the work done; a bad lord could not hold onto a man, for there was always work somewhere else. There were revolts as the nobles tried to stuff everything back into Pandora's box, but it was too late. And opportunities opened up.'
'Such as for my family.'
'Yes! Your grandfathers saw the chance to slip the bonds of allegiance to the lords. You became merchants, wealthy in your own right, and you called yourselves Wooler – you had no surname I can trace before.'
'And before the Mortality? What were we then?'
'You were soldiers – perhaps all the way back to the days of William. It's said you had an ancestor who came over with the Conqueror. But then every family in England says that. Certainly your forefathers fought alongside Edward Longshanks.'
'The Hammer of the Scots.'This story of a lost and different age rather thrilled Harry the merchant.
'And before that they rode with him to the Holy Land, for Edward was a great crusader. But to your family the crusades weren't a mere adventure. To them, the Holy Land was home – or had been.'
And he told Harry of his ancestor Saladin, born and raised in the Holy Land, who had come to England, and fought in Spain, and then joined a crusade. Surviving, he returned to England to start a family of his own. 'Saladin was always determined that his family should remember the Testament of Eadgyth; he thought it contained important lessons for the future. Your own father taught it to you, didn't he? But other prophecies accreted around you too…'
The news about Saladin was disturbing for Harry. 'Then I might have Saracen blood in my veins.'
'A dash of it, probably,' Geoffrey said. 'Don't worry, I'm keeping this to myself. I wouldn't wish to harm your business reputation. Be grateful there's no sign of Jewry in your blood line. But then, Edward Longshanks expelled all the Jews from England nearly two hundred years ago, by God. We were the first in Europe to do it, and we set a fashion, didn't we?'
Harry, impatient, asked, 'Just tell me simply – why are you so interested in my family's past?'
'Because you will need to understand your own complicated history if you're to understand what has become of your sister. Poor Agnes! I got involved, you know, because my house is not far from the parish church where she lives.'
'She lives in a church?'
'You'll see. I was brought to her. But she was calling for you, the brother she hasn't seen for ten years. You always protected her, she said.'
'So I did, I suppose,' Harry said uneasily. 'My father was always short with her. And when he was in his cups – I deflected his blows a few times. He repented before he died; I forgave him.' Harry didn't enjoy talking of his family's past; it hadn't been a happy time. 'But my sister disappeared – she ran away, she was no older than ten. We heard nothing more of her.'
'You didn't try to look for her?'
'At first. But after my father died I took over the business, and found he'd run it down – squandered the legacy of my grandfather. It was hard work restoring it. I had no time.'
'I understand. And in all probability your sister didn't want to be found. But she did not die, Harry; somehow she survived. And she found a place in the world. But eventually her troubles overwhelmed her, and she asked for you. So I came to find you.'
'It's good of you to do this,' Harry said, though he felt resentful rather than grateful. 'To come all this way, to give up your own business for her.'
'You're welcome. But it isn't just charity that motivates me. I rather think your sister's plight has a wider significance.' He eyed Harry. 'I know you're a sceptic, Harry, about matters beyond the material, and that's healthy. But the fact is your family is steeped in prophecy…'
Harry didn't want to hear this.
They lapsed into silence, as the countryside of England, echoing only to the bleating of the sheep, rolled past them.
V
York, within its rectangle of much-battered, much-repaired walls, was bustling, a city of trade. But it was dominated by its immense cathedral, the newest sections of which, only a few years old, were fresh-cut, bright and sharp. Geoffrey said the minster had been built on the site of a Roman military headquarters, and that the city after the Romans had become a sort of Viking trading capital, a tradition of commerce that still lingered. There were layers of history written in the stones, Geoffrey said, layers that shaped the present.
They stayed the night in the hall of Harry's merchants' guild. It was a grand building, with religious paintings hanging from the stone walls and long tables groaning with food and drink. Harry was made welcome. There was much business to discuss, for Harry only rarely travelled this way, and it was a great relief for him to be able to escape from Geoffrey and history and his family's complicated past, and to immerse himself in the real world of commodities and prices. Geoffrey excused himself and went to sit with the apprentices at the hall's service end. Later Harry found him in the basement, where the guild ran a small hospital for the poor, who were expected to pray for the souls of their benefactors.
In the morning they mounted their cart again and set off to find Harry's sister.
The church she had attached herself to, another Saint Agnes's, was a few miles north of the city walls. It was a small, modest establishment at the centre of a village built of stone recovered from a much larger, abandoned settlement, whose ruins lay all around. The church itself was quite new, in the Perpendicular style. But Harry saw it had been built on older foundations of blackened stone – perhaps a Saxon chapel burned down by the Normans; there had been a lot of that in this area.
They were greeted by the parish priest, a kindly, elderly man called Arthur. It was Arthur who had first called in Geoffrey to help him cope with Agnes's requests. 'But you must understand we very much value your sister's presence with us here,' he told Harry. 'Very much. She brings the love of God into our small lives…'
Geoffrey led Harry, not to the door of the church as he had expected, but to a side wall. Here a kind of cell protruded from the church's wall, with no door, and no window save for a slit.
And here, Geoffrey said, was his sister: bricked up in the cell within which she would spend her whole life. Harry stared in horror.
Geoffrey touched his shoulder. 'You must try to understand. This is the life your sister has chosen for herself. And she serves her people, you know. As the father said, most parishes are proud to have an anchoress attached to their church.'
A voice floated up from the slit window. 'Geoffrey Cotesford? Is that you?'
The tone was deeper than it had been, softer, but it was unmistakable. Harry's heart thumped; he had not realised how much he had missed his little sister.
'It is Geoffrey.'
'I knew you'd return.'
'Your faith in your brother was justified too.'
She gasped. 'Harry?'
Harry forced himself to speak. 'I'm here, Agnes.'
'Then come to my window.'
Harry knelt down. The window was a slit, just large enough to pass food and waste. Only a little light leaked into the cell within. He could see another window on the far wall where the anchoress was able to look into the church. The room was simply laid out, with a bed, a bench, a table, a crucifix on the wall. On the table were two books, a leather-bound Bible, and a copy of the Ancrene Wisse, the manual of the anchoress. The room's only other feature was a shallow trench in the floor. It puzzled Harry, who knew little of the lifestyle of an anchoress, a walled-in hermit.
And through the squint, this slit window, his sister's familiar blue eyes gazed out at him. 'I prayed you would come. I knew you would. You always did protect me, Harry.'
But, he thought, I did not protect you from this morbid fate. 'I have news of the family,' he said.
'My father is dead,' Agnes said softly. 'I know that much.'
'Mother is well. She misses you.'
'Tell her I pray for her…'
Geoffrey interjected gently, 'I will leave you to talk. But we must turn to business. Harry needs to understand
