E. M. Powell (22 page)

“Yes. When those devils found us in the forest, I was outnumbered and outarmed. I had to act — I’d no time to think more.”

Her anger dissolved into a flush of shame. “Oh, may God forgive me for such harsh, wicked words.”

He snorted and opened his arms wide. “And me? The yellow-shirt?”

“Of course you also. I cannot believe I let my sinful anger take me over.” Mortified at his accusing stare, she felt her flush grow worse. “It all happened so quickly, and all I saw was the knights, then you were gone…” She trailed off helplessly. “I am so sorry. I have accused you of a great wrong.”

He shrugged. “Then apology accepted.” He strode over to Quercus, the gelding nosing the weedless ground a safe distance from the tethered stallion.

“Yet you still look angry,” she said, following him.

Benedict straightened the horse’s reins, gathering them into his hands. “Not at you. At myself.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t know how they found us. I thought I’d left no clue. But they did, God rot them.”

If she could cut her tongue out, she would happily do it there and then. But she had to confess her dreadful error. “It was my fault.”

“What?” Quercus shied at his sharp question.

“Fitzurse told me. He found the pilgrims I spoke to in Knaresborough.”

Holding the horse steady, he muttered a long string of oaths. “That’s how they knew about Polesworth. I heard them talk of it.”

“I know now how foolish my actions were. You told me so at the time. Well, I paid for that foolishness, did I not?”

His look hardened. “As you could have. With your life? Can’t you see that?”

“I do now. But at the time, I thought it was a clever move. I wanted to show you I have quick wits too.”

“You’re a nun, an anchoress. You have wits that can pray, can read. Fine for a life locked away in the church. Not the kind of wits that you need out in the world.”

“I know of the world.” She kept her tone measured though he mocked her vocation. “People came to pray at my window all the time, would tell me of every sin and trouble imaginable.”

“Sister, I’ve had to live off my wits since I was sent away to become a fighter.”

“You chose your own sinful path as a man. But it does not make you sharper than me.”

“A man?” He looked as if he pitied her. “I was seven years old. And poor folk have no choice. With my father dead and my mother not able to feed herself or my four sisters, she begged the lord of our estate to take me as a page. I was that small — I could hardly reach the stomachs of the squires, let alone land a blow, as they beat me, time and again. I had to rely on what’s between my ears to get by. For years and years, until I became big enough and strong enough to do the beating. There were some hard lessons, but I’ve learned them and you haven’t. And certainly not from listening to the prating of knaves and fools in church.” He drew a deep breath. “From now on, you don’t act unless I say. Will you at least promise me that much?”

His eyes shone oddly bright, like his flood of words had made him ill. She’d no desire to add to it. “I will.”

“Good.” He handed her Quercus’s reins. “You take him. You’ll manage on your own?”

She was not at all sure, but she nodded, not wanting to inflame Benedict’s anger any further. She put a hand to Quercus’s neck. “He’s steady.”

Benedict boosted her up into the saddle. She found the stirrups, apprehensive to be in control of the animal alone.

“I’ll stay at a safe distance,” he said.

She looked over. Benedict was already astride the heavily muscled black stallion, Harcos.

With a click from Benedict, both animals set off, Theodosia mindful to keep a couple of lengths behind. “How long before we get to Polesworth?”

“We can make twice the progress now,” said Benedict over his shoulder. “So I reckon maybe three days.” Guided by the knight’s skilled hands, Harcos trotted smoothly ahead of her.

Impossible to believe she’d been buffeted so when she’d been tied to the animal. Tied, helpless, listening to Fitzurse’s sadistic, depraved account of how he’d used the dreadful device called the Pear of Anguish. How he would take a bulb fashioned from closed metal plates, force it between a woman’s legs. Then turn the screw of the device, until it opened out, farther, then farther, then… Her question pressed on her, and she had to ask it.

“Benedict.”

He looked around again.

“Are they all dead? Did Fitzurse and le Bret go the way of de Tracy?”

He faced forward again. “My wits tell me yes. But we still have to ride as fast as we can.”

Her wits remembered that Benedict had made her hide, be quiet in the woods. Theodosia tightened her hold on the reins. You did not hide from ghosts, keep quiet from corpses, hasten from spirits. The knight feared just as she did. But she kept her silence. Her loose tongue would do no more harm.

EPISODE 4

CHAPTER 16

“We seek an audience with the Abbess.” Benedict spoke through a small metal grille set in the closed wooden doors of the gatehouse to Polesworth Abbey.

Theodosia scanned the tall, square tower, fashioned of huge blocks of moss-coated gray stone soaring into the blue winter sky. They were finally here. Clustered around the tower, the pitched roofs and high walls promised their journey’s end. Mama would be safe in there, safe with the answers she and Benedict sought. The exhaustion of the last days and nights threatened to overwhelm her. They’d stopped only for the horses’ sake, but even then she could tell Benedict stayed fully alert, watching out, listening out for any pursuers. That Fitzurse might find her while she slept had meant she’d not dared to. But no one had disturbed their travels.

With a long, shuddering sigh of relief, she turned her attention back to Benedict. He was locked in argument with whomever was within.

“No, she isn’t expecting me,” he said, his exasperation clear.

Another softly spoken question, inaudible to Theodosia’s ears.

“I could give you my name,” he said. “But it would mean nothing to her.”

A reply.

“Look,” he said, his tone ever more forceful. “If you could let me speak with her, then I could explain everything. But I can’t explain unless I see her. Can’t you understand?”

The response this time was the snap of the shutter behind the grille.

Benedict turned to her, face ruddy at being so thwarted. “She shut it. Can you believe it?”

She took in his broad frame, his mud-spattered clothes, his unshaven skin. “Unfortunately, I can. The sister who refused you entry judged you as parlous.”

He spread his hands in disbelief. “How could I look risky? You told me I looked like a respectable townsman.”

“That was a few days ago. It didn’t last long; you can’t help looking like a knight. Now are you going to allow me to try?”

Before he could disagree, she stepped past him to tap on the door and bring back whomever guarded the entrance. As she waited for an answer, she met his annoyed glance. “I am not doing anything rash,” she said. “I am of the church, I have a far better chance of gaining our admittance. Whereas you are something that makes the sisters instantly suspicious.”

“A knight?”

“A man.”

The shutter slid open, and a shadowy veiled figure appeared behind the close-knit metal mesh.

“Yes?” came the nun’s cool tone, ready for Benedict again.

“God and Mary be with you, Sister,” said Theodosia.

“To you too, my lady.” Recognition of a holy greeting slightly warmed the voice from within. “What can I help you with this day?”

“My husband and I need to speak with the Abbess. On an urgent and private matter.”

“Your husband is the man I spoke to?”

“Indeed, Sister. He’s overcome with fatigue, so my apologies if he came across as rude.” She shot him a glance.

“Rude?” he mouthed, out of sight of the little window.

“I can speak with her and convey your message,” said the nun. “She is, however, extremely busy, and it might well be tomorrow when she has time.”

Aghast, Theodosia pressed on. “It really is very, very urgent.”

“I will pass on your message.” A hand came up to close the shutter again.

“Please! It concerns Amélie,” said Theodosia, her palms pressed to the grille.

The hand paused, then slid the shutter closed.

Theodosia faced the blank barrier, sealed against the world. Against her too, though she was not of the world.

“Good to see your plan worked so well,” said Benedict.

The
clack
of a key turning in the lock was accompanied by a turn of the cast-iron handle. With a low creak, the door swung open and a stooped, elderly nun, clothed in the black robes of the Benedictines, stood there. “Amélie, you say?”

“Yes, Sister.”

“Those are your animals?” The nun pointed to their mounts, tethered to nearby hitching posts.

“They are, Sister.”

The nun nodded. “I’ll send word for them to be brought round to the stables.” She stood to one side and beckoned. “You had both better come in.”

“Thank you, Sister.” Theodosia shot Benedict a victorious glance and led the way inside.

♦ ♦ ♦

Hat in hand, Palmer walked behind Theodosia as the Polesworth sister led them through the gatehouse and down a lengthy stone-flagged passageway that was open to the sky. The nun’s age and limp meant they had to walk slowly. No mind. He’d never been in these private places before, and it was like another world.

He’d expected silence, and had a childish picture in his head of rows of praying nuns, eyes aloft. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

A cheery nun hurried past, arms piled high with clean linen.

“One of our infirmary sisters,” said the nun to Theodosia. “We are very proud of our healing here.”

The anchoress nodded. “Healing for the body as well as the soul.”

With her head bowed and hands linked, she matched the set of the old nun. Her voice too: low, barely above a murmur. Like the thin, dried snakeskins he used to find on compost heaps as a boy, she’d cast off her worldly self at the gate. The change didn’t suit her. He’d become used to her gray eyes raised and challenging, her tread as definite as his. No mind again. This was her world, where she belonged. He’d pulled her from it, and it was right he delivered her back. He should be glad to be rid of her, with her chiding of him, her arguing, her foolhardiness. But he wasn’t. For he also lost her bravery, her loyalty. She turned to the old nun again, and he caught the curve of her cheek, her pale, fine skin. Her beauty too
.

Keen to turn his heavy thoughts aside, he looked to where an anvil rang steady under a hammer. Through a series of archways, the forge was in full use, with the glow of piled embers and the smell of hot iron. Nothing unusual, except a gaunt, tall sister worked it. Her face shone with sweat, and her sleeves were rolled up and secured in linen bands. Her powerful hammer blows looked expert to his eye.

“I’m surprised you have no lay brothers to perform such heavy tasks,” said Theodosia.

The nun tutted. “No lay brothers here. No brothers at all. Nothing they can do that we can’t.”

The smell of freshly baked bread wafted from a side building across a small courtyard and called to Palmer’s  stomach.

“A bakery as well? You must have no time for praying.” He said it as a jest, trying to raise his spirits.

Theodosia shot him her fierce look of old. He smiled inside. Maybe she wasn’t quite lost to the world yet.

The old nun pretended she hadn’t heard him. Instead, she pointed to a broad, high doorway far at the end of the corridor, its carved-wood double doors closed tight. “The cloisters are through there,” she said to Theodosia. “Private, of course. The Abbess’s lodge is on the next floor.”

He walked behind them to where a stone vestibule led off the corridor. Yet another sister swept the floor hard with a broom of long twigs. She made room for them to pass, then went back to her task with the same vigor.

Their guide led them up a stone stairwell, which ended on a small landing. An iron-hinged oak door, aged by time and use, stood open.

“Please make yourselves comfortable. I will fetch the Abbess,” said the nun.

“Bless you, Sister,” said Theodosia. She led the way into the room, Palmer close behind.

The oak floor shone from beeswax and many hours of polishing. Arranged around an inlaid pale wood table were straight-backed chairs with fine-turned legs and decorated with painted green bands. Each chair had a gold velvet cushion and a tapestry footstool. A folding table with a sloped desktop stood in the huge leaded window, the better to catch the light. Painted wood panels covered the walls, each a scene from the Bible in costly colors and gold leaf. A stone fireplace threw out heat from a couple of large logs. No wonder Theodosia was so keen to get back to this life.

“I see the Abbess likes her comforts,” he said dryly.

“This room is to help her serve the Lord.” Theodosia went to stand before the fire and rubbed her hands. “Not for comfort.”

Palmer didn’t reply as he joined her at the welcome warmth. Religious folk had a different view on comfort, it seemed.

“Oh, where can she be?” Theodosia’s impatient question was to the flames, with no mind to him.

Rapid footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Palmer and Theodosia turned from the hearth as a small, slight woman walked in, dressed in the familiar black robes and white wimple. He guessed she was of advanced years, but she had a keen, sharp look and moved like a much younger woman.

“May God be with you.” She nodded first to Theodosia, who dropped in a deep curtsey, then Palmer. “I am Mother Ursula, the Abbess of Polesworth. I believe you wanted to speak to me, mistress…?”

“Theodosia Palmer.” Palmer answered for her.

“You are Mr. Palmer?” The nun lifted her eyebrows.

“Sir Palmer,” he said.

“Then you will be Lady Palmer?” said the Abbess to Theodosia.

Her shrewd look reminded Palmer of his squire master: years of experience of sorting out truth from lies.

Theodosia walked from her place before the fire to address the Abbess. She gave a deep bow, hands clasped, before she spoke. “He is not my husband, Reverend Mother.”