Montfort’s true condition? I shall not tell Eleanore.'
'He is dying,' Saer de Bude replied sanguinely.
The abbess merely nodded. Then, after a long pause, she said, 'You may go.' She had been certain that nothing short of impending death would have elicited a call for Eleanore de Montfort. She well remembered Isleen de Warenne. A proud, selfish girl with little care for anyone but herself.
The abbess considered this conclusion. There was a piece of property that matched the convent’s lands, which she had coveted for some time now. If Ashlin were sold, this excellent grazing land could be purchased. The Reverend Mother Eunice smiled. God always answered her prayers, even if He sometimes took a bit longer than she thought was entirely necessary.
And while the abbess considered the rich grazing land soon to belong to the convent, Elf was standing in the center of her dormitory with Sister Cuthbert looking completely confused. 'I don't know what to take with me,' she wailed. 'Do you know what I will need?'
'Take your other skirt, two tunics, all three of your camisas, your stockings not with the laundress, your hairbrush and comb. You will need a pair of gloves for riding. I will give you mine. Our hands are almost the same size. You will wear your cloak, of course.' As she spoke, Sister Cuthbert gathered up Elf’s possessions and wrapped them neatly in a piece of dark cloth. When she had finished, she said, 'Go and pee, child. You have eight miles to traverse today. Then wash your face and hands. You'll need a clean wimple. That one looks as if you had been sitting on it in the grass, which I suppose you were. I'll fetch you a new one.'
Elf pulled off the offending headdress, and did as she had been bid. When she returned to the nun, there was a fresh wimple on her bed. She put it on and slipped her cloak about her shoulders, fastening it with a closure in the shape of the cross. The garment was a darker gray than her skirt. 'Will you tell Matti and Isa where I have gone, Sister Cuthbert? And that I will be back as quickly as I can?'
Sister Cuthbert nodded, gently adjusting Elf’s wimple as she said, 'It will be a grand adventure, little one, and you should have one small adventure before you pledge your life to our good Lord. We will pray for your brother, Elf. Do not fear for him, for he is in God’s hands. Come, I will take you to Sister Joseph, to make certain she mounts you decently. She always wants to give us that wretched mule who will only go where he is minded to go, and not necessarily where you need him to go. You are too young and innocent to defy Sister Joseph. I am not.'
Together the two of them walked to the convent stable, a small building on the cloister’s west side. And indeed Sister Joseph was of a mind to mount Elf on her favorite mule, but Sister Cuthbert would not have it.
'She must have the white mare,' the older nun said.
'That is reserved for Reverend Mother,' Sister Joseph protested.
'Reverend Mother is not going anywhere, but Eleanore de Montfort is. That mule is impossible with everyone but you, and you know it.'
'But we don't know how long the mare will be away, and if Reverend Mother needs her, what am I to say?' Sister Joseph persisted.
Sister Cuthbert turned to Elf. 'Can you have your brother’s serfs return the mare in a day or two? I am sure he will mount you decently when you return. That way should Reverend Mother need her mare, the beast will be here in its stable.'
Elf nodded.
'Oh, very well,' Sister Joseph acquiesced, 'but that mare had best be back in two days' time, Eleanore de Montfort.'
'It will, sister, I promise,' Elf said softly. 'And hopefully I will be the one to ride her back.' She stroked the mare’s soft nose.
The mare was saddled. The bundle with Elf’s possessions was strapped into place, and she was helped to mount. All the girls in the convent school were taught how to sit a mare in the event they had to do so. Elf had not expected she would ever ride outside of the convent courtyard, but as she gathered the reins in her gloved hands, she felt a little tremor of excitement. She was going back to Ashlin. She would see Dickon, and using her own skills she would make him well, she was quite certain. She would see old Ida, if indeed Ida was still alive. Then she would return to St. Frideswide's, take her vows, and spend the remainder of her life serving God. Still, she wished she could speak with Isa and Matti herself before her departure.
Sister Cuthbert led the mare and its rider from the stable. Sister Perpetua opened the gates of the convent, and Elf was led outside. Sister Cuthbert put the lead rein into Saer de Bude’s outstretched hand. 'Go carefully,' Sister Cuthbert told the young man sternly. 'The lady is not used to being astride. Go with God, my child,' she told Elf.
They set off at a staid pace. Elf could see Isa and Matti still upon the hillside with the sheep. She wanted to wave to them, but she was too shy to do so, and afraid of causing a scene. Saer de Bude kept the mare beside his own mount, and to his right. For a time the animals moved in silence, and then the young man spoke.
'Are you permitted to speak with me, lady?' he asked her.
'Aye,' she replied. 'We are not a cloistered order.'
'You have not been home to Ashlin since you were brought to the convent,' he said. It was not a question.
'No,' Elf replied. 'Tell me of my brother, sir. How ill is he, and what has been done for him?'
'Richard is dying' came the blunt answer.
'The lady Isleen cares for her husband with the devotion of an angel,' Saer de Bude continued. 'He is a fortunate man, your brother.'
'Why is he dying?' Elf demanded of her companion. 'What is the matter with him, good sir? Surely a physician was sent for and a diagnosis made.'
'There has been no physician at Ashlin,' Saer de Bude replied. 'We would have had to send to Worcester for one. At first your brother’s illness was not thought to be serious.'
'I assist the infirmarian at the convent,' Elf told him. 'I will want to examine my brother, although I am certainly no expert. Still, Sister Winifred says I am the best assistant she has ever had. I am certain there is something I can do to help my brother.'
'The lady Isleen will be most grateful,' Saer de Bude replied.
'How came you to Ashlin?' Elf asked him.
'My mother was a de Warenne' was the reply. 'The lady Isleen is my cousin. Her family thought I could be of help to your brother.'
'I am certain Richard is grateful,' Elf answered him primly. Then she grew silent again. She had, of course, only met her sister-in-law once, and perhaps she had judged her through the eyes of a small child, ripped from her home, and put in a strange place. This was the person who had taken her beloved Dickon from her. That Isleen was extravagantly beautiful had not helped. Her hair had been like golden thistledown touched by the moonlight. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her skin was as pure as cream, her cheeks touched with just the faintest hint of rose. She had smelled of roses, too. A delicious, heady scent that bespoke elegance. It was difficult for a little girl just five and a half years of age, in a dull gray gown, to like such a woman. And Isleen had made no effort herself to draw her bridegroom’s little sister to her heart. That one visit had been brief, with Isleen staring out the window of the visitor’s chamber while Dickon spoke briefly, his eyes always going to his bride until he could seemingly not bear it any longer, and they had taken their leave of Elf.
But now her brother and his wife, childless after all their years of
