The Owl Killers

beatrice

aFTER THE STEAMING HEAT OF THE KITCHEN, the sudden shock of sharp night air took my breath away. The wind still had a wetted edge to it, but at least the rain had stopped. Pale clouds were scudding across the moon, but the skies were clearing. The bell would ring for the midnight prayers soon, but the food for the village was prepared at long last. The pots would simmer slowly until morning. The wind hungrily devoured the rich aroma of herbs and mutton, wafting it out into the night air. I wondered if the wind would carry it as far as the village. If they could smell it, sitting there cold and wet with rumbling bellies, they’d curse us to Hell and back.

Holding the lantern aloft, I tiptoed into the cote, silently closing the door behind me in the face of the wind. Gudrun was curled up in the corner, her head resting on a wad of straw. Two pigeons were bedded in her hair. She’d thrown off her covers again. Her shift was so thin, I knew she must be cold. I crouched down to pull the covers up around her. I noticed her arms were covered in scratches and bruises and there was a big purple bruise across her thigh. What had she been doing? Gudrun didn’t seem to notice pain. A knock that would send another wailing did little more than make her blink. Yet if someone stroked her arm in sympathy, she’d snatch it away as if they had laid a branding iron on her skin.

Except for the gentle rising of her ribs, the child didn’t stir, but the birds stared at me with their dark bright eyes and wondered. I sat down on a heap of straw and watched her. I loved to watch her sleeping, but that night I was so weary. We’d scarcely slept for two nights and had been working every hour between. I longed to curl up in the straw by my Gudrun, bury my face in her long soft hair, like the pigeons, and sleep holding her in my arms, my little one, safe and warm. But it was no good even thinking of sleep; that bell would ring anytime now, summoning us to the chapel.

Would Healing Martha hear the bell? Would she struggle to rise to it, without knowing why, as a dog comes to a shepherd’s whistle? Prayers would continue without her. All of life would go on without her. It seemed impossible, indecent even, that it should, but you can’t hold life back.

Healing Martha lay in the infirmary, not a leader and physician now, just a body to be washed and anointed, to be talked about, but no longer talked to. And who would replace her? It would have to be someone skilled in the healing arts. I didn’t possess a tenth of Healing Martha’s knowledge, but who among us did? My little Gudrun probably knew more than any of us of herbs and potions, but they’d not permit her to treat a hanged man let alone themselves, even if they were all dying and she had the certain cure in her hand. Pega had helped Healing Martha with the rough work and she must have picked up some knowledge, but what use was that when she couldn’t read labels on jars or recipes in books?

I knew as much as any of the others about the curing of common ailments. I had run a household in Flanders, treated the maids and manservants and my husband too, when they fell sick with agues or fevers. I would have learned more in the beguinage, but I’d never been encouraged to work in the infirmary. I was always being asked to do the hard, messy jobs in the field or kitchens and kept from learning anything skilled. Want kirtles washed or grain threshed? Send for good old Beatrice, she’ll do it.

I learned quickly though. I always had, though I’d been given precious little time for study. But all that would change when I became a Martha. Then I’d have the time to study the herbals. I wouldn’t be called upon to waste my days in washing and grinding. The infirmary would be my responsibility and I’d work night and day to make it run efficiently. I’d never be as skilled a physician as Healing Martha, of course; I didn’t have her training. But I would be a good healer. I could be equal to any of the other Marthas here or in Flanders. I wanted that. I’d earned it and Catherine was right for once: Who else could the Council possibly appoint?