Brother Antony seized her by the hand. ‘Come on, let’s catch up.’
They seemed to cover the separating distance in a twinkling of an eye. Brother Antony pulled Beatrice on to the tail of the cart. Beatrice could sense the Moon people’s fear.
‘What do I do?’ she asked.
‘Think!’ Brother Antony hissed. ‘Forget yourself. Try and put yourself in the place of each of them.’
‘What do they do?’
‘The man is a tinker. I can only help you so much. You must do it for yourself. You cannot enter their souls but pain is self-evident. Put yourself in their place. Think of the other, Beatrice Arrowner, forget yourself. Let your mind slip.’
Beatrice did so.
‘Stare at each of them.’
Beatrice obeyed. She first looked at the young woman holding the boy. She saw how tired her face was, heavy-eyed, the constant gnawing of the lip. She felt herself slip into what the woman was fearful of. The Moon woman had forgotten the terrifying experience, she was more concerned with something practical.
‘She’s frightened for the man,’ Beatrice declared. ‘She’s worried about him.’
‘What is she worried about?’
Once again Beatrice immersed herself, and this time it was easier. She discovered the Moon woman was the man’s wife, the older woman her mother. She experienced their courage in the face of hardship, their deep devotion to each other and their unspoken fears.
‘He’s a good tinker,’ she said, ‘an honest man who looks after her and her aged mother.’
‘And what are they worried about, Beatrice Arrowner?’
‘Two months ago he injured his right wrist and it hasn’t healed properly. He cannot hold the hammer and they fear for the future.’
Beatrice moved through the cart and sat next to the man on the rough driver’s seat. His face was sweat- soaked, his right hand dangling in his lap. He was having difficulty holding the reins. Now and again, eyes half- closed, he would wince with pain.
‘His wrist is really hurting him,’ Beatrice said. ‘And he wants to hide this from the others.’
‘Think of his wrist, Beatrice.’
Beatrice did. She felt a fiery pain shoot through her own arm and her fingers went limp.
‘Oh, what can I do?’ she cried. ‘I’d do anything!’
‘Hold his wrist!’
Beatrice did so. She felt a deep compassion for this poor tinker. She forgot about herself, about Ralph, Ravenscroft, the Minstrel Man. All she was aware of was the fear and pain mingling in the tinker’s mind. She kept rubbing his wrist, pushing with her fingers, willing it to be better. Brother Antony was talking but she ignored him. She felt dreadfully sad that she had frightened such a man and deeply concerned that she had stirred up his anxieties.
‘I am sorry,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘I am so very, very sorry.’
She felt a fire within her. If she could only break out. She had now grasped the man’s wrist between both hands. The horse seemed to sense something and picked up speed. The man became alarmed. Beatrice was aware of a silver disc passing between her and the tinker. The horse shied. The cart hit a rut and lurched. The man screamed as his damaged wrist caught the wooden seat.
‘Oh no!’ Beatrice cried.
But then the tinker was pulling at the reins to halt the horse. He raised his right arm, flexing his fingers. Beatrice felt a deep exhaustion as if she had been drained of all energy. She panicked at what might be happening. The tinker, meanwhile, was staring in stupefaction. Once again Beatrice tried to sense what he was feeling. She experienced a deep sense of relief, an absence of pain. The tinker, to the amazement of his family, jumped down from the cart and started waving his arms. He was jabbering in a tongue she couldn’t understand. The two women were laughing and crying at the same time.
‘It’s healed, isn’t it?’ Beatrice said. ‘It’s a miracle.’
‘Of sorts,’ Brother Antony replied. ‘But what’s a miracle, Beatrice? His wrist was dislocated. The cart jolted, his wrist received a blow and the joint was realigned.’
‘I feel so tired,’ she said wearily. ‘Why should I feel tired? I have no body.’
‘Yes, you have,’ Brother Antony replied. ‘But it’s incorporeal. You have given him your strength, the power of your will.’
He sat down beneath a tree and indicated that she should do likewise. They watched the tinker embrace his wife and the old woman, and hug the child.
‘Our prayers are answered,’ the tinker declared in a tongue she could understand. ‘So now to Ravenscroft where Sir John always has good trade for me.’
They all climbed back on the cart. Beatrice watched them go. Brother Antony put an arm round her; unresistingly she allowed him to put her head on his shoulder.
‘Surely I can’t sleep,’ she murmured.
‘Rest,’ he soothed. ‘Think of the darkness, of warmth.’
Beatrice felt herself falling, then she shook herself. Brother Antony was gone. She was still seated under the tree, the daylight was fading. Hours must have passed but it felt like moments. She sprang to her feet. She thought of Ralph and hastened along the track…
She reached the crossroads. Etheldreda was squatting there. She glanced fearfully up at Beatrice. ‘A great lord has passed,’ she said.
‘Leave her, Beatrice Arrowner.’ Crispin and Clothilde had appeared on the other side of the crossroads. They were smiling at her. Beatrice recalled the Moon people, that terrible dagger scything the air, the abject tears of the little boy. She had had enough of this precious pair with their lies and deceit.
‘Go away!’ she screamed.
They stared back, eyebrows raised.
‘In Christ’s name,’ Beatrice crossed herself, ‘leave me alone!’
The two merged into one, then separated again, as Robin and Isabella. Their faces changed and, Beatrice glimpsed the mocking features of the Minstrel Man, before once again they became Crispin and Clothilde. Behind her Etheldreda was gibbering with fright.
‘Hell’s spawn!’ Beatrice screamed. ‘You lied to me! You tricked me!’
They turned away. Clothilde looked over her shoulder, her face no longer beautiful, eyes red like glowing coals, mouth twisted in a leer. She parted her lips and gave a hiss, a blast of fire. The searing gust of heat made Beatrice flinch and stagger back, then they were gone.
Beatrice waited for a while and, when her strength returned, made her way along the track. Ravenscroft’s turrets and towers came into sight. She hastened across the drawbridge. She was aware of the Moon people’s cart, the tinker’s hammer clattering against the pots, the ordinary sights and sounds of a castle. The bailey, however, was also full of ghosts, two worlds co-existing. In the centre was the Minstrel Man and around him were grouped Black Malkyn, Lady Johanna, Crispin and Clothilde, kneeling in obeisance to this great Lord of Hell.
Chapter 2
Ralph entered his chamber and leaned against the door. He sniffed and, once again, caught the faint fragrance of Beatrice’s perfume. He felt uneasy. The chamber was gloomy, the night candle flickering under its metal cap. He wondered if Beatrice was still with him.
‘Are you there?’ he called out but the only answer was the shutter rattling in the breeze. Ralph moved across to his writing desk and stared down at the manuscripts. He had deliberately said and written nothing about his discovery. Nevertheless, he was sure someone had been in here, sifting through the manuscripts, searching for something.
He opened the shutters and stared out. Later that evening Father Aylred was to celebrate Mass in the entrance to Midnight Tower. Everyone else was busy trying to do their work despite the oppressive atmosphere at
