‘
Aelfwold nodded and breathed out a sigh as he sat back in his saddle.
‘What now?’ I asked him.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘we wait and see if they will let us in.’
As much as a quarter of the hour might have passed before the young nun returned. My horse began to grow restive, pawing the ground and tossing his head; I dismounted and paced about with reins in hand, rubbing his flank.
At last, however, the nun did come back. After exchanging a few words with the one bearing the lantern, the gates were drawn full open with a creaking of hinges, and slowly we led our mounts through.
‘
‘You must leave your swords here,’ the chaplain warned.
In any other situation I might have protested, for I did not like to go anywhere unarmed, but I didn’t want to cause a stir here, in a place of God. At the very least, we would still have our knives, since they were as much for eating with as they were for fighting.
I nodded to the other knights as I unbuckled my sword-belt and held it out to her, and one by one they did the same. I watched closely as she carried them within the gatehouse. As she came out, she called to the other two who were behind us, and they began to close over the gates, before each taking an end of a long wooden bar and dropping it into place. For good or for ill, I was here now.
The older nun was already hustling ahead, waving for us to follow her across a gravelled yard to a stable building. We left our mounts there, together with our shields, and then she led us on foot up a wide cart-track towards the church and the long stone halls that I presumed were the living quarters. The fence and outer ditch enclosed a wide area, most of which was taken up with fields, from which even now sheep and cows were being herded. The smell of dung wafted on the breeze. Down by the riverbank, on the southern side of the enclosure, I saw the shadowy form of a mill with its wheel turning.
‘Where do you think she’s taking us?’ Eudo murmured.
‘Somewhere where there’ll be lots of women,’ Radulf answered, glancing at a group of nuns passing us in the other direction. ‘Young ones, too, with any luck.’
I stopped and turned on him. ‘You keep quiet,’ I said, pointing a gloved finger at his large nose. ‘Do you understand?’
He stared back at me in surprise. But I’d already had enough of his remarks on this journey.
‘This is a house of our Lord,’ I said to all of them. ‘As long as we’re here, we show nothing but respect.’
As I pulled away, I noticed the chaplain watching me. He said nothing but, before he turned around, I thought I saw the slightest of nods — of approval, maybe, though I could not be sure.
What Radulf had said made me wonder, though, for the nuns of Wiltune were clearly used to men visiting, or they wouldn’t have admitted us in the first place. Some houses were far stricter; in such places men would not be permitted to enter at all, except for pilgrims and the sick, and the priests who came to deliver Mass and hear confessions. Which meant the women here had decided to trust us, especially surprising considering that we were obviously men of war, and not of their own people either.
The sun disappeared below the tiled roof of the church ahead of us. Now that it was before us, it was all the more impressive. Each of its three towers were more than four storeys tall, while even the nave looked taller than six men. The glass in the windows was coloured with reds and greens, blues and even yellows, intricately arranged to show pictures of saints or angels, like nothing I’d ever seen.
Aelfwold took no interest in any of this, however, and I was beginning to wonder whether he’d been here before. But if so, did that mean he also knew Eadgyth?
We crossed the courtyard towards a large stone-built hall. The nun knocked at the door and then, though I couldn’t make out any reply, entered. Aelfwold went next and I after him, ducking to avoid hitting my head on the low cross-beam. The inside of the hall was lit only by two candles, arranged either side of a slanted writing desk. There was a hearth at one end but no fire had yet been lit, and so there was a damp chill to the air. Beside the hearth, a door led through into the next room, from which a girl promptly appeared. Her hair was fair in colour and unbound. She looked no older than about eleven or twelve years. Her eyes were wide as she saw us all standing there, and I wondered what we must have looked like to her: seven strange men, six of us in mail hauberks and chausses, marked with the scars of battle. If she had grown up solely in the convent, she might never have seen so many men together in one place.
The nun said something to her; the girl nodded and, hardly taking her eyes from us, retreated through the doorway.
‘Go back outside,’ Aelfwold told me curtly. ‘I wish to speak with the abbess alone.’
‘The abbess?’ I asked, surprised. I thought we’d been coming to see Eadgyth.
‘Who else?’ he said, with some impatience. ‘I can’t deliver my message without her permission. Now, go.’
I didn’t move. ‘We wait here,’ I insisted.
‘This is not your concern-’
He turned as the door opened again, and through it, a woman entered, dressed in a brown habit with a simple cross embroidered in white thread on each sleeve. Like the nun who had brought us from the gate, she was advanced in years, but there was wisdom in her eyes, which were the colour of burnished copper, and dignity in the way she walked towards us, as if every step held some divine purpose.
She gave a flick of her hand towards our nun, who nodded solemnly and then departed, leaving us alone in the candlelight.
‘
‘
‘You come with a full conroi this time, it seems,’ she said, speaking suddenly in French as she looked about at the six of us. ‘How times are changing.’ But if she was trying to make a jest, it did not show in her face, which remained expressionless as before.
Aelfwold rose. ‘The escort given to me by my lord,’ he explained, replying likewise in French.
‘Guillaume Malet,’ she said, and I thought I detected a hint of scorn in her voice, though I was not sure.
If there was, the chaplain did not seem to notice. ‘Indeed, my lady.’
The abbess looked pensive for a moment, then she turned her gaze towards the rest of us, as if inspecting us. ‘You look surprised,’ she said to me. ‘Why is this?’
I hadn’t realised it was so obvious. ‘You speak French well,’ I said, not out of politeness but because it was the truth. In fact she spoke it remarkably well, as only someone who hailed from the country would. Or at least, one who had spent a good many years in French company.
‘And that surprises you?’ she asked.
‘Only because I’m not used to hearing it from English lips,’ I answered, choosing my words carefully.
‘Yet Aelfwold here speaks it just as well as I.’
‘His lord is a Norman,’ I said with a shrug. That seemed to me plain; how could she not understand that?
‘Then, by that same measure,’ she said, with a smile that spoke of quiet victory, ‘should not the whole of England be French-speaking, since we are all subjects of our liege-lord, King Guillaume?’
I felt my cheeks turn hot. It seemed to me that I was being put to the test, for some reason that I could not discern. ‘Yes, my lady,’ I replied, not knowing what else I could say.
She frowned, keeping her gaze upon me.
‘My lady,’ Aelfwold spoke up, and for once I was thankful for his interruption. ‘I’m here-’
‘-to speak with the lady Eadgyth,’ she finished for him, turning her eyes away from me at last. ‘Yes, I had thought as much.’
‘To pass on a message from my lord, if you will allow,’ the priest said, unperturbed.
The abbess nodded. ‘It would be hard for me to deny you. Unfortunately at present she isn’t here, but in Wincestre.’
