He pulled his fur-trimmed robe more closely about him. Although the rain had chilled the evening air, it was hardly cold enough to warrant such a heavy robe, but he had the pinched look of a man who was permanently cold, whatever the weather. Several times he tilted the ledger towards the candle on the table, to illuminate an entry, before dipping his quill and making notes on his own parchment. In the hollow empty church, the harsh scratching of his quill seemed to reverberate off the stones, until it was all I could hear.
I’d encountered the Bishop’s Commissarius only once before, the day Bishop Salmon interrogated me about Hilary, an interview I still relive in my nightmares. The Commissarius had been poised on a stool placed just behind the Bishop. Occasionally he had leaned forward from the shadows to murmur something in Bishop Salmon’s ear, but he’d never once addressed me, and those whispers had been far more unnerving than the Bishop’s torrent of angry words.
With his face half obscured in the shadow of the Bishop’s high-backed chair I’d assumed the Commissarius was a man of mature years, but now that he was sitting in my vestry, I could see he was only in his late twenties, though his skin had the waxy unnatural pallor of a prisoner kept for years in a dungeon. He had a long narrow face, as if his mother had squeezed her legs together to try to prevent him coming into the world. His cheekbones were sharp and his eyes sunk deep into dark sleepless hollows, and little wonder for he had such a tension of ambition in his frame that it would rob any man of his sleep.
“I’m … surprised that you were sent to look over the tithe ledgers, Commissarius. I thought perhaps the Bishop’s Reeve—”
“You thought? Or you hoped?” he said, running his finger down another column. “Then my visit must be a great disappointment to you.”
“No, no, it’s a great honour, of course … but I hadn’t realised you concerned yourself with such matters.”
Still he did not raise his eyes from the ledger. “I am concerned with whatever is troubling His Excellency, the Bishop. And he, Father Ulfrid, is troubled about you.” He snapped the ledger shut on this last word and finally lifted his head to look at me. “Your parishioners would appear to be somewhat reluctant to pay their tithes.”
“But they cannot give what they didn’t harvest, Commissarius. You must have seen the fields as you rode here. The grain harvest was ruined and the hay crop was hardly better. Surely it must be the same in all the parishes in these parts?”
“Quite so, Father Ulfrid; as you say, all the parishes in the See are affected.” He smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
“Then you understand the difficulties,” I said, much relieved.
“I understand very well, Father Ulfrid. I understand that all the other priests—priests who are diligent in the service of the Church—have collected their tithes as usual and on time, despite the … difficulties.”
I gaped at him. How could they? It was almost on the tip of my tongue to say I didn’t believe him, but I stopped myself in time. “But, Commissarius, how can they bring a tenth of their crops when they have no crops?”
What did he expect me to do, rip the rags from the backs of beggars? God knows I didn’t want to be here, but if a man is suddenly thrown into chains, he cannot help but feel some compassion towards the other wretches suffering in the same dungeon.
He studied me carefully, pressing the tips of his long fingers together. “Father Ulfrid, perhaps you have forgotten that the Church accepts wool and crops as the tithe only from its compassion for the poor. What the Church wants, Father, what indeed it demands first and foremost, is money. If the people cannot pay their tithes in grain and beasts, then they must pay in coins. Were you to familiarise yourself with the tithe records of your predecessors, Father, you would find there ample reminders that tithes are collected on time and in full regardless of whether the harvest is good or poor.”
“But with due respect, Com—”
He held up a hand to silence me. “Ah, yes, respect, that is at the heart of this matter—the people’s respect for the Church. I think you’ll find, Father Ulfrid, that excommunicating a few of the more obdurate members of your congregation will serve as a salutary lesson to the rest of the parish. After all, what is a mere tenth of their earnings in this life, compared to an eternity spent in the fires of Hell for them and their children?”
“But if the crops have failed where are they to find—”
“It is because they deny God what is rightfully His that He has punished them with poor harvests. If they had tithed honestly and generously in the past, they would not now be suffering. At such times you should advise them to redouble their efforts to pay in order that His wrath may be turned aside.”
He rose abruptly and tucked the ledger under his arm. “Come, show me the tithe barn. With so little gathered in, at least there will have been no occasion for error in the counting of it.”
I felt my stomach turn sour. “Commissarius, surely there’s no need to trouble yourself on such a night. The records are accurate, I assure you. You’ll get soaked going out in that rain and I’d never forgive myself if you caught a chill.”
He was already at the door of the church. “I thank you for your solicitude, Father Ulfrid, but I assure you it is no trouble. I am glad to suffer in the service of the Holy Church, as I am sure are you, Father. Please be so good as to bring the lantern and the key.”
Outside the rain was slashing down. The night was so dark it was impossible even to see across the churchyard. I pulled my cloak tightly about myself and held the lantern up to light the Commissarius’s way down the puddle-strewn track. I was praying he’d slip and break his neck, but the way things were going, he’d probably only step in a puddle and soak his boots, which would do nothing to improve his disposition. I fumbled at the door of the barn trying to turn the great key in the lock. When it finally yielded, the Commissarius seized the lantern and held it up. The trembling flame only seemed to magnify the great gaping spaces between the pitifully few supplies.
“Commissarius, you must understand we lost a number of hides. There was an infestation of black beetles. We had to burn the infected hides to prevent the others from becoming holed.”
“Then they were either badly cured, or inefficiently stored. Both are your responsibility, Father Ulfrid.” The long finger was methodically flicking through the skins. “You must ensure that only the finest quality produce is given to the Church. The populace will try to pass off their worst goods as tithes if they think the priest is too careless to check. That is why you should insist on payment in coin, Father Ulfrid. Money is never—what was it you said? Ah, yes—infested by little black beetles.”
He strode round the barn, counting sacks here and bales there. He was only doing it to prolong my agony; he already knew the amounts would not tally. The fleeces and hides had never existed. He’d known that before we even entered the barn. The only question was what he would do about it. The rain drummed down on the roof and wind whistled in through the gap under the door, but it was not the chill draught that made me shiver.
When at long last the Commissarius had completed his circuit of the barn, he went to the table and sat down, opening the ledger. His pale finger again traced down the columns. I waited, the old familiar pain in my chest growing stronger with every minute that crawled past.
Finally he looked up. “As you are doubtless aware, Father Ulfrid, there would appear to be a significant discrepancy between what is in the barn and what is recorded in the ledger.”
I struggled against my rising panic, trying to make my voice sound calm. “As I explained, the hides—”
“And no doubt you could also explain the missing hay, roots, beans, and all of the other items that appear to have vanished. What was it, Father—weevils, mice, floods, fire? I don’t doubt you’ve been smitten with them all. You seem to have been the victim of great misfortune.” He paused and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “However, since you are a man of God, I shall, of course, accept your ti
the ledger as a true and accurate record of what you have received on behalf of the Holy Church.”
I felt myself breathing out hard. I hoped it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear, but evidently he saw the look of relief on my face, for he smiled.
“Entirely accurate,” he repeated quietly. “Therefore, you will deliver to His Excellency, the Bishop, a quarter of all the tithes you have recorded in your ledger, regardless of what is actually contained in the barn.”
He paused and I felt the fear in me ebbing away. It was not as bad as I feared. I had already calculated I had just enough to send what I owed to Norwich and I’d be able to scrape together enough to live on from the tithes set aside for repairing the church and alms for the poor. It would be difficult, but I could do it, and the villagers would surely pay me what they owed when they could.
But the Commissarius had not finished. “In addition, Father Ulfrid, you will send the quarter set aside for the maintenance of St. Michael’s Church to me, and I will personally oversee the settlement of any bills for the church. Likewise you will also send to me the quarter of the tithes recorded in your ledger which are reserved for the poor and needy of your parish. Just for safekeeping, you understand, in case any of it should fall prey to more of those little black beetles. You have one month to deliver what you owe. And if you find that the remaining quarter for your own keep is rather less than the quarter recorded in your own ledgers, an empty stomach may help to concentrate your thoughts on accurate bookkeeping in the future.”
He must have seen the look of horror on my face. Even if I sent everything that was in the barn, it wouldn’t be nearly enough to make up the amount he was demanding. Where was I to get the rest? The Commissarius watched me for a moment, then, apparently satisfied I had understood the full implications, he strode past me towards the door.
I turned and hurried after him. “Please, Commissarius,” I begged, “at least give me more time. I told you we’ve had problems; the hay went mouldy. There wasn’t—”
“I will not give you more time, Father Ulfrid, but I will give you some advice. Do not forget where your duty lies. You may make yourself popular with your idle parishioners by allowing them to escape paying their tithes and scots, but you will not make yourself popular with Bishop Salmon. And you cannot afford to anger His Excellency again, remember that. One more mistake, Father Ulfrid, just one more, and an empty stomach will be the very least of your sufferings.”
september
devil’s nutting day
those who gather nuts on this day will be gathered straight to hell or driven mad. any unwed maiden who gathers nuts this day will reap a crop of bastards.
osmanna
i FELT IT MOVE TOWARDS DAWN. I lay rigid in bed, praying that it had only been a bad dream which had woken me, but I knew it was not. I couldn’t pretend any longer. All those weeks I had tried to convince myself there was nothing inside me, but there was. It was alive and it was moving.
I followed the others into the chapel for Prime, but I couldn’t pray. All I could think about was that creature growing in my belly. There was another heart beating inside me. I was certain I could hear it. Everyone must surely hear it, that hot rapid beat that wasn’t mine.
“Aufer a nobis, quaesumus Domine, iniquitates nostras …”
“Take away from us our iniquities, we beseech Thee, O Lord …”
As Servant Martha said the words, I felt it flutter for the second time. It could hear the holy words even through my belly and it was fighting against them. I pressed my hands tightly against it, sure that everyone would see the thing moving through my skin, but the tighter I pressed the harder it fought and I knew that even if I smashed a stone into my stomach, I could not kill it. Its wings were beating inside me. It was biting at my entrails and that’s how it would get out, it would eat its way out through my belly. There was a monster growing inside me and I had to destroy it.
I looked up and saw Healing Martha watching me, a frown on her face. I forced my hands away from my stomach, held them together in front of me, pressing them so tightly to stop them shaking that it hurt. Healing Martha mustn’t know. She couldn’t find out. She would see the bruises on my stomach, would know that I had tried to crush it and she would lock me up, tie my hands so I couldn’t hurt it. I looked around at all the faces of the beguines; they too were scowling as if they all knew. They’d force me to carry this thing. They’d make me give birth to this monster. To kill an unborn child was a sin.
She can get rid of warts and more besides. That’s what Pega had said that day out in the hay meadow. Old Gwenith, she’d know how to get rid of this creature. Who else could I go to? Who else would help me?
I slipped out of the gates straight after Prime. Everyone was too busy with their chores even to ask where I was going. And where was I going? Pega had said, Old Gwenith lives far up the river, where the valley narrows. But I had no idea how far that was. D’Acaster’s daughters weren’t permitted to wander about the countryside. All I could do was follow the river and pray that somehow I would find the place.
I ran until I reached the ford, desperately afraid that if someone saw me they might call me back to help with some task in the beguinage or, worse still, insist on coming with me. I picked my way across the slippery stones, the icy water lapping round my calves. It was only when I reached the other side and my feet began to slip inside my wet shoes, that I realised I had waded across the ford without taking my shoes and hose off.
The river skirted the edge of the forest. Even though I was on the other side, I glanced fearfully across the water towards the dense mass of trees. Though I knew that the demon which hunted in there stalked its prey in the darkness, yet even in daylight I did not feel safe from it, as if it could slip between the shadows of the rocks or ride in the storm clouds and find me. I ran up the bank as fast as I could, my feet slipping and sliding in my drenched shoes, until I had left the curve of the forest behind me.
I do not know how long I walked. The bank grew steeper and narrower. The crashing of the water grew louder and louder until it filled my head. I slipped on the rocks as I scrambled up the hillside, grazing hands and knees, but I could not let myself slow down. All the time the river rushed past me, as if it wanted to catch me and drag me back down the hill with it.
I saw the old woman before I saw the hut. I knew it must be her. Who else would live this far from the village? She was squatting with her back to me, pulling at something between her knees. Her back was bent and her long grey greasy hair swung over her shoulder in a single thin rope.
My legs were trembling from the climb. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what to ask. Suppose she couldn’t do it after all. Pega had said warts and more besides. What if that wasn’t what she meant? And if she could, how would she get this thing out of me—with a knife? What on earth was I doing? I began to back away.
“A love potion is it, little maid?” Old Gwenith rocked forward and, picking up a staff from the ground, levered herself to her feet. A skinned hare dangled from her bloody hands.
I shook my head. My mouth was too dry to speak.
She beckoned with a crooked finger, bright red with scarlet blood. The skin of her face was burnt brown and it looked as if the bones inside had shrunk to the size of a cat’s skull, leaving the skin sagging loose and as crinkled as old bark. I’d never seen anyone so old.
“Come closer; my eyes aren’t what they were.”
“I made a mistake … I have to …”
“You’ve had a hard climb for nothing then.” Her laughter was harsh and rasping, breaking off in a fit of coughing. She spat out a mouthful of brown liquid and wiped her lips on the back of her hand. Her thin chest heaved as she struggled to regain her breath.
“All who come here say they want nothing, but they all want something.” She cocked her head to the side. “Another grey one. But you’ve come for me this time, not my Gudrun.”
Another grey one? Did she mean another beguine had been he
re? But who would go to her, unless it was Pega? What would Pega have wanted?
The old woman edged closer.
“I see the way of it now. You’re no maid after all.” She was staring at my belly and I realised that my fists were clenched across it. I jerked them away, but it was too late.
Old Gwenith laughed again, and again the laughter crumbled into a fit of coughing. “A lifetime of pain for five minutes of pleasure. Was he worth it, girl?”
“I tried to fight …” I found myself blurting out. “I was forced …”
“Aye, it happens.” Her rheumy brown eyes took on a kindly expression instead of mocking. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last. Men think they can take anything they want by force, but what matters can’t be got that way. Smash an egg and you’ll not get a prize falcon from it, just a mess in your hand. You think on it, lass. He’s taken nothing from you that’s worth a fart in the end.”
“It wasn’t a …” I was on the verge of blurting out it wasn’t a man who’d done this to me. It wasn’t a child growing inside me, but a monster. But if the old woman knew it was a demon who had done this to me, she might be too afraid to kill its spawn, and she had to. There was no one else who could get the thing out of me. “You can … get rid of it?”
“Aye, I can rid of anything that’s not wanted.” She wiped her bloody hand on her skirts and held it out palm up. “What have you brought me? A gift for a gift.”
“But I haven’t got anything. I didn’t have time … I didn’t think …”
She shrugged. “You get nowt for nowt in this world.” She turned and shuffled back towards her hut.
I found myself running towards her. “Wait, please, I can get something, anything, anything you want. I have money. I’ll go back and get whatever you want after you’ve done it. I promise I’ll bring it straight back, but please you must do this first.”
The Owl Killers Page 18