Like poor little Moll, always slightly behind the times! Moll had told Agnes how she’d seen her with Luke. Oh? Where was that, then? Agnes demanded. And why hadn’t she gone to summon the prioress or one of the other nuns? At this, Moll reddened and began to stammer. She’d seen Agnes in the field behind the frater, lying in the grass with Luke, she said, and she’d seen a man entering the dorter at strange hours.
Agnes dared her to bring it before the prioress. When Moll said angrily that Agnes should confess her sins in chapter, before the whole community, the other girl just laughed.
Did Moll really think that Agnes could give a damn what she thought? If the silly bitch wanted to go and blab to the prioress, she could do so and welcome, but Moll had better remember that Agnes was the last hope of the convent. Moll might wish to flaunt her immature piety, but if Sir Rodney got to hear the nuns weren’t abiding by their oaths, his money would remain in his purse, and none would ever be showered on the chapel.
But Moll had been a threat. Especially when Agnes won Luke back, because no matter what Sir Rodney wanted, if he found that his embarrassment, his shame, as he called Agnes, had seduced a priest, he’d be furious, and would certainly take Agnes away from the convent.
That was the threat Moll posed. That was why Agnes was pleased Moll was dead.
Chapter Six
Rose hurried back to the tiny parlour that was her room, ripping off her dirty clothing as soon as she entered and replacing it with a clean shift and tunic.
It gave her a feeling of shame that she should have been lying there on the floor when the first two walked in. Men from the village were one thing; complete strangers were different. Still, she reflected, pulling her hood over her face and stepping outside, at least the prim little priest hadn’t seen her coupling like a dog before the fire. A smile fleeted over her face: maybe he’d have liked to have seen that. The clergy often enjoyed watching others, as she knew only too well from her evenings at the priory.
Her mission nudged at her memory, and she scurried off along the track towards Belstone. After all she had heard, she must hurry to warn Lady Elizabeth about this cold-hearted bishop.
After all, Rose had a debt to pay to the Lady Elizabeth.
From the tavern Baldwin and the others made a slow progress, keeping to the side of the swift-flowing stream. When the ground grew boggy, they turned right and began climbing the western side of the valley.
Usually Baldwin liked the gurgling and chuckling of water, but today he was wet and uncomfortable. If there had been some sun it would have made a difference, but the sun couldn’t reach down into this cleft, and all was chill. The air had a metallic edge that hinted at snow, while all the water on the track had frozen. Although it was afternoon there was a dank, icy fog lying over the water which seemed to sink into his marrow. Baldwin knew only too well that his blood had been thinned by his life in the hotter climates of southern countries, but the knowledge was no help. It was a relief when at last they broke out into bright sunlight.
Baldwin was astonished by the view that presented itself to him as they came above the line of trees. The hill opposite was thickly wooded up to a certain level, with clear moorland above. This early in the year, the sun was still low in the sky, and its rays suffused the moors with a glow like liquid gold tinged with pink. It lifted his heart, and he could see that it had the same impact on those about him. Whereas in the valley their mounts had walked along stolidly enough, now they had more of a spring to their steps; the men themselves relaxed and looked about them with interest. Even Bertrand’s mood appeared to lighten.
The road wound along, rising gently, until they came out to a wide space of moor. Their path here was mired, but fortunately it was still frozen, so they were not covered in mud, and it was only when they reached the vill of Belstone itself, a tiny hamlet clinging to the inhospitable hilltop, that they found the ground softening; a farmer had brought his cattle along the way, and their hooves had broken up the ice, but soon Bertrand’s retinue were out on the moor again, once more at the side of the stream, following a winding track that led them into the sun.
Their path took them almost due south. Although they were still climbing, the hills rose high above them: on their right a clittered mess with gigantic tors at the very peak, while left the ground fell away into the river’s valley. Beyond it Baldwin saw a massive round hill, which dropped to a rock-strewn jumble at the water’s edge. The moors here were windswept and gave the impression at first glance of being barren, with nothing growing taller than the stunted gorse. It was this which made Baldwin think the moors were so unappealing.
Between a mile and a mile and a half from Belstone they came across signs of cultivation. The bare, stony soil had been turned, and appeared to have been ploughed, although when Baldwin looked down at it he could hardly keep from shuddering at the thought of trying to grow anything in it. His manor had gorgeous, thick red soil in which any plant thrived and on which his cattle and horses grew fat with little help; here the scrubby, dark- coloured stuff looked almost poisonous. Baldwin pitied those who tried to farm it.
The hill on their right threw out spurs around which the river curled. These outgrowths obscured their view of the land ahead, but just as Baldwin was beginning to feel certain that his feet would never thaw, that his hands would shatter like ice if struck, and was idly dreaming of spiced wine before a roaring hearth, there was a cry from the front of their party, and when he looked he saw the priory.
Here the valley was broad, and the priory huddled low among the surrounding hills, a squat little habitation skulking away from view. Baldwin thought it looked as if it was embarrassed to be seen, it was so run-down: like an ageing wench ashamed of her raddled flesh and trying to gull young churls into paying for her services while keeping always to the shadows.
“A depressing place,” commented Bishop Bertrand.
“The good nuns have little money,” Baldwin said, feeling an urge to defend the priory against the bishop’s contempt.
“There’s corruption at the heart of the place,” Bertrand said bitterly. The ride had done little for his temper, reminding him that he should now, if matters had gone as he had planned, be back in Exeter and writing up his report for his master, Bishop Stapledon. “They should have got their villeins to do any work that was needed.”
Baldwin had to admit that the priory did look as though it had not been maintained for years. The gatehouse was impressive, but the gates looked poorly hung, and he wondered whether they shut properly.
Behind, the precinct was protected by a moorstone wall which stood taller than a man, grey and intimidating, but there were sections which had fallen. Its protection was symbolic. Over it Baldwin could see the buildings lying within: a convent was not only a place to praise God, it was a self-contained unit capable of providing everything needed by the people inside, and this priory looked well-equipped with buildings. Directly before him was a long block; Baldwin felt sure this must be the priory’s main barn, filled with hay and straw. South of the barn’s yard lay another great building, probably the grange, where sufficient grain would be stored to bake bread and brew ale for the whole population. To the east of the yard were two buildings from which clouds of smoke and steam mingled: the malthouse and a kiln, both with slated roofs to protect against sparks. From the lowing of cattle there were stables and ox-stalls mixed at the western edge of the barnyard, and grooms moved about feeding and exercising their charges. To one side was the first of several storerooms with carts unloading at its entrance, then there was a low stone block with chimneys that would be the smithy. On the bank of the fast- flowing river stood the priory mill, and nearby the brewery.
There was the constant rumble and squeak of iron-tired wheels and wooden axles, a clattering and hammering from the forge, and the noise of many tens of villeins working, of cocks crowing, lambs bleating and horses snorting and blowing. It was certainly a busy priory, from the look of it.
The church was a good stone hall, set roughly in the middle of the precinct, and the first of the two cloisters was visible. Baldwin glanced up at the sun. It was standard procedure for the canons to have their area, like monks in a monastery, at the southern side of the church, while the nuns commonly lived to the north. Obviously both communities would live utterly apart, so that there could be no tomfoolery between them, and even the church itself would have two separate sections, one for each sex: the men based in the southern side. The riders had approached from the north, so presumably the nearer cloister was that of the nuns.
