“Don’t you find the life of a priestess lonely?”
“I have the company of my sisters.”
“But how much company do they provide?” The subtle emphasis on the word company put her meaning beyond doubt.
Eawynn narrowed her focus to each appalling grape, one at a time, while the butterflies in her stomach threatened to drive the air from her lungs. “I’m quite happy.”
Eawynn had polished the same grape three times, but was unable to think of anything else. She offered up a silent prayer, imploring Anberith to prompt Hilda to leave.
“I’m pleased you’re happy, but if ever there’s anything I can do to make you happier, you only have to ask.” Hilda’s voice was warm and husky.
The polishing rag was dry, removing wax rather than applying it. Abruptly, the jar appeared between her face and the fresco.
“Do you want this?” Hilda’s tone had changed to pure humour.
Eawynn could not stop herself. Her head jerked around. Her sight locked on the face of the woman holding out the jar—the level gaze of rich brown eyes; the finely balanced cheeks and chin, framed by curls of auburn hair; the straight, pert nose; the full red lips. Eawynn felt her face burn. She could not speak.
Hilda gave a soft laugh. “Tell you what, I’ll put it down here.” She carefully set the jar on a ledge and then trotted from the shrine, making no more noise than on her arrival.
Eawynn stared at the doorway while she got her breath back. As prayed for, Hilda of Gimount had gone, and most annoying of all, Eawynn now felt nothing but disappointment.
*
The wig was itchy, but Matt did not want to risk being caught without it on. She had hoped she would get used to the thing on her head, but after five days it was getting worse, not better. Maybe she could have done without a wig. It was not much in the way of disguise. However, her normal short crop was not right for a genteel wife and businesswoman. At least the weather that day was grey and cold, so the wig was not making her scalp sweat.
Matt stood at the window of her room, watching rain fall on the rows of vegetables in the kitchen garden, until a knock disturbed her. “Yes?”
“I’ve brought your luncheon.” Somethingy Sister Hosteller poked her head around the door.
“Thank you.”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“Just a headache.” The one I would have got if I sat through one more lunch with Unsightly Sister Orifice spouting her tight-arsed drivel.
No doubt it was intended as an honour for hostel guests to sit at the high table with the top rank priestesses. It was an honour Matt could happily have gone without. Her limit for self-righteous blabbering had been reached midway into her first mealtime. The chief priestess had turned bullshitting into an art form. The tedium was not helped by someone droning out Holy Scripture in the background throughout the entire meal. Did the sisters never take a break and lighten up?
After the hosteller left, Matt put a thick slice of cold pork and a thinner slice of apple on a slab of bread and stood chewing while she continued looking out the window. From a burglary angle, the kitchen garden was the obvious route in and out of the temple, far easier than scaling the cliffs from the beach and less well defended than the front.
Both inner and outer walls of the garden were fourteen foot or more, but nothing a rope ladder could not get you over. From the upper floor vantage point, Matt could see shards of broken glass cemented along the top, but the work was old and more was missing than remained. A leather saddle was scarcely necessary. Somebody had let the maintenance slip. Possibly the same somebody who decided to spend the temple security funds on pretty new uniforms for the guards. Matt was not complaining.
The public entrance to the Sanctuary of Anberith was from Silver Lady Square. It would be hard to cross the open expanse unseen, even at night. Whereas, a maze of narrow streets lay over the garden wall. Yet, this vulnerable side of the temple grounds merited no more than an occasional patrol. The guards were stationed in the big sanctuary during the day, when honest worshippers were allowed in. Then at night, they all went home, except for a few who stood outside the main gates. The sisters and the guards they employed did not have the first idea about security and certainly could not think like a thief.
The Shrine to the Oracle was locked at night but pickable. The same was probably true of the windowless room the Shewstone was in, although Matt had not yet been able to examine it from the inside. What obstacles might a thief face? To date, she had been taking things slowly, waiting until her presence was no longer a novelty, while familiarising herself with life in the temple. Now was the time to speed things up.
Matt swallowed the last of the pork and picked up one of the floury things the sisters called cakes. Had they not heard about cinnamon or honey? She took a cautious nibble.
Luckily, getting into the shrine promised to be a lot of fun. The oh-so-pretty custodian (whose real name she was yet to learn) was oh-so-easy to read. She was also easy to manipulate. The more direct the comments, the more stubbornly the priestess fixated on what was in front of her face and ignored everything else. Of course, flirting was always fun for its own sake.
Matt felt the grin split her face. How far could she get with the flirting? The custodian was definitely receptive. You did not blush like that just because someone handed you a jar of polish. Matt played with a fantasy of seducing her on an altar. Additional pleasure came from imagining the outrage of the chief priestess. Although from purely practical considerations, it would be far more comfortable to entice the custodian up to her room one night.
Matt threw the last half of the “cake” out the window for the birds to choke on and poured herself a mug of small beer. Thankfully, the sisters’ brewing skills exceeded their baking.
Edmund would tell her to forget any idea of seducing the custodian. But then, Edmund would be basing the advice on his own personal experience. Pearl had told enough stories about the trouble Edmund’s exploits in the sack had got him into as a youth. Apart from the humour value, maybe Pearl hoped the cautionary tales would put Matt off copying them. If so, it had not worked. She and Edmund were far too similar, and not just in preferring lovers of their own sex. They understood each other perfectly.
Matt loved him for the way he had changed her life, the security he had given her, and the pleasure they took in each other’s company. As a child, she had worshipped him as a saviour, a hero. Now, he was her best friend. She trusted, loved, and admired him, and knew the feeling was returned. Edmund was the only father she wanted. The only father she would name as such.
Maybe, more than anything else, what they gave each other was the one unchanging relationship in their lives, unlike their sexual entanglements, which were never simple or pain free or long lasting. Although, on the plus side, no matter how messy the affairs might get, they were quickly over.
Sex was a simple, animal need, enjoyable for all concerned, and every animal other than humans seemed to know this. How much easier if people could take the same uncomplicated approach. Instead they bound it up with absurd expectations and threw obstacles in the way just for the sake of it. Or, as with the priestesses, denying themselves and claiming it made some divinity happy, without a shred of evidence the divinity gave a rat’s arse either way.
Why did people make things so complicated? They turned sexual desire into the whole courtship game, the chase and the conquest, with nobody saying what they meant, or doing what they wanted. They played stupid games like “hard to get.” Then Matt thought of the custodian and laughed aloud at herself.
Who was she to talk? How much fun those games could be.
*
Eawynn shut the sacrarium door and turned the key. Her work as housemaid was over for the day. She closed her eyes and gave a few words of thanks to whatever deity might be listening. The whole half hour before dinner was hers, to do whatever she wanted. If only there were something permitted that she actually wanted to do. Eawynn looped the thin ch
ain through her belt and dropped the Shewstone key into the pocket in her robe.
What should she do? The library was her normal choice, but she had finished Wilfrid’s Rise and Fall of the Rihtcynn Empire and had read all the other books at least twice. She could go to the small garden behind the washroom and watch the sunset over the sea, but the wind was chill that day. She could go for a stroll through the market stalls in Silver Lady Square, but leaving the temple unchaperoned, although not forbidden, was frowned upon, and people found enough reasons to frown at her, without providing them with more.
Eawynn stood in the atrium considering her options. What did she want to do? Or maybe she should ask herself what did she least not want to do. Then, in an instant, the answer came to her. On the other side of the atrium, Hilda of Gimount was disappearing into the passage leading to the Sanctuary of Anberith.
In the days since their encounter by the fresco, she and Hilda had met several times in passing. Each occasion had been regrettably short and they were never alone. The words exchanged were brief and polite, nothing more.
Was Hilda avoiding her? Admittedly, Eawynn’s schedule had little free time, and Hilda was reputedly busy, sorting through her late uncle’s affairs. However, Eawynn was starting to wonder if she had misread Hilda’s intentions. How much that hurt! She did not want to pursue any variant on a special friendship, but equally, she did not want to think the only interest anyone had shown in her for months was a misunderstanding.
The perverse disappointment annoyed Eawynn beyond bearing, but she could not stop herself reacting to the mere sight of Hilda. Each time, her pulse would race and her stomach would flip. They had shared just one conversation. Nothing more. Why act like this? Yet fighting it was pointless. The urge was stupid and reckless, but she had to talk to Hilda, if for nothing else than in the hope of soothing her damaged ego.
Eawynn sped around the walkway and followed her quarry along the passage. Redoubtable Sister Door-warden was in her alcove by the heavy timber doors. Eawynn would have felt sympathy for her. Surely sitting by the door all day was the one allotted role in the temple less interesting than cleaning the shrine and sacrarium. However, Redoubtable Sister Door-warden merely pouted at her.
Eawynn emerged into the open on the other side. The sun had nearly set, casting long shadows across the Sanctuary of Anberith. The water in the circular pool was still, reflecting the statue of the goddess like a mirror and setting her against the pale blue sky. The next ceremony would not be for another two hours, at moon rise, and the wide expanse of flagstones was deserted, except for the uniformed guards who stood sentry while the sanctuary was open to the public.
Eawynn had expected the hostel guest to be going into town. However, Hilda was heading to one of the enclosed shrines. There were four of them, each set in a corner of the sanctuary, and dedicated to a different aspect of the goddess—Anberith of the Moon, Anberith of the Tides, Anberith of the Birthing, and Anberith of the Prophesy. The last of these was Hilda’s destination.
At that time of day, the shrine was most likely empty. One private conversation was all Eawynn wanted, to resolve any misunderstandings. Or so she tried to convince herself. Yet the onset of nerves set her legs quivering.
Midway across the sanctuary, Eawynn hesitated and pressed her hand against her forehead. Who was she trying to fool? She was acting like an idiot. But knowing this did not stop her following Hilda. What possible good outcome could there be? Eawynn sighed and carried on walking. At least it was not boring. She was getting very tired of being bored.
The dim interior of the shrine was a triangle, twenty feet across at the base. Directly opposite the entrance, a candlelit statue of Anberith was holding a fortune-telling orb similar to the Shewstone. The walls were painted with mystic symbols, interwoven in patterns.
At first it looked as if the shrine was deserted, but once Eawynn’s eyes adjusted, she spotted two figures in a dark corner, away from both the candles and the entrance. Hilda was not alone. A tall man, dressed in everyday work clothes, stood with her. Their heads were close together as they talked, too quietly to be overheard.
Eawynn stopped in the open doorway. Neither person had noticed her, so she could back away. Maybe finding a book in the library was not such a bad idea. But who was Hilda talking to? And about what? Curiosity made Eawynn hesitate a second too long. Hilda glanced over, saw her, and smiled. She addressed a few last words to the man, then trotted over, her smile getting broader with each step.
“Have you come to pray?”
“Umm. No.” Which Eawynn immediately realised was a silly answer, depriving herself of the only legitimate reason for being there.
If Hilda was confused, she did not show it. She slipped her arm through Eawynn’s. “Good. Then you won’t mind having a walk with me.”
“No.” Eawynn’s reply was half squeak. A wave of tremors threatened to reduce her to a heap on the ground. Somehow she managed to remain upright. Even through the material of her robe, the touch of Hilda’s arm flooded all Eawynn’s senses.
Hilda led her toward the middle of the sanctuary. The effort of putting one foot in front of the other took all Eawynn’s concentration, but she was hazily aware of the man’s footsteps as he too left the shrine.
“That was a fortunate coincidence,” Hilda said, after they had gone a short distance, and Eawynn was starting to re-master the art of walking.
“Oh?”
“That man, Raff. He’s one of my uncle’s ex-employees. He was bringing me a message, but stopped to ask Anberith for good luck in the future. We just happened to run into each other.”
“Oh.”
“Things are going well. We’ve managed to switch funds around and clear some issues. With any luck, I’ll be able to go home in another seven days or so.”
“Oh.” Eawynn clenched her teeth. She had to think of something more intelligent to say. Bad enough that she had set herself up, acting like an idiot. Now she was sounding like one as well.
“I’m pleased we have this chance to talk. I’ve not been able to see as much of you as I’d like.”
There. That was the sop to her ego Eawynn had wanted. Now she could disengage her arm, bid Hilda good evening, and walk away. Except she could no more walk away than fly. Whatever game Hilda was playing, she was winning, galling as it was to admit.
They reached the pool around the statue. Hilda said, “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, but you don’t have to answer, if it’s forbidden or anything like that.”
“Yes. What?” She was squeaking again.
“Your name. What did your parents call you, before you came to the temple?”
“Eawynn.”
Hilda drew them to a halt and turned to meet Eawynn’s eyes. “Would it be too much of a cliché to say that’s a nice name? It suits you.”
“Thank you.”
Hilda continued their circuit of the pool. “You know, even though we haven’t had much contact these last few days, I’ve been watching you.”
Eawynn was silent. She could not say Oh again, and could not think of anything else.
“Does that bother you?” Hilda asked.
Did it? Eawynn was too worried about her knees giving out to be able to think of anything else.
The kitchen bell rang out, signalling ten minutes to mealtime, saving Eawynn. But did she want to be saved?
Hilda slipped her arm free. “I’ve got to go wash my hands before dinner.”
Eawynn nodded. She watched Hilda walk back through the archway to the atrium. Only once she was out of sight could Eawynn start to shake some life back into her legs, steady her breathing, and wait for her pulse to slow. The effect Hilda had on her was outrageous. Eawynn closed her eyes. The most absurdly outrageous thing of all was that she loved it.
“What sort of idiot have I let myself become?” She asked the question under her breath.
Simple answer—an infatuated, infantile one. It was not a situation Eawynn was ready to tolerate.
More to the point, she could not afford to tolerate it. Her position was bad enough as it was. Anything that might happen between her and Hilda could only make life worse, especially if the rumour mill got to work. She had to impose some self-discipline and be sensible. In another seven days, Hilda would be gone.
Chapter Three
Matt picked up the cutpurse before she was halfway across Silver Lady Square. She stopped by a stall to give the would-be thief a once-over. He was young, not out of his teens, and nobody she recognised, either an indie or one of Gilbert’s boys. His tracking was so flagrant he might as well have hung a sign around his neck, yet he clearly had no idea Matt was wise to him. Either he was not very good, or he thought she was an easy mark. Either way, he was making a mistake.
Matt headed down Gold Street, with the would-be thief in tow, then cut left onto Waddle Lane by the Yew Tree Inn. Just before it hit the High Street, she turned again into Carter’s Passage, the alleyway running along the backs of shops and taverns. As usual, it was deserted in the mid-afternoon. The cutpurse was still a dozen yards behind Matt when a dogleg took her out of his sight. She ducked into a doorway recess and waited.
The cutpurse’s footsteps clipped out a steady rhythm as he rounded the corner, but then slowed and stuttered. He finally stopped a yard past the doorway with his back to Matt and scratched his head, clearly bewildered about his vanishing mark.
“You weren’t following me, were you?”
He spun around, mouth hanging open. “No. I was just on my way to—”
“And you don’t recognise me?”
This time the cutpurse merely frowned.
“Try to imagine me without this wig.”
The frown deepened before realisation hit. “No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” He fled.
So he was not a complete novice, new in town, but he still had a lot to learn—if he survived long enough.
The Shewstone Page 7