by Candace Robb
Joanna nodded.
‘And a cut beside your mouth?’
A shrug.
‘All from the fall?’
Another shrug.
Lucie patted Joanna’s hand. ‘You can help me, if you will. I am not a physician, so I may miss something. If my touch hurts you, makes you uncomfortable in any way, please tell me.’
‘Your touch is gentle, Mistress Wilton.’
Lucie wondered what all this talk of Joanna’s state of mind was about. So far only the woman’s inattention when Lucie first opened the curtain had been odd.
‘I must lift your shift. Will you help me?’ Lucie touched an end of the shawl.
Joanna grabbed it away from Lucie and unwound it, pulling it out from under her, carefully tucking it beside her. ‘You must not touch it.’
‘Is there anything else I must not touch?’
Joanna shook her head, then arched her body so Lucie could pull up the shift.
Joanna’s feet and legs had the cuts, scratches, and bruises of an active child. The bottoms of her feet had healing sores, obviously already tended by the infirmaress at St Clement’s or at Nunburton. Nothing unusual. She was missing a toe on her left foot, but it was an old injury. Still, it might be important.
‘How did you lose this toe?’
‘Frostbite.’
‘How long ago?’
Joanna shrugged. ‘A few years.’
Lucie found that quite plausible. Joanna’s torso was bruised and scratched, but none of the marks were surprising.
Around Joanna’s neck was a medal. ‘This is pretty.’ Lucie lifted it.
Joanna grabbed it from Lucie, holding it protectively in her cupped hand.
Lucie thought it best not to comment, just stick to her task. ‘Please turn over on your stomach.’
Joanna did so.
Here were puzzling injuries. Patches of scabbed abrasions, some still tender scars, yellowing bruises, almost gone. ‘How did you come by the cuts and bruises on your back?’
‘I am clumsy.’
Lucie doubted that was the cause. It was unlikely that her clumsiness would make her fall backwards rather than forwards. ‘They look almost healed.’ She pressed the worst spot gently. ‘Does this hurt?’
‘Pain purifies me.’
Wulfstan had warned Lucie that Joanna spoke thus. ‘You may pull down your shift.’
Joanna pulled it down slowly, as if even this movement exhausted her.
‘May I see your arms?’
Joanna pushed up her sleeves.
‘So many cuts and scratches,’ Lucie murmured. ‘You have not been living a life of ease recently.’
Joanna suddenly pressed Lucie’s hand and looked earnestly into her eyes. ‘He was so kind. I thought he loved me.’
Lucie stared at Joanna, puzzled by the shift in mood. ‘Who, Joanna?’ She tried not to sound too eager.
Tears shimmered in the lovely green eyes. ‘How could I have been so fooled?’ Joanna dug her nails into Lucie’s hand.
‘Who fooled you?’
But the moment died. Joanna withdrew her hand, turned her head aside. ‘I should be dead,’ she said in a matter of fact tone.
Lucie studied the tear-streaked face, the eyes staring blankly at the curtain. ‘Why is that?’
‘I am cursed.’
‘By whom?’
‘God.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘The Blessed Virgin Mary told me.’
‘Then why were you given the great honour of resurrection?’
Joanna closed her eyes.
Lucie pressed a discoloured spot on Joanna’s left shoulder. Joanna jerked. ‘This hurts, doesn’t it?’
‘A little. It aches.’
‘Someone wrenched your arm out of the joint, I think.’
Joanna stared at Lucie as if willing her to go away.
‘It is difficult to do that with a fall.’
The staring eyes blinked, betrayed by tears.
‘And difficult, if not impossible, to pull back yourself. Was your arm useless for long?’
Joanna forced her eyes wide, trying to deny the tears.
Lucie dabbed at the tears already fallen. ‘I am finished. I will tell Brother Wulfstan what I’ve found. Trust him. He is a kind, skilled healer.’
Joanna thrust out her hand, clutching Lucie’s wrist. ‘I am not to be healed.’ Now her eyes, still wet, beseeched Lucie.
What on earth was she to make of this young woman? Not to be healed? ‘Why? Because of what you did? Running away, stealing the relic, arranging a funeral? Is that why you must do penance?’
‘I am cursed.’ Joanna emphasised each word, though her voice still held no emotion.
Lucie pulled her hand from Joanna’s grasp, smoothed the pale red strands from the woman’s brow. ‘God be with you, Joanna.’ She closed the curtains and stood quietly for a moment, collecting her thoughts. As she moved towards the door, Dame Isobel stood.
‘Joanna responded well to you, Mistress Wilton. You seemed to have a calming effect on her.’
‘She seems more secretive than agitated.’
Dame Isobel shook her head. ‘No. She is different with you. When I ask questions, she becomes disturbed and incoherent. She answered your questions.’
Lucie found Isobel’s round, unlined, moon-pale face unnerving. Ageless. As if the girl Lucie remembered had merely grown larger, taller, but had not matured. ‘Joanna answered some of my questions. But she hardly gave me useful answers.’
Isobel looked down at her folded hands, back up to Lucie’s face with meek eyes. ‘His Grace the Archbishop wants me to interrogate Joanna, find out what I can about what has happened to her. Would you help me?’
Coming to Brother Wulfstan’s aid was one thing, but to help Dame Isobel … They had not been friends at the convent. And last summer Owen had told Lucie that Isobel was much to blame in this present case, that she had kept Joanna’s disappearance a secret, being relieved to be rid of the strange young woman. ‘I am a busy woman, Reverend Mother. I have little time to spare.’
‘Forgive me.’ Isobel bowed her head and stepped aside. ‘God go with you, Mistress Wilton. Thank you for coming today.’
Lucie found Wulfstan waiting anxiously in the corridor. She told him what she had found, the chipped tooth, the healing eye, the shoulder, the other inconsequential cuts, scrapes, bruises. And the almost healed abrasions and deep bruises on her back. ‘I do not know what to make of them. Her explanation was that she is clumsy. An odd sort of clumsiness, always to land on her back.’ As Lucie voiced the thought, she blushed, hearing echoes of jokes about women who conduct their business on their backs.
Brother Wulfstan did not seem to notice Lucie’s discomfort. ‘Clumsy, yet no serious wounds or broken bones.’ He sighed. ‘So it is her soul, not her body that requires our help.’
Lucie forced herself to concentrate on Wulfstan’s concerns. ‘She will be a difficult patient. She believes God means her to offer up her pains as penance, and that she is meant to die soon.’
Wulfstan looked unhappy. ‘I understand she has had a vision about this.’
‘She says the Blessed Virgin Mary guides her. Do you believe she had a vision, Brother Wulfstan?’
He lifted his hands, palms up, shrugged. ‘How can we ever know? But in my heart I think it more likely she had a nightmare, a fever dream.’ He shook his head, sighed. ‘Did she say aught about her – Sweet Jesu, it sticks in my throat – resurrection?’ He winced on the last word.
Lucie gently touched his cheek. ‘No. When I mentioned it she said nothing.’
‘What of the mantle? What had she to say of that?’
‘Only that we are not to touch it.’
Wulfstan sighed. ‘Put your feelings aside and tell me, do you think the child can distinguish visions from dreams?’
‘I cannot tell. She says pain purifies her. She claims to be cursed. We have all heard such things before. If only her visions were more unu
sual. But even then, she might simply be a good storyteller.’ Lucie found it frustrating. ‘There are questions she will not answer, but I did not think that strange. Perhaps in time she will trust us and speak more freely.’
Wulfstan took Lucie’s hands. ‘You have been most generous with your time, Lucie. I am grateful. You have had better luck than most who have spoken with her. She babbled to me about stars winking out and much other gibberish I could not understand.’
Lucie squeezed his hands affectionately. ‘I am happy to have been of help to you, my friend. But now I must get back.’
Wulfstan nodded. ‘God bless you for coming. When does Owen return?’
‘Perhaps tonight, for a short while, and then he will be gone again. Unfortunately, Sir Robert D’Arby comes later this week to stay while Owen is in Pontefract.’
Wulfstan searched Lucie’s face. ‘Your father?’
Lucie nodded wearily. ‘Aunt Phillippa told him I am with child.’
‘You –’ Brother Wulfstan’s face lit up. ‘May our Heavenly Mother protect you.’ He made the sign of the cross over her. ‘How wonderful. It is a kind gesture on your father’s part, to keep you company.’
Lucie rubbed her eyes, suddenly tired. ‘It is foolish and useless. What does he know of my life? What does he know of me?’
Wulfstan put a hand on Lucie’s shoulder, waited until she met his eyes. Hers shimmered with stubborn, angry tears. ‘He made a long pilgrimage to the Holy Land to ask God’s forgiveness for what happened to your mother. I am certain that God forgave him. Why can you not try?’
Lucie looked into Wulfstan’s sad eyes. She wanted to beg his forgiveness for distressing him, but she could not help how she felt. ‘It is not so easy.’
Brother Wulfstan gave her a little hug. ‘You are a sensible woman, Lucie. You will do what is right.’
She took a deep breath, calming her warring emotions. ‘I shall go about my business as usual.’
‘You must take care of yourself.’
Lucie relaxed, seeing Wulfstan did not mean to argue. ‘Magda Digby and Bess Merchet are watching me closely. You need not worry.’
Wulfstan pretended to be shocked. ‘Magda Digby, the Riverwoman? Could you not find a Christian midwife?’
‘Magda brought me and so many other citizens of this city into this world, Brother Wulfstan. God guides her, no matter what she calls Him.’
Wulfstan tucked his hands in his sleeves, gave her a little bow. ‘Well, she will have Bess to answer to if aught goes wrong. And myself. And Owen.’
They moved outside into the bright June sunshine, Joanna forgotten for the moment.
Five
The Watcher
Orchards surrounded St Clement’s, leafy and alive with bird song. But Alfred grumbled.
‘Where are the apples, that’s what I’d like to know.’
Archbishop Thoresby, frustrated that Alfred and Colin had watched St Clement’s for two days without sighting the watcher, had ordered them to the nunnery at first light this morning, so early that they had not had time to break their fast.
Colin laughed. ‘Too early for fruit. When have you eaten a fresh apple before midsummer?’
‘Can’t say I notice when I eat what.’
‘Didn’t you have fruit trees as a lad? Don’t you look around you?’
‘I’m not partial to trees and such. Just what comes off them.’
‘And I suppose you’re proud of that.’
‘What’s a soldier want with such things?’
‘It’s civilised to notice such things.’
‘I notice people is what I notice. And I’ve noticed that character pass the priory gate twice this morning.’ A stocky man in a russet cloak stained by travel. As the day warmed, he had removed the cloak and wide-brimmed hat. His clothes were those of a modest merchant. His balding head was tanned and weathered.
‘So have I. And I notice when I eat what, too.’
‘So does that make you a scholar?’
Colin jabbed Alfred in the stomach. ‘Course not.’
‘He’s eyeing the damage on the north wall, seeing whether he can scale it quickly, I’ll wager. Look!’ The man was indeed examining the height of the crumbling wall. ‘He’s our man or I’m King of France.’
‘Lord help ’em over there, he’d best be our man.’ Colin hooted.
Alfred rolled his eyes. ‘Calm yourself,’ he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. ‘We must approach this cutthroat with caution.’
‘I doubt he’s a cutthroat. Look at him. Clothes dusty from travel, but decent clothes, all the same. Clean shaven.’
‘What’s he doing lurking round a convent, then?’ Alfred demanded.
‘You should need no help guessing what a man might want in a convent.’
‘Look at the dagger he wears at his waist.’
‘He’d be a fool to travel without one.’
‘You’re becoming a regular Captain Archer.’
‘Wouldn’t I like that? Pretty wife, nice house, an adventure now and then with enough danger to keep life interesting. I wouldn’t say no to the captain’s lot in life.’
‘Don’t go poking your eye out to wear a patch.’ Colin groaned. ‘Shall we approach the man?’
‘Lead on, Captain.’
‘God speed, stranger,’ Colin called out.
The man backed away from the crumbling wall. ‘God be with you two gentlemen.’
‘You seem uncommonly interested in that wall, stranger,’ Colin said.
‘I thought I might find work fixing it.’
‘You’re a stonemason, then? You don’t wear the guild badge.’
The man looked uneasy. ‘I have done nothing wrong. Nor shall I.’
Colin glanced over at Alfred. Alfred nodded. ‘Glad we are that you mean no harm, stranger. And His Grace the Archbishop will be glad of it when you tell him so.’
Colin gave a little bow. ‘If you will allow us to escort you.’
The stranger frowned. ‘What is the need? I have told you I mean harm to no one.’
Alfred grinned. ‘Then you have nothing to fear.’
The stranger looked from one to the other. ‘I have no choice in this?’
Colin and Alfred exchanged glances. Shall we seize him?
The stranger sighed. ‘I shall come peacefully.’
They led him away from St Clement’s, past the comfortable houses and orchards facing the city walls, and re-entered the city through the gate by the Old Baile. As they headed down Skeldergate toward Ouse Bridge, the stranger asked, ‘Is there no other route?’
‘’Tis the straightest route to the minster close,’ Colin said. ‘What do you fear?’
The stranger said nothing, but just beyond Kirk Lane he began glancing behind him every few steps.
Alfred and Colin began to check their backs, too. But the trouble appeared before them, four men blocking their way, shadowy figures standing with legs apart, arms folded. Their message was clear. The stranger gave a cry and took off down an alley, in the direction of the river.
Alfred and Colin hesitated. Neither was familiar with this part of the city.
Colin put his hand to the knife hidden beneath his jerkin and said quietly, ‘Could be a blind alley, and he’s going to turn and fight. But he did not seem pleased to see these gentlemen.’
‘He might be a good actor, leading us into an ambush,’ Alfred said.
‘And while we’re arguing, it might not be a blind alley and he’s got away.’
Alfred groaned. ‘What about turning back?’
Colin glanced round. There were now several men at their backs. ‘No choice, I’m afraid.’
With a nod, they took off after the runaway. The others pounded after them.
The alley was narrow and dark. The second storey of the house on their left jutted out to touch the one-storey roof of the building across from it. Odd to find a city street so deserted in late morning, so quiet but for the rats rustling through debris in the shadows
. A baby cried somewhere ahead. The two men groped their way along, coming once more into sickly day-light, a house to one side, a high fence to the other. Alfred and Colin kept alert to all sounds and shadows, but their prey eluded them.
‘I don’t see light ahead,’ Alfred whispered.
‘So we’re coming up on a bend. Is there a straight alley in all York?’ Colin was as nervous as his mate, but they must go on, they would be fools to turn back into the arms of their pursuers. It was so dark he had to listen for Alfred’s whereabouts. They passed under more jutting second and third storeys. A sound of water lapping. The river was close.
But instead of the riverbank they encountered a stone wall.
‘Devil take you, I was right!’ Alfred hissed.
Colin had no time to answer. From behind came the sound of knives and swords being drawn, a hissed command. Alfred and Colin drew their daggers and turned to face the attackers side by side. Colin squinted, trying to make out the wavering shadows. He felt Alfred stiffen, then thrust, heard steel against steel. Alfred shouted, then fell away from Colin. They lost contact.
Colin lashed out at the attackers in front of him. A dagger came close to his face, he parried and heard a grunt. Something fell by his feet. He stepped on it. Another shadow loomed, thrust. Colin felt a searing pain in his left arm. He struck out with his right, found nothing. His invisible assailant got him in the waist. He doubled over, but fought the pain to force himself back upright, only to have his right leg kicked out from under him. He went crashing down backwards on something warm and bony. Alfred, he guessed. Colin twisted himself round so his back would be to the attackers. He did not want someone going for his eyes or his throat. A blow to his head, then his back, left him blind and breathless. He panicked, unable to coordinate the muscles in his throat and chest to gulp in air. Jesu, forgive me my sins, he silently prayed as he passed out.
Lucie tapped her foot as she listened to old John Kendall describe the pains in his joints in minute detail. She had measured out his salves and powders and put them in his hands several limbs ago. But she could not bring herself to be unkind. He had lost his wife and a daughter to the floods last winter and Lucie pitied him.
