by Mary Bale
She was about to say that she undertook her training in Bayeux and realised that this would be a mistake as there would be immediate suspicions raised about her loyalty with the shadow of Bishop Odon cast across her Brother James persona. ‘I do not remember him in particular,’ she said instead.
‘You will have much to talk about. He will be here in a couple of days. I will arrange for you to sit close to each other at meal times so that afterwards you and Brother Richard will be able to talk. He will be most impressed to have the company of someone he has so much in common with.’
‘Yes, Brother David,’ said Eleanor, bowing this time so low he could not see her reddening neck and cheeks.
When Brother David had reached the doorway, Brother Matthew turned to her and said, ‘Two days.’
‘I know, I know,’ she snapped.
* * *
Odon embraced his nephew. It was good to hold young Robert de Curthose close to him. They broke apart and made their way up the embankment of the river at Dover docks.
‘Did you have a good journey?’ asked Odon.
‘Thank you, Uncle. All is well with me. The little sea was calm and we made good time.’
‘We will ride up to the castle. I’ve brought horses down for you and your men.’
‘You treat me well.’
‘Your mother favours you, even if your father does not,’ said Odon. ‘And I respect your mother. It is good to see you, but what brings you to England in such haste?’
‘I came as soon as I got your letter. Such rumours of my interference with the embroidery will do me no good.’
‘You did not need to come yourself,’ said Odon smiling upon his nephew. ‘Your written assurance would have been enough for me.’
‘I wanted to have confidence of your trust in me, Uncle.’
‘Of course I trust you, Robert. So much so I plan for you to take the embroidery back with me to Bayeux when it is finished. They are on the last panel and soon all will be ready.’
‘That will be a great honour, Uncle. Hopefully the King will be pleased with us for once.’
Odon laughed. ‘You might be right, but we shall have to wait and see.’
* * *
Although time passed slowly for Therese in St Thomas’s Priory she still felt that she must act quickly. There was no doubt that the last panel of the embroidery would soon be complete and if anyone was going to attack it here that must happen soon. She had yet to converse with Sybil. In fact, she was so quietly spoken, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever really heard her speak. And Therese doubted that she would be able to make a useful contact with her before the embroidery was removed without a little deviousness of her own. This morning she had an opportunity to lay some bait to tempt any Anglo-Saxon activists out into her view because she was following Aelfgyth down towards the dovecot. And Aelfgyth would be the carrier of that bait, hopefully to Sybil.
They passed the dovecot and went to the garden store. Aelfgyth’s small body wriggled into the crowded shed and brought out two egg baskets one of which, just days before, had been the bearer of that tiny note giving Hilda’s name. Therese had to be sure Aelfgyth had been the one who put it there, but she did not wish to give away that she’d acted upon it, so she said innocently, ‘I was interested in your note about Sister Hilda.’
‘I shouldn’t have sent it to you. Sister Leofgyth said you had talked of nothing but our little tragedy.’ Aelfgyth opened the dovecot door and went in.
Therese followed. The doves cooed in harmony around them as gentle as the sweet sound of Beatrice’s singing voice. ‘Just new girl curiosity,’ said Therese offering up one of the baskets for filling.
‘That won’t work with me. You are the only Norman here. A fact that has not exactly gone unnoticed. We thought you were checking on us so I threw you that name to see what you would do with it. But it is clear you are not as intent on pursuing the matter as we thought.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Therese. She was getting nearly as good as Sister Miriam at looking incredulous when inside her throat was tightening with fear. Her outward innocence betrayed nothing of her inner turmoil. She stood motionless with her basket outstretched.
‘I thought you would pursue Sister Hilda. But you clearly haven’t, or you would not be here now.’ Aelfgyth put a handful of eggs in the basket.
‘I’m sorry?’ asked Therese. The air was heavy with the scent of the birds.
‘Sister Hilda is an ambitious woman. If Sister Winifred had become Prioress and not Sister Ethelburga who do you think would have gained the position of leader in the sewing room?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘Yes. Me,’ said Aelfgyth hitching up her skirts and climbing the ladder to the higher roosts.
So Aelfgyth’s note had been passed to her not because of any real knowledge, but just because of spite caused by Ethelburga getting the position of Prioress.
‘Excuse me, Sister Aelfgyth, so why wouldn’t I be here now, if I’d gone after Sister Hilda?’
‘That’s obvious. Prioress Ethelburga would be rid of you as quickly as an egg falls to the ground from its nest.’ Aelfgyth demonstrated this effect by dropping one of the dove eggs. It broke open, yoke splattering the edge of Therese’s tunic.
‘And so why would Prioress Ethelburga know?’ Therese asked.
‘Prioress Ethelburga gave her the sewing room position. It is clear they are loyal to each other.’
She realised how little the nuns really knew of each other. They spoke in their own little groups but beyond that the extensive silences meant that they could easily keep their secrets hidden. Aelfgyth and the others had not received any sense of Hilda’s and Prioress Ethelburga’s relationship becoming strained. Therese let the conversation lapse for a few moments and then piped up with, ‘I find myself thinking about my identity. Who I am.’
‘That is natural. You have doubts about taking your vows?’
‘That as well, but it is my nationality that gives me my biggest problem. You said that the fact that I was a Norman was obvious.’
‘You are a Norman in England,’ confirmed Aelfgyth. ‘You are instantly higher in status than Anglo-Saxons. You will not have any problems in the church. Before you know it you will be a Prioress yourself.’
‘But that’s not the point I’m trying to make,’ said Therese. ‘I’m not Norman. I was born Anglo-Saxon and brought up by Normans in Normandy.’ For a moment she wasn’t sure if she felt a traitor or whether she felt liberated. She let it pass. In the darkness of the dovecot Aelfgyth would have difficulty reading her features, but she had to remain calm. She hoped she was the only one who could hear her heart thumping.
‘Well I never,’ said Aelfgyth as she came down the ladder. A cluster of feathers floated down with her. The delight in her voice was clear. Aelfgyth took the egg baskets from Therese, put them outside, took her by the hands and stood her out in the sunshine. She raised herself up on her tiptoes and took a good look at her face. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked. ‘You have Norman ways?’
‘I cannot help those,’ said Therese. ‘But in my chest beats an Anglo-Saxon heart.’
Aelfgyth smiled. ‘And your loyalties?’
‘My loyalties are not what they were. I find myself increasingly unable to decide. In fact I feel cheated out of my own nationality to the point where I want to actively support my fellow Anglo-Saxons.’ Therese was surprised at how much she agreed with her own words.
‘You are a dear child,’ said Aelfgyth dropping down from her toes. ‘You will find your way, I’m sure. Oh, and bring the eggs up to the kitchen for Sister Agnes.’
Therese watched the small figure almost bounce as she walked away and she thought that she’d laid the bait well. But if there really was an Anglo-Saxon plot here among the nuns, could she pluck it out – not only were these people her friends, but they were her countrywomen.
Chapter 15
A hearty breeze came off the sea and cooled Bishop Odon and his horse as he watched his knights and their mounts exercising on th
e downs. The sun glinted on their harness as they raced their animals at full tilt below him. A horse broke from the main group and galloped towards him. He recognised the familial red hair, which was sandier and less fiery on Robert than his brother, Rufus.
Robert de Curthose reined in his horse and bowed his head. Odon acknowledged his respect.
‘I have news,’ said Robert. ‘Edgar the Aethling has landed.’ His face was full of enthusiasm. It was no secret that Robert and the Aethling were – if not friends – aligned in their basic views.
‘This is a complication I could do without,’ complained Odon. ‘What is he doing here?’
‘He didn’t say.’ Robert sounded defensive.
‘Tell him to turn round and go back. England is not the place for him now.’
‘As England and Normandy are not the right places for me to be, Uncle?’ Robert said this with a flash of anger, which he clearly regretted almost instantly.
‘Edgar had to sign up to the inevitable power machine that is William the Conqueror. He was allocated lands on the continent to keep him out of England.’
‘He is not ambitious for himself,’ insisted Robert.
‘There is not a knight who is not ambitious for himself,’ warned Odon. ‘How do we know he has not been behind the attack on the embroidery?’
‘His allegiance is strong and he builds bridges between people. That is his nature. With his sister married to the King of Scotland, we must recognise him as a friend to keep the North quiet. How else will the Conqueror bring Wales into his fold? We cannot afford to be stretched on all fronts. You and I have both been up to the North to put down uprisings. I would not wish to do so again.’
‘It looks,’ said Odon, almost persuaded by his nephew to accept the inevitable, ‘that he is already here.’ For ascending the hill towards them was Edgar. He was ahead of two horsemen. But Odon was not happy. The Conqueror and his middle son, Rufus, would be suspicious of so many powerful men and allies gathering in Kent.
Edgar approached. He was dressed in the robes of an earl. His cloak was lined and clearly of the best material produced in Europe as were his breeches and the leather of his boots. But the colours were muted shades of green and brown, not the purples of aristocracy. He looked too Anglo-Saxon for Odon’s comfort.
Leading his retinue, the Aethling dismounted and bowed before them. Dark hair fell forward, far longer than the Norman fashion. He lifted his head. The boy had matured into an attractive man. He was about the same age as Robert Curthose. His even features, aquiline nose and fine bone structure were the picture of a well bred nobleman. In his manner Odon could also see the gentility of the Hungarian Court of his early childhood, and the solid bearing of the English court of King Edward from his youth.
‘My Lord, Earl of Kent,’ said Edgar bowing low again. ‘I am honoured to be in your earldom. As are Sir Guy and Sir Alun.’ He gestured towards his men, who remained mounted, but bowed their respect.
Odon noted the lack of any vestiges of a Hungarian accent. ‘Take food with us, Edgar Aethling, and refresh yourself after your journey. If you remount your horse we will go directly to Dover Castle. Your men are also welcome.’
Edgar did as was suggested and Odon led the way with Edgar beside him.
‘I understand my presence may bring you embarrassment,’ said Edgar
‘So why are you here?’ asked Odon unable to hide his irritation.
‘I am just stopping off on my way to see my sister in Scotland.’
‘You will not be staying long?’
‘Only a few days, Bishop Odon de Bayeux.’
‘Good.’ Odon’s frown darkened his countenance.
‘I am not staying here, however. I have not given you notice of my arrival, so I could not presume on your hospitality. I will be moving on to Canterbury. It has been arranged with Abbott Scotland that I will stay at St Augustine’s. There are presents to pick up and then the rest of my journey will be by sea.’
‘Your youth protected you after King William conquered England, Edgar. And your battles with the Conqueror are long over. And, for the present, all is settled with your brother-in-law, the Scottish King. We accept your allegiance, but you must never again give King William reason to doubt your fealty.’
‘Why do you greet me with such suspicion, Your Grace?’
Odon shook his head. Perhaps all would be well. Edgar’s responses were either well disguised or had the ring of genuine innocence. Odon remembered that Edgar may know more than he had said so tested him with, ‘You have heard the news of Prioress Ursula? She was a nun whom, I believe, your sister, the Queen of Scotland was acquainted with.’
‘Yes, I knew her.’ There was simple curiosity on Edgar’s face. ‘She worked as a needlewoman in the service of my sister Margaret, Queen of Scotland, for the beautification of the church buildings.’
‘Prioress Ursula has been killed.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Edgar. Odon noted a brief sadness change his expression.
‘I have had Abbess Eleanor look into the matter.’
‘Was there any reason for that?’ asked Edgar.
‘I thought so at the time. But I am not so sure now,’ said Odon. ‘I am thinking of bringing the investigations to a close and calling back the Abbess and her young protégé, Sister Therese. The Abbess is staying at St Augustine’s. Perhaps, you would be good enough to pass on the message to her when you see her. But first I would be insulted if you did not spend the night here.’ He looked over his shoulder at Robert, who smiled back. ‘My nephew would enjoy your company, I know.’
‘I would be honoured,’ said Edgar, turning and nodding at Robert in a clearly friendly manner.
As they neared the castle Odon bad Edgar the Aethling enter the fortress, and he did so, followed by Sir Guy and Sir Alun.
* * *
Outside Abbess Eleanor’s room Ursula adjusted her kitchen clothes. The scheme had worked neatly. All she had to do when she was tired was claim she had to attend to the Abbess and she could take a nap in her room. She was still fiddling with the latch when a barked command of, ‘Kitchen servant!’ made her turn. She kept her head low, and not only out of respect, for she knew that voice well and she did not want to be recognised by it’s owner, Abbott Scotland.
‘How is the Abbess today?’ he asked.
‘She is over the worst, Abbott.’
‘It is a great favour she does to you to allow you to care for her,’ said Scotland.
‘I know, Abbott.’
‘May I see her?’
‘She says she is not yet well enough for visitors, Abbott.’
‘I see,’ said Scotland. He looked thoughtful. ‘Do I know you from somewhere, servant?’
‘Only the kitchen, Abbott.’
‘Then return there with all haste!’ he replied taking his own leave along the passage. His strides made his robes sound irritated as they rustled about his legs.
She decided to walk the opposite way to the kitchens, but as she turned she saw a shadow of someone at the far end, someone smaller than Abbott Scotland. She hesitated, but the person didn’t. The gait of this individual was rolling and the path he took deviated from the straight way most people would take down a corridor. This person was keeping in the shadows, but Ursula had recognised him even before her nostrils were attacked by his acrid smell.
‘How have you gained access to this part of St Augustine’s?’ she accused him.
‘I have my ways, kitchen servant,’ said Agid with a wicked grin.
‘You hear too much,’ said Ursula. ‘That was none of your business.’
‘You don’t like it because you don’t carry the respect you used to, do you?’
Ursula ignored his taunt. ‘And what, may I ask, are you doing here?’
‘I have come to see Abbess Eleanor.’
‘And why would she want to see you, Agid?’
‘It is not me I come about. I am only a messenger.’
‘Who for?’ Ursula wa
s intrigued. Agid had strange loyalties, mostly dependent on who paid him best, but he would never take a Norman’s silver.
‘I cannot say, kitchen servant. Now which is her room?’
‘You do not know as much as you claim, Agid, for I told the Abbott that Abbess Eleanor has a slight fever. She is not receiving visitors.’ Ursula blocked the little man’s way.
‘Then you must take the message to her. A man will see her. He has important information to give her. He will wait in a clearing in the woods an hour’s ride to the south of Canterbury. Do you know it? There are some tree-stumps that were once great oaks, felled by the Normans for all their grand buildings.’ His contempt was clear as he spat out the last words.
This was the very place in which Ursula had transformed Abbess Eleanor into Brother James. ‘I know it,’ she said. ‘Now both of us must leave here. I do not want anyone seeing us together. Go!’
* * *
Abbess Eleanor’s robes caught on the stirrup and then wrapped themselves around the saddle. Ursula had gathered up the skirts as best she could with the belt, but Eleanor’s extra height made wearing her clothes more of a trial than she’d expected. On the first occasion she’d worn them coming away from the woods she was now heading towards, her excitement had made them less of a burden. This time she feared what she would find and the clothes snagged on branches tugging at her as Abbott Scotland’s pony carried her steadily towards her meeting with Agid’s informant. She admired Odo’s ring on her finger. It comforted her. This would give her the power and authority to deal with whatever she would find.
She turned off the main road and carried on along the track made by oxen pulling the felled tree trunks out of the woods. The clearing was upon her before she had really thought through her actions. There was a breeze in the tops of the trees and she looked up. She heard a whoosh from behind and an arm about her neck. She was being dragged off the pony and down onto the ground by her assailant. She choked against the pressure, pulling at his arm with both her hands. She remembered her fight with the Impostor, but this was different. Then she’d been the stronger one.
