The Owl Killers

beatrice

tHE VOICES IN THE REFECTORY were subdued. Kitchen Martha had cooked a special dish to try to raise our spirits-a Mutton Spicy Pie with the head meats and brains of the sheep and the last of the dried fruits of winter. The sweet and savoury aroma filled the room, a rare treat at this season of the year, but few seemed to have an appetite. We politely offered each other dishes and urged one another to pass them along, knowing they were not wanted, but just to fill the silence with a rattle of words.

I hadn’t expected Servant Martha to be here. I thought she’d take her meals at Healing Martha’s bedside as she had with Andrew. But instead she was talking to Merchant Martha as though nothing had happened, except that her right arm was bound up. She ate clumsily, unaccustomed to using her left hand, but she supped steadily, her appetite undiminished. She was probably discussing the price of cloth or the shortage of salt.

I’d always known she had the compassion of a pike, but I thought if there was a mote of affection in her it was for Healing Martha. Now it seemed she had plucked even that out. She sat straighter than ever, her back upright and stiff. Even sitting she was a full head taller than Merchant Martha. Did she have to hold her head quite so cloud-capped?

There was a sharp rap of a knife on wood. Servant Martha rose to her feet and cast around the room to see that she had everyone’s attention.

“My sisters, as we give thanks to God this day for our food, our tongues should not merely recite the duty they owe, but our spirits should soar on wings of praise that once again God has vouchsafed such mercies to us.”

We all sat up and leaned forward eagerly. Had he worked a miracle for Healing Martha?

“Our Blessed Lord shelters us in His arms, for while our neighbours are driven from their homes by the flood, we are safe and warm in ours. While our neighbours struggle to find a scrap of bread which has not been ruined by the water, we eat hot food and drink good ale.”

Yes, yes, but what of Healing Martha? Why didn’t she come to the point?

“We must pray for the souls in the village whose cries are unheard by God because of their sin and faithlessness. But if we pray for help for them, we ourselves must be willing to be the instruments of answering those prayers. If we say ‘Lord, send them food and comfort,’ then He will turn to us and say, ‘Daughters, give them food and comfort.’ This very day God delivered two fine sheep into our hands, just as He gave the ram to Abraham, as a sign of what we must do.”

Pega muttered, “Not much of a gift, if you ask me; they were our sheep anyway.”

“God has given us the sacrifice and we will offer it. Tomorrow we will go to the village with meat, bread, and ale. After the evening prayers, instead of sleeping, I ask any who are willing to come to the kitchens, for there is much cooking and baking to be done if we are to have enough food for all who need it.”

She paused to take a gulp of ale. Round the room the women glanced at one another, nodding approvingly, before all eyes turned back to Servant Martha. There must be more to come. She must speak of Healing Martha. Surely, she must.

“There is another for whom we must pray tonight even as we work.” She paused.

You could feel the tension in the room. No one moved.

“As you all doubtless know, two nights ago our beloved sister, Healing Martha, was struck down not by any human hand nor by the hand of God, but by the legions of the Devil. Healing Martha fought with a terrible demon, but her faith prevailed and she vanquished it.”

“The Owlman!”

The name reverberated from a dozen mouths. Servant Martha must have heard it, but she ignored it. She strode on through her speech with not so much as a flea’s breath of hesitation.

“Like our blessed Lord Himself in the wilderness and all the saints who have followed Him, Healing Martha was attacked by the forces of darkness, because her love for God was so strong it struck even to the depths of Hell and wounded the Devil himself and he wanted to destroy her. But Healing Martha has so girded herself with the armour of the Lord and her shield of faith is so strong that all the arrows of Hell could not pierce it, nor any demons conquer her. God preserved her, both body and soul, to His glory.” She bowed her head. “May we all strive to be worthy of such a test.”

She raised her head and looked slowly around the silent room, fixing each of us in turn with her gaze as though measuring our worth and finding us lacking.

“Tomorrow we will say a special Mass to give thanks for His protection and the preservation of our sister.”

“Praise God!” The cry was loud, but without feeling. Many looked perplexed.

“Does that mean Healing Martha is well again?” Catherine whispered urgently in my ear.

Muttering broke out around the room. Catherine was not the only one who was confused. Merchant Martha tugged at Servant Martha’s arm and whispered rapidly. Servant Martha, frowning, took another draught from her cup.

“I have to tell you now that Healing Martha is sorely wounded from her great battle, as you would expect. For who could face such a trial and come through unscathed? But they are honourable wounds she bears, as were those of the saints and martyrs before us who have defended their faith and virtue against great evil. The burning touch of the demon paralysed her side, as our own Lord was wounded in His side by evil men. Healing Martha does not speak to us, for to tell us of the horror and evil of the demon who assailed her would be too great for us to bear. But she needs no discourse with us, for our Lord Himself speaks to her and she to Him in tongues beyond our understanding.”

“Praise God! Praise God!”

Some of the women looked pleased, grateful even, but they’d not seen her. Catherine’s expression relaxed too, as if Servant Martha had somehow explained everything and all was right with the world again. She smiled eagerly at me. Did she remember how Healing Martha looked when we found her? Or was that picture now diffused with martyr-light, a twisted face made pretty with gold leaf and an animal grunt sweetened to angel song?

Servant Martha rapped the table again. The speech was not over.

“It’s evident that Healing Martha will not be able to perform her duties in the infirmary for some time. She was an elderly woman when she came here and after a lifetime of service many of her age might expect that they had earned the right to doze in the sun and have others care for them, but we all know that Healing Martha was never one to do that.”

There was a ripple of affectionate laughter round the room, but it had a sad edge to it.

“When she is restored to health, and we pray that is soon-”

“Amen.”

“-then we must persuade her to rest and let younger, stronger women take up her load. We must treasure her as a fine book-seeking her wisdom, but not allowing her to squander her precious energy on tasks that others could perform. Therefore we must appoint another Martha to take up her duties. Once we have done all we can for the village and the flood waters have receded, the Council of Marthas will meet to discuss the matter. You are each enjoined to pray that God’s Holy Spirit will guide our decision. Now we shall kneel for the Grace.”

There was much shuffling and Catherine nudged me in the ribs.

“That’ll be you, Beatrice, the next Martha. Everyone says so.”

“No,” I snapped, blushing scarlet and wishing she would not whisper so loud. “There are many others who could be chosen.”

“None with as much learning as you, nor been a beguine so long,” she persisted blithely. “They have to choose you.”