I heard feet running down the flags behind me. Two hands seized Sebastian by the shoulders and dragged him roughly across the floor. I made a lunge for the knife, wresting it out and sending it skidding to land at the feet of Basilia. Startled, I turned to see who had pulled Sebastian aside and found myself staring up into the face of Brother Nicholas. He was the last person on earth I’d wanted to witness this.

  Sebastian lay trembling and helpless on the floor. Nicholas lifted him, sobbing and shaking, into his bed. Trying to suppress the tremor in my voice, I thanked the knight curtly, told him we could manage and need detain him no longer.

  ‘You appeared not to be managing just now, but if you insist.’ He stared down at the huddled figure, studying him carefully for a long time, before he finally turned away.

  He strode towards the door, but as he passed the bed where Cosmas sat, his steps faltered. He glanced sideways at the boy, as if afraid to look at him directly, then swiftly and covertly, he extended the two fingers of his right hand towards him, making the horn gesture, which I had seen others use to ward off the evil eye. Then he hurried to the door. Surely Nicholas didn’t still believe the boy to be a sorcerer, capable of conjuring evil spirits as he had accused him of doing that first day.

  It took a long time to settle Sebastian. I tried to calm him while Basilia attempted to anoint and dress the deep cuts to his hands. At first, he resisted us both, but finally what little strength he had summoned was exhausted and he lay limp, staring blankly up into the dark shadows beneath the thatch, allowing us to move his limbs as if he had already passed from life to death. I winced for him as Basilia tried to close the wounds. How he could have had the willpower to keep pushing the knife handle into the crack while the blade sliced so deeply into his palms and fingers, I do not know, but he had lived constantly in such agony that perhaps he had barely registered this fresh pain.

  Finally, Basilia forced a hollow horn between his lips, and tipped a sleeping draught into his mouth. He swallowed it. He no longer had the will to resist. Tears ran down the creases at the corners of his eyes, but they were not tears born of pain.

  When the patients had finally settled quietly in their beds, I walked softly from the hall. Cosmas had been helped to bed and lay exactly where he had been put, but he was not asleep. He, too, lay staring up into the cavern of the roof above his bed. Firelight danced in his crow-black eyes. Did the child ever sleep?

  It was only as I reached the door that the shock and horror of what Sebastian had tried to do fully engulfed me, and with it came such an utter weariness that I wasn’t sure if my legs would bear me long enough to reach my chamber. For eight long years I had prayed that Sebastian would be healed, if not his body then at least that the torment of his poor mind would ease and he would stop reliving the horrors. But his despair was greater than ever. I felt as if a knife was being twisted inside my own chest knowing that he was in such agony of spirit he’d been driven to attempt such a terrible sin, one that would send him straight to the torments of Hell. He was so desperate to escape his own self, his own life, and I was powerless to ease that pain. Bile burned my throat, as I realised what he had been begging me to do the day the birds had mobbed the priory. He’d wanted me to help him end it then, but I had not listened, not heard him. I should have warned Basilia what he might try to do. I should have kept him safe.

  I shivered as I shuffled outside. In my haste, I had not stopped to collect my cloak, and the wind cut wet and sharp through my kirtle. The courtyard was almost in darkness now. Most of the torches had burned away, and I had to tread carefully for fear of tripping. My foot sank into a deep, icy puddle I hadn’t seen, and I cursed beneath my breath.

  I was watching the ground so carefully I didn’t notice the figure emerge from the doorway of the guest chamber until he was almost upon me.

  ‘I trust the man is sleeping now?’

  ‘Brother Nicholas! I thought you had retired long since. Yes, he is quiet.’

  ‘But for how long? Our infirmaries, Prioress, are intended for those who are sick to have a place of rest and solace until they are well enough to leave. They are not fitting places for the mad or possessed. Next time it might be a child or even one of your sisters who is stabbed. Even cripples can summon surprising strength when they are seized by a fit of madness or by a demon, as you yourself discovered this night. Why has he not been moved to a monastery where there are monks with the strength and skill to deal with such unfortunates?’

  ‘Sebastian is content here. He knows us now. It would distress him to live among strangers. We can care for him as well as any monastery,’ I added firmly. I tried to step around Nicholas. ‘You will excuse me, Brother, I am weary and in need of my bed.’

  But the knight moved swiftly to block my way.

  ‘Evidently Sebastian is neither content and nor can you care for him, if he was attempting to commit the unforgivable sin of self-murder to get away from this place.’

  His words struck me like a blow to the stomach for they cut too near the truth. I had failed Sebastian.

  I swallowed hard, grateful that it was too dark for Nicholas to see my face. ‘Sebastian is tormented by night terrors. Sometimes the dark shadow of them pursues him even into his waking hours and he cannot shake off his melancholy. But, in future, we will ensure no knives are left within his reach.’

  ‘Next time it might be poison, or hanging. There are a hundred ways a man might kill himself if he is not restrained. But there are those monks who devote themselves to caring for the possessed. They can bind him or shackle him in a cell where he can do no harm to himself or others. They can use whips and all manner of mortifications of the flesh to drive the demons out. Who knows? They may succeed in restoring him.’

  It was all I could do to stop myself slapping Nicholas. ‘He is not possessed! And he will be cared for here!’

  Sebastian already suffered agony night and day, and this knight of our compassionate order was suggesting that more should be inflicted on him! I knew what they did to those they believed possessed. They suspended them in baskets over their dining tables to torment them with the sight and smell of food while denying them even a crust. They ducked them repeatedly in icy water until they almost drowned, and flogged them mercilessly so that the demons would flee their poor bodies. But they would have to hack their way through my body if they wanted to take Sebastian and subject him to that.

  Nicholas pressed closer to me in the darkened courtyard, peering down into my face. ‘But I am curious, Prioress. Why do you insist on keeping this particular man here in the order’s infirmary? Why is it that when he becomes agitated it is you they fetch to calm him? I think, for once, you spoke the truth when you said he is not possessed. I have seen those like him before, broken in mind and in body. I know what the Holy Inquisition can do to a man.’

  I’d been cold standing out in that courtyard, but the icy chill that enveloped me now came not from the bitter wind but from fear. ‘You are mistaken,’ I protested, trying to keep my voice low and even. ‘The poor man has been crippled from birth. You’ve seen for yourself how wasted and twisted his limbs are. He cannot walk.’

  ‘Few can, after oil and flames have been applied to the soles of their feet. I saw his sca
rs. But Sebastian can consider himself fortunate. I hear there have been those whose bones have dropped out of their feet, when the torture has been applied too enthusiastically. As for his limbs – I suspect they were damaged on the rack or perhaps the strappado, if weights were also employed.’

  Nicholas’s tone was as cold and dispassionate as if he was talking about carving up the carcass of a hog instead of the agonies inflicted by the Holy Church on living men.

  ‘The Inquisition serves Christ to root out heretics, Prioress Johanne. If Sebastian has indeed enjoyed their hospitality and survived, it can only mean that he has confessed to heresy. The guilt of his sin is what troubles his conscience and makes him cry out in his sleep, and the abject shame of his betrayal of Our Lord is what has driven him to try to take his own life, as Judas did.’

  Nicholas glanced at the infirmary casement, then returned his gaze to me. His eyes glittered like wet granite in the light of the one torch that still burned.

  ‘I believe you know exactly what manner of man you are harbouring in there. That’s why you don’t want him moved, for fear others will discover his guilt. You are sheltering a heretic, Prioress Johanne. Now, why would you do such a thing unless, of course, you yourself share those same vile beliefs? It seems those frogs were a sign from God, after all. They were sent to expose the foul corruption and sin that lies in the heart of this priory. And I will not ignore God’s warning. No sister, servant or patient will be spared if they are infected by this evil. Mark me well, Sister Johanne. I will see that every putrid canker in this priory is cut out and burned.’

  Chapter 40

  Sorrel

  My first thought, as I crossed the rise at the top of the tinners’ valley, had been to make for Fire Tor. It was a good shelter and I could make a fire, if Morwen had left wood enough, for my flint and steel were always in the purse at my belt. But the closer I got, the more I began to fear Kendra might have put a spell on the cave to stop me going in or that she might even be lying in wait for me inside.