Wicked (29 page)

“Nay.” Judith shook her head. “Nay, Sofia. ’Tis not for your kind.”

“What kind am I?”

“You are a lady. You will marry your knight and never need such skills. Edward would have my head on a pike.”

“I will never tell him. Surely I swear to you that I shall go to my grave with the secret. Truly. Please, Sister Judith. Teach me to be a knight.”

“Nay.”

“But . . . ”

Judith held up her hand and shook her head. “Do not ask again. I cannot. Now leave me. I need to get some sleep. Morning comes swiftly this time of year, and I am tired and sore and when I am asleep, I do not feel the pain.” Judith stopped, then added, “You should do the same.”

Sofia stood in front of Judith, her face a mixture of frustration and thought. Then she sighed and turned toward the door. She stopped and turned back. “Please?”

Judith shook her head. “Goodnight to you, Sofia.”

The girl started to open her mouth again.

Judith held up her hand. “
Goodnight
.”

Sofia closed the door, but Judith knew this was not over. Telling Sofia Howard about her past was like dangling a sweet before a child. She shook her head. “You should have never told her, you old foolish woman,” she said to herself. “Never.”

Thanks to Sofia’s long
and mutinous relationship with her cousin, King Edward the Hardheaded, she’d had many years of experience at discovering how to get her own way.

She was accomplished at pestering.

For the next fortnight, pester was what she did to Sister Judith. Sofia had a good motive. She knew that if Judith did not believe she wanted to learn a knight’s skills with her whole heart and her whole soul, then she would never give in, and Sofia would lose this opportunity, one surely given her by God.

So late one afternoon, after Sofia had done her chores and taken on a few more for good measure, she tracked down Judith in the accounts room, where she was handling the account books.

Sofia rapped on the door.

“Come in.”

She opened the door with an air of confidence and stood there with her shoulders back and her look as direct as possible, to show the prioress her ability to take the initiative. “Sister Judith? I truly want to learn those skills that only you can teach me. I suppose I could attempt to learn on my own. But surely you would not want me to learn in a ragtag manner, now would you? Certainly there is pride in the instruction as well as the learning? We would be a team, rather like knight to squire. Aye, that’s it! Think of me as your squire.”

Judith was leaning back in her chair, a long counting instrument with wooden beads held thoughtfully in her hands, as she listened with what looked to Sofia as quiet interest . . . a hopeful sign, surely. After a moment during which Judith looked at her rather intently, she put down the beaded stick she had been holding, raised her hand and pointed at the door. “Go.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Sofia rose an hour
earlier than was her usual, which was when Sisters Katherine or Alice had to pound on her door to get her moving. But not this day. Sister Judith was to be up early and tend the convent’s sheep shearing.

Sofia sauntered up to the small, fenced area where the shearing was taking place. She had her hands clasped innocently behind her back as she watched the sheep shearing with rabid interest and acute observation—this of course would show Sister Judith what an attentive and fine student Sofia would be. “I say there, what a fine day this is for shearing sheep, do you not agree?”

Judith did not look at Sofia, but continued to give instructions to the other nuns, who were holding the waiting sheep while the shearman and his holders shaved off the thick woolly coats.

“Why, look at all the wool!” Sofia bent and tried to look closer, a ploy to show off her attentiveness, since every good student must be attentive. “I did not know one single ewe could produce so much wool.” She thought her comment to detail, such as showing her awareness that the beast was a ewe and not a ram, was a nice example of sharp sight.

“Tell me, do the shears have to be sharpened regularly? I can see the blades, right there . . . ” She reached out and pointed and the shearer stopped, looked up at her and scowled.

Sofia had her hands resting on her knees and her head was turned sideways so she could watch the shearing more closely. She smiled up at the man. “The blades seem sharp. Do you oil them?”

“Aye,” he answered in a gruff voice.

“Which oil do you prefer? Linseed oil, the kind one would use to polish a sharpened broadsword, or palm oil from the East, which of course is used for axe blades, knives and such?”

“Sofia!” Judith snapped.

Sofia turned her head. “Aye, sister?”

“Run along and finish your duties.”

“I have finished.” Sofia straightened.

Judith frowned. “You have watered all the plants in the garden?”

“Aye. And I plucked out every single new weed that was beginning to grow.”

“Gathered the eggs?”

Sofia nodded, rocking from the toes to her heels and back to her toes again.

“Filled the birdbath?”

“Aye. After I did the morning dishes so Sister Mary could read to the village children. I cleaned out the stable stalls and put in new hay so Sister Bertrice could help with the shearing, is that not right, sister?” She looked to Bertrice.

“Aye. She did a fine job at it, too.”

“I took the grain to the mill so Sister Alice can grind it and I fed the fish in the pond, without anyone even asking me to.” Sofia waited.

Sister Judith looked thoughtful. She glanced back at Sofia, gave a sharp nod of her head. “Fine. Here.” She handed Sofia a pile of sheep skins. “Go wash these and set them out to dry.”

Sofia took the skins. “And then?”

Judith sighed. “And then you can go into the chapel and pray first for Divine guidance and understanding of the meaning of the words . . . nay, nil and naught, and then you may pray that the Good Lord gives me patience so I do not have you chained to the wall with a rag stuck in your mouth. Now off with you!”

But Sofia had more devices up her sleeves. She could argue to a fine point the reason why, from her perspective, that giving in to her wants would be beneficial to all, which she did, for the next three evening meals.

“What would happen if outlaws decided to attack the convent?” Sofia asked. “Who would protect you?”

All the nuns looked at her and said in unison, “The Good Lord.”

“Suppose Viking raiders came down from the north and burned the convent, pillaging and raiding?”

“This is the thirteenth century, not the tenth,” Judith said in a wry tone. “The likelihood of a Viking raid in Leicestershire is about as probable as the likelihood that you, Sofia, will convince me to make you into a warrior.”

The nuns all giggled.

But that did not stop her. The very next day she heard that the prioress was indisposed with a toothache. She burst into the dining room, where Judith lay atop the table while Sister Alice had her knee braced on a bench and was tugging on the bad tooth with a set of iron clamps.

Sofia elbowed her way in front of Sister Alice. “Here. My strength has improved vastly from all my chores, especially carrying those water buckets. Let me try.”

“Mmmmmfph!” Judith started to shake her head and tried to sit up.

Sofia shoved her down with one hand. “’Twill be fine. You shall see.” She gritted her own teeth together, grasped the clamps in both hands and pulled back with all her might.

The tooth came out so swiftly that Sofia flew backward and ended up sprawled on the hard floor. She looked at the clamps, then held them up, smiling. “See there? ’Tis out!”

Sister Judith sat up slowly, her hand on her jaw, then she looked at Alice. “Remove her . . .
now
!”

Alice all but dragged Sofia from the room.

It was late, well after Sofia had heard Sister Katherine’s key click the lock on her door that she heard the same click again.

There was a quiet rapping and she sat up in her bed and swiped the hair from her sleepy eyes. “Aye? Come in.”

The door opened and Sister Judith stood before her.

They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Sofia asked, “How is your mouth?”

“Better,” Judith said gruffly. “Now that the tooth is out.”

“Oh.” Sofia stared at her hands.

“Stand up, girl. Look me in the eye.”

Sofia threw back the blanket and rose, then stood with her shoulders back.

Judith had hobbled outside of the door, then she came back in dragging one end of a wooden trunk that she dropped with a hard thud. “Open it”

Sofia knelt down and unlatched the trunk lid. She opened it.

Inside the trunk was chain mail.

Sofia looked up at Judith.

“’Tis my mail inside there.”

Her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest. Oh, she had won! She had won!

Judith limped over to the trunk and took out a long mail coat. She looked at Sofia, then casually tossed it to her.

Sofia reached out to catch it. The mail coat hit her in the torso and she fell back flat on the floor with a grunt, the incredibly heavy mail atop her. “Sweet Mary and Joseph! ’Tis heavy as stone!”

Judith crossed her arms and looked down at her. “Aye. That it is. And inside the trunk are mail leggings, cowl, mittens, boots, and a leather aketon for protection underneath.”

“Good Lord . . . ” Sofia muttered.

The tall sister looked down at Sofia, lying on the hard wooden floor under the weight of only one piece of chain mail. “I shall leave these with you, Sofia.” She moved toward the door and then turned. “When you can wear the mail and move freely, I will gladly teach you what I know.”

Chapter 24

Sofia began by carrying the water buckets up the steep hill to the birdbath not merely once a day, but twice, morning and afternoon. The first day her face was so hot it felt as if her skin were burning up. Sweat dripped into her line of vision, making her wobble under the weight of the yoke from which hung the buckets filled with water.

Lord, who would have thought that water could be so heavy?

But she kept moving, up and up, the water sloshing back and forth as the yoke across her shoulders sank more deeply into her neck. She collapsed at the top, gasping. Then, when she found some air, she just sat there staring down at the bottom of that hill. She did not smile. She wanted to, but she had no strength left to lift even the corners of her mouth.

But she had begun.

It took three days before she could make the climb without stopping to catch her breath. The sisters had started to gather at the base of the hill to watch her. Just Katherine and Alice at first, then others.

A week later she was traipsing up that hill three times daily. And the nuns were clapping their hands to the timing of her steps. Every night before she went to sleep, she donned the chain mail and walked around her small room, first in the coat, soon with the cowl and the coat.

Her appetite increased and she ate as if she had been starved, sometimes waking in the middle of the night with her belly crying out for food, so she took to filling a cloth bundle with bread and cheese that she kept under her bed.

A fortnight later she was not walking up that hill, but running, four times a day, then six. The nuns took to praying for her. They lit candles and ended every prayer with, “And dear and gracious Lord, please help Sofia make it to the top the hill.”

She rose before dawn, when the sky told her it was still night and the stars had not yet disappeared. She could not leave her room, so she put on the mail coat, the leggings and the cowl and just walked, in circle after circle, learning to move her arms, learning to freely move her legs. She lay down on the bed and forced herself to stand smoothly in the mail. When she conquered that, she lay on the floor and did the same.

It was over a
fortnight past Michaelmas. The leaves had begun to turn golden and brown. The daisies were blooming and the nights were just beginning to turn frosty. ’Twas then that the nuns of Grace Dieu were busy making cider.

Sister Judith was in the buttery supervising the pressing of apples, when there was a commotion outside—a shout here, another shout there. Judith frowned. “What is going on, now?” she muttered, then wiped her hands on a towel, grabbed her crutch, and took a step just as the door flew open and rattled hard against the wall.

Sofia stood there in Judith’s old mail, the afternoon sun glinting off the metal links, her shoulders straight and her breath completely even.

“Good day to you, Sister Judith,” the girl said with a sauciness that almost made her smile. Then Sofia strolled into the room as easily as a swaggering knight, her arms loose and swinging freely at her sides, except when she placed one hand on a low rafter and ducked under it, almost in a one-handed half swing to show off that she could move with such ease.

She moved around the small room, flexing this and moving that, making certain that Judith could see the ease with which she moved. She bent down and placed her mail-mittened hands on her knees and looked underneath the press, eyeing the apple juice, then straightened again.

When Judith said nothing, Sofia looked around the room, planted a hand on her cocked hip, then turned to her and asked, “Do you need that basket of apples?”

“Aye, child, but—”

“I shall fetch it.” She crossed over to the corner and gripped the handles, then lifted the tub of apples high, so high she actually could prop it on one shoulder. She turned without a flinch or a wince and asked, “Where would you like me to put them?”

Judith laughed and shook her head. “Put them down, Sofia. You have made your point.” Judith leaned on her crutch and held up her hands in the sign of surrender. “You win, child.”

Sofia looked at her. “Truly?”

“Aye. You have earned the right,” Judith said, then started for the door.

Sofia froze. “But where are you going?”

“Outside.” Judith turned back and gave her a long stare. “Are you coming?”

“Aye,” Sofia almost ran across the room. “Where are we going?”