Agnes clapped a hand over her mouth to stopper the giggle that rose naturally. Luke stared up at her with a horrified gaze. She let her finger touch his mouth. “It’s only Denise, love. She won’t tell. She’ll only be jealous and make some carping comment later.”
But the young priest had lost his enthusiasm. She felt him wither within her, and smiled broadly. “No more? Had enough?”
Luke squirmed away and felt his robe fall to his ankles with relief as he stood. “What if someone should find us?”
She watched him peer fearfully over the wall. Standing, she settled her own clothing and began tying up her hair, setting it in place. “If they find us, that’s that,” she said with finality. “But I’m no nun yet, and maybe I never will be.”
Catching sight of his expression, she let her own features soften. “It’s dangerous for us here, but no one’s usually here at this time of day.”
“We were mad!”
“Then we’ll have to find somewhere more secure, won’t we?” she said, walking behind him and putting her arms around his waist. He was slim, and she felt her passion rising at his musky, masculine scent. “There’s a place I know,” she whispered. “A room behind the frater, if you can get back here tonight.”
Simon was somewhat surprised to be summoned to the nuns’ cloister, but he obeyed with alacrity. He found the prioress and treasurer standing well apart from all the other nuns, who nonetheless watched intently as Simon went to Lady Elizabeth’s side.
“Thank you, Bailiff, for coming so promptly,” she said, and there was a happy musical tone to her voice which made Simon smile, but which he noticed gave no pleasure to Margherita.
“It’s my pleasure, my Lady,” he responded. “But what do you wish me to…?”
“Merely listen, please, Bailiff. Ah, here it is!”
Turning, Simon saw a young novice hurrying to them. In her hands she carried a massive book. Lady Elizabeth smiled at the girl, and then gripped the crucifix at her belt with one hand while she rested her other on the cover of the book. “Please witness, Bailiff, that I here swear on my oath, on the Bible and on the Cross, that what I am about to say is entirely true, and I desire God to take my life this instant if I deviate from the absolute truth in any way. May I be punished for all Eternity if I lie. There, that should do it, I think. Thank you, child. Take the book back to the cupboard now, please.”
The novice dutifully left them. Meanwhile Lady Elizabeth motioned to the other two and allowed herself to sit. When they were all comfortable, she continued: “Bailiff, I have been accused of murdering Moll: I did not and I swear that I had no part in her death. Second, I have been accused of taking the young priest Luke as my lover: I have not. Third, I am accused of entertaining Luke in my chamber on the night that Moll died…”
“I heard you,” Margherita asserted, her face red with anger and bitterness, and, yes, if she was honest with herself, with fear that Elizabeth might be able to wriggle out of this.
“You heard me, correct. But you put a dreadful interpretation on what you heard. Princess,” she called suddenly. “Come here, Princess!”
Simon had never liked little dogs. He wasn’t particularly keen on any dogs at all, although he accepted the fact that some performed a useful purpose, such as hunters, guards or fighters for the ring, but this thing was a long-haired, pampered little barrel. He smiled at it insincerely, but as it leaped onto the prioress’s lap it bared its teeth.
Lady Elizabeth stroked the little monster’s head. “Bailiff, Margherita has accused me of calling to Luke while he panted and I moaned in my room. That was the drift of your accusation, wasn’t it, Margherita? Well, Bailiff, I deny her charge. On the night Moll died, not only was I not making love to Luke, I did not entertain Luke in any way. I couldn’t – for the simple reason that I thought my dog here, little Princess, was dying.” She shot a look of utter contempt at Margherita. “While you were listening at my door, woman, I was anxiously nursing my dog.”
Hugh sat back on his bench. Constance left him and returned to her chamber, but his mind was elsewhere. Hugh was not sure whether the news about Agnes and Luke being lovers was something that Simon would be interested in. After all, it was hardly anyone else’s business. God’s, perhaps, he amended with a quick glance upwards, but no one else’s.
It made him wonder, though. Like any man, he had heard stories about the rampant sexual desires of nuns in their convents, and still more about the nuns who willingly escaped from their convents and threw off their habits just so that they could find and marry men. Such stories abounded, but while Hugh had always considered them potentially true, he was somewhat shocked to have been given proof. Luke and Agnes were breaking their vows within a holy precinct, and that was distasteful.
Baldwin snorted and gave a loud cry as he moved. Hugh leaped to his feet, but before he could get to the knight’s side, Constance returned to the room. In her hand she carried a small bowl, and she smiled shyly at Hugh as she sat at Baldwin’s side, gentling him like a mother does a child, stroking Baldwin’s cheek and beard and murmuring soft words. As she spoke, she dropped a little liquid from the bowl onto his bedding and pillow.
“It is only oil of lavender, to help him sleep,” she said in answer to Hugh’s silent question. She yawned, and pulled a face, rubbing at an eye. “I don’t think I shall need anything to help me rest tonight.”
“At least you should be able to sleep unhindered,” Joan said from her chair.
Constance didn’t look at her, but Hugh could see the flush colouring her cheeks, although when he glanced at Joan, she was sitting innocently enough, smiling in a friendly manner.
“Yes, Joan, if you don’t wake me with your snoring.”
“Me snore? I think not!” the old woman exclaimed. “Hugh, you wouldn’t say I snored, would you?”
Hugh maintained a careful silence, not wishing to offend either of them, and eventually Joan gave a throaty, wheezing chuckle and stood. Standing upright, she stumbled on a loose board. Hugh made a move to go to her side but she gave him a stern look. “You stay there, young man, and protect your knight. I hardly need your help to go for a piss, do I?” And she made her way from the room.
“I was only going to help her,” Hugh grumbled.
“She’s fine. The only reason she’s here is because the prioress fears she will suffer from the cold in the dorter at her age,” Constance explained. “She isn’t ill, so don’t worry. She hardly needs help to go to the rere- dorter.”
“I was only trying to help,” Hugh said again. A thought struck him. “Could she have got up during the night when Moll was killed?”
Constance smiled at him. “Not a chance, no. I gave her so much dwale to make her sleep that not even the King’s artillery could have woken her.” Her gaze shot guiltily towards Cecily. “Cecily could have kept her awake otherwise,” she added defensively.
Hearing a muffled whimper, as if on cue, Constance hurried to Cecily’s side. She took a cloth from a bowl of scented water and wiped the girl’s brow. The invalid’s eyes opened, but they were unfocused, and stared without recognition. Constance was aware that Hugh had joined her, and the two looked down without speaking for a few moments, but then the lay sister gave a cry and made as if to pull the bedclothes from her, tossing her head from side to side.
“She’s not improving,” Constance said, almost to herself. “If her fever grows, it might burst her heart.”
“It smells, too.”
She shot Hugh a look, but saw only concern in his face; and when she sniffed, she too could smell the sweet stench of rotting flesh. She put a hand out towards the dressed arm, but the girl snatched it away, crying out as she struck a post of the bed with it. Constance was sure that Hugh was right. The girl had flushed cheeks, and her eyes looked unnaturally bright in the candlelight. Constance very gently reached out again to take hold of the arm, murmuring softly to reassure the girl, but Cecily whipped it free. Only when Hugh gripped her shoulders and held her upper arm could Constance get to the dressing, and before she removed it, she knew her efforts so far had been in vain. The smell was sickly and repellent, and as Constance took hold of the upper arm and felt the heat within the limb, she couldn’t help but throw a look at Cecily’s face.
Hugh, gripping the lay sister’s shoulders, saw Constance’s expression. It briefly reflected her sadness, her compassion – and a kind of guilt – before she set to unravelling the long strip of cloth with which the arm was
