‘I cannot say how she will see my disappearance. A woman is oft blamed for luring a man no matter how hard she fought him, how fiercely she defended her purity. The one man who could attest to never having touched me is dead.’
‘What of the musicians?’
‘Until that night at Cawood, none of them had dared approach me in that way. I had thought it because my disguise convinced them. But I have come to think that Carl, their leader, had forbidden them to touch me, and they dared not disobey.’
‘God be thanked,’ said Euphemia.
Michaelo had been unable to make out Marian’s quiet response.
‘Have you any hope your Percy kin will believe you?’ asked Euphemia.
The woman lacked all courtesy and compassion.
‘I believe my guardian and Lady Edwina will if I am able to speak to them myself. They know me well. I cannot say whether Lady Maud will.’
‘What of your mother? Surely she will believe you.’
‘My mother defers to her betters in all things regarding me.’ Sadness tinged the words. Michaelo crossed himself and said a prayer for the young nun.
Conversation died with that. Michaelo was relieved for Dame Marian’s sake, but he regretted the loss of a diversion. Now he was too aware of Crispin’s unease, and the enveloping darkness. It was with relief that he spied up ahead a pool of light spilling out from a building, and noticed the sound of a hammer on steel.
‘Two men ahead,’ Alisoun called out as she flipped back her cloak and shrugged the bow from her shoulder, testing the string, plucking an arrow from her quiver.
Following the line of her arrow, Michaelo caught the movements just beyond the pool of light. They were drawing weapons.
Crispin limped forward. ‘Do not shoot until we see who they are.’
Dame Euphemia peered out. ‘What is happening?’
‘Someone standing in our path,’ said Michaelo. ‘Weapons drawn. Mistress Alisoun has readied an arrow.’
‘God help us.’
‘Come, let us pray, Dame Euphemia,’ Marian said. She began to recite a hail Mary.
Euphemia withdrew and joined in the prayer.
Michaelo’s heart pounded.
As the cart moved into the light Crispin put a hand on Drake’s arm and quietly ordered him to halt. He stepped forward, leaning on his cane.
‘Porter and Diggs. Have you come to assist us?’
One of the men wagged his dagger at Crispin. ‘Who do you serve, Poole?’
‘At present, my blind, elderly dam.’
‘You expect us to believe she is in there?’
Euphemia poked her head out. ‘Who are you to question my son?’
‘Now step aside, Diggs.’ Crispin shifted the cane to the other hand and began to turn back.
But Diggs, dagger poised, came forward.
Alisoun let her arrow fly, catching Diggs above the elbow on his dagger arm. With a shout of pain he dropped the weapon and stumbled to the side of the track as the other moved toward Alisoun. Michaelo stepped forward, but there was no need. Before he could draw his weapon Drake stuck out a leg and the man tripped and fell.
‘Bastard!’ Porter shouted.
Drake kicked him hard, then rolled him over to the side of the track and, with a nod from Crispin, resumed his hold on the donkey, guiding the cart past the trouble-makers.
‘What will Sir John say when he learns you attacked a man escorting his elderly mother to the good sisters?’ Crispin called out as he passed.
‘What need has he of a cripple like you?’ growled Porter.
Stinging words, and Michaelo felt for Crispin, whose limp had become more pronounced the farther they walked. But he made no complaint.
As they moved back into darkness the women in the cart resumed their prayers, Michaelo accompanying them in silence. He strained to hear anything moving in the darkness, difficult over the clomping of the donkey’s hooves, the creak of the wheels, the flutter of the cart covering, the pounding of his own heart. He peered into the darkness, seeking unnatural movement. Even so, he was startled when Alisoun plucked up a lantern from the cart and opened a shutter, revealing a covey of children preparing to jump on the cart from a porch roof. He had never heard them.
‘Jump and the men within will skewer you on their swords, little ones,’ Alisoun warned.
They crept back into the darkness.
Well done, thought Michaelo. How she had detected their presence on the roof he could not guess, but he was grateful for her keen senses, far better than his, and her courage.
They rolled on a little longer, Marian’s murmured prayers now accompanied by Euphemia’s snore. As the ground rose above Michaelo to his right, seeming to press them all the closer to the mist-shrouded river, the cart slowed.
‘The Old Baile,’ said Crispin. ‘We must move with care.’
‘May God watch over us,’ Michaelo whispered.
Euphemia ceased snoring and rejoined Marian in prayer.
At a small gate affording access beyond the walls they came to a complete halt. Drake fetched a second small lantern that had been hanging on the side of the cart, opening the shutters and handing it to Crispin. Alisoun passed hers to Drake.
‘I will walk on ahead,’ said Crispin, ‘check that the track beyond the gate is cart-worthy.’
Michaelo had wondered. Beyond the gate had once been a moat. Debris had been piled up to create a pathway. Planks were kept in a shed by the gateway for use when floods or storms washed it out. When Crispin returned with the good news that it was passable Michaelo said a prayer of thanks. They moved on, slowly, the cart bumping over the uneven ground.
As they gained the smoother path on the other side Michaelo heard horses approaching, then spied the flickering light of a torch. Two riders.
‘Who approaches the priory of St Clement’s at this late hour?’ one of them called.
Crispin limped forward, identifying himself. The men dismounted. One of them engaged Crispin while the one holding the torch approached the cart. Michaelo narrated for Euphemia as the man studied Alisoun and her companion. He moved past them to shine his light on Michaelo, forcing him to shield his
