by Mary Bale
Sybil certainly had a motive to be involved in the wanton destruction of an honour to the Conqueror, with her disinherited family. Leofgyth herself had been unhappy about the unworthiness of the enterprise, but could this open, chatty, friendly, young woman be able to hide such a thing. She doubted it.
And what of Sister Winifred, Prioress Ursula’s chosen successor and her friend Aelfgyth. Was their closeness and constant whispering a sign of duplicity? She realised Sister Hilda was watching her, so she dropped her forehead down onto the steeple of her middle fingers and joined in with the prayers. She included little Eric in her thoughts and wished she could arrange to see him more.
As they filed out of the church Sister Aelfgyth approached Therese. ‘I wonder if you could collect the eggs from the garden, Sister?’ she asked. ‘I left them there this morning and forgot to bring them up for the kitchen.’
‘Of course, Sister,’ said Therese. She half-hoped that Aelfgyth was going to make a clandestine meeting with her at the dovecot. She hoped Leofgyth had told her of her interest and that she might have something important to tell her, but all she found was the basket of eggs. She picked it up and took it back up the garden through the entrance between the chapter house and the infirmary, down the corridor into the cloisters and making her way to the tower at the southwest corner. When Therese reached the daylight of the kitchen yard on the far side of the tower she found the yard full of children playing and doing small tasks such as tying bundles of kindling and fetching small logs for the kitchen fires.
Sister Agnes was playing skittles with one boy and when he turned round and winked at her, she saw he was Eric.
‘They belong to the servants,’ said Agnes, embracing the yard with a sweeping wave of her arms. ‘Except this one.’
‘That’s…’
‘I know. He told me. He just appeared. Children need fresh air. One of the women says she’ll take him home and look after him. She’s one of the builder’s wives living up on the encampment. He’ll go today so you’d better have a word with him. He knows he’s going.’
Therese sat down on the woodpile and called him over. He sat next to her. She let him speak first.
‘You know that hole I’ve been living in?’ he asked.
She nodded. It had clearly been too much to ask a six-year-old boy to stay there. She was relieved Sister Agnes had arranged new lodgings for him. ‘How did you get out without help?’
‘I can get out all right. I just jumped, but I can’t get back in on my own.’ He wriggled excitedly. ‘But that’s not the point, Sister.’ He managed an expression of seriousness worthy of the oldest nun in the Priory as he continued, ‘That hole goes into a bit like a hayloft. A kind of floor at the top of a room. And there’s stuff stored in there. There’s even steps down into the room and there’s more stuff stored in that bit too. The room has a window. It’s covered over, but I took a peek through.’
‘You could have been seen.’
‘It was only a peek, no one would have had a chance to see me. Anyway, aren’t you interested?’
‘Yes, of course I am!’ Therese patted his arm. ‘What sort of stuff is stored there?’
‘Cloth, all embroidered. It is beautiful. There are piles of it covered with plain sheets. They’re really dusty. I sneezed when I pulled them back to take a look. The dust just whooshed up.’
‘You must have drawn back the window covering to see all this.’ Therese was trying to put together what she already knew with Eric’s information.
‘Well, yes, of course. But it doesn’t matter.’
Lots of her wild thoughts fell together as neatly as psalms in a psalter. ‘Oh my,’ said Therese. She was not concerned that Eric’s hiding place might be found for he would no longer be there. But surely, the other panels of the embroidery must be hidden there? Even though everyone was under the impression that they’d been removed under heavy-armed guard, and yet, could that have been an elaborate hoax? Surely, leaving the panels here unguarded was crazy? But a secret room? Who else would know of it and had Eric’s actions led to others discovering it? ‘Eric, is there a door to this room?’
‘Yes, it goes through the wall on the far end. I tried it but it wouldn’t open.’
This must lead through to the sewing room, behind the wood screen the stitchers used to place their threads and needles, she decided. How easily doorways could be hidden as Sister Miriam had shown her at home in Bayeux. ‘Has any of this material been damaged?’ she asked Eric.
‘I haven’t done anything to them.’ He drew himself up with indignation.
‘I was not accusing you of damaging them,’ said Therese, ‘but someone else could have.’
‘Only if they know about them,’ said Eric. ‘No,’ he added. ‘They have not been damaged and no one has been in that room except for me since I arrived.’
She hugged Eric’s shoulders. ‘Be good and happy at your new place. At least you can see it is not right for you here.’
‘If I don’t like it,’ said Eric, ‘I’ll be back. Michael left me in your care, remember.’
Therese smiled uncertainly. ‘Tell no one about your hiding place, Eric.’
‘I won’t,’ he replied.
Agnes called, ‘Sister Therese,’ from the kitchen door and she left him with a wave. Agnes drew her in to the hot shade of the cooking room.
‘The eggs,’ she said loudly, ‘are a particular favourite with Bishop Gundulf, the architect.’
‘I’ve heard of him. The monk, Richard of Caen, mentioned his name.’ Therese grasped the charade, but wasn’t sure why they were behaving like this in front of the servants.
Agnes picked up the egg basket. ‘You must take this back. It’s stored with the garden equipment.’ She tilted it so Therese could see the scrap of bark in the bottom with a name written on it. She read it and Agnes said, ‘You won’t need this,’ and flicked it into the fire.
Therese blinked as the heat of the burning material reached her eyes. There had been one word there, ‘Hilda’, preceded by the letter ‘S’ for Sister.
* * *
In a wood just south of Canterbury Eleanor wrapped the towel around her shoulders and sat on the stump in front of Ursula. Ursula wiped the last tear away and sniffed.
‘We’ll get Alfred out one way or another,’ she said with a defiant toss of her head. ‘Your journey to Dover was not really wasted. At least we know where we stand.’
‘But it has delayed me. And I have lied about Sister Therese to Bishop Odon. And I worry about her so.’
‘She’s a canny lass. Trust her,’ advised Ursula trimming the hair on the nape of Eleanor’s neck.
‘Watch what you are doing with those scissors,’ advised Eleanor. ‘I agreed to come out here to be turned into a monk, not to have my throat cut.’
‘I shall have to use a blade for the tonsure.’
‘Have you used one before?’ Eleanor was nervous enough without this. She felt her dignity had been removed with her veil.
‘Fortitude, Abbess. You have to look like a monk, if you are going to live with them. And, yes I have. I used to shave my father.’
‘Anglo-Saxons wore beards and long hair, everyone knows that.’
‘Not all Anglo-Saxons,’ said Ursula defiantly. ‘Sit still.’
Eleanor watched hanks of her greying hair fall among the fronds of new growth reaching through the leaf litter of the woodland floor. The cold blade swept over the crown of her head. She stood up and shook the cloth around her shoulders and her clothing.
‘Here,’ said Ursula handing her a monk’s garb.
Eleanor changed behind some bushes. Being very slim made it easy to hide any feminine curves, and she felt quite pleased with the over-all effect. She returned to Ursula and handed over her nun’s habit.
‘Now, I have your letter. The monk who did this is a craftsman. No one will know it’s not from a Norman Abbot.’
‘Do you think the Archbishop’s clerk, Brother David, will recognise me.’
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‘I do not recognise you. And certainly not in a monk’s habit. You need to lower your voice a little. You need to sound just a little bit more manly.’
‘How’s this?’ asked Eleanor lowering her voice. The tensions broke through and Ursula giggled. ‘This is serious,’ Eleanor complained, and she started to giggle too. After a few moments and once a small tear of mirth had been wiped away, she said, ‘Ursula, pull yourself together.’
‘Yes, Abbess,’ said Ursula pulling her rough kitchen servant’s clothing straight.
‘My letter is even sealed,’ said Eleanor, wondering at how much forgery this monk did. ‘You keep some strange friends, Ursula.’
The former Prioress stiffened. ‘I have to,’ she said.
And Eleanor looked away from her old friend. They had always spoken together as equals despite Eleanor’s higher rank, but now she felt Ursula to be of higher rank than her in the art of watching without being seen.
‘You will keep your ears open for news of me?’ she asked Ursula.
‘A new monk at Christ Church Abbey? I will know when you go to the lower dorter before you even take a pee.’
‘Such Anglo-Saxon crudity,’ replied Eleanor and Ursula laughed.
‘Turn round and let me inspect you,’ said Ursula.
By the time Eleanor turned back Ursula was frowning. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.
In reply Ursula reached into a bag that she’d brought with her and pulled out a pair of socks.
‘Monks don’t wear those things,’ observed Eleanor.
‘They were good enough for the Roman legions over here in Britain, they will have to suit you. Your feet will give you away. No man has such dainty toes.’
Eleanor took them and, in return, handed Ursula Odon’s ring. ‘You will need to be me, at least as far as St Augustine’s. Once you are in my room feign illness. You can then become yourself again and state that I wish you and only you to serve me as I have developed a slight fever following my trip to Dover.’
‘You are getting the idea of this lark, aren’t you?’ said Ursula clapping her hands in delight. ‘Brother James of Caen.’
‘Ursula, if we are caught this will not seem such a lark.’ Eleanor leaned forward and gripped the tops of her friend’s arms and gave her a little shake. ‘Use the ring to get help if anything goes wrong. Promise me.’
‘I promise,’ said Ursula her eyes steadying as Eleanor gazed into them. A rumble of wheels on the track nearby caught Ursula’s attention. ‘Your wagon is here Brother James,’ she called loudly.
Eleanor took her leave and mounted the driving bench without being offered help by the driver. She looked back towards the woods but could not see Ursula. Shortly afterwards the wagon was overtaken by a nun on Abbot Scotland’s pony. She put her hand up in acknowledgement. Odon’s ring flashed in the sunlight, but the rider did not stop. Eleanor thought Ursula’s salute a shade brash compared to her own dignified style.
Chapter 12
Therese swept the sewing room with Sister Hilda supervising her. Over the last few days this had become the pattern of her work as Sister Gertrude was resting some bruising in the infirmary. Therese remembered the incident, and blamed herself. It had been a combination of Gertrude’s keenness to get to the refectory and her own slowness to remove her broom from her path. When she’d visited Gertrude in the infirmary she seemed well pleased with her lot and so she felt less guilty for arranging the change in cleaning partner.
The first time Hilda had been quiet and strict with her. Therese had been aware of her sharp features and steely blue eyes. But the second time she had smiled and her features had softened as she talked about her brothers and sisters, all older than herself and with families and farming land not far from the Priory. Now on their third turn together Hilda was chatting freely about the different threads and stitches employed in the panel. But still Therese hadn’t seen it.
Hilda ran her fingers along the edge of the workbench. ‘The story of William Duke of Normandy’s succession to the English throne,’ she said proudly, and she bit her lower lip. It was clear she knew she’d said too much.
Therese caught her glance and steadied her with her own searching gaze. ‘May I see the panel?’ she asked.
‘I will show you a small piece. We will not need any more embroiderers now. We have nearly finished.’ She lifted a corner of the protective cloth and exposed a Norman knight on his horse. Therese wanted to touch the bright threads, but did not. She feasted her eyes on the small neat stitches filling in the colours.
There were footfalls in the corridor so Hilda pulled the cloth back over the work. They returned to their task as Prioress Ethelburga entered.
‘Sisters!’ It was almost a growl. ‘Your tardiness is sinful, as you will make us all late for vespers. I want to get locked up here.’
‘Yes, Prioress,’ the two young women chimed, but as soon as she was gone they smothered their giggles.
‘She sounded like my brother’s dog,’ said Hilda, and they both lapsed into laughter.
* * *
In prayers Therese realised how easily she’d become friends with Leofgyth and now with Hilda. And yet there was the warning in the egg basket about Hilda. She did not want any of them to be guilty of betrayal. The nuns’ voices were lifting and falling with the cadences of the psalm they were singing and she found she loved her sisters. If she were to single one of these women out, it would be she who would feel the traitor.
But Hilda’s jovial demeanour had changed after a few moments of singing. She looked uncomfortable and during their meal afterwards in the refectory she picked at her fish. Therese liked perch and tucked in. She was hungry but her Norman priory upbringing helped her to retain some of her table manners. She paused to take a sip of water and observe Hilda. Hilda noticed her looking and she returned to her beaker.
After compline the nuns settled down in the dorter and readied themselves for sleep. Therese had been enjoying her sleep since Eric went to live in the builders’ camp so she took off her outer garments ready to settle onto her straw mattress in her chemise. She noticed, however, that Hilda did not remove her outer clothing, just her veil as she pulled her bed covers over her. This was just as Therese had done on the nights she’d been up in the night. She put her hand out and dragged her habit under the blankets with her. In the dying light the others were only interested in their own slumbers and she was sure her and Hilda’s actions had gone unnoticed.
Therese slipped her tunic back on and waited for any sound of Hilda rising. She did not have to wait long. She was soon aware that Hilda was making her way to the stairway into the church so she followed. She’d become almost expert at gliding noiselessly over the floorboards. On entering the church she paused behind the choir and looked for Hilda. She could not see her, but she could hear her at the back of the church, near the temporary wall. She remembered her own feet making dusty footprints there and realised why no one had seen them: someone else had been there and swept them away – and that someone was Hilda. Therese moved closer hiding behind an altar screen.
Now the virgin moonlight in the eastern sky highlighted Hilda through the window above the altar. She was lifting the door hanging. Therese heard a brick slide out of place and then slide back. She leapt from her hiding place, bounded down the aisle and caught Hilda’s wrist.
Hilda turned away from the door to look at the person who’d arrested her, but Therese was looking at the hand she gripped firmly. A small pottery bottle stained with ink was clasped between her fingers.
‘Why do you have this ink bottle, Sister?’ asked Therese in a hushed but angry voice.
‘Don’t be a hero, Sister Therese. This has nothing to do with you.’
‘It seems you have something you wish to hide?’ Therese gave the young woman’s wrist a little shake and the bottle slipped from her fingers into Therese’s other hand, which she held underneath ready.
‘This isn’t as it seems. Believe me.’
�
��Tell me what it is, and I might believe you.’
‘This is the inkbottle that was used to try and destroy the panel in the sewing room. You must have heard about the incident from the others?’
‘Some rumours have it that there was no ink: that the deaf nun wasn’t deaf and that she and Prioress Ursula were fighting with each other; that they were together in the plot and somehow came to blows. They fought and fell from the tower.’
‘There is,’ said Hilda, ‘another version of the story. The true one. If I tell you, this must go no further or I will be finished here.’
‘Who am I to tell anyone?’ asked Therese.
‘I don’t know who you are, but I know you are Norman.’
Therese nodded. ‘Hurry, tell me, before we are found down here.’
Still a little reluctantly Hilda continued, ‘I heard shouts so I went back to the sewing room, but Prioress Ursula and the deaf girl had already left. I was the first one back. I could hear them in the tower. There was ink everywhere and there was this inkbottle in the middle of the floor. Sister Ethelburga, as she was then, came in behind me. She told me to pick it up and hide it. We didn’t know the Prioress was about to fall to her death. Sister Ethelburga said that if I did as she said when she was Prioress she would make me head of the needle workers. She wanted to discredit Prioress Ursula. And, God forgive me, I took it and hid it. Sister Ethelburga locked the room and when Prioress Ursula was found dead she had the room cleaned. Some of the floorboards were planed and some had to be replaced. The carpenter was dismissed shortly afterwards.’
‘Did you not feel this was wrong, Sister Hilda?’
‘I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. I went to Sister Ethelburga and said to her that she didn’t need to discredit Prioress Ursula now that she was dead, and she pointed out that Sister Winifred would be likely to get the post and anyway my hands were stained with ink. She said she would expose me as one of the traitors. What could I do?’
