The Nun's Tale

Twenty

Lucie was in the shop, bent over her mortar and pestle, crushing lovage root.

‘Mistress Wilton!’

Jasper de Melton stood in the doorway, his blond hair almost white from summer days in Brother Wulfstan’s garden learning herb lore along with his reading and writing.

‘Have you completed your errands?’ Lucie asked.

‘I delivered the rosemary to Mistress Merchet. She gave me a meat pie for my troubles. And Mistress Lavendar says the kitten is most likely from her cat’s litter, and we are welcome to him.’

‘Him? Is she certain?’

‘She says all the orange and white cats from her litters are male. Always.’

Lucie smiled. ‘I have known an orange female to sneak in from time to time.’

Jasper shrugged, took a few steps into the shop. ‘Are you busy?’

‘Of course I am busy, Jasper, but with no customers in here I should welcome your company.’

Happily the boy came round the counter and hoisted himself up onto a stool. He leaned close to the mortar and sniffed. ‘Strong.’

Lucie nodded. ‘Can you guess what it is?’

Jasper sniffed again, shook his head.

‘Lovage root. Do you know what it does?’

‘Makes you look fair to the one you love.’

Lucie bit back a smile. ‘Did Brother Wulfstan tell you this?’

‘No. Mistress Fletcher did.’

Ah. The woman who owned the room Jasper and his mother had lived in. ‘And why did she tell you this?’

‘Not me, my Mother. She said Mother should bathe in lovage to be even more beautiful, so Master Crounce would marry her.’

‘So what has Brother Wulfstan told you of lovage?’

‘I cannot remember.’

Lucie glanced up, hearing the hush in Jasper’s voice that signalled tears. It was the memory of his mother. ‘I am making this up for Thomas the Tanner, who is long married with four children. Do you think he wants to look more fair to Mistress Tanner?’

Jasper shook his head.

Lucie had hoped for at least a smile, but this past week, so full of memories of his mother’s last illness, a smile had been difficult. Lucie too had a time of year when she found it hard to stop thinking about the past — late November, when her first husband had been struck down. ‘Thomas has swollen hands and feet by day’s end, so I am preparing something to help rid him of water.’

Jasper nodded.

Not a time for instruction. Lucie touched his shoulder, pointed to the corner of a shelf behind her. A ball of white and orange fluff was tucked into the spot where she had removed the jar of lovage. Jasper jumped up to pet the kitten, who at once began a loud, rumbling purr. The boy rubbed his forehead against the kitten. ‘He is soft as down.’ The voice was calm now, gentle with affection.

It was just the reaction Lucie had hoped for. ‘What would you like to name him?’

Jasper lifted his head, looked at Lucie with surprise. ‘I am to name him?’

‘I should like that.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought you might take particular care of him in these next months, when I shall be quite busy.’

Jasper glanced at her widening middle, then quickly turned back to the kitten.

Lucie winced at her clumsiness. She had brought up another topic that put him in mind of his mother. At least she recognised it. At first she had not understood why Jasper reacted oddly to any mention of the baby; it was Bess who reminded Lucie that Jasper’s mother had been pregnant when she died, and worse, it had been the baby who had poisoned her.

‘What other herb lore did you learn from Mistress Fletcher?’

Still stroking the kitten, Jasper said softly, ‘That “He who would live for aye/ Must eat sage in May.” ’

‘Live for ever? I had no idea.’

‘And she gave Mother sprigs of St John’s Wort to keep under her pillow to dream of her future husband.’

‘In case it was not to be Will Crounce?’

Jasper nodded.

‘What else?’ Surely there were some that did not remind him of his mother. ‘What about rue? Such a powerful herb, she must have had some words about rue.’

‘Rue grows best when it’s stolen.’

Lucie laughed. ‘No! Truly?’

Jasper turned round, gave a tearful smile. Lucie dropped the pestle and put her hands out. He ran to her and hugged her tight.

‘I shall be fine, Jasper. Magda Digby says both mother and child are healthy. She sees no signs of trouble. I am not going to leave you.’ She stroked his flaxen hair. His arms tightened round her.

‘Now that’s a fine thing to come home to. My wife in the arms of another man.’

Lucie and Jasper both looked up with smiles as Owen filled the doorway.

Dusty and smelling of horse, Lucie thought she had never loved him more than at that moment. She hurried round the counter. He dropped his pack, pressed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her hard. ‘I have missed you,’ he whispered.

Tears in her eyes, Lucie just nodded and took his arms, put them round her. ‘A hug will not crush me.’

Owen hugged her with care, covered her face with kisses. Then he looked over at Jasper. ‘You have taken good care of my lady, Jasper. How shall I repay you?’

‘Take me to the butts this Sunday to watch you train the men?’ The boy’s eyes were hopeful.

‘Is that all you require?’

The boy nodded.

‘Would that all debts might be settled so pleasantly.’

Jasper’s face lit up.

Lucie squeezed Owen’s arm in thanks.

Lucie had fallen asleep as soon as she had lain down on the bed, but she woke during the night and opened the shutters, letting the moonlight shine on Owen, on the dark hair on his chest and arms. She touched the curls at his temples, ran her fingers gently along the beard that followed his chin. Blessed Mary, Mother of God, thank you for guiding him safely home.

Owen’s right eye fluttered open. He kissed her hand and asked sleepily, ‘Are you unwell?’

‘I am well. And content. You had a long journey. Do not let me keep you up.’

‘You have trouble sleeping?’

‘Now and then. Magda says it might become more frequent towards the end and is nothing to worry about.’

‘But you must keep up your strength.’

‘Owen, do not worry.’

He propped his head up on one elbow. ‘You said in your letter that Jasper was to stay for Corpus Christi and then return to the abbey school. I did not expect him to be here still.’

‘He wished to stay a while longer. Wulfstan and I agreed that it is best to let Jasper decide for himself where he wishes to be. At present it is here.’

Owen stroked Lucie’s bare leg. ‘The moonlight makes your skin quite magical.’

Lucie wiggled her toes. ‘It makes me feel quite magical. I like the middle of the night. Sometimes. When you are here.’ She was angry with herself the moment she said it. She had never been one to whine before.

‘I promise not to leave again before the baby comes.’

There. She had made him feel guilty about having been away on the archbishop’s business. She had seen the light in his eyes today. He was tired, disturbed by what he had learned, but refreshed by the experience. It seemed a small price to pay to have him content when he was at home. ‘You were wonderful with Jasper today. Try as I will, I cannot bring such a smile to his face.’

‘I am glad he wants to stay.’

‘I have asked him to name the kitten.’

Owen shifted onto his side. ‘I confess you puzzle me with the kitten. Melisende seems enough cat for anyone. We are never plagued by mice.’

‘The kitten will follow Melisende and learn to be a good mouser.’ Lucie ran her hand down Owen’s side. ‘You will like it.’

‘What is there to like or not like about a cat? When they have no mice to torment, they fuss and bother and go off hunting for days and worry you.’

About to say that Melisende was good company while Owen was away, Lucie caught herself, thanks be to God, and just shrugged. ‘Jasper has taken to the kitten.’

‘I begrudge you and Jasper nothing that makes you happy.’ Owen sat up. ‘You have asked me very little about Scarborough and Beverley.’

‘I wanted you to choose the time. When you were rested, ready to think about it again.’

‘Hugh Calverley is dead. So is Longford.’

‘Jesu. The toll keeps rising.’

‘I want to tell Joanna. Can she speak?’

‘When I saw her yesterday, she was able to whisper. By tomorrow her voice might be even stronger.’

‘Good.’

Lucie frowned, picked at the edge of her shawl, remembering the horror that followed hard upon the news of Joanna’s mother’s death. Another thing she could not speak of to Owen. She had purposely been vague in her letter about whether she had seen Joanna’s wounds. ‘I suppose we cannot delay telling her.’

Owen slipped an arm round Lucie. ‘You are thinking about what happened before, when we told her of her mother’s death.’

Lucie nodded, snuggled against Owen’s warm body.

‘We must confront her with it, Lucie. She has spoken of someone buried alive.’

Lucie crossed herself. Let it not be Hugh.

‘You are not asking me. .’ Owen said, trying to see her expression.

Lucie took a deep breath. ‘I want to know, but it is such a horrible question.’ Which one was alive when they buried him? She shook her head.

‘It was Longford.’

‘Will Longford.’ Lucie crossed herself again, grateful the dream had been wrong. ‘I am glad it was not her brother.’

‘Hugh was not a kindly person, Lucie. No better than Longford it seems.’

Lucie clutched her shawl tighter. She had not told him about her nightmare. She could not rid herself of that vision of Joanna burying her brother alive. ‘Where was Longford buried?’

‘Beneath Jaro.’

‘But they had opened Jaro’s grave.’

‘And had not looked closely. He was not visible without shifting Jaro. It took four of us to lift Jaro from the grave — he was one of the fattest men I have ever seen.’

‘Even so, Longford was a strong man, wasn’t he?’

Owen took her hand, kissed the palm. ‘Perhaps I have told you enough, Lucie.’

‘It is that horrible?’ Oh Lord, she sounded like a weak, silly fool. ‘I have seen horrible things, Owen. Tell me.’

He gently smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘But in your condition. .’

‘I must know everything if I am to speak with Joanna.’

Owen pressed her hand. ‘True enough. You are right that Longford was a strong man, and a large one; but he weighed far less than Jaro. To ensure that he stayed in the grave, they had crushed his only leg — and he had injuries to his back that might have made it impossible to move. And just to be safe, in case all that did not keep him buried, they had removed his tongue so he could name no one.’

Lucie dropped her head in her hands, horrified at the brutality. ‘What sort of men did this?’ It was plain that Joanna could not have done all this.

Owen shook his head. ‘It was as cold-blooded a murder as I have seen. Do you know, I hope we learn that it had something to do with his support of du Guesclin, that it was political, not personal. I do not want to know that someone hated Longford enough to do that.’

Lucie considered the effort that had gone into such a deed. ‘I do not think you will get your wish. If you had been ordered to get rid of someone like Longford, would you have taken such time, exercised such cruelty?’

‘There are men who delight in cruelty. Like the man who murdered Maddy.’

Maddy. She had forgotten to ask about her. ‘You know who did it?’

‘A worm of a man, Lucie. According to Edmund, the man killed Maddy just to make it easier to search the house.’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, watch over Maddy’s soul,’ Lucie whispered. ‘And who is Edmund?’

‘One of the men who helped Joanna escape Beverley.’

‘. . With Stefan?’

‘Aye. Stefan’s partner. One of Sebastian’s men. As is Jack, Maddy’s murderer.’

‘Will this Jack be punished, even though Maddy was just a servant?’

‘If Sir Richard and Sir Nicholas have their way, yes. But to show you what a fool I’ve been while away, I stopped Edmund in the act of attacking Jack.’

‘What?’

‘I heartily regret it, believe me. He now shadows Edmund.’

‘You must catch him, Owen. He must pay.’

‘I am hoping he does something foolish. Alfred is trailing after Edmund, watching.’

‘Is Jack alone?’

‘I do not know. But I doubt it.’

‘This is all such a nightmare.’

Owen hugged Lucie. ‘God grant me the wits to resolve this quickly. Joanna has much to tell us. We must find out how she knew about Longford’s burial.’

Best to do it soon. ‘Shall we go to her in the morning?’

‘I should like to. And then I want Edmund to see her.’

‘I am curious to meet him.’

‘Then you will — tomorrow.’

‘Why did Stefan not come?’

‘He has vanished. That is why Edmund was willing to come with me.’ Owen put his arm around Lucie. She rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Are you strong enough yet to go on with Joanna?’

With all her whining, of course he would ask. ‘I am quite strong enough.’

‘Good. I want you to use all your wiles to reach her. Find out what she is hiding, where Stefan is, who murdered Longford and Jaro.’

Lucie tried to push the horror aside and think clearly. ‘Longford and Jaro were murdered by strong men.’

‘Soldiers, I would guess. Perhaps some of Sebastian’s men. But why?’

Lucie bit her lip, thinking. ‘Might Edmund and Stefan be the murderers?’

Owen shook his head. ‘I think I know Edmund, travelling with him all this time. He would kill quickly, wishing to be done with it. And then he would run to a confessor.’

‘But does that not depend on what Longford had done? Might it be revenge for a similar act?’

‘I cannot say for certain that I know his heart, Lucie. But I think such a deed would haunt Edmund, and he would have been driven to confess it to me.’

Lucie sighed, squeezed Owen. ‘Now let’s talk of pleasant things so I might go back to sleep.’

The hospitaller shook his head at the sprig of mistletoe on the floor just inside Joanna’s door. ‘Dame Prudentia is sadly superstitious.’ Mistletoe placed so ensured quiet, pleasant dreams. When Lucie was a little girl, her Aunt Phillippa had used mistletoe to ward off nightmares. But Lucie did not comment. Nor did she mention the angelica that she and Wulfstan had sprinkled in the four corners of the room to exorcise the demons that troubled Joanna.

The curtains had been removed from Joanna’s bed to give her more air in the warm July weather and to make it easier to watch her. Dame Agnes, the sub-prioress, sat the watch this morning. She turned her cheery face towards Lucie and Owen.

‘Joanna slept calmly through the night. She woke at dawn, drank some watered wine, and fell back into a peaceful sleep.’

Lucie was pleased. ‘May we be alone with her for a while? You might wish to walk out in the fresh morning air.’

Agnes needed no coaxing. She blessed them and hurried away.

Dame Joanna lay with her hands crossed over her chest. The white bandage round her neck looked like a gorget, nothing more, it was so clean. Her face was pale from loss of blood and a month in bed, but the haggard look was gone.

‘’Tis a shame to wake her,’ Owen whispered.

Joanna opened her eyes. ‘I am thirsty.’ Her voice was raspy, not unusual in one who has just awakened.

Owen sat on the stool beside her bed, reached over and poured her some wine and water. ‘Shall we lift you to drink?’

‘Yes.’

Owen handed the cup to Lucie, who went to the other side of the bed. As Owen lifted Joanna, Lucie put the cup to her lips. She sipped the wine, frowning a little with each swallow.

‘Your throat — is it still very sore?’ Lucie asked.

‘Better,’ Joanna whispered.

Lucie met Owen’s eye, explaining, ‘She pressed down so hard with the dull knife she bruised her throat. That is taking longer to heal than the cuts.’

Joanna pushed the cup away. ‘Enough.’

Owen gently lowered Joanna’s head.

Joanna closed her eyes.

Owen leaned towards her. ‘I am returned from my pilgrimage of disgrace, Dame Joanna.’

She opened her eyes, so startlingly green. ‘A pilgrimage?’ Her face was expressionless, her voice too hoarse for Owen or Lucie to read the nuances.

‘You called it that, do you remember? A pilgrimage of disgrace?’

‘I say foolish things.’

‘I have been to Scarborough. Where you travelled with Stefan and Edmund.’

Joanna closed her eyes. ‘I have been ill.’

‘You tried to take your life. I know.’

The eyelids shot open. ‘I am bedevilled. The Devil is strong. Even wrapped in the Virgin’s mantle he reaches me.’ Joanna’s eyes flashed with anger, her cheeks flushed.

Owen thought it odd she felt anger rather than fear. He glanced up at Lucie, who raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together as if to say, ‘Who knows?’

‘A pilgrimage of disgrace. Whose disgrace, Joanna?’

Still angry. ‘You do not listen.’

‘I do. I listen well, and I remember. Perhaps it is you who forgets. Let me remind you of something. Hugh was murdered. In his house near Scarborough.’

‘My knight. My champion.’ Joanna’s eyes filled with tears.

It was a quiet response, sad, not shocked. ‘Who is your champion, Joanna? Hugh?’

She closed her eyes, looked away. Tears wet her lashes, dampened her cheeks.

‘Who are you thinking of as your knight and champion?’

Joanna took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Hugh is dead. There is nothing more.’

‘You and Stefan left Scarborough at the same time that Hugh was killed. Why?’

Joanna turned back to Owen, looked at him, offended. ‘You cannot think I wished him dead.’

‘What should I think?’

‘The Devil wants me dead, too.’ Her eyes challenged him.

‘Who killed your brother?’

Joanna blushed. ‘I am thirsty.’

She played with them. Owen would have liked to withhold the wine, make her uncomfortable. But she needed the wine to speak. He sighed, lifted her up and Lucie helped her drink.

When Joanna was settled again, Owen tried another path. ‘You have spoken of someone buried alive. Who did you think was buried alive, Joanna?’

‘I was.’

‘Who else, Joanna?’

She frowned, dropped her eyes to her hands. ‘He used me.’

‘Who did?’

Joanna rocked her head back and forth on the pillow. ‘I should never have left St Clement’s.’

Owen touched her head gently, stilling it. ‘Why should you not have left? What happened to you while you were away?’

Tears again. ‘I am not worthy to be called Dame Joanna. I cuckolded my divine bridegroom.’

She moved away from Owen’s purpose. ‘It is Longford who was buried alive. But I am certain you know that,’ he said.

Joanna’s eyes changed, grew wary. She clutched the Magdalene medal. ‘Will Longford?’

‘He was buried beneath his servant, Jaro.’

‘No.’ Joanna turned away.

Owen grasped her chin, made her face him. Her neck was rigid with fear. Owen did not let that stop him. ‘Longford’s leg was crushed and his spine had been damaged. I think he could barely move from the waist down, if at all. His tongue had been cut out so he could not reveal his torturers if someone found him.’

Joanna’s head trembled in his hand. She gasped for air.

‘We must lift her chest and head, Owen,’ Lucie said, leaning over to help.

While Owen held Joanna up, causing a coughing fit, Lucie added pillows, then helped her sip some wine. Owen lowered her.

Joanna still clutched the medal. ‘Why do you tell me this?’

‘About Will Longford? Because you knew that he was not dead when he was put in that grave. How did you know, Joanna? Who told you? Who committed this careful, cruel murder?’

Joanna held the medal up to Owen. ‘Christ was cruel to Mary Magdalene.’

Owen bit back a curse. ‘You may rest now, Joanna. But I shall be back tomorrow.’ He went to the door, called for Dame Agnes.

But it was the Reverend Mother who came hurrying down the hall. ‘I have sent Agnes to bed. I shall stay with Joanna today.’

‘She is agitated, Reverend Mother. Perhaps someone should stay with you.’

Isobel peeked in the room, saw Lucie patting Joanna’s face with a damp cloth. ‘No doubt you are right, Captain. Would you ask Brother Oswald to send for Prudentia?’ As Owen turned to do so, Isobel stayed him with a touch on his arm. ‘But first, please tell me what has agitated her. Agnes said she had had a peaceful night.’

Owen told her of the news they had been forced to impart.

The Reverend Mother crossed herself, whispered a prayer, then tucked her hands in her sleeves, shaking her head. ‘This is a terrible business. I thought I was a strong woman, but this has given the lie to that. It is your wife who is strong. Called out so early in the morning, in her condition, to deal with the horror of what Joanna had done. All that blood. .’ Isobel took a step backwards. She had never noticed what a piercing eye Owen had. Perhaps that is why God took one away.

Owen trembled with rage. ‘Lucie was called in the middle of the night to tend Joanna?’ He worked hard to keep his voice low. ‘Do you realise that my wife is with child? And you called her out in the middle of the night to a woman around whom people have been dying in unusual numbers?’

Isobel crossed herself. ‘I make no excuse for my weakness, Captain Archer. But it was Abbot Campian who sent for Mistress Wilton, not I.’

‘He sent an escort?’

‘I do not know.’

Lucie would have been blind not to see Owen’s anger as they walked back to the shop. The expression on his face was murderous, the hand that did not support her was balled into a fist, his strides kept lengthening until she was forced to ask him to slow down, and all the way the ominous silence. It had not taken her long to guess what had transpired. Owen had returned to Joanna’s room with Dame Isobel. By then his temper had flared. The Reverend Mother must have told him of Lucie’s early morning visit. It was the very thing that would put him in such a temper, which was why Lucie had not told him. There was nothing for it now but to let him stew about it and finally burst out. To bring it up would only make things worse.

Lucie was perversely relieved when Tildy met her with the news that Thomas the Tanner was worse, and the physician, Master Saurian, had been called in. He had left a prescription for her to make up, a poultice to be applied after blood-letting.

‘I must do this at once, Owen.’

He nodded, turned on his heel, left the shop. Lucie and Tildy exchanged a look.

‘He’s in such a temper, Mistress Lucie.’

‘That he is, Tildy, but it’s naught to do with you, so don’t fret about it. I shall be in the shop.’

As Lucie scurried about the shop gathering the ingredients, she began to hum. When Owen was in such a temper, it was a blessed relief to be away from him.

Tom Merchet brought two tankards to the table in the kitchen where Owen stood. ‘Before you put one of those big hams through a wall, sit down and have your say. Bess is upstairs teaching Kit the proper scrubbing of a floor or some such. She’ll not bother us.’

Owen lowered himself onto a bench. ‘There are things I should be doing.’

Tom pushed the tankard under his friend’s nose, then paused, his hand hovering above it. ‘Pity, wasting good ale on one who is not of a mind to appreciate it.’ He shrugged, settled his hands about his own tankard. His round, pleasant face was creased with worry. ‘Though if it’s to do with the baby, I shall be of no use to you, having none of my own. As the babe gets older I might be useful. Bess came to me with little ones. I know what they’re about.’ Tom smiled into his cup. ‘As well as a man ever does.’

Owen finally looked up at his companion. ‘What did you say?’

Tom shrugged, took a long drink and nodded with satisfaction as he lowered his tankard. ‘Never you mind, just tell me what’s to do.’

‘Lucie went to the abbey in the middle of the night to take care of that nun.’

‘Last night? When you’d just come home?’

‘No. While I was gone.’

Tom pulled on his bottom lip, thinking. ‘Middle of night, you say? But abbeys have infirmarians and all manner of folk about. What did they need with Lucie?’

Owen shook his head, disgusted. ‘And in her condition, Tom.’

Tom made properly indignant noises.

‘Worse than that, Lucie did not tell me. I thought she had seen Joanna once she had been cleaned and bandaged. But Lucie examined her, Tom. Got her hands in all that blood. What will that do to the child, Lucie looking at all that blood? And the horror of it all? The nun stabbing herself.’ Owen put his head in his hands. ‘Dear Lord, Lucie is impossible.’

‘Drink up, Owen.’

Owen raised the tankard to his lips, stopped. ‘Do you remember when she took a boat over to the Riverwoman in the midst of the flooding last year?’

‘At night.’ Tom nodded. ‘I remember. Drink up, my friend.’ He smiled as Owen tilted the tankard and drank deep. Another good gulp like that and the man would feel a bit smoother. Tom knew just how Owen felt. Lucie and Bess were nothing alike and every bit alike. Stubborn, clever women. Bess’s sturdy body and loud mouth did not inspire quite the same protective feelings Owen had for Lucie though Tom had his moments of wishing Bess were not so forward with strangers. When Owen clanked the tankard down, empty, Tom reached for the pitcher and filled it again. ‘Now. Did Lucie go of her own accord, just having a feeling that something was wrong, or was she summoned?’

‘Summoned. But that — ’ Owen paused as Tom shook his head.

‘It makes all the difference, my friend. Lucie is an apothecary. She has the cure of bodies as the vicar has the cure of souls. Not like a physician, I grant you that, but Dame Isobel and His Grace ask for Lucie because she calms Joanna as no one else can. ’Tis a God-given gift, Owen, and Lucie must not hold it back.’ Tom took a breath. It was an uncommonly long speech for him. He winced as the hawk-like eye bored through him. ‘I just say what you know yourself.’

Owen leaned his head back against the wall, rubbed his scar, grabbed the tankard and took another drink. ‘At least I had the sense to come to you before I opened my mouth to Lucie and let my spleen come tumbling out. I would not let her see that, not now.’ He stretched his foot out and rested it on a stool.

Tom judged it time to change the topic. ‘I saw Sir Robert head over to the garden a while ago. How does he get on with Lucie — about Corbett’s house?’

Owen made an embarrassed face. ‘I’ve not asked.’ He sat up straighter, frowning. ‘Now why did Sir Robert not stop her that night?’

Tom sighed. His ale had been wasted in this effort to calm Owen. ‘That one I cannot answer. You must needs speak with your wife.’

Lucie was closing the door to the shop when she saw Owen outside, leaning against the wall. ‘Why are you standing out there?’

Owen shrugged and followed her in, closing and barring the door for her. Lucie, smiling, kissed him.

He frowned. ‘What was that for?’

‘For worrying about me as you do.’ She picked up the broom to sweep the stone floor behind the counter.

Owen grabbed the broom from her. ‘How do you know?’

‘You were angry after speaking with the Reverend Mother. I know what she might tell you to make you so. And I am sorry I did not tell you.’

Owen paused as he began to sweep. ‘Jasper should be doing this.’

Lucie shrugged. ‘Either of you. You are both my apprentices.’

Owen shook his head, went back to sweeping, stopped again. ‘Tell me this. Why did Sir Robert not stop you?’

‘Because I convinced Daimon that Sir Robert need not know. In truth, Brother Sebastian led us with such urgency that Sir Robert could not have kept up with us.’

‘And you in your condition? Are you to be running down the streets in the middle of the night?’

‘I did not run.’ Lucie took off her apron. ‘And now I must go and lie down before supper. If you wish to continue this, you must come up.’

Owen followed her.

She lay down on the bed and asked him to pile several cushions under her feet. He sat beside her, took her cap off and smoothed back her hair.

‘Tell me what you saw.’

Lucie described the room, the overwhelming odour of blood, the neck, the womb.

‘Why her womb?’

‘I do not know, Owen. I feel that I know nothing about Joanna. I have spoken to her so often, yet I cannot even tell you what makes her laugh, what she likes to eat. . I do know what she hopes for — death.’

‘You should not be with such people now.’

Lucie closed her eyes. ‘I am not about to break apart, Owen.’

‘She will give you nightmares.’

‘She already has.’

‘You see?’

Lucie propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Stop a moment, listen.’ She described the dream.

‘You see? What will the baby be like with you dreaming such dreams?’

‘Owen, for pity’s sake, you are going to drive me mad! Can you imagine what sort of thoughts my mother had while she carried me? Do you think in all that time she did not remember the soldiers raping and torturing the women in her convent? And her brother impaled on a pike? What of all the women of Normandy who gave birth while they trembled in their houses wondering if their village would be the next one put to the torch? I am not ill! Your mother had many children. You tell me she barely paused in her daily chores to give birth.’

‘She was not dealing with madwomen.’

‘She was dealing with you!’

‘Well, if I am mad, it’s you who has driven me to it.’

Lucie suddenly felt laughter bubbling up from deep within. She grabbed both sides of Owen’s beard and pulled him down to kiss him.

He raised himself a little, stared into her laughing eyes. ‘It is you who is going mad.’

‘No. I am just content. This is more in the tradition of your homecomings.’ She pulled him down again.

Dame Isobel jerked awake. Joanna moaned and squirmed in her sleep. Brother Wulfstan had advised a strong sleeping potion tonight, and Isobel had duly given it to Joanna. Her dream must be troubling indeed. Merciful Mother, do not let her harm herself. Isobel leaned over Joanna, took her hands. ‘’Tis but a dream, Joanna. Mary and all the angels protect you. And the mistletoe. We have put the mistletoe in the doorway.’

Side to side, side to side the head thrashed. ‘Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. Evil. .’