A Cruel Courtship

13

Still hoping he might escape in time to provide information to the Scots, Andrew stayed with Sir Francis and the others into the early evening, listening to developments when they were still fresh, before being contorted by being passed from man to man, adding opinions to the facts. The commanders planned to send troops across the Stirling bridge at dawn; Surrey had at last agreed. Sir Francis was to lead a later crossing. So far Andrew had heard nothing of battles around either Edinburgh or Perth. He prayed that meant Fergus and Margaret were truly safe.

The men were quietly discussing the plans when someone joined the group by the fire. Holm glanced over at him and asked Sir Francis who it was.

‘Sir Simon Montagu,’ said Francis. ‘We conferred at Soutra. He’s been biding at the castle. Let’s hear what he has to say of the situation up there.’

Andrew wanted to slip away, not eager to meet Ada de la Haye’s former lover again. The fewer Englishmen who knew him and where he’d been posted the better; especially now that his hope for escape was stirring.

But he ducked too late.

‘Father Andrew? Well, I’d not thought to meet you again so soon,’ said Sir Simon. He crouched down by Andrew, the firelight adding menacing shadows to his face.

‘He agreed to come as chaplain for my men, a sudden change in plan,’ said Sir Francis. ‘I thank God for him. He’s kept my men from despair.’

‘That’s more than the priests of Holy Rude have managed in Stirling,’ said Simon, studying Andrew’s face. ‘Murders abound in the town. The townspeople have all gone mad. Your sister is there, Father, did you know? Margaret. She’s a beautiful widow — my son Peter might be a good match for her.’

Knowing full well that Simon was trying to goad him into responding inappropriately for his post, Andrew asked merely, ‘Margaret is widowed? What happened to Roger Sinclair?’ while his mind was frantic with concern. What was she doing in Stirling of all places, and being courted by Sir Simon’s son?

‘He met an unfortunate accident while spying on Stirling Castle for the traitor Robert Bruce. Fell from a rock, hit his head, broke his neck.’

‘May he rest in peace,’ Andrew murmured, crossing himself and keeping his eyes lowered. It was not good that Simon Montagu knew of Roger’s alliance.

‘Your sister is here with an old friend of mine, Ada de la Haye. Peter is our son.’

Andrew ignored the scenarios vying for attention, needing a clear head. ‘I pray I have the opportunity to see her after the battle,’ he said. I pray for her, he silently added.

With that Simon seemed to become bored with the sport and withdrew.

‘I am sorry to hear of your sister’s loss,’ said Francis. ‘No matter how ill-advised her husband’s loyalties, it is sad news for you, too.’

‘I should pray for her,’ said Andrew.

‘I understand.’

Rising, Andrew made a show of yawning and excused himself. ‘If there is to be battle tomorrow, all the sinners in the camp will find their way to me tonight. I must catch sleep when I can.’

All but Sir Simon bade him a good night.

Ada had never witnessed Celia so withdrawn. She could not get a word out of her regarding Margaret’s collapse. Maus thought she’d seen them coming from the neighbour’s house, but Celia would not even verify that, going about her tasks pinched-faced and pale. It had been late morning when Margaret rushed through the hall and up to her bed; it was now mid afternoon and Celia was a cipher, though she had assisted Ada in sewing Peter into his shroud. Only then had she spoken, and only to say, ‘This minds me of the night my mistress opened Master Jack’s shroud.’

‘Roger’s cousin?’ He’d been murdered in Edinburgh while searching for Roger and his body had been taken home to Dame Katherine in Dunfermline for burial. ‘Maggie opened his shroud?’

Celia nodded. ‘She knew something wasn’t right. That was the beginning, I think.’

‘Of what?’ Ada had asked.

Celia had shrugged and gone silent. Maddening woman. Ada knew the moment she’d seen the dark, tiny maid that she would be difficult. Small people often made up for their lack of size in the strength of their will, and she’d seen that strength in Celia’s strong brows and clear, dark eyes. But she had proven her worth, standing by Maggie in some harrowing times, so Ada kept her mouth shut and let the woman be. Perhaps Maggie was simply that worried about James’s joining the battle.

It was to be a day of aggravating servants, Ada thought, when John asked if Archie would be departing soon.

‘Is that a request?’ Ada snapped.

‘As he gains strength he’s eating more and more,’ said John. ‘We have food for a week, perhaps a fortnight if we can barter for some oats that cook could grind into cakes. They’ll not let us off this cursed rock to seek out fresh supplies — we’ve tried. We’re trapped here. I hadn’t planned for a siege.’

‘We’ve food only for a week despite my eating every evening at the castle?’ Ada did not believe it. ‘You just want him gone.’

John denied it.

Ada knew the English had commandeered all the food for miles around, and she’d begun to feel they were as trapped as if under siege, but she wasn’t going to concede to a servant’s demands.

It was late afternoon when Margaret at last wandered into the hall looking like a wraith, her curly red hair loose like a caplet over her shoulders, her shift sleeves lacking their outer covering. Her appearance was not inappropriate when there were no guests, but it was very unlike Maggie. Celia hurried after her with sleeves in hand.

‘I’ll not wear Peter’s blood,’ said Maggie, pushing the sleeves away.

Ada shook her head when Celia appealed to her. ‘Let her be. Archie won’t mind her without decorative sleeves.’ Noticing that Margaret seemed confused by her surroundings, Ada put an arm around her and guided her to a chair a little away from the fire, out of Archie’s sight — the young man was sitting up today and quite curious about the household.

‘What happened, Maggie?’ Ada asked under her breath. ‘You are behaving — well, I almost think Christiana has taken your form.’

Margaret sank back in the chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling, and breathed deeply.

‘Can I bring you something?’ Ada asked.

‘A sip of brandywine, if you can spare it, and then I’ll be myself again, I promise.’ Margaret glanced down at the hair spilling across her shoulder. Pulling on a tress, she said, ‘Sweet heaven, Celia will have a fit about my unbound hair and no sleeves.’ Apparently she’d not noticed her maid shadowing her.

‘What happened this morning?’ Ada asked. ‘You looked even worse than when you spoke to Ranald.’

Taking Ada’s hand, Margaret affectionately squeezed it. ‘I’ll tell you all in exchange for some brandywine.’

Ada did not know what to make of Margaret’s behaviour.

Gradually Margaret felt coherent enough to look outward and trust that she was seeing with her own eyes. By the expression on the face of her good and loyal friend, she knew that she must at last explain her behaviour to Ada. She needed to know that the Sight had come to Margaret, and that she was struggling to learn how to use it and how to live with it. It was plain that she’d frightened both of them, for Celia had heard quite a lot at the Allans’s house.

They sat up in the solar, just the three of them, talking softly. At first it was mostly Margaret who spoke, telling them of the beginnings before they left Perth, Dame Bethag’s advice, how frightened and lost she’d been as she rode towards Stirling.

‘I have wondered what was bothering you ever since you told me of the owl,’ said Ada. ‘Roger’s death — how horrible to dream of it. I wish you had told me.’

‘There is nothing you could have done for me, my friend, just as I’ve never been able to help Ma.’

‘Father Piers guessed that you had the Sight that day when you asked about the clothing in his parlour,’ Ada remembered. ‘I’ve been so blind.’

‘I wanted you to be,’ Margaret assured her.

She told them of her fear for Johanna, and how it had brought her to Johanna’s house, but too late.

‘Why have you seen nothing about her murderer?’ Ada asked, sounding as frustrated as Margaret felt. ‘Have you no idea who beat that poor woman?’

Margaret shook her head. ‘I know it’s difficult to understand, but the Sight seems to choose what it reveals — or God chooses.’

She told them of her growing obsession with the Allans, and the question about Huchon’s ring that she’d asked Ranald without knowing why.

‘Poor Lilias Allan. What was Peter thinking, to insist they watch? And to wear that damned ring!’ Ada growled.

‘He might not have known whose it was,’ Margaret said. ‘In truth I doubt he could have. Why would Gordon tell him? But it is returned to the Allans now.’ She bowed her head. ‘I have prayed and prayed that the Sight is God’s gift, and not a curse.’

Celia looked up from her work. ‘I am sure it is God’s work, Mistress.’ She had been quiet until now, delicately scraping the last traces of blood from Margaret’s sleeves. ‘What you did for Lilias Allan was a blessing for her. You drew her out of the despair that threatened her soul’s salvation.’

‘Perhaps God has yet some information about Johanna to give us,’ said Ada. ‘It is not right that such a murder go unpunished.’

‘The English don’t care about her death,’ said Margaret. ‘She was unimportant.’

‘I know. But I do. My situation with Simon was not so different from hers with Rob.’

‘He hurt you deeply.’ Margaret took Ada’s hand.

‘Perhaps his punishment will be to never know Peter’s fate,’ said Ada. ‘That will give him pain, I know it will.’

‘If he returns, will you not tell him?’ Celia asked. ‘Someone will surely notice the burial.’

‘If Simon returns to Stirling we’ll have far more serious concerns,’ said Ada, ‘for that will mean our people have lost the battle.’ She shook her head. ‘As for telling Simon about Peter, I shall know what to say when he asks. I always do.’

‘I wonder about Johanna’s English lover,’ said Celia, ‘what Rob’s fate will be — or has been.’

‘I’ve wondered that, too’ said Ada. ‘I should have thought they’d make an example of him.’

‘Like poor Huchon Allan,’ said Celia. ‘Only her lover Rob did not know he was committing treason.’

‘Then he was a fool,’ said Ada.

Margaret wondered at the turn in the conversation. Her friends seemed to have accepted the change in her and gone on to other concerns. But then she hadn’t told them of her bargain with the Sight. By following it, she had done some good, so she intended to keep her vow to seek out Euphemia when she was free to do so. That would not be received without argument. She expected Ada and Celia to try to persuade her not to take such a radical step. For now she was relieved that they knew, and grateful that they accepted her as she was.

At dawn the noise of men arming and gathering to march woke Andrew and Matthew, though it was not their camp on the move. Word passed through the camps that some infantry had been sent over the bridge. The battle had begun. Andrew soon found himself surrounded by soldiers wanting his blessing. It was not only Sir Francis’s men, but many of those who had stopped him as he moved through the camps a few days earlier with Pete and Will.

‘Do they think your blessing will make the arrows and axes glance off them?’ Matthew asked.

‘For a man who cannot learn his letters, you are a canny one, Matthew,’ Andrew said.

‘I pray they don’t come after us when their comrades are killed,’ said Matthew.

Andrew was finally eating some hard bread soaked in watered ale when Holm arrived, cursing and kicking at anything in his path. The infantry that had been sent over Stirling Bridge had been called back because Surrey had overslept and was furious that someone else had ordered the battle begun. Andrew feared Holm would end up killing one of his own men, but he eventually gained control of himself, though he was anything but calm.

The news was enough to sow panic in the camp. Andrew had never seen men so agitated as the soldiers were now. Rumours abounded — that Wallace had fierce highlanders waiting to pick them off from beneath the bridge, that sea monsters were heading upriver from the firth — and fights broke out as fear frayed tempers.

‘If King Edward were here he’d have Surrey’s head, and ride with it into battle,’ said Sir Francis, already looking spent and anxious. ‘I’ve never known such incompetence. I have a bad feeling about this day, Andrew. Pray for us.’ They had been ordered to the bridge once more, and this time troops seemed to be crossing.

Andrew blessed him, and was choked with sorrow as he watched Sir Francis ride off, leading his men into the chaos. Andrew might be free now, but he respected Sir Francis and had grown fond of many of the men who had come to him for absolution and guidance. He wished he were ministering to the army of his own cause, but that did not make him hate these men. This was a war begun by a king who had sucked the heart out of Wales and now intended to do so here in Scotland. It angered Andrew that a king’s lust for power had forced men to take sides against their fellows with whom they had no personal argument. He prayed that Sir Francis, his men, and all the men he had met here might pass this day unharmed, but he did not have much hope. There was a witless feel to the movement of the troops.

When they were alone except for servants and camp followers, Andrew and Matthew packed their few belongings, adding some of the dwindling provisions, and headed up the hill to Stirling. He might be surer of escape by heading into the countryside, but he was worried about Maggie. His heart lifted a little with the thought of seeing her. But Matthew was muttering prayers beneath his breath as they climbed.

Andrew tried to distract him with talk about what they’d missed most since leaving Holyrood Abbey.

‘The bed I thought so hard,’ said Matthew.

‘I miss the quiet work of copying out a letter in my best hand,’ said Andrew, surprising himself with fond memories of the cloister.

‘The singing,’ said Matthew. ‘And the food.’

They had eaten well at Holyrood.

‘How will we find Dame Margaret?’ asked Matthew as houses began to appear.

‘Quiet, Matthew,’ said Andrew, catching sight of guards ahead. ‘We’re headed for the kirk. We know no one in the town.’

‘Halt! What do you want in the town?’ one of the men demanded. He looked more frightened than fierce.

‘I am Father Andrew, late of the Hospital of the Trinity on Soutra Hill. My servant and I have been travelling long with the troops and our supplies are gone. We would take communion wafers from the kirk here to the men below, for their blessings before the battle.’

‘How goes it below, Father?’ the other asked.

‘Our men have begun crossing the river. Wallace and Murray will be only now seeing how great a host comes after them.’

The frightened one made a noise that might have been a chuckle. ‘You may go on through,’ he said, ‘but without weapons.’

The other moved forward to search them.

‘We have nothing but our small knives for the table, I assure you.’

The guards stepped aside, letting them pass.

‘Just two of them?’ Matthew whispered as they moved on.

Andrew shook his head. ‘Behind the house there were more, ready to ambush us at a signal. God is watching over us.’

The streets were almost deserted, and the few folk they encountered averted their eyes when they saw strangers. Andrew headed for the kirk.

An elderly priest greeted them in the nave.

‘We had no word of a priest visiting,’ said Father John. He seemed to be supervising the cleaning of a chantry chapel; it looked as though someone had been living there.

‘Sanctuary?’ Andrew guessed.

The old priest looked uncomfortable.

Andrew quickly explained who he was.

With a sigh of relief, Father John relaxed. ‘Dame Maggie, yes, she is biding with Ada de la Haye.’ He nodded. ‘I can direct you there. But tell me, how did you find your way here? The English surround us.’

‘With care,’ said Andrew, softening the curt answer with a smile. ‘Is there a place my servant and I might stay tonight?’

‘You’ll want to ask Father Piers,’ said John. ‘I am his assistant; I make no decisions.’ He led them across the kirk yard to the rectory where a clerk said that Father Piers was at prayer.

‘I know that,’ said John. ‘Tell him that Father Andrew, Dame Maggie’s brother, is here. He’s made it through the English down below and deserves a welcome.’

Andrew thanked the elderly priest.

The clerk looked interested. ‘You’ve been down there, Father?’

Andrew nodded. ‘And if I lodge here tonight I’ll have a tale or two for you.’

He and Matthew were soon invited to lodge with the priests; once relieved of their things they headed to Ada’s house. Andrew was not yet saying prayers of thanks for deliverance. Not until he was safely beneath Ada’s roof and knew his sister safe.

‘Andrew!’ Maggie cried, running to him as the butler showed him in to the hall. ‘I can’t believe it’s you. I’ve prayed and prayed for you.’ Her hug was fierce, as if she intended never to let him go.

‘I’ve heard about Roger,’ he whispered before they parted. ‘I am sorry, Maggie.’

She stepped away, wiping her eyes, but remembering her duty she welcomed Matthew. ‘Let us sit.’ She led them to some benches away from the fire, where a young man lay on a pallet, but they had little time alone. Indeed, he learned only that their father had returned from Bruges and was lodging at Elcho Nunnery, hoping to win their mother back to the marriage bed.

He was still puzzling over that when Ada entered, and then her maid. Gradually the entire household joined them, wanting to hear of the battle below. They were all disappointed that he’d left the camps before there was any news to tell. Andrew reclaimed a little of their interest by describing the confusion before the battle and the guards halfway down the hill.

‘Do you think our men have a chance?’ Ada asked.

‘More than a chance,’ said Andrew. ‘Surrey behaves as if he is fighting against idiots, and that his mere presence will send terror through the ranks of his opponents. We all know that isn’t true — and so do the other English commanders.’

‘Then why are you not smiling, Father?’ asked Sandy.

‘Because I have come to know the men I served, and most are good men who will be much mourned, just as those who may be lost to us this day.’

On that dour note the servants dispersed, making excuses about work that needed doing.

‘I should leave you two in peace,’ said Ada to Andrew and Maggie. ‘Matthew, why don’t you come out to the kitchen?’

Suddenly Andrew and Maggie were alone in the hall except for the young man by the fire.

‘Who is he?’ Andrew asked.

‘Archie,’ said Maggie. ‘I’ll explain about him later, after you’ve told me about your time at Soutra and the English camps. You’ve had such an adventure.’

‘I might call it many things, but not adventure, Maggie. Still, it wasn’t so horrible at Soutra.’ He told her about his friendship with Father Obert, and how he had arranged for Andrew’s release. ‘Now it’s your turn, Maggie. How did you come to be here, in the centre of the fighting?’

‘I came as a spy for James Comyn. To find out why his messenger had faltered.’ She nodded towards the young man by the fire.

‘Damn him! Why didn’t Comyn send his own kinswoman into danger — why you?’

Andrew realised he’d said the wrong thing even before Maggie snapped, ‘I chose to come, Andrew.’

What a stubborn lass she was still. ‘Aye, for you didn’t understand what you’d risk.’

‘I’m no one’s fool.’ She said it with a quiet authority.

Andrew, remembering their arguments in Edinburgh, saw how much she had matured. ‘At least you’ve had Ada,’ he said. ‘She’s a one for keeping misfortune at bay.’

But he was playing his old role with her. In truth he was feeling oddly numbed. It seemed as if he’d been moving through a dream since he’d left the camp, and he half believed that he was in the battle down below and was cruelly teasing himself with thoughts of freedom.

‘What is it, Andrew? What’s wrong?’

He tried to describe what he was feeling.

‘I should have guessed,’ said Maggie, ‘after what you said earlier, about them being good men. This is the sort of thing I want to understand, Andrew. This struggle has taken over our lives. I want to understand it.’

‘For that you’d need to talk to Balliol, Bruce and Longshanks.’ All at once Andrew was overcome by the thought of the lives that might be lost by twilight. ‘God help us.’

‘What can I bring you? We have a little ale left, and cheese and-’

Andrew held up his hands to stop her litany. ‘My body is fine, Maggie. We brought some provisions from the camp, and I shall dine with Fathers Piers and John tonight. I understand that food is in short supply in town.’

Maggie smiled at herself, and in that moment she was lovelier than ever. ‘I’m forgetting that you’re no longer the skinny boy who had to be coaxed into sitting still and completing a meal. I’m just so happy you are here. I feared so for you.’

Despite her smile Andrew saw a great sadness in her eyes, and taking her hand he told her again how sorry he was about Roger.

She took a deep breath and bowed her head. ‘I was unkind to him when last I saw him. It’s difficult to forgive myself.’

‘God would have reunited you if that was meant to be, Maggie. You risked your life to find Roger — that required more love than most wives are ever asked to give. Remember that.’ He kissed her hand and pulled her to him, kissing her forehead and holding her tightly for a while as she silently wept.

The moment was interrupted by knocking at the door. The butler emerged from somewhere in the hall — Andrew wondered how he had managed to be so invisible — and opened the door to a tiny woman.

‘I would sit with my son for a while,’ she said.

Maggie nodded to the butler, ‘Evota is welcome, John.’

As the woman entered the room she noticed Andrew and almost stumbled. While she gazed on him he was struck by the hardness of her eyes, as if she had closed them against intruders. He wondered what had made her so fearful of others.

Ada joined them. ‘Maggie will tell me all you’ve told her, I know, but I must ask how you knew we were here, Andrew.’

‘Sir Simon Montagu had a word with me last night.’

Ada winced at the mention of his name.

‘Simon,’ said Maggie. ‘I hadn’t thought to ask how you knew.’

‘It was he who told me of Roger’s death, suggesting that your son Peter might find Maggie a good match. I don’t mean to insult you, but he made it seem a threat.’

Ada crossed herself. ‘My son.’ She glanced at Maggie questioningly.

‘We’ve not yet spoken of him,’ said Maggie.

Something had both women holding their breath.

‘Has he tried to force the match?’ asked Andrew.

‘Let’s go without, get some air,’ Maggie suggested, nodding towards Evota and Archie, who were quietly pretending not to listen.

‘Yes,’ said Ada. ‘I have a favour to ask of you, Andrew.’

By now it was early afternoon, and shouts and a steady roar came from down below. The battle must be engaged. Andrew crossed himself and prayed for the souls of those who were falling. Ada and Maggie had paused at the sounds and crossed themselves as well, both bowing to pray. They were all one in this moment, shocked by the nearness of death.

The women set two benches in the shade beneath the eaves, away from the door and the one tiny window that looked out on to the kitchen and beyond to the backlands.

In daylight Andrew noticed with some surprise that Ada had at last begun to age beyond the whitening of her hair. Fine lines encircled her mouth and eyes, and her flesh had sagged a little. He wondered if his mother, too, was showing her age.

It was Ada who began. ‘I bore five children, four to Simon Montagu. Peter is the only one of my adult children I’ve met, and I will always regret that I did. He might yet be alive had I not come to Stirling.’

‘That is not true,’ Maggie interjected, and Andrew could see by the way she sat forward that she was impatient for Ada to come to the point.

But Andrew thought she had. ‘Your son is dead?’ he asked.

Ada dropped her gaze to her lap, where she was clasping her hands together so tightly that her fingernails were white. ‘Murdered. Just without this house. The boy inside fought with him, Peter withdrew to the garden shed, and while he lay there he was stabbed in the heart.’

Andrew was caught off guard by her bluntness. ‘God grant him peace,’ he whispered, and then looked up at the sky, trying to think of something comforting to say to her, but he could only wonder at their kindness to the man’s murderer. ‘Archie followed and killed him?’

‘No,’ said Maggie. ‘I don’t think Archie killed him.’

‘Have you asked?’

‘Archie’s leg was broken, Andrew. He could not have been near the shed after that.’

‘Would you say Peter’s requiem, Andrew? It would mean so much to me if you would.’ Ada was looking at him, her face composed. ‘Please don’t feel that you need to comfort me, for I did not like him. He caused much grief here in Stirling and no doubt elsewhere as well.’

‘But Sir Simon spoke as if Peter were alive,’ said Andrew.

‘He does not know. I feared what he would do, whom he would blame.’

‘Where is your son now?’

‘At the kirk.’

‘Why did Archie attack your son?’

‘Peter controlled Archie’s family with fear,’ said Maggie. ‘And Archie suspected him of murdering the woman he loved.’

Andrew looked from one to the other. ‘You’ve witnessed more horror here than I have while travelling with an army.’

Neither woman responded.

‘Well if Archie didn’t strike the mortal blow, who did?’ Andrew asked.

‘Archie’s sister told me that Roger’s partner was looking for Peter that night,’ said Maggie.

‘Roger’s partner?’

As Maggie explained who Aylmer was, Andrew thought that he did not know half of what his sister had suffered since she’d seen him off to Soutra.

He turned to Ada. ‘Certainly I will say Peter’s requiem.’

‘God bless you, Andrew,’ said Ada.

Maggie leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

They talked a little more about family matters, Maggie telling Andrew how Fergus had carried a message to Murray. ‘James says he is fighting with Wallace this day, and Hal as well.’

‘Uncle Murdoch’s groom?’ Andrew asked.

Maggie nodded. ‘He’s gifted with animals.’

‘Uncle must have been furious when he left.’

‘Only because he’ll worry,’ said Maggie. ‘He thinks of Hal as his son.’

‘What will you do now, Maggie? If we don’t win the day, if the English release the guard on the town, will you stay here?’

‘We’ll talk of that by and by,’ she said.

James Comyn had plans for her, Andrew imagined.

‘What will you do, Andrew?’ Ada asked. ‘Will you return to Sir Francis?’

‘He’ll have no need of me. I don’t know what I’ll do. I thought I’d seek Bishop Wishart’s advice.’ The bishop of Glasgow made no effort to hide his animosity towards Edward Longshanks. ‘I believe he’ll sympathise with my estrangement from my abbot.’

‘I still fear Abbot Adam,’ said Maggie. ‘Is the bishop-’

She was interrupted by a shriek. It came from the house. The servants went running towards it from the kitchen. Maggie was the first to follow. Andrew and Ada were right behind her.

The scene in the hall was very confused by the time they reached it. John knelt beside the shrieking Evota, who appeared to be bleeding from her shoulder. Archie was on the floor near her, moaning and kneading his injured leg with one hand, while in the other, which was held in the air by Sandy, he clutched a knife.

‘He’s gone mad,’ Evota sobbed. ‘My poor boy, the head wound has addled his wits. He tried to kill me!’

‘Murderer!’ Archie shouted. ‘Show her no pity, the murdering whore. She killed Johanna. Ask her. Ask her, Father! She’ll not lie to a priest.’

‘God help us,’ Maggie whispered. ‘Can it be true?’

Celia had knelt down by Evota to examine the wound. ‘It is not deep. You are in no danger,’ she told the woman.

Andrew crouched down beside her. ‘What is your son talking about?’

The woman looked up at Celia. ‘But the blood!’

‘It is the sort of wound that bleeds freely, Evota, but it is far from mortal,’ Celia assured her.

‘Celia, come away,’ Maggie said. ‘Let Andrew talk to her.’

The maid left with a sigh of frustration. ‘I’ll fetch a rag to staunch the flow.’

‘I tell you he’s confused,’ Evota said.

‘Why would your son call you a murderer?’ Andrew asked. ‘Who was Johanna?’

Sandy had taken the knife from Archie and let him go. Maggie now knelt by him.

‘My leg,’ he moaned, ‘I think it’s broken again.’

She and Sandy helped him back to the pallet.

‘Why do you think your mother killed Johanna?’ Maggie asked him.

‘She told me. Just now. She was trying to make me understand what she’d done, how it was for our family, but you saw what she’d done, you saw Johanna. They said her head was beaten in. She did that, the bitch who calls herself my mother.’

‘We’ve got to live, you stupid boy,’ Evota cried. ‘You were paid good money by Father Piers. We depended on that. Your sister had to go whoring because Johanna rejected you and then you’d have naught to do with her. You good-for-nothing lovesick ass!’

Andrew looked up at Maggie. ‘Do you understand what they’re talking about?’

‘Yes.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Poor Johanna.’

Andrew took the wounded woman by the chin and held her so that she must look at him. ‘Did you beat a woman to death?’

Evota whimpered. ‘All I asked her was to favour Archie, sleep with him — she’d slept with all the soldiers at the castle, why not my son? Then he would go back to work as a messenger.’

‘Selfish cow,’ Archie shouted. ‘Johanna wasn’t like that.’

‘She wouldn’t agree?’ Andrew asked quietly.

‘She hit me. Hard. On the mouth. And she said she’d tell Father Piers and wouldn’t use Archie any more. They’d find another messenger. My son wasn’t good enough for her, the whore. He wasn’t English, that’s what she meant.’

Andrew let her go and drew away from her, sickened by the hatred in her eyes, her voice. The young man was sobbing. When Maggie looked up, her face was wet with tears, too.

‘What should we do with them?’ Ada wondered aloud. ‘I don’t want them here. Who is the law in the town now?’

Andrew shook his head. ‘There is none.’

Celia had brought a bowl of water and some rags, and now knelt to Evota, who stared at the ceiling wide-eyed, breathing in a laboured wheeze.

‘Go for Dame Bridget,’ said Maggie to Sandy. ‘I don’t know what to do for Archie’s leg.’ She rose and joined Andrew and Ada.

‘Had you any sense of her guilt, Maggie?’ Ada asked.

‘When she was startled to see a priest here in the hall, I wondered, but anyone might have,’ said Maggie.

‘Was this Johanna the woman over whom Peter and Archie fought?’ Andrew asked.

Ada nodded. She looked spent.

‘Was she a friend of yours, Maggie?’ Andrew was still trying to grasp all the implications of what had just transpired.

‘She was the source for the messages Archie carried to James’s men, which is why we met.’ She explained about Johanna’s English lover. ‘When she met me, I knew she was in danger, but I didn’t know whence came the threat, and I didn’t know what to do.’

‘Of course she was in danger,’ Andrew said. ‘But if anyone was responsible for that it’s James Comyn, using her as he did.’

‘He’s forced no one to fight for his kinsman, Andrew. Johanna wanted to do something for the cause.’

‘So why do you feel guilty?’

‘I told you, I kenned she was in danger, but I didn’t know what to do with the knowledge.’ Her voice had risen and she pressed a hand to either side of her wimple as if trying to close her ears to some noise. ‘I don’t understand how to use the Sight.’

‘My God, Maggie.’ Andrew reached her in two steps and laid his hands gently on hers. ‘The Sight? Tell me you’re not accursed with it.’ But he knew by the suffering he sensed in her and the fear in her eyes that she was.

‘I pray it’s God’s gift,’ she said. ‘I pray He’ll show me how I might use it for good.’

Ada had gone over to the wounded woman. ‘Take her home, John. Let her daughter tend to her. We’ll get no justice for Johanna by hanging this woman. Dame Bridget will advise us where Archie might go. I’m sick of them.’

Maggie broke away from Andrew. ‘The war has done this to them, Ada. They would have done none of this if Longshanks hadn’t torn apart their lives.’

‘You don’t know that, Maggie.’

Maggie turned back to Andrew. ‘You must feel you’ve walked into a house of madness.’

‘How could this town be otherwise, trapped between the castle and the camps?’ He put his arm around her. ‘How long have you known about the Sight, Maggie?’

‘Not long. Only you, Ada and Celia know. And Ma, I think. I’m going to Great-Aunt Euphemia, if I can. I want to learn about it, not let it destroy me like it has Ma. Let’s not talk of it any more today.’

’Thank God. Andrew did not think he could bear more.