staring at the prioress.
“My child, I don’t know if this is a good idea or not, but Godspeed! Go and guard Constance,” she said, and Elias darted down the stairs after the bailiff.
The orchard was a clear space at the northernmost edge of the precinct. Although sheep and lambs wandered among the apple and pear trees, mumbling at the shin-high grasses, Simon could see no sign of the two women as he rushed along the wall. He was aware of Elias pounding along behind him, but the bailiff’s attention was fixed upon the small pasturage, staring about, trying to catch sight of either nun.
He came to a gate, and leaped over, landing solidly and gazed about him wildly. Elias appeared at his side, his head slowly traversing from left to right. It was hard to see anything, the area was so overgrown. Trees stood with their branches unpruned, each looking like a small thicket in its own right, and while the two men should have been able to peer underneath the lowest branches, so many trees had toppled over and the grass itself was so long, that it was impossible to see anything.
Simon pointed. “You go that way, halfway from here to the far wall, and wait for me. I’ll go a similar distance to the right here, and then we’ll go in. One of us must see them wherever they are.”
Elias nodded and ran off while Simon made his way further up. Turning, Simon made sure that Elias was in his place, then dived between the ranks of sturdy boughs.
He had to climb over a trunk within a few paces, and then he slipped and almost fell in a pile of sheep’s dung, but he kept his head moving, peering intently between the trees, to his left, before him, and to his right, his head swinging regularly as he sought the women. At one point he thought he had found them, seeing a dark movement on his right, but even as he stopped and prepared to launch himself in that direction, he saw that it was a sheep covered in mud. Cursing to himself, he carried on.
The farther wall was in view now, and there was still no sign of them. Simon walked to it, filled with anxious dismay. There were already three deaths, and he felt panic clutch at his throat at the thought that he might be about to find another body.
Then he heard a shout from Elias.
When he looked, he could see no sign of the monk, but he felt sure that Elias needed him. He gave bellow and set off immediately.
“What was that?” Joan demanded, looking up.
Hugh sat still, poised on the edge of his seat. He hated sitting here while his master could be in danger, even if only from one mad nun, but he had been given his order.
Joan ran to the window. “A call – a call from your master, Hugh.”
He stood, looked down at Baldwin, then over to the window, undecided. “I can’t hear anything,“ he said wretchedly.
“I could swear it was the bailiff, and he was in pain,” Joan said, her expression anguished.
“He told me to stay here,” Hugh said, glancing back at the knight.
Baldwin shifted a little on his bed, groaned as his wound pulled. “Hugh, if Simon is in danger, you should go to him,” he said painfully. “I order you: go! I could never forgive myself if anything were to happen to him.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Simon vaulted over a fallen trunk, ducked beneath a low branch, running along the line of the wall and staring between the trees until he saw the movement of a robe. Turning away from the wall, he soon came to the canon.
Elias was standing with his arms around Constance, and at her side, blearily glancing from Simon to Elias, was a befuddled-looking Denise.
Simon was so relieved, he almost sank to his knees in thanksgiving. Nodding to Elias, he said, “Is she all right?” There was no need for Elias to answer. Simon smiled. “You take her back. I’ll bring Denise.”
Elias and Constance needed no second prompting. They walked back to the convent, he with his arm around her shoulders while she gripped his other hand in both her own. Although her eyes were cast demurely downwards, Simon was sure he saw a tear fall down beneath her veil.
“Come on, Denise.”
“Why? What’s going on?” she demanded petulantly. “I wanted to come out for a walk with Constance, and now you want us to return. What right do you have to order me around, eh?“ She was drunk, very drunk, from the look of her, and couldn’t help but slur her words a little, even when she spoke with care, enunciating slowly.
“It’s no good, Denise,” he said. “We know the truth. Why did the girls have to die?”
“How should I know?”
“Where were you last night when Elias ran through the frater?”
“I told you: out in the buttery. I heard him running, but I only caught a glimpse of him. I was filling my jug.”
“Why should Katerine and Agnes have died, Denise?”
“Katerine was a nasty little wench who sought power over others. She even tried to blackmail me, you know. Said I was drunk before a service, the sow! Asked me for money to keep hush. And Agnes… well, she never hid the fact that she liked men. Especially,” she gave a soft belch, “that fair-haired, fair-skinned, fair-featured…” she looked about her blankly for a moment, seeking inspiration, then apparently gave up. “Priest! Nasty little man.”
“If all that were true, it was no reason to kill them!” Simon said heavily.
“I never said it was,” Denise agreed.
“So why did they die, then?”
“You’ll need to ask the killer,” she said unperturbably.
Before Simon could speak further, he saw Hugh ahead, waiting at the gate. “What are you doing here?” the bailiff asked.
“Well, we heard you shout and thought you might need help.”
“No, no. That was just because Elias had found Constance and Denise. Did you leave someone with Baldwin?”
“Joan’s there.”
Joan stood over Cecily, tut-tutting in sympathy. The girl’s features were drawn and appeared almost waxen, as if she would melt in direct sunlight or close to a warm fire.
It was strange to look down at her and see that abbreviated, mutilated stump where her arm should have been, and Joan crossed herself, thinking how curious it was that the one woman in the priory who was committed to helping the ill and bringing them back to full health had been the agent of God’s will in destroying Cecily. It was not the outcome Joan had anticipated when Cecily had gone sprawling over her leg in the laundry.
Not that it was truly intentional. It wasn’t from malice that Joan had made Cecily fall. It was God’s will; He had made her grab Cecily’s foot in that way so that He could punish Cecily for her foul language.
Joan shook her head slowly. God was kind. Perhaps He had decided to allow Cecily to survive, even though she would always carry this wound marring her looks and potential – but maybe He would let a new arm grow from the stump! That, Joan thought, would be a miracle to rank with the best.
She left the lay sister’s side and went over to Baldwin. Sitting at Hugh’s stool, she beamed kindly at him. “How is your head, Sir Knight?”
“It has been better,” he admitted.
“I am truly sorry it has given you such pain.”
Baldwin was half-asleep, groggy and feeble, and he only listened with a part of his attention, but he managed a smile. “It was hardly your fault, Sister.”
“No. It was God’s will,” she agreed seriously. “And when He decides to act, there is little ordinary people can do.”
