'But why should they refuse to speak about it? I am her sister,' Cait said, 'we have been searching for her a very long time. I want to see her, and -'
'Please, please,' said Timotheus quickly, 'all in good time. I imagine the abbess will have her reasons.'
'Then I will not press you,' Cait replied, trying to remain calm and reasonable. 'But you must take me to her. Please, I need to see her -you must understand.'
'But my lady -' protested Efa, looking to Brother Timotheus for help.
'It may not be convenient -' the priest began.
'I want to go to my sister,' she insisted, her tone growing sharp. 'I do not care if it is convenient or not. We have travelled a very long way and… people have died.' Her voice broke and hot tears came to her eyes. 'I have to see and know she is well.'
Rognvald put his hand on her shoulder and she allowed herself to be drawn close. 'It is true,' he said to Timotheus. 'We have endured many hardships in the search. It seems a needless cruelty to deny us when we are so close.'
'Forgive me, my friends,' said Timotheus soothingly. 'I have spoken without sufficient forethought.' He gave Cait's hand a fatherly pat. 'You shall see your sister, of course you shall. This very day.'
'We will leave at once,' Rognvald said, 'and go as swiftly as horses can carry us.'
'Oh, no!' said the priest shaking his head in dismay. 'It is not permitted.'
'What?' said the knight. 'Are you saying horses are not permitted?'
'Men are not permitted!' replied Timotheus. 'Nor weapons, either. The abbey contains women only. You must stay behind, my friend. The abbess is most strict about this. In all my years I have never known an exception.'
'Perhaps I may be allowed to escort the women part way,' suggested Rognvald. 'Would there be any objection to that, do you think?'
'Providing you left your weapons behind,' the priest agreed, 'I suppose it would be allowed.'
'Thank you, brother,' Cait said, 'I am much obliged.' She stood quickly. 'I will gather my things and make ready to go.'
'I would still prefer to announce your arrival,' Timotheus answered, 'but in light of your feelings, I see no reason why we cannot forgo that formality. Yes, why not? When the sisters have concluded their visit, you shall return to the abbey with them.'
Cait hurried away, leaving the others to finish their festive ale. When she returned a short while later, she was dressed in her best clothes and her hair had been brushed and her face washed until the skin glowed. She fairly hummed with happy anticipation as she hurried outside where Rognvald had brought horses for Cait and himself, and one for the two nuns, dubious riders at best, to share.
Brother Timotheus and some of the villagers accompanied them to the edge of the settlement, and bade them farewell. The nuns pointed out the path, and they quickly found themselves on a steeply rising trail leading into the mountains which towered above the village. They rode in silence, enjoying the crisp, crystalline beauty of the day, listening to the birds in the snow-laden branches of the tall pines growing alongside the trail. After a time, they left the trees behind; the track became more narrow and winding as it snaked up and up into a sky of blazing blue.
The snow-covered path bent inward, following a fold in the mountainside. The sides of the trail rose high and sheer as the walls of a fortress, and when the riders emerged once more, they could see the little village far, far below, snug in its hollow, as if nestled in the palm of a gigantic hand, the surrounding peaks like fingers.
Another bend removed the village from sight, and they came to a chasm dividing two peaks. The gorge was deep and narrow, spanned by a simple bridge made of rope and wood. Rognvald reined in and dismounted; he examined the bridge and concluded that he dare not risk taking horses across. 'The abbey is not far,' Sister Efa told them. 'We will walk from here.'
'Then this is where I leave you,' the knight said to the women as he dismounted. He helped the nuns down from the saddle, and then watched as they tripped lightly across the fragile-looking bridge. Then it was Cait's turn. Rognvald wished her God's own speed, and said, 'I pray you find all is well, and eagerly await your return.'
Cait, watching the swaying bridge with mounting apprehension, nodded; gripping the side ropes in either hand she took a deep breath and started across, her eyes fixed firmly on the waiting figure o›f Sister Efa. Rognvald watched until she had safely reached the other side where she turned and waved him farewell, then he gathered up the reins, turned the horses, and returned to the settlement.
Beyond the chasm, the trail passed between two steep baire rock slopes before arriving at a low tunnel which had been chiselled out of the mountain stone. Although the tunnel was dark and damp, it was not long, and Cait emerged on the other side to find tfce trail winding gently down beside a racing mountain stream. The three women walked along, quiet in one another's company, an d soon arrived at a stand of tall thin birch trees.
They walked through the wood, which ended shortly, ar~id Cait stepped out from among the trees into a high mountain glade. At the far end of the snow-drifted meadow, she could see a crramped huddle of buildings which, she assumed, formed the Abbey- of the Grey Marys.
They followed the trail beside the stream, and soon cames to the first of the outbuildings: two simple barns with adjoining stone enclosures for sheep and goats, and four modest but well-thiatched storehouses, solid-looking on their stone foundations. Ne^xt they passed the square expanse of a field, its rippling ridges visible beneath thick snow. At one end of the field was an orcr-iard of small, well-tended trees; on one side of the grove stood a ffine tall stack c^ chopped wood, and on the other side was a triple row of beehives; the familiar sight of their high- mounded white hurrnps sent a pang of homely longing through Cait and her heart quickaened.
Even from a distance she could tell that this was a place oof order and peace, of humble industry and dutiful purpose. Closer, sshe saw the tidy yard, its smooth-cobbled paving swept clean of snow. On opposite sides of the yard were long rows of individual cells, each with a single tiny window and a low wooden door; on the third side of the yard stood a large, amply proportioned house of two floors with shuttered windows and, rising sharply behind this larger structure, a rugged tawny shoulder of the mountain whose sheltering peak soared high above the neat little abbey.
There was no church or chapel that she could see, but the abbey's unadorned, uncluttered simplicity appealed to Cait; she warmed to the place even before she heard the singing-which stopped her in her tracks with its clear, angelic mellifluence.
'What is that?' she said, her breath catching in her throat.
The two sisters glanced at one another. 'It is the prayer before the midday meal, my lady,' answered Siaran.
'It is beautiful,' Cait replied, and was instantly reminded of Abbot Emlyn's strong melodious voice as he stood before the festal table in Murdo's hall, head back, arms spread wide, a song of blessing bubbling up from his throat as from a deep sweet spring. It was, she realized, the second time in as many days that she had been brought up short by singing-once in the village and now here. 'It reminded me of something,' she said, as a pang of yearning pierced her heart. It reminded me of home.
'Alethea will be there,' she said, stirring herself once more. 'Let us go and join them.'
The three hurried on, quickly crossing the yard and coming to the door of the refectory. The singing had stopped and Cait could hear the low murmur of voices from within. She paused at the door and allowed Sister Efa to open it and beckon her inside.
Trembling with anticipation, she stepped lightly across the threshold. The large room was dim, but warm; a single wide table occupied the centre of the room with benches on either side for the thirty or so nuns who had gathered for their meal. Talk ceased as Cait stepped into the room, and every face turned towards her. She glanced the length of the table for Alethea, but did not see her.
'Welcome,' said a kindly voice, and Cait turned to see a trim elderly woman hastening towards her. She was dressed as the others in a long robe of undyed wool and, like old Abbot Emlyn back home, wore a large wooden cross on a leather loop around her neck. Her hair was white, and the bones stood out on her wrists and hands, but her step was quick and her dark eyes keen. 'I am Abbess Annora. We are just beginning our meal. Please, join us.'
'God be good to you. I am looking for my sister,' said Cait, scanning the table once more. 'Brother Timotheus told me she would be here.'
The older woman smiled. 'You must be Caitriona. Alethea has told us about you.' Addressing the nuns at
