which had forced her to those desperate measures. And I’d little doubt that once the court had finished with the woman, her husband would extract his own retribution from her for exposing him to the whole village as a cuckold. A chilling thought seized me.
“Sister, tell me truthfully as you will answer to God on Judgement Day: Did the child die either by your hand or by that of your husband?”
The woman looked horrified and fell on her knees again, clutching at my skirts. “No! I swear it by all things holy, the bairn sickened and I could do nowt to save it. It’d not suckle, though I nursed it day and night, it just kept wailing. I was up night after night with it, for my man couldn’t abide to hear it cry. When everyone had gone to the fields I lay down on the bed for I was that tired with rocking it all night, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. When I woke it lay cold aside me. It’s witchery, that’s what it is.”
Healing Martha patted her briskly on the shoulder. “Now, sister, let’s have no talk of that.” She shook her head at me. “There’s no need to look for evil in this, Servant Martha. This poor woman is so malnourished that I doubt any infant born to her could have thrived, especially if she kept the child hidden in the cold and damp of those village hovels.”
I couldn’t let her bury an innocent child beneath a dung heap, but neither could I cast her into the merciless hands of the Church. And besides, even if the Church did grant burial, an unbaptised infant would be laid on the north side of the graveyard among the mad and the unshriven. No fitting place for a babe to wake on Judgement Day.
“We’ll give the child a Christian burial close by our chapel. No demon will dare come nigh him there. Now where is the baby?”
“Hidden in a chest at home,” the woman muttered, still refusing to meet my eyes.
“Then fetch him here.”
She shook her head. “I daren’t bring him in daylight. All the men will be in the forest this night, dancing the sun round the fires for the winter solstice. Women’ll keep safe behind their doors. There’ll be none to see me.” She pointed to the copse in the opposite direction to the forest. “In there’s a great oak that’s tumbled over, but still grows where it lies. I’ll bring it there… tonight.”
Healing Martha frowned. “But aren’t you afraid to venture out for fear of the Owlman? I heard that no villager sets foot out of doors after dark now, unless they are in a group and well armed.”
The woman’s eyes flashed wide and she moaned, pressing her hands tightly across her mouth as if she was terrified to speak, but finally she grasped my sleeve. “You will come tonight,” she pleaded urgently. “You’ll come yourself. It must be you… If you don’t… Swear you’ll come.”
“You have my word that I will come in person,” I told her. “Return home now. I will meet you tonight at the tree you describe at the Matins hour. But you haven’t told me your name, Mistress.”
The woman hesitated. “Aldith,” she whispered, then turned and hurried away.
As we walked away from the gate, Healing Martha fell into step with me. “That wind cuts right through my old bones. I never thought I’d say it but I’d welcome a good frost or even some snow if only it would calm this nagging wind.”
Healing Martha was very dear to me, but she did have some decidedly infuriating habits, not the least of them making blithe and inconsequential remarks when she knew I was waiting to hear what was clearly occupying her mind. It was always a sign that she disapproved of a decision I had taken.
“Our Lord commands us to bury the dead.” I was annoyed. I shouldn’t have to justify myself to her of all people. “We cannot allow a body of an innocent baby to be thrown on a dung heap. We can’t force open the gates of Heaven to receive the soul of an unbaptised child, but we can at least preserve it from the Evil One until the Day of Judgement.”
Healing Martha lifted her head and watched a flock of seagulls being tossed and buffeted by the wind. “Gulls flying inland. It means there’s a storm brewing out at sea.”
“I’m not interested in the wretched gulls. Just tell me why we should not bury this child?”
Healing Martha stopped and looked up at me. “Why was the woman so insistent that you must meet her, when any beguine might collect the child? And suppose her husband asks what she’s done with the corpse or she whispers the matter to a friend? It could be all round the village in hours. Have you thought what it would mean if this reaches the ears of Father Ulfrid? We are already excommunicated. If he learns of this, he will be furious. There is no knowing what he might do.”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Healing Martha held up her hand. “Yes, I know what you’re going to say: We have no choice. Our duty is to obey God, even if it means disobeying the Church. Forgive me, old friend, but aching bones and this irritating wind sometimes make us ancient ones long for a day or two of peace.” She sighed. “There are times when I wish the spiritual life was not quite such an adventurous one.”
“But you agree we must bury the baby here.”
Healing Martha smiled wearily. “I’ve known you long enough to know that nothing I or anyone else said would stop you doing what you were convinced was right. You are as stubborn as old Saint Thomas himself.”
“Then… will you go with me tonight?”
“You know full well I wouldn’t let you go alone even if you were going to lay siege to the gates of Hell itself.” She chuckled and patted my arm. “Someone has to carry the bandages.”
servant martha
iT WAS AN EVIL NIGHT to be abroad. We pulled our cloaks low over our faces and led our horses quietly out through the gate. I informed Gate Martha that we were going to perform an act of charity.
“In the dark, in this wild weather?” she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Our Lord said, ‘When you give alms let not your left hand know what your right hand does.’”
Gate Martha sniffed, clearly affronted that I would not tell her more.
I helped Healing Martha to mount her palfrey sidesaddle. I could tell from the way she held herself, and the groan that escaped her, that her back was paining her even more than usual. There had been a steady procession of village women coming to the infirmary all day seeking healing for themselves or their families. They brought children with sores that would not heal or bellies grossly distended with worms from grubbing in the dirt for scraps of food. They came for potions for elderly parents who were wheezing and coughing. Healing Martha had tended to each one and she was exhausted. But I knew she would insist on accompanying me even if I expressly forbade her. Healing Martha had the gall to call me stubborn, but I’d never met such an obstinate woman as she.
The wind tore at our clothes and sent the horses skipping sideways as the animals tried to turn their faces from the blowing dust and grit. Above us the trees creaked and mewled, their branches tossed about like twigs. Clouds, thick as winter fleeces, hid the moon. Our small lantern scarcely penetrated the darkness for more than a hand’s space before us.
Fearful that we were being watched I peered this way and that into the blackness. The bushes were swaying and rustling so violently that even if someone was creeping through them, it was impossible to distinguish the noise from the sound of the wind. I’d be thankful when we’d collected the baby’s body and we were safely on our way back. The road through the forest offered too many hiding places for cut-purses and outlaws on such a dark night. I held the lantern low and half muffled with my cloak lest its moving light be seen.
We tethered the horses under the cover of the trees, out of sight of the road. Healing Martha called out a soft warning to Aldith of our approach, but there was no sign of the woman. She was probably hiding by the fallen tree, afraid to show herself until she was sure it was us.
“This way, I think.” Healing Martha tugged at my sleeve.
We threaded our way through the trees. I raised the lantern, trying to see if the fallen tree was in sight, and sprawled headlong over a tree root.
Healing Martha rushed to help me up. “Have you hurt yourself?”
“Nothing broken.”
I’d skinned the palm of my hand. I pressed it tightly under my armpit to stop it stinging. Why on earth had I agreed to meet Aldith here? An open field would have been cover enough in the darkness.
Healing Martha clutched at my arm and pointed to a great fallen oak, half its roots still clinging to the soil, the rest clawing upwards at the sky. But Aldith was nowhere to be seen. Healing Martha called out softly while I swept the lantern around, trying to peer deeper into the copse. Tree trunks loomed towards us, pale in the guttering flame. Swaying branches sent shadows scurrying into darkness, but none was human enough to be the woman.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Patience, Servant Martha, she’ll come soon. She’ll be as anxious as us to be abed before the dancing ends.”
The ground was dry enough to sit on and at least we had the tree trunk to provide some shelter from this wind. I closed my eyes, listening to the swish and creak of the branches above us. The pungent breath of wild onion curled about our feet. There was nothing to do but wait. Above the moaning of the wind, a deep rumble of thunder echoed a long way off. The trees shivered.
“She’d better come soon, Healing Martha. There’s a storm gathering and it will drive the dancers from the forest as soon as it breaks. I’ve no wish to be abroad with our burden then.”
“I’ve no wish to be abroad in a storm at all, old friend. My ancient bones do not take kindly to a wetting and I’ve a hankering to be warming them at my own fireside before this night is much older.” She winced in pain, trying to ease herself into a more comfortable position, though she tried to muffle the cry.
I was angry with myself for dragging her out on a night like this. At her age Healing Martha could easily take a chill. And with an infirmary full of patients, how would we manage if she had to take to her bed for a week?
“I should have brought Osmanna with me, instead of subjecting you to this,” I said. “She’s young and fit and I trust her to keep her counsel. But for some reason she always seems to find some excuse not to go into the woods. I overheard Beatrice complaining the other day that Osmanna doesn’t want to be seen by the villagers performing such menial tasks as gathering tinder or fetching herbs.”
“Beatrice has resented the child ever since…” Healing Martha hesitated. “Let us just say Beatrice has her own sorrows, which make it hard for her to understand Osmanna. But you and I both know that Osmanna is not proud. She will willingly clean up the foulest mess in the infirmary and doesn’t care who sees her
