by Mary Bale
Sir Guy directed them off the track and Agid felt himself pulled off his mount and pushed behind a thorn bush. He complained bitterly as Edgar, already dismounted, told him to hold his tongue or he would cut it out for him at the earliest convenient moment.
A train of thieves straggled past them. Some were on foot, others on donkeys, a couple on ponies. There were two creaking carts. In the back of one was the distinctive shape of Prioress Ursula. All her good humour seemed to have been punched out of her. Agid instinctively moved forwards. ‘We must attack them,’ he said. ‘They have Prioress Ursula and she does not look right at all.’
‘Not yet,’ said the Aethling.
‘Why not?’ Agid was furious with this young upstart.
‘There are too many of them.’
Agid looked carefully at Edgar’s face, but he could not tell what he was really thinking. He could be right. If they followed them they could snatch Prioress Ursula from the thieves at a suitable moment. Or was his decision of a different nature? Had he not only recognised Prioress Ursula but also the thieves? They could, indeed, be under his own employment with Prioress Ursula’s demise an unauthorised action by Tancred because of his greed for the ring. He took another look at the young man’s strong profile. No, he could not tell.
‘It seems, Agid, that they have not waited for your return before setting out again. Perhaps they did not trust you either?’
‘If any harm comes to the Prioress…’ Agid started, but he could not finish for Edgar was already mounted on his horse and moving away.
Chapter 18
Therese paced the cloister of St Thomas the Apostle. Exposing her past had achieved nothing except suspicion from those who barely trusted her anyway and an expectation of success at putting all things right, which she could not believe she could fulfil, from others. She approached the corridor that led off to the chapter house and the stairway to the sewing room. As she started to pass it a broom shot out and tripped her up. She stumbled but did not fall.
‘That Prioress Ethelburga has me sweep for no reason,’ complained Gertrude. She pulled a face at Therese. ‘Just getting my own back, you tripped me up. And don’t look so shocked. I haven’t heard you confess to it yet.’
Therese dropped her head guiltily and scratched the newly tiled floor with the toe of her sandal. ‘Why are you here, if you dislike it so much at St Thomas’s? I’m sure there are plenty of other places you could be. You don’t sew.’
‘I don’t have the skill. That is true,’ said Gertrude sitting down on the wall next to the cleared but as yet unplanted garden. Her dumpy figure and the arch of the cloister were picked out by the bright sunshine behind her. ‘The skill was well established in England before your lot came. Many of the experts we have here came from Winchester – and that remains an Anglo-Saxon strong-hold even now.’
‘You’ve heard about me, my place of birth?’
‘You wanted everyone to know, didn’t you?’ Gertrude looked at her weathered hands.
‘So how come you’re here?’
‘I have well placed relatives in Winchester. I am an embarrassment to them. I speak my mind in the Anglo-Saxon tradition and now we must be careful. Pah.’
‘Do you want to damage the embroidery?’ asked Therese.
‘Do you?’ asked Gertrude.
‘No, I don’t,’ said Therese thoughtfully. She hadn’t considered it before, but even if she did hold Anglo-Saxon sympathies she knew she could not bring herself to damage the labour of others. And the small piece she’d seen had been so carefully worked.
‘Well neither do I,’ said Gertrude. ‘I don’t care for fine things particularly, nor do I care for most of the stuck up women here, but I do care for my safety and that is being endangered.’
‘By me?’ asked Therese.
Gertrude’s face softened. ‘No, lass.’ Her fleshy jowls rattled as she shook her head. ‘You have no control over what is about to happen. None of us have. I suggest you take your leave tonight. I tell you this because despite you tripping me up, I quite like you. And you are in more danger than me.’
‘What is going to happen tonight?’ She remembered her promise. ‘I vowed to protect the embroidery. Who is it? Who’s going to damage it?’
‘Damage. Hah! You don’t know the half of it!’
‘Tell me!’ Therese moved forwards.
Gertrude held her broom defensively. ‘That is all I know.’
‘Who is behind all this?’ The bell rang for prayers and Therese stamped her foot in frustration while Gertrude ignored her last question and went into the church. Therese followed. But her mind was already made up, and on the conclusion of prayers she remained behind while the others filed out. The wall hanging and the door brace in the builder’s door in the temporary back wall gave her little resistance. Alfred would not be there, but Abbess Eleanor would have ensured the placement of another guard, of that she was sure.
She would try the far side of the southern woods first. That was where Alfred was meant to have set up camp – even though there had been no sign of it when she visited the place –so his replacement might well be directed to go there too. The shortest route from here meant passing the gatehouse and going round the western end of the priory complex. The builders ignored her as she walked through their works, as they were sitting with their wives eating lunch. The children were down at the stream chucking stones in the water. She did not take the time to see if Eric was among them. She felt invisible as she passed the gatehouse. The porter too was eating. She did not feel hungry. The nuns did not usually eat until later, so there was no fear of being caught out by an empty seat in the refectory.
Soon the priory was behind her with the sewing room and its sheets of linen across the windows to filter the harsh light from the south facing windows – and the heavily covered window of the secret room. She could almost feel them looking at her going down the hill. In front, and coming upon her fast, was the swamped woodland. She waded straight in. The water level was lower than before, but the mud was thick and she sunk into it. Dragging her legs through she found exhausting and after a short distance her breath was rasping in her lungs. She stopped by the river crossing and leaned on a tree.
Having caught her breath she pulled her feet from the mud and slithered across the fallen tree-trunk bridge she’d used before when she’d met Michael in the woods. Suddenly there was more sky showing through the trees, but another fallen trunk barred her way. Beyond it she saw a Norman knight in full battle dress – a sword resting in his scabbard, a mail shirt protecting his body, helmet and a wing-shaped shield. The knight seemed deep in thought, or prayer. She did not recognise his armoury, but Sir Gilbert’s own pieces had been stolen by the thieves in the forest. It had to be him in some different garb. At last she could unburden herself, let someone else sort the problems out. She was exhausted. She was about to call out to him when another Norman knight ran down the slope facing her, his sword aloft. The first knight turned, saw him and drew his sword.
On reaching the first knight the second swung his sword at his opponent’s neck, letting out a horrendous yell. But the blow was parried by the first knight’s sword. The two continued to fight, turning and twisting until she lost track of which one was which. She dared not move. How could such a thing be happening? Norman against Norman on English soil? She knew, of course, something about the past unrest in England, but she’d assumed any invaded country would resist a new order. This was something quite different, and she wondered if she could trust any Norman knight who chose to fight a compatriot. And she had no idea which one was Sir Gilbert, though she was sure one of them must be. She looked about for his and the other’s horse and saw none, but they could be over the brow of the hill.
Their weighty long swords crashed into each other making an ear-shattering din. They were so close, just beyond her fallen tree-trunk. She covered her ears, but dared not shut her eyes in case they saw her and turned on her as a witness to the fight.
B
oth men were staggering now with exhaustion. Therese could barely watch. She knew one must die and the end would be soon. One of the knights lifted his sword, swung it with practised expertise and took the other’s head off in one swing. Still with its helmet on, the head rolled away while the body it was once attached to slumped to the ground. Therese stuck her fist in her mouth and bit her hand to stop herself from screaming.
The remaining knight grabbed the head and strode up the hill. He stopped almost at its ridge and examined a mound of black earth there – the Impostor’s grave. He dropped the head onto it and stood for a moment over the grave. He turned and walked back down the hill towards Therese. Still she was unable to work out who he was. He had not even removed his helmet and the nose-guard concealed most of his face.
She shrunk down behind her tree-trunk. He must be something to do with the Impostor, she thought. Had he killed Sir Gilbert and was he offering his dead body up to her? She was sure that he was returning to collect the dead knight’s body. The blood no longer flowed from its neck. The warm liquid was mixing with the damp soil. She swallowed hard. She would have to make her own way to get help. That thought must have made her move imperceptibly, but clearly enough to alert the knight already lifting the body, for he turned in her direction. She swung away and started to run along the edge of the wood, her wet clothing wrapping around her legs.
She knew she did not have the speed or strength of a knight, even one who had just done battle, and when she felt herself fall she expected to feel briefly the cold of metal of his sword and then she would meet her maker. Instead she felt a firm hand grab the clothing across her back and pull her up straight. When she looked around, she saw Sir Gilbert’s eyes smiling apologetically at her. Even so she was unsure whether to trust him.
‘It is me. I had to get new armour in a hurry. You know mine was stolen. I’m sorry I frightened you.’ He paused. ‘Did you see what just happened?’
‘I saw you fight with that Norman knight and I saw him die.’
‘You did not see what happened before that?’
Therese shook her head.
‘The knight I killed was the one we all thought drowned on the sea crossing from Normandy, Sir Brian. I’ve been stationed here since Alfred was arrested – I assume you know about that?’
Therese nodded. She felt a little reassured. ‘I knew the Abbess would not leave me unguarded. I came to find Alfred’s replacement. But when I saw two Norman knights fighting I did not know what to think…’
‘Listen, you need to know this, Sister Therese. I am not a traitor. While I was waiting today I brought my horse down to eat the rich grass by the woods. I was sitting on that very trunk you were hiding behind when Sir Brian came by. He did not see me, but went to that grave and started praying and then weeping over it. I knew it to be the Impostor’s grave as the builders had told me when I first arrived. I think they feared me after the arrests in the neighbouring camp.’
‘And you approached him?’
‘I did. We spoke. I’ve known him many years. This woman who lies here was definitely not a nun. She was as Sir Brian put it, “My love.” Many of us have taken Anglo-Saxon wives. I understood his difficulty. I said to him to do what he had to do and then surrender himself to me. I would take him to Bishop Odon de Bayeux and ask for his mercy.’
‘You didn’t expect Sir Brian to turn on you.’
‘I know that you will not understand, Sister, as you do not believe in such things, but I expected him to take his own life to join her in purgatory, and I would have buried them together.’
‘They can still be laid together,’ observed Therese. ‘I do not think we should take him to the priory. That would cause too much of a disruption so we must bury him with great haste. I need you to take a message to Abbess Eleanor. I need help. They are going to act against the embroidery tonight. I have been warned. But I still don’t know who they are.’ She was almost breathless with urgency.
Therese and Gilbert completed a makeshift burial. Therese knelt by it and patted the soil. She prayed for a moment.
Gilbert whistled his horse and the animal trotted over the hill to his master with the fallen knight’s horse following it. ‘Come back with me, Sister Therese. It is too dangerous here.’
Therese shook her head. Even with Gertrude’s warning still ringing in her ears, she knew she could not leave. ‘No, there may be something else I can do here. Be quick.’ They wiped the soil from their hands on the grass and Therese watched him leave before wading back through the woods towards the priory.
Chapter 19
Therese burst into the kitchen and crashed into Agnes, who was on her way out with vegetable trimmings. Agnes brought the basket up above her head to avoid spilling it and as Therese recovered herself Agnes took it outside to the animal feed tub. Therese followed her. She so wanted to tell her what she knew.
‘Sister Agnes, you must leave here. It’s too dangerous to stay.’
‘And where would I go?’
‘Any priory would take you in, you know that.’
‘Are you going?’
‘No.’
‘Then neither am I.’ Agnes viewed her and Therese shivered, her wet clothes finally chilling her. ‘Your own habit has been waiting for you and now you look as if you need it,’ observed Agnes going to a cupboard in the corner. ‘It’s well aired.’
Therese thankfully donned the dry linen chemise and the warm woollen tunic, before leaving the sanctuary of the kitchen. She decided she would have to find Gertrude as it was already getting to the time of day when they were required to sweep the workroom. She made for the cloister. Hilda was coming from the direction of the chapter house when she arrived by the base of the tower. Hilda waved and strode up to her.
‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘Never mind. I can’t find Sister Gertrude anywhere. Prioress Ethelburga will be rightfully annoyed if the room is not clean. Could you manage it on your own this evening? I’ll let you in and come and let you out when you’ve finished. Prioress Ethelburga wants to see me.’ Hilda gave Therese a meaningful look, which Therese understood to be an acceptance of her fate as Therese had not delivered a solution to her problems with Ethelburga.
Therese fetched the broom, pan and bucket and followed Hilda up the timber stairway to the sewing room. She thought of Sybil and being dispossessed by the Normans. Could anyone be so stoic about such a thing? She doubted it somehow. ‘Have you seen Sister Sybil?’ asked Therese.
‘Not for a while. What has that to do with anything? Your work will be checked and it will soon be time for prayers. You haven’t got long,’ she said as she let her in.
As the door locked behind her Therese felt trapped.
* * *
Against a darkening Dover sky Odon de Bayeux organised his guard with shouts to his horsemen and to those who would fight and travel on foot. As he expected, he heard no complaints, and when Robert de Curthose approached already mounted on his horse he explained to him, ‘I am restless. I can wait no longer. We will travel over night so we might collect the embroidery in the morning. Our enemies will not be expecting us.’
‘No-one would dare attack a troop such as this,’ agreed Robert. ‘You must have over a hundred men here.’
Odon was aware of Robert’s frown even though he was not looking at him. ‘You do not expect trouble from me, I hope?’ Robert asked. ‘Or Edgar?’
‘Of course not,’ snapped Odon. If either of these young men gave him any trouble, or any one else for that matter, he was fully capable of dealing with it.
* * *
Eleanor snatched at the clean dressings as she rolled them up. The light was going and the bell for vespers had already rung.
‘We must go to prayers,’ said Brother Matthew. He was clearly a little circumspect because of her temper.
She forced her anger down. She wished she could cast it out, as she was meant to, but of all the passions that she was meant to control, this one gave her the most difficulty.
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‘I have not dared to approach you before,’ continued Matthew. ‘I have news from St Augustine’s.’
Eleanor looked up at him questioningly.
‘They know Abbess Eleanor is missing,’ he told her.
‘How?’ asked Eleanor, hardly able to maintain her “Brother James” voice.
‘Abbott Scotland became concerned because the servant who had been attending to her could not be found, so another was set to take her food, et cetera. She entered the Abbess’s chamber, and we can guess the rest.’
Eleanor wanted to move out of earshot of those on their sickbeds, so she went to the door, which had been left open for Matthew believed in ample fresh air. Matthew followed her. ‘Something must have happened to Ursula,’ she said.
‘Ursula?’ asked Brother Matthew.
‘It is too complicated to explain, but I must leave Christ Church Abbey now.’
‘No, you mustn’t. You are so close to uncovering what is going on here.’
Eleanor brushed herself down. ‘You are right. But I have had enough of all this nonsense. It will not be long before Bishop Odon is informed of my absence. I cannot imagine what problems that will cause. I am going direct to Archbishop Lanfranc and put all this before him. I will not be turned away.’
‘After vespers, Brother James,’ said Matthew as they spotted Brother David heading belatedly to prayers with a curious stumbling gait.
She nodded her consent. After all it would give her time to compose herself and what she would say. She closed the infirmary door behind them.
* * *
North of Canterbury the thieves took a roundabout route towards St Thomas’s. No doubt, thought Agid, to avoid so many of them having to take the ferry across the river. He spent the evening ride pulling ageing catkins off the birch trees and pinging them at Edgar’s guard beside him. This passed the time well enough while they followed and waited for Tancred and his gang to rest.
