A Choir of Crows

11 A Maid’s Tale

On Davygate a cluster of neighbors argued with Bess Merchet, who stood so that she blocked their view into Owen’s garden. Over the din of their fuss he heard the twins shouting something about a man unable to breathe with his face in the mud. Owen pushed his way through the crowd mouthing apologies.

Bess opened the gate and motioned him into the yard. ‘Heaven protect us from the fair Alisoun’s suitors,’ she muttered behind him.

Fair Alisoun? She stood toward the rear wall of the garden training an arrow on Ned where he sat astride a man lying face forward in the slush, head twisted to one side. It was the fallen man who gasped for air. He did not look like either of Crispin’s men. A relief. But Ned’s behavior sounded an alarm. He was not one to panic.

‘Let him stand, Ned, or you won’t sit for a long while,’ said Alisoun with a menacing calm.

Rose and Rob looked on in horror.

‘He attacked a man in the king’s service,’ said Ned in a cold, equally menacing voice.

‘Who is on the ground?’ Owen asked Bess.

‘A trespasser. From what I’ve heard he shut Ned in the garden shed and took over his watch on the house. I leave you to deal with them while I drag a pallet near the kitchen fire so the victim might lie down while you tend his wound. I would not be so kind to him, but you are a household of healers. Though I must say, at present Mistress Alisoun seems more a warrior.’

Owen called to Rose and Rob to watch the gates, and headed toward the drama. If it was true Ned had been humbled in front of Alisoun, he understood the temptation to lash out, but past experience would have suggested the young man would hold his discipline, remember his responsibilities. Grasping a handful of Ned’s clothing, Owen yanked him up and tossed him aside. The man lying in the mud made choking sounds as he attempted to prop himself up to breathe, his effort stymied by an arrow in his right arm just above the elbow. Owen grasped him around the chest and lifted him high enough that he could use his legs to turn and sit while he gulped air.

Releasing her stance, Alisoun slung her bow over her shoulder and tucked the unspent arrow in the quiver. ‘He was watching the house. When Rob and Rose approached him he dashed for the wall, tried to scale it. I stopped him with the arrow while the twins let Ned out of the shack.’ Stepping closer, she added in a low voice, ‘His name is Gabriel. According to Marian he’s Sir Thomas Percy’s man.’

Percy. God in heaven. ‘How does she know?’

‘He was the partner of the one who fell from the roof. They were following her. I did not stay for more.’

Marian’s story involved the Percys as well as the Nevilles, the two most powerful families in the North. Owen cursed under his breath. ‘Did he give Ned any trouble after you’d shot him?’

‘How could he?’

Owen offered Gabriel a hand. ‘Let us see to that arm.’

Ned scrambled to his feet. ‘Captain–’

‘I will deal with you later. Come along, Gabriel,’ said Owen.

Injured and dizzy from lack of air the man stumbled against Owen as he struggled to his feet, causing his hat to fly off. Owen steadied him, ordering Ned to fetch the man’s hat and bring it with him to the kitchen. It was no wonder Gabriel’s first impulse was to reclaim his disguise – his bright red hair, like Owen’s son Hugh’s, was a liability for a spy or a tracker, so easily picked out in a crowd.

‘Rob and Rose, make the rounds of the houses in the minster yard. Let me know if you come upon any trouble,’ Owen called to the twins.

With a nod, the two ran off.

As Owen supported Gabriel down the path to the kitchen door he noticed how the man cradled his injured arm, saw the muscles in his neck bulge as he limped. Either he’d injured his leg or foot in the fall after the arrow hit him or Ned’s fury had caused further damage. Gabriel would find his work challenging for a while, which might make Owen’s work easier, but would only antagonize the Percy family.

As promised, Bess Merchet had moved the pallet on which the children had spent the night closer to the fire and was now removing the bedding. ‘Put him here,’ she said. ‘I will see whether I’m needed with the children.’ She bustled off to the hall.

Owen ordered Ned to remove Gabriel’s boots, warning him to have a care with the left one. ‘If you cause any further injury I will lock you in the garden shed overnight.’

‘Captain,’ Ned grumbled as he tossed off his remaining boot and then knelt before Percy’s man.

Owen took Alisoun aside to learn more about Gabriel, but she had little more information.

‘I am glad you at least took care not to cause him more harm than necessary.’

‘I hunt only what I intend to eat.’

Ned glanced over with a startled expression.

Owen drew Alisoun farther from the bench. ‘If this morning is an example of what is to come, Marian may be trouble for us. Is she a Percy?’

‘She did not say how she knew his name. But I do not believe this trouble is of her doing, Captain. As it seems likely she is convent-educated, I think she was removed from a convent against her will. When Rose came to tell us there was a watcher in the garden we asked Marian to look. That’s when she told us his name and fealty, and that he traveled with the other, the one who fell yesterday morning.’

‘Both Percy’s men?’

‘Yes.’

They both glanced up as Lucie entered the kitchen and joined them.

‘How might I help?’

Owen knew how he wanted to proceed, but it would contradict all Lucie held sacred about a healer’s behavior. ‘My need to learn all that he knows will make me seem cruel. I promise you I will then remove the arrow and allow the two of you to see to him. Will you support me in this?’

‘I will,’ said Alisoun.

Lucie touched Owen’s cheek. ‘I trust you.’ She looked toward the two young men as Ned, who had placed himself on Gabriel’s wounded side, roughly pushed him toward the pallet by the fire. ‘You might keep Ned away before he does more injury. He will not soon forgive the humbling.’

‘Did you attempt to reason with Ned?’ Owen asked Alisoun.

‘He burst from the shed in a fury. There was no stopping him.’

‘Bloody fool.’ Owen pushed Ned out of the way and took charge of Gabriel, helping him ease down onto the pallet and find a comfortable position on his uninjured side.

‘It is easier to talk when sitting up,’ Lucie said. ‘We will prop him up on cushions so that he is half sitting.’ She disappeared into the hall to collect what she needed, Alisoun following.

Owen fetched a bowl of water, the basket of potions, instruments, and bandages that Lucie kept near the door, additional rags, a flagon of wine and a bowl, and a low stool to sit on while he questioned the man. Ned retreated to the bench near the door.

Once the patient was settled, Lucie and Alisoun withdrew to seats sufficiently close that they might hear all that was said, but out of Gabriel’s sight so as not to distract him.

Resting elbows on knees Owen studied Gabriel, his guarded expression, the stubborn set of the jaw. ‘Are you comfortable?’

‘No I’m not comfortable, I have an arrow in my arm, or did you not notice?’

‘I am well aware of it, and have every intention of seeing to it. But first you will tell me what you know of our houseguest.’

‘I saw her at the midden this morning. Did she tell you who I am?’

‘Gabriel. Now what can you tell us of Marian?’

‘No longer Matthew?’ A little laugh. ‘She must feel safe here.’ A shrug that caused a wince.

Owen slipped out his dagger, touched it to the wound. ‘I prefer to play the healer with you, but unless you tell me all you know of the woman and what she has endured …’ He twirled the dagger. ‘Your choice.’

Gabriel pressed back against the cushions. ‘I am Sir Thomas Percy’s man. If you dare harm me–’

‘Sir Thomas, is it? We are acquainted.’ Long ago, on a battlefield, and Percy had no reason to remember Owen, but this ginger pup would not know that. ‘He is an honorable man and will take the word of Prince Edward’s man in York. Besides, the harm has been done, eh?’ He kept his one-eyed gaze steady on the man who stank with fear and blood and a long while on the road. ‘You would do well to talk to me.’

Gabriel attempted to cross his arms, another ill-advised gesture.

‘Best wait until I remove the arrow to do that,’ Owen said. ‘You’ve only to tell me what you know and I will get to work.’

Silence.

‘As you wish.’ Owen rose and strolled over toward the fire. ‘I should fetch more firewood.’

Lucie took his cue and headed for the door. ‘I will check on the shop.’

Gabriel wrenched himself round to see the two of them. ‘You would leave me here?’

‘Alisoun will call us back when you are ready to talk.’

‘But the children,’ Alisoun protested.

‘What of my arm?’ cried Gabriel. Yet when Alisoun approached he shrank from her.

Assuring him that she meant him no harm, she knelt beside him, gently resting one hand above and one below his injury. ‘I do not like the feel of the flesh around the wound. I would advise you speak up, and quickly.’

‘You did this.’

‘You might have knocked and stated your purpose. Instead you accosted the bailiff’s man and trapped him in the garden shed.’ She rose and started for the door to the hall.

‘Come back,’ Gabriel whimpered, ‘I cannot lose my arm. I will tell you what you want to know if you help me.’

Owen was back on his stool in a few breaths. The flushed face might be emotion, might be fever. ‘Tell me.’

‘She is Dame Marian, a sister of Wherwell Abbey. Sir Thomas Percy’s ward.’

Owen knew of Wherwell, a fine abbey between Salisbury and Winchester. Bishop Wykeham’s territory. ‘The abbey is far from Percy lands.’

‘But near one of Sir Thomas’s manors. A royal gift in token of his services. His widowed sister Lady Edwina manages it for him.’

‘How came Dame Marian to stray so far from the abbey?’

‘She went missing the night of a fire at the abbey in the week after Pentecost.’

Late May. ‘She escaped a fire?’ Owen asked.

A deep breath. ‘The fire began around the window in the library that holds the nuns’ music. Dame Marian’s pallet was right there. When she was not among the sisters helping pass buckets of water or carrying manuscripts out of harm’s way they feared they would find her bones in the ashes. But when the laborers searched the ashes the next morning they found no bones. The fire had not burned so long that a body would leave no trace. Her nun’s garb was found in a gardener’s shed in the outer part of the abbey enclosure. The reverend mother and Dame Eloise, the cantrice who taught her, both insisted someone had taken her, that she would not have set the fire, she would not have run on her own accord.’

‘Unless she feared she would be blamed for the fire,’ said Owen.

‘You would not be the first to suggest that. Sir Thomas and his sister, Lady Edwina, thought that likely and expected her to come to them. But we searched the countryside between the abbey and both their houses and found no sign of her. Then one of my fellows learned that his brother Phillip, Dame Marian’s music teacher in Lady Edwina’s household, had disappeared a few days before the fire. His family was frightened. He’d seemed obsessed with his former student, enraged when she went to the abbey, saying they had been meant for each other and he would find a way to rescue her.’ Gabriel had been speaking so quickly he needed to pause for breath. His voice had grown raspy. ‘Might I have some of that wine?’

Keen to keep him talking, Owen poured a cup, handed it to him. ‘And so you were sent to find Phillip and Marian?’

‘Four pairs of us, plotting our paths with information Rupert gave us about his brother’s rambling, where he had served, where he studied. We were to track the two of them, take them both, return them to Sir Thomas. Whether we returned with Phillip alive or dead mattered not a whit to my lord. But Dame Marian was to be treated with respect.’

‘Was this Rupert of the party?’

‘He was my comrade on the road.’

The brother of the man suspected of abducting Dame Marian had been trusted as part of the search party? ‘Just the two of you?’

‘Yes.’

Unwise. Owen wondered how Sir Thomas justified that. ‘Have you found Phillip?’

‘What we found were rumors of his death. That villagers burned him as a pestilence-carrier, but she escaped. She might have betrayed him to them. Or so the story went.’

‘Did you send word to your lord?’

‘We were in pursuit. That would have taken time.’

‘So then your mark was only Dame Marian, the betrayer of your partner’s brother?’

Gabriel looked away. ‘I was caught up in the chase. I did not think.’

‘Go on. You were now searching for her.’

‘We lost all track of her for a good long while and wondered whether the villagers had not wished to admit they had burned her as well. If they’d learned she had been a bride of Christ they would fear God’s punishment. We were about to turn back north of Bath when we heard of a company of minstrels and players with a comely lad, voice of an angel, fair hair, pale eyes– We kept going.’

‘And once you found her Rupert leaped off the roof of the chapter house?’

‘I don’t know what happened between them. I was waiting outside the minster. I did not see them disappear into the chapter house.’ Gabriel was panting with fear. ‘I pray you, save my arm!’

‘You rode together, drank together, but you have no idea why Rupert would take her somewhere without informing you? I don’t believe you. I think you knew he meant to punish her for his brother’s death and something went wrong.’

‘I knew of no such intention, I swear. We were following the French spy, Ambrose Coates. We thought he would be a fine addition to our catch. I waited without that evening, Rupert went in to watch the meeting. Ambrose had told her he was meeting someone about her stolen prayer book. I don’t think she believed him. I had told her Ambrose was a French spy.’

A stolen prayer book? The psalter? ‘How did you know Ambrose, and the rumors about him?’

‘He is not a man one forgets.’

‘Where had you seen him?’

‘At the French court. A few years past. I offered Dame Marian a trade – information about the French spy for a message to Sir Thomas telling him where I’d found her and that we would travel south as soon as the snow melted.’

‘As was your duty.’

‘She did not know that.’

‘Did you send the message?’

‘I did. As was my duty.’ He drained his cup, set it aside with a clatter, closing his eyes. ‘I would speak with her. Find out what happened that night. I followed the clerk who unlocked the south transept, but he returned while I was searching the chapter house, before I found anything. She had been in there with him?’

‘It was you who accosted the clerk when he returned to lock the door?’

‘I am sorry for that. Was she with him?’

‘Was there anyone else in the chapter house when you searched?’

‘I found no one.’

‘That was not long after Rupert fell. How did you learn of it? Were you still at the minster?’

‘I’d returned, hoping to sneak in with someone. That’s when I heard a man had fallen.’

‘Did you see him?’

‘I joined the clerks crowding round him. I could see enough in the lantern light.’

‘Did you see the vicar’s body near the chancellor’s house?’

‘No. Though I saw men there as well. I swear I had nothing to do with that. I did not know the man. Ambrose did. Ask him.’ His voice broke and he closed his eyes for a moment, his breath shallow.

‘What did you intend to do with Ambrose?’

Licking his lips, Gabriel rasped, ‘The enthronement. All the Northern families would be coming. Keep watch, deliver him up to the Percys. Deliver both.’

Owen took out the shears, began to cut away the sleeve around the arrow. ‘Where did you plan to keep Marian until then?’

‘With Tucker the fiddler. Gave the goodwife coin to take good care of her.’

Alisoun brought the kettle to add hot water to the bowl.

‘Take good care?’ Owen said. ‘Why not St Clement’s Priory, where she need not pretend to be a lad, where she would be safe?’

Gabriel opened his eyes wide. ‘You are angry. How can I trust–’ Noticing Alisoun’s hands on him he tried to wrench away his arm.

‘Do not be such a fool,’ she said in an even tone. ‘I am cleaning the wound.’

He watched her closely for a moment.

‘St Clement’s,’ Owen prompted.

‘We did not think of the nuns.’

Good at tracking, too inexperienced to plan the rest. Not surprising. The wound clean, Owen summoned Ned to hold Gabriel’s legs, asked Alisoun to hold his shoulders while he pulled the cushions away. Once the man was lying flat, Owen cut the shaft as close to the arm as he dared, then, while holding down the arm with his knee, pulled out the rest. Painful, but quick. Gabriel shrieked and kicked Ned in the mouth.

‘Now you see why I had you remove his boots,’ said Owen.

Ned muttered a curse as he sat back to nurse his jaw. Gabriel moaned and thrashed.

‘Be still while Alisoun cleans it and wraps it in a poultice,’ Owen said.

‘You cannot keep me here.’

‘I do not intend to. Where are you lodging?’

Closed eyes, tightened mouth.

‘Then I will take you to the castle.’

‘Holy Trinity Priory.’

‘Good. I will deliver you to the infirmarian at the priory.’

‘Might I see her? I need to know why he jumped. If she pushed him. What happened.’

‘When the infirmarian judges you fit, you may return. I suggest that you knock on the door and make your request with courtesy. Until then, she is under my protection.’

‘You will take the credit.’

Owen chuckled. ‘No, young Gabriel, I assure you that the tale is yours to tell to her family. You have much to explain.’

‘We found her!’

‘And I would guess by the welts on her wrists and ankles that Rupert had no intention of delivering her safe to her family. I would guess he meant to throw her off the roof. Had you two been in the chapter house before?’

‘I was never there.’

‘But he?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You each went your own way in the city?’

‘At times.’ Gabriel caught Owen’s arm as he began to rise. ‘Will I heal?’

‘Be still and receive our ministrations with good grace. The more patient you are, the better the outcome. Tell me about the prayer book.’

‘A small thing, but Lady Edwina claims it has value. She commissioned it for Dame Marian, a gift when she took her vows. My lord Percy called it “a choir of crows.” The illustrations. Said it was his sister’s jape, the sisters being crows cawing around Dame Marian, the nightingale.’

‘When was it lost?’

‘At Tucker’s. According to Dame Marian, Ambrose believed their host stole it, claims he followed him to Ronan’s lodgings. He believed that the vicar either bought it from Tucker or advised him as to its value.’

‘Did you retrieve it?’

‘No. We might ask Dame Marian. She might have overheard Ambrose meeting with that vicar.’

A choir of crows. Magda had called Thoresby the Old Crow. By extension all clerics were crows to her. And nuns? Lady Edwina shared her humor. ‘Did you see the prayer book?’

‘How would I?’

Gabriel looked up as Alisoun knelt to his wounded side. ‘How can she do that? Shoot me, then tend me?’

‘Ask her.’ Owen rose. ‘I will return for you in a little while.’

He went over to talk to Ned, giving him a simple task. Once they had deposited Gabriel in the infirmary, Ned was to find Hempe and tell him what they’d learned about Dame Marian and the Percys, and ask him to speak with Tucker’s wife, Judith, about Gabriel’s claim he gave her money to care for Marian. If true, she was not dependent on Tucker’s work for a while. He might become informative after a night in the castle. When Ned had accomplished the task, he was to return to the infirmary.

‘I count on you to return to your senses. I understand how you feel, but I cannot condone it. Consider what you have just heard, all that the young woman suffered at the hands of an unwanted suitor.’

Ned bowed his head.

‘Alisoun is her own woman. Show her your best self. Respect her right to her own choice.’

‘I have been a fool.’

Owen did not argue that. ‘Return to your watch on the house and shop. I will come for you when Gabriel is ready to be moved.’

Lucie had heard much of their conversation. Now she smiled as Owen approached.

‘Might we leave Alisoun with Gabriel and go to Marian?’ he asked.

She hesitated, searching his face for a sign of what he hoped to accomplish. Her own anger at the presumption of men sounded a warning in her head that Marian had suffered enough of men’s company for a long while. Yet, hearing his talk with Ned she knew that Owen had been much moved by Marian’s story. Still … Lucie drew him out to the hall where they might speak in private, settled on a bench near the window.

‘Why now?’ she asked gently. ‘Why you?’

‘I understand your hesitance. I mean to recount Gabriel’s story. Whether or not she chooses to correct, add, that is for her to decide. She deserves to hear what he said of her.’

That seemed fair. Lucie agreed, beginning to rise, but Owen stayed her.

‘Ned is not the only one with much to learn from the story of Phillip’s and his brother’s transgressions against Marian. Watching how Ned watches Alisoun reminds me how I watched you, how I yearned to possess you. I was fortunate. Somehow I earned your love. But I see how it poisons love to think of possession. What she suffered. What right had he to pluck her away? To decide for her?’

Lucie had never loved Owen more than she did at this moment. She studied him as she thought what to say.

‘If I–’ he began.

She pressed a finger to his mouth. Shook her head. ‘If you express this to her, I believe she might be inspired to trust us. To trust you.’ She took his hand. ‘Come. Let us meet with Dame Marian.’

Setting aside the basket of needlework she had carried from the nursery, their guest sat with hands folded in her lap, head bowed, listening to Owen’s account, occasionally nodding. Lucie had chosen a seat to the side, allowing him to have his say. She was there if Marian wanted her, but she wished the woman to hear how a man might respond to the story.

Arriving at the end of Gabriel’s account, Owen said, ‘We wanted you to know what he said of you, what he might tell your aunt and uncle. And I wished to say …’ He paused. ‘As a man I recognized myself in Phillip’s and Rupert’s behavior, and I am ashamed for us all. Forgive me for threatening you last night.’

Marian looked up, startled. ‘No, Captain. You are nothing like them. Nothing. But …’ She caught her breath, tears welling in her eyes. ‘Bless you,’ she whispered.

Lucie moved to sit beside her, gathering her into her arms, holding her as she wept. ‘Perhaps we should leave now,’ she whispered when the storm passed.

‘No. I pray you, stay.’ Marian sat up, wiping her eyes. ‘Gabriel and Rupert did find me in Cawood. They had heard about me at a tavern there, and that the company I was with were to perform at the palace. All the village were talking about it. At the palace they recognized Master Ambrose as well.’

‘Did Gabriel tell you this?’ Lucie asked.

‘Later, yes. They had been watching Tucker’s house. Gabriel caught me out at the midden one night. He told me that Master Ambrose had long lived at the court of King Charles and was known to be a spy for the French. As he said, he promised to take me to Sir Thomas if I told him whatever I might glean about Master Ambrose’s movements in the city. Anything useful I might overhear.’

‘Is it true what Gabriel said about Ambrose and your stolen prayer book?’ asked Lucie.

‘Yes. All this trouble is my fault.’ Marian’s voice broke.

‘No,’ Owen said. ‘You are not to blame. You have been ill used.’

‘I have trusted the wrong people. I believed Gabriel. Master Ambrose had spoken French, told the leader of the company of his fame among the nobles there. Gabriel said he must have guessed who I was and pretended to help me, thinking to use me in some way, spy that he was, and Sir Thomas being trusted by the king and his son Prince Edward.’ As she spoke her voice grew hoarse. ‘Might I have some water?’

Lucie began to rise but Owen insisted on going.

‘I would prefer honey water to wine, with some of Dame Magda’s physick. Alisoun will know,’ said Marian.

When Owen had left the room Marian said, ‘You are most fortunate in your husband.’

‘I am.’ Lucie smiled. ‘While we wait for him, tell me about Wherwell Abbey. Were you happy there?’

‘How could I not be? Dedicating my life to God, using my one gift to sing His praises. It is all I ever wanted.’

Lucie recalled many a girl silenced by the nuns at St Clement’s when she boarded there. ‘You were encouraged to sing?’

‘My voice was the reason they welcomed me to Wherwell. The cantrice herself, Dame Eloise, undertook my training. I worked hard, learned all that she set before me, devoted myself to my lessons. She is aged, her health failing. She said she was at peace knowing that I would be there in the abbey to lead the sisters in song when she was gone.’ Again, Marian’s voice broke. ‘It hurts to speak of this when I have had no word about her, whether she survived the fire.’

‘I pray some of your kin coming for the archbishop’s enthronement will have news for you.’

A knock. Owen entered with a tray of cups and flagons of water and wine. Lucie offered to pour.

‘How is Gabriel?’ Marian asked.

‘Resting,’ said Owen. ‘Alisoun is satisfied that his forehead is cool.’

‘I would not have expected her to be skilled with a bow,’ said Marian.

‘We were speaking of how Dame Marian came to Wherwell Abbey,’ said Lucie. ‘She studied under the cantrice.’ She handed Marian a cup of honeyed water. ‘Gabriel believed that your former music tutor had set that fire. Tell me how you met him.’

‘Would that I never had.’ Marian drank some honeyed water, closed her eyes as she swallowed, thanked Owen. ‘After the death of my father, my mother asked Sir Thomas, my godfather, to be my guardian. I was to live away from home, in one of Sir Thomas’s manor houses, supervised by his sister, Lady Edwina. Her first act was to hire a tutor for me, to teach me all I needed to know so that I might be welcome at one of the great abbeys as an asset with my voice and knowledge of music – Sir Thomas had always encouraged me to sing at the Christmas and harvest feasts on the manor. The tutor, Phillip, was the brother of one of Sir Thomas’s retainers. Lady Edwina and my mother considered him a good choice because his father had once been a musician in the court of the King of Bohemia. And he was studying for the Church. Neither of them knew anything more of him. They had heard him play. One of his own compositions. I was happy. Music was all I cared about. That must be how he came to his grievous misunderstanding.’

‘Phillip? Your music-master?’ Lucie asked.

‘Yes. I often smile when I sing. Did he think I meant the smiles for him? All I thought about was the music. I looked forward to the day when I would devote my life to God.’

Seeing the pain and doubt in her eyes, hearing it in her voice, Lucie gently asked about that day, when she finally went to the abbey.

‘Mistress Edwina and Sir Thomas accompanied me to Wherwell. Everything depended on that meeting. I was so in awe I could not breathe when the abbess commanded me to sing for her. But with Mistress Edwina smiling and encouraging me I found my breath and began to sing Benedicamus Domino.’ Lucie knew that to be part of the daily office, a piece every sister would know. ‘The abbess interrupted to summon Dame Eloise, the cantrice. Once I saw Dame Eloise I found the courage and the breath to sing my best. She had such kind eyes.’

Marian broke off and rose to sing a Benedicamus Domino unlike any Lucie had ever heard, notes climbing, then curling back. Soul-lifting. When she paused, the silence in the room felt alive, resonant with prayer. Owen looked on in awe.

As if unaware of the effect she had Marian resumed her seat and continued. ‘After I sang Dame Eloise clapped her hands, tears streaming from her eyes. She enfolded me in her arms. She said that God had answered her prayers. She would train me to be her sub-cantrice. I felt so welcome.’

‘God answered your prayers as well,’ said Lucie. ‘Tell me more about Dame Eloise.’

‘I loved her the moment I met her, such a gentle, sweet face, her pale eyes a little clouded with age yet somehow still keen. And so kind. Her hands were soft, cushioned as if she had no sharp bones.’ Marian gave a little laugh. A lovely, throaty laugh.

‘How long were you there?’ Lucie asked.

‘Seven years. I thought I would live there until God claimed me.’ Marian pressed her hand to her forehead, her sleeve falling away from the slender wrist that seemed far too frail to support her long-fingered hands. ‘But everything fell apart in the spring. I have prayed and prayed and I cannot think what the sin might be for which I am so punished. Pride?’ She glanced up at Lucie, tears shimmering in her eyes, spots of color on her cheeks. ‘Was I too proud of my voice? I thought it God’s gift.’ There was an edge to her voice. ‘I thought I was meant to use it to praise Him. Dame Eloise said it was so. I cannot think why God so punished me.’

Reaching out to take Marian’s hand, Lucie held it firmly as she asked whether she needed some wine.

Marian shook her head. ‘To be among women again. You cannot know how good it has been to be with you, Dame Lucie. And Alisoun and Dame Magda, Dame Bess. You as well, Captain Archer. What you said – I have not felt so safe since that terrible night. And now I would – Gabriel promised to find out whether Dame Eloise survived the fire. But I cannot expect him to do so now. Rupert was his friend. I am sure he blames me for the deaths of both him and his brother.’ Her voice rose, her eyes flashing, but as suddenly as the anger flashed, she quelled it, paused to drink water, wipe her eyes. ‘I pray that the prioress of St Clement’s might find out for me. Or, as you said, Dame Lucie, perhaps someone coming for the enthronement will have news.’

‘Did Ambrose tell you who he was meeting at the minster?’ Owen asked.

‘No. He had mentioned only a few people in my hearing – the Riverwoman, you, Dame Lucie. I could not think it would be either Dame Lucie or Dame Magda, but I did mention you. I have betrayed you. And Master Ambrose. I do not deny it. I have been such a fool.’

‘You survived. That is no small accomplishment,’ said Owen.

Marian dismissed it with a shake of her head.

‘What else did you tell them about Ambrose?’ asked Owen.

‘I knew little else. He sometimes mutters to himself over his instrument, thinking perhaps that no one will be able to understand him. That is how I learned of the Riverwoman.’ A pause. ‘There was a time when I would have shunned a woman like Dame Magda. But I would have been wrong. God clearly works through her.’

‘She would smile to hear that,’ said Lucie.

‘That is what Alisoun said.’ Another pause, suddenly not meeting Lucie’s gaze. ‘Alisoun told me she lost her family to pestilence. It returned to the south in summer.’

‘Here as well,’ said Lucie. ‘Our nursemaid left us to nurse her mother, but lost her, and when she returned and our children fell ill … I could not convince her it was not pestilence. She fled. That is when Magda sent Alisoun to help us.’

Marian crossed herself, but did not speak, her pale eyes watching something far beyond the room. A sob escaped her and she turned away, wiping her eyes.

‘I let him die. I refused to help him.’

‘Phillip? But he took you from the abbey,’ said Lucie. The young woman was trembling so hard. Lucie took her hand.

‘I wanted him to pay for what he did. He took me away from all that I loved.’

‘Yes. He hurt you,’ said Lucie.

‘I did nothing for him. Nothing,’ Marian sobbed.

Lucie touched her hot cheeks, shushing her as she would one of the children. ‘Sip your water. Rest a moment.’

‘I will never rest. I am damned.’

‘No one is beyond redemption.’

‘And now I’ve brought trouble on your house. And the city.’

‘You are helping by telling your story so that we might know whether there are others besides Gabriel who might be a threat to us,’ said Owen.

‘How can I know whether or not there are more?’

‘How did you come to leave Wherwell?’ Lucie asked. ‘Did Phillip take you away? How did he gain access?’ She was guessing, connecting bits and pieces of information and intuited pain. ‘Did he tell you?’

‘Lady Edwina had visited me earlier in the year. I wanted to show her one of the manuscripts. The illustrations reminded me of those in a book she had shown me when I first came to stay with her. Dame Eloise permitted me to bring her to my cell off the room where the musical manuscripts were stored. Phillip said she told him about it, answering all his questions, so helpful, he said. From her he learned where I slept, where the music library was. How could she be so–’ Marian stopped herself.

In that moment, watching her fight the anger, push it down – again smoothing the brow, relaxing the mouth, softening the eyes, taking a deep breath, Lucie understood the enigma the young woman presented. She, too, had been shaped by the sisters. Anger is a grievous sin, Lucia. A girl must follow the Blessed Mother’s model – humble, obedient, ever cheerful.

‘How did he use what she had told him?’ Lucie asked.

‘On the Feast of Pentecost he attended a service at the abbey, and afterward hid himself in a garden shed. He bragged of his cleverness to me. At nightfall, he crept out and set a fire beneath the window of the music library. I slept beneath that window. I woke coughing. At first I did not understand, and then I smelled it, felt the smoke in my eyes. A fire! I called out to warn everyone as I ran to assist Dame Eloise, but another sister was already leading her out. And then all was confusion. So many rushing about. I was trying to move the most precious manuscripts out of harm’s way. The smoke made me dizzy. I fell against a burning timber. Someone carried me to a window and tossed me out, shouting at me to roll myself through the dew in the grass. He was waiting there. He picked me up, saying he would take me to a safe place. I thought at first he was the gardener, but the voice. I recognized the voice.’ She stopped, staring down at her hands. ‘I was fighting him, kicking and screaming and I managed to get free. I remember running and seeing that the gates were open so that carts could come with water … I doubled back, ashamed to be running instead of helping. And then – what happened then I know not. I woke up in a barn, dressed in clothes that were not mine, my hair uncovered …’ Her voice broke.

‘You must have been so frightened. And angry.’

Marian met Lucie’s gaze. ‘Angry,’ she whispered. ‘Yes. I have done penance for my anger. And for Dame Eloise and all the sisters, and the manuscripts. I have ached to know how much damage I caused.’

‘You caused?’ Lucie found it difficult to control her own outrage. ‘He started the fire. You rushed to help.’

‘I do not know how, but I inspired in Phillip a belief that God meant us to be together, that I had taken vows in ignorance– He called my vows a mistake.’

‘Arrogant cur,’ Owen muttered. He clenched his hands, holding himself still to listen.

‘You were seven years in the convent,’ said Lucie. ‘I presume he had no contact with you in all that time. He spun a tale that he began to believe. It had nothing to do with you. Did he ask you how you felt? What you wanted?’

‘He believed–’

‘He believed what he wanted to believe,’ Lucie snapped.

‘I want to believe that.’ Marian reached for Lucie’s hand, held it for a moment, whispering her thanks. ‘Shall I go on?’

‘Yes, I pray you, what happened then? Where were you when the pestilence struck him down?’

‘A shed at the edge of a marsh. With a hole for a window, another for a door. He called it a house. A fog of foul vapors surrounded it morning and night. At first I blamed them on his labored breathing, but when the first pustule burst, I knew. Down a track I’d found a village. I had managed to barter for a young woman to come out and cook for us. But when he sickened she disappeared. I searched his bags, hoping to find money for food, and I found my prayer book, the one Dame Edwina had copied for me, and my paternoster beads. He had stolen my prayer book and beads. He had taken me from all that I loved, starved me, dragged me to such a cursed place – was that not enough? He would rob me of these as well?’ She paused. ‘Yes, I admit to my anger, I do. I finally saw what he was and I knew then that if he recovered he would take my virginity, my last blessing. I had begged him not to touch me, and he had agreed, for the nonce, he said, he would be patient. Patient.’ She spit the word. ‘I saw what a child I was to believe anything he said. No wonder God so punished him. I felt it a sign that I was right not to nurse him. God had condemned him with the pestilence. And I was untouched. I must flee while that was still true. I took his clothes, washed them well, and turned myself into Matthew. I collected anything that might be of value, and I left.’

‘He was still alive?’ Lucie asked.

‘He was weak, the fever had stolen his wits, but he yet lived.’

All that she described took time – the maidservant deserting, her preparations for leaving. Most died quickly after the pustules broke. In Lucie’s experience those who lingered were rare, and they were the ones who survived. She wondered whether Marian knew that.

‘Have you had any news of him?’ Lucie asked. ‘Was he buried?’

‘I heard a tale of villagers burning a pestilence-carrier in a hut near a marsh and I wondered if it might be him. I was not far from there when I heard it from men in the fields. They were warning me away. Strangers were not welcome when Death walked the land.’ Tears fell down her cheeks. She brushed them away with her hands. ‘You cannot know how I have agonized over all I did. And did not do.’

Lucie poured water, gave it to her to drink.

‘How did you find food?’ she asked.

‘I traded my prayer beads one or two at a time for food. I believed the Blessed Mother and her Son would understand.’

‘Folk shared their food?’

‘They refused me shelter but they were not lacking charity. Some sold me food, not wishing me to starve.’

‘Where did you encounter the company of musicians?’

‘In a tavern along the road out of Bath. I hoped to find work at the stables there, but I was shooed away like a stray cat. One of the musicians – Wojon, he called himself, he saw what happened and offered to buy me some food and drink. We sat at a table with some of the others. After more ale they began to tease about how I looked a lad who could be cleaned up and become their lady. They asked me to sing. I sang a carol my mother taught me as a child and one of them hurried inside to fetch their leader. He was happy to take me along.’ Marian closed her eyes.

Lucie gently touched her hand. ‘You have stirred up much pain in the telling. But it is helpful. Now, tell us of that night in the chapter house. Why did you go in there?’

‘I thought I saw the player who attacked me at Cawood. The drummer, Paul. He’d finally guessed I was no lad. And after drinking the good ale at the palace–’ A ragged breath. ‘He is big, and strong. I do not know how Master Ambrose had the strength to pull him off, but he did.’

‘You sought to hide from him in the chapter house?’ Lucie asked.

‘Yes,’ Marian breathed. ‘I thought to slip out in a while. I meant only to lose him.’

‘Had he seen you?’ Owen asked.

‘I don’t know. I don’t even know if it was him.’

‘But you stayed,’ said Lucie.

‘Someone locked the door.’ Marian shuddered and licked her lips. ‘I told myself I would be safe, I would curl up in my cloak and sleep, and in the morning I would be discovered. I did not know at first I was not alone.’

‘What happened?’ asked Lucie.

‘Once I calmed I stumbled around in the dark searching for the door. Maybe it was shut, not locked. Maybe I could open it from within. He waited there. I heard his breath as I touched the door. He caught me up and threw me to the floor. I bit and kicked and he kept hissing in my ear that he meant to avenge his brother. I escaped from him once. In the dark I thought he might not see me. I heard something that sounded as if it came from the other side of the door. I went toward it, pulled, pushed, rattled, shouted. He laughed all the while.’ Tears now streamed down Marian’s face as her words tumbled out, an outpouring of horror. ‘How could they not hear?’

‘Did you know that Gabriel’s partner was Phillip’s brother?’ Owen asked in his gentlest voice.

‘Not until Rupert told me that night.’ A sob. ‘I stopped thinking, just waited for death. He tied my hands and feet, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me up narrow stairs, tossed me down on a wood floor, sat on me, and opened the shutter on a lantern. I thought then he meant to enjoy me before he killed me. But he just kept whispering about his dear brother, saintly Phillip. I had burned him alive. The villagers said they could hear him screaming.’

So he had survived the pestilence. Weak, but alive. And then burned. ‘He kept you there all night?’ Lucie asked.

‘Yes.’ A whisper.

‘Did he take you?’

‘No. He said I disgusted him.’

God be thanked.

‘How did you get to the roof?’ asked Owen.

‘Rupert had left me, taken the lantern and gone away. I heard him moving up above. Hunting for the worst way to kill me, I thought. I heard from afar the night office being sung. I kicked the floor. Again. Again. Could they not hear?’ A pause for breath. ‘Rupert came clattering down from above. I rolled away so he would not find me at once, but I caught against something and he was there, yanking me up, cutting my bonds, telling me to walk. He held a knife at my back. I could not feel my legs or my arms but somehow I moved. I drew my knife and he knocked it out of my hands, shoved me against a ladder, shouted for me to climb. I felt something wet and cold. Snow. I started to climb. He was behind me, so close, I pulled myself up and over. So cold, so cold and wet. But the air – if I could find the edge I would be free. A sin, I know, to take my life. But I was so wretched.’

‘A night of such fear,’ said Lucie.

‘I walked to the edge. He came up behind me and shouted at me to take one more step. I wanted to fly but my legs gave out from under me. He must have reached to push as I fell and tripped over me. He went off the edge. I am doubly damned. I killed both brothers.’ She stared at nothing.

Lucie crossed herself. Not for the brothers, but for Marian. ‘And your prayer book?’ she asked.

‘I never saw it.’

‘Paul the drummer?’ asked Owen.

‘I don’t know whether it was him, or my fear manifest.’ She gave Owen a questioning look.

‘I will ask about players and musicians at the taverns,’ he said.

‘That morning in the chapter house, how were you able to sing after such a night?’ asked Lucie.

Marian turned to her. Tears wet her cheeks, but in her eyes Lucie saw the spark of anger as she swiped at the tears, an impatient gesture. ‘I was certain I would never again sing in a sacred space, not after– They would say I lured Phillip, and then Rupert. The woman is ever blamed. We are Eve’s children, the temptresses.’

‘The wrong was done to you,’ said Lucie

‘You are not the one who will stand in judgment.’

‘I will make Prioress Isabel understand.’

‘Will you?’

Would she?

‘I know this was difficult for you,’ said Owen, ‘and I am grateful, Dame Marian. I see now that what happened in the chapter house likely has nothing to do with Ronan’s murderer.’ He rose to leave. At the door he turned to assure her that she was safe with them, and he would find a way to take her to St Clement’s.

Thanking him, Marian took up the basket of needlework and said she would return to Bess and the children.