Out of Time

by Loretta Livingstone

  “As you wish.” The Abbess sounded cold and disapproving. “Do not accost my nuns. You will treat them with the respect which should be accorded to holy sisters. And don’t frighten them. Some of them are of a nervous disposition and not used to men. I think I shall accompany you.”

  The sound of heavy footsteps receded.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Etheldreda looked about her. The dark-faced man, the one who seemed to be in control, glanced in her direction and beckoned her over. She stood meekly before him and lowered her eyes.

  “Look at me, woman! Have you seen any of us before?”

  “No, my lord.” Her heart hammered so hard she could barely speak.

  “Good. You would do well never to see us again. In truth, you would do better to never have seen us at all.”

  “I shall endeavour to forget you have ever been here, my lord.”

  “See that you do.” He tilted her chin upward with an iron grip. “You are very composed, Sister. Do you not fear me?”

  “Sire, I believe that my Lord will protect me. I know you could crush me like an ant, but would you not fear for your mortal soul to harm a bride of Christ? We have no interest in worldly things. We are here only to serve our Lord.” Some mischief prompted her to add, “You need have no fear of us.”

  She nearly choked. Where had she found the courage – or was it foolhardiness – to say such a thing? She stole a glimpse at his face. His lips were twitching. Thank God, he seemed to be more amused than angry.

  “Well, I’m thankful for that, lass,” he spluttered. “What a weight off my mind. Now, off with you. Be about your business.”

  Etheldreda needed no further encouragement. Thank goodness he hadn’t asked to see inside her basket.

  “Wait!” He was staring at her. She held her breath. “Keep me in your prayers, Sister.”

  She nodded, not daring to pause longer, and walked briskly away, still holding her breath until she had moved out of sight around a corner. The Abbess and their strange visitor were depending on her. Trying to move calmly and not attract attention, she looked neither to the right nor left, ignoring the men who surged about, so out of place in the Abbey grounds. At last, she reached the gatehouse.

  Sister Berthe was more than usually abrupt. The day’s events had unsettled her and being manhandled by that great churl had upset her dignity. The sight of those knaves befouling her beloved Abbey with their raucous voices and irreverent remarks had roused her temper to something quite unsuited to her calling, and she was struggling to overcome the rising tide of fury which threatened to burst from her in an unseemly display of anger. Taking a deep breath, Berthe tried to calm herself. She must not take out her ire on her sisters. She fixed a determined smile on her face. “Sister Etheldreda, what might you be wanting?”

  Etheldreda dipped her head respectfully. “Sister Berthe, the Abbess has requested me to do an errand for her. I pray you, give me leave.”

  “Humph!” Berthe tutted and fussed as she opened the gates. “Well, ‘tis most irregular. Knows she that you are unaccompanied? That isn’t in our rule, indeed ‘tisn’t.” Disapproval was clear on her large florid face.

  “Mother Abbess knows this but has need of me to act for her. It is a matter of the utmost secrecy. She asks you to hold silence; to tell no one. But the need is most urgent.” Etheldreda didn’t want to raise Berthe’s curiosity, but she had to tell the porteress something, although she knew Mother Abbess wanted her to say as little as possible. However, mercifully, at that moment, one of the men-at-arms left on guard in the grounds decided it would be good sport to throw stones at Horace, the old nag who lived in the stables. Horace shied in alarm, rolling his eyes until the whites showed. Berthe, a grim look on her face, dismissed Etheldreda with a wave of her hand.

  Huffing, she shut the gate behind her. “Well now, Sister, take care and be back as soon as possible. Tsk. Most irregular.”

  Having performed her duty, Berthe swept over to stand protectively before Horace and tell his tormentor exactly what she thought of men who persecuted harmless beasts.

  Etheldreda sagged with relief and went on her way, before Sister Berthe could return to ask more questions.

  She felt a flutter of excitement alongside the frisson of fear. It was rare that she was outside of the Abbey at this time of day and never alone, but there was no time to waste. She may have amused the knight who had spoken to her, but she had little doubt that he would not treat her well if he were to discover her errand. Etheldreda had sensed he would be capable of cruelty if roused. She moved smartly out of sight of the Abbey and looked for a suitable place. Yes, this would do. No one in sight. She stepped into the cover of a small copse and pulled out the contents of the basket.

  Safely hidden from view, she hesitated a moment – it felt so strange to be disrobing here. She crossed herself and uttered a prayer, before quickly removing her outer garment. For a moment she stood there, gazing at the gown she held, wondering at how stretchy it was. What fabric was this? She tugged the outlandish thing over her head, quickly pulling it down around her hips and smoothing it as best she could.

  It felt so light, so comfortable. But the garment didn’t even fully cover her shift. To expose herself thus felt shocking. What manner of woman dressed like this? Surely she was not…No, of course not. She must trust her Abbess and do as she was bid. At least she had the shawl to cover herself with. Swiftly she pulled off her wimple and veil. She stood there for a moment, enjoying the nearly forgotten feel of the sun on her cropped head, then recollecting her position, wrapped the shawl around her head and secured it firmly about herself. Now she felt less bare, a little more seemly, but oh, she had never understood how comforting her habit was until this moment. She folded it neatly, hiding it beneath the cloth. Ensuring her head and shoulders were completely covered, Etheldreda gritted her teeth and headed towards the village.

  On such a day as this, it would have been nice to dawdle, but she must be getting on. She needed to be seen, but not by the men at the Abbey. The knight who had spoken to her may have been amused by her boldness, but if caught on this errand, it was likely he’d not be merciful. He had the face of one who was unused to being thwarted.

  She walked quickly across the bridge straddling the stream, then ran lightly towards the village.

  “Make certain you are seen,” the Abbess had instructed her, “but don’t let them see your face, don’t speak, and don’t look anyone in the eye.”

  It was an easy deception if she was observed from a short distance, for she was a similar build and age to Marion, but their faces were not at all alike. Marion’s was slim and pale with dark brows and brown eyes; Etheldreda’s was round and rosy with pale brows and eyes the colour of forget-me-nots. If any of the villagers described her face when questioned, as she knew they would be, there would be no hope of deceiving the knight, and it would go badly for the Abbess, maybe for Etheldreda herself. Who knew what the repercussions would be? Etheldreda didn’t understand exactly what was happening, but she knew there was danger here. Crossing herself and saying a quick prayer as she approached the first few houses in the village, she slowed. Good. She could see plenty of folk going about their business. It was a reasonably large village with several alehouses, but people always notice strangers – outsiders; it is human nature, and in this well-made garment in soft shades of green, she would be sure to attract their attention.

  She walked briskly through the village, looking straight ahead, resisting the temptation to gaze about her. A huge man, with arms like tree trunks, crossed her path and stared curiously at her. Her heart beat so loud, she thought it would burst from her breast. Head down, she stared at the ground and swerved around him. He put a hand out and caught at her shawl. Ripping it from him, she took to her heels and fled as though the hounds of hell were on her heels. He stood gawking after her.

  “I were only goin’ to ask ‘er if she wanted to share an ale wi’ me,” he complained to the alewife who stood there, ar
ms akimbo, glaring at him. “She ‘ad no cause to run off like that. I weren’t goin’ to do ‘er no ‘arm, an’ thass the truth.” The alewife rolled her eyes and returned to her alehouse.

  Etheldreda ran until she judged a safe distance was between her and the villager. In truth, she could not have run further. Convent life had not equipped her for this sort of exercise. Panting, she held her free hand to her side. A stitch ripped mercilessly through her, and a pulse in her neck throbbed, tightening about her throat like a band of iron, until she could barely breathe.

  Winded, she leant against a tree, until she realised she was attracting more attention than was wise. A stout woman was heading in her direction, concern on her face. Etheldreda gathered what was left of her disordered senses, took one more deep breath and, turning her head away from the anxious woman, made determinedly for the outskirts of the village. Behind her, she knew people were watching her and shaking their heads. Ah well, at least she would not be easily forgotten. Legs trembling beneath her skirts, she disappeared into the trees, praying she would not be followed.

  Once hidden from sight, she paused, looking around her in trepidation. Had she any pursuers? It seemed not. Not a sound came from behind her. Sweat ran down her back, and her breathing came in ragged gasps. At last, though, she could rest for a few moments and recover. She found a tree stump and sat down shakily.

  Etheldreda dared not enter too deeply into the woods, it would not be safe for a woman alone, and yet she must be far enough in to be well hidden from view. This was probably sufficient distance. Watching and listening, she removed Marion’s clothing and dived back into her own, relieved to be enveloped in the safe and familiar habit again. Once more recognisable as a nun, she felt a little less afraid. She replaced her own head coverings, tucking the gown and shawl, which would give her deception away if they should be discovered, deep into her basket and covering them with the cloth. Then, looking about her for the herbs she had been instructed to return with, she bent to her task, throwing them on top of the cloth with unsteady hands.

  Suddenly, she heard something crashing through the woods behind her. She turned in alarm and froze in terror as she found herself looking into the face of an angry boar. He stood just yards from her, squealing with rage; piggy eyes filled with fury. For a moment, black specks danced dizzyingly in her vision.

  Anchored to the spot, she tried to think. The tusks of a boar were lethal. One false move and she would be skewered. Unable to move an inch, limbs quivering, she could do nothing but pray. Although afraid to take her gaze from its face, Etheldreda forced herself to close her eyes and commune with the One whom she trusted above all. Slowly, warmth flooded through her, her legs stopped trembling and a calm came over her. What would be, would be. Opening her eyes, she found she was alone in the forest. The beast had gone.

  She knelt, awed, for a few moments of prayer and thanksgiving, her heart full of gratitude, before resuming her task. Soon the herbs were bulging from her basket, covering its dangerous contents completely. Tidying herself and brushing leaves from her habit, she left the forest further down the track than she had entered, this time skirting around the village. A small hill hid her from sight as she returned to the Abbey calmly, with a measured tread, once again one of the holy sisters of Mother Church, as unlike the mysterious, fleet-footed woman who had sped through the village an hour previously as could be imagined.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sister Ursel had seen a surprisingly rapid improvement in the man his friends called Jankin. Saturnine of face, he had nevertheless been capable of great charm, once he had returned to his senses.

  The elderly nun had been quite won over, blushing as he called her his ‘Goodwife Nurse,’ and chuckling at his nonsense as he soundly kissed her on both wrinkled cheeks. His companions showed less charm, brusquely barging their way around the chamber, and insisting he leave as soon as he was able. Dismissing them with a flick of his fingers, he stood up on now-steady legs and made a graceful obeisance to the Abbess.

  “My thanks, good ladies.” He smiled, and Ursel looked as though the sun had come out.

  “You are most welcome, Sire. We are delighted to see you so improved in health.” Hildegarde was speaking the truth. Less easily impressed than Ursel, she sensed petulance behind the gracious manners and a temper which would be quick to burn and slow to fade. She suspected their patient’s true identity, although clearly his men were attempting to pass him off as merely a friend of theirs. This was a very dangerous young man, she had no doubt of that. She would be relieved when he and his companions had shaken the dust of the Abbey from their feet and returned to whence they had come.

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “Oh, faithless one, you do not trust me.” He flashed his brilliant smile at her again. Then, his mouth turned suddenly down and a dark cloud shadowed his eyes. “Well, and mayhap you are wise. Sometimes, I fear for my very soul. But I promise you this, my lady Abbess, I will not forget the faithful service you and these gentle sisters have rendered to me this day. You will find I am grateful to those who give me reason. As is my lady mother. You shall be recompensed. No.” He wagged his finger at her as she opened her mouth to remonstrate. “Do not say me nay. Give me this chance to redeem my soul.”

  “Sire, we are ever at your service.” Hildegarde bowed her head slightly. “But I believe your companions are restless to be on their way. Go with God, my lord. We will keep you in our prayers.”

  He bowed again. “I thank you, my lady Abbess,” he said, giving her a wry look, “I fear I have need of much prayer.” He left the room with a slight swagger. As he turned to his men, the arrogance returned to his face. “Well, de Soutenay, you have your way as usual. Come.” He swept from the cloister without a backward glance.

  “But my lord,” de Soutenay said, striding behind him, “we have not yet found the young woman.”

  “De Soutenay, your men have searched the Abbey from top to bottom. Either they are ineffective, or she is not here. No matter, she won’t have got far, we shall ask in the village. She sounds like a wood nymph. Most intriguing. I fancy a glimpse of this nymph myself; I feel sure someone must have seen her. Let us waste no more time.” He swung onto his horse, raised one hand in a careless salute to the Abbess, and, to her great relief, the entire troop mounted and left. She would have been less relieved had she heard his next conversation.

  As they rode away, Sister Ursel turned towards Hildegarde, a look of worry replacing the twinkle she had obliged their erstwhile patient with. “Mother Abbess,” she murmured, looking discreetly around her, “I’m very much afraid Sister Aldith has been gossiping. He asked about our ‘wood nymph’, as he called her.”

  Hildegarde pursed her lips. A frown creased her brow. “Aldith?”

  “Yes, Mother Abbess. She was with Sister Etheldreda when they came upon Marion. She was much disturbed; you know how given to flights of fancy she is.”

  “Why does this not surprise me?” Although Aldith was now a fully-professed nun, she had yet to learn to school her tongue and was inclined to the dramatic; Hildegarde was well aware of her tendency to find visions and demons in any and every situation. In most of the other sisters, she would have considered the possibility of divine blessing, but of Aldith’s visions she had a lurking suspicion, it having been necessary to speak to her severely on more than one occasion about her manner. She listened to Ursel with growing concern. This could have serious repercussions.

  “Etheldreda mentioned that Aldith feared Marion to be a demon or spirit. Unfortunately, it appears that she did see something of her entrance. Etheldreda thought she had dealt with her, but–”

  “Sister Ursel, you surely did not allow her to serve Lord John? For you did know he was John of Mortain, did you not?” She regarded Ursel gravely.

  “Of course I kept her from him, for like you, I recognised him. I kept his door tight shut, but I caught Aldith gossiping with Sister Jovetta just outside his chamber. I admonished her severely about the s
ins of gossip and spreading false report and reminded her that holy sisters should have still tongues, but I’m very much afraid the damage has been done.”

  “I will deal with Aldith myself, but not until this has been resolved. That tongue of hers must be brought under control.” Hildegarde looked at the worried nun beside her with compassion, laying a hand on her arm. “Never fret, Sister Ursel. We must pray we can get Marion back to where she came, and that right speedily. Be easy, we shall leave it with our Lord.”

  “Easy to say,” grumbled the old lady, earning herself a reproachful gaze, “but that hell-bound spawn – forgive me, Mother Abbess – will not easily forget what he heard.” She crossed herself reflectively.

  “Why, Sister!” Hildegarde was surprised. “I had thought you were rather taken with him.”

  “Aye, and I’ll warrant so did he.” Ursel’s lips twitched. “’Goodwife Nurse’ indeed. Pshaw! I may be old, but I’m not so simple as to not know when I’m being taken for a fool. Two may play that game.”

  She turned to go, then looked back at Hildegarde, concern on her face. “It may be a sin, but I do admit I’m worried. We will be able to do it, won’t we, Mother? Get her back safely?”

  “I believe so. We will pray for guidance, and for John’s soul,” Hildegarde added, feeling guilty that it had been an afterthought.

  “Oh! As to that,” Ursel muttered as she turned away again, “that would be a miracle, an’ all, that would.” She stomped off towards the infirmary.

  Hildegarde watched the elderly nun thoughtfully. Ursel had fooled her, certainly. It would seem likely John had swallowed it too, the wily old besom. How to allay her fears now?

  “Is anything too hard for God, Sister?” Her clear voice rang through the air, challenging Ursel.

  “Nay, but they do say the devil looks after his own,” grumbled Ursel to herself without turning back. She spied Sister Aldith walking across the grounds, as innocent-looking as a new-born babe, and smiled grimly. Cleansing and bandaging old Sister Godleva’s badly ulcerated legs for a week or two would give her a chance to reflect upon the evils of gossip. Calling, “Sister Aldith, wait,” she hastened towards her. Retribution was about to fall upon the head of the unsuspecting young nun.