I felt the bile rise up in my throat as the implications of this sank in. I had thought I couldn’t be any more scared. I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. I put my head into my trembling hands and sobbed.
Hildegarde got up and put her arm around my shoulders. “Now, don’t despair, my dear. All is not lost. As soon as I realised the danger, I sent Etheldreda to draw them off; she should be back soon. I am hopeful we may have convinced them you left some time ago, but I’m not sure. John is deeply suspicious, by all accounts. There is a strong probability he may have left someone on watch. I don’t believe you to be in immediate danger, although we must take care. Right now, my main concern is how to get you back to that tree. We must get you back to your own time.” She paced the floor, a worried frown creasing her forehead.
I sniffed and scrubbed at my eyes, then suddenly became aware that beneath the almost permanent terror I was in, I was feeling uncomfortable for a different reason and looked around me cautiously. Hildegarde noticed. She was very perceptive, this woman; I imagine she was a very effective abbess.
“Is there a problem, Marion? Apart from the obvious one, I mean? “
I wriggled, not quite knowing how to ask this very prosaic question. “Actually, yes. Um, what do nuns do for bathrooms in this age?” She looked at me and her brow cleared in sudden comprehension. She laughed gently; I wondered why. Surely, we all had the same needs.
“Well, we have very different facilities from the ones to which you are used.” She grinned mischievously. “Marion, dear, we have communal lavatories.”
I was puzzled. What was the joke? “We have those too.”
At this she seemed to be struggling to contain her mirth, not actually laughing, but biting her lip and mopping her eyes with a scrap of fabric. “You do indeed, but not as communal as ours. We have one long bench, with holes but no partitions.” I gave her an outraged look, and she finally gave in to the amusement afflicting her, spluttering, “Oh Marion, if you could only see your face.”
As I sat there in mortification, she took pity on my shocked condition. “Don’t worry, my dear. As Abbess, I have more privileges than wine alone.” She moved to part of the wall which was heavily hung with tapestries and raising one hand, she drew aside one of the hangings, opened a door and pointed inside. “My very own garderobe. It is not what you are used to, but at least it gives you privacy.” I cannot tell you how relieved I felt as I stepped inside.
When I emerged, Hildegarde had stopped smiling and was pacing the floor again, a worried frown on her face. I gave her a questioning look as I seated myself.
“I’m worried. Sister Etheldreda has been gone longer than I expected. I have prayed for her care but, I confess, I am concerned for her safety.” As she spoke, there came a tap at the door, and Etheldreda entered, followed by Sister Ursel.
Relief flooded Hildegarde’s face as she ceased her pacing, holding her hands out in welcome. “My child! Oh, what a relief. Did it go well?”
Before Etheldreda could answer her, the redoubtable Ursel broke in. “Well enough, if you count the fact that she was nearly taken by one of the men from the village and aroused no end of curiosity as she fled from his advances. It seems she will be remembered by enough, should they be asked. Not to mention being well-nigh gored to death by a wild boar! Thank the good Lord she is back in one piece.”
“Thank Him, indeed.” Hildegarde ushered the blushing Etheldreda, who seemed not one whit the worse for her adventures, to a chair and poured her a goblet of wine.
Etheldreda, who was hugely enjoying this deviation from her regular routine, sipped at the wine appreciatively. This was not what they were usually given in the refectory. She let the rich taste roll over her tongue and savoured the depth of its flavour, its heady aroma. Sitting back in the chair as the other two nuns fussed about her, she let the events of the day run through her mind again. It had been terrifying at the time, but she had to admit to a thrill as she relived it all. She still had little idea what was really happening, but she intended to enjoy it. There would be time aplenty to come back down to earth, and it wasn’t often such adventure came her way – probably never again. She let the others speak as she relished the wine and tried to glean an understanding of the situation.
Hildegarde turned to me, clasping my ice-cold hands. The heat had penetrated even to within the stone walls of the Abbey, but I was chilled with fear.
“We need to go stealthily, Marion. John may have left watchers.”
“We? You’re coming back with me?”
“Not back to your time. This is my time now, the time I am meant to be in. But you cannot go to the beech alone, and I cannot endanger my nuns further. I shall bear you company. From now until I have you safely home, you are in my keeping.”
She took my dress from the basket Etheldreda had handed back to her and shook it out, looking at it doubtfully. “I’m afraid it is sadly creased. We have no time to smooth it.”
I smiled despite my tension. “Abbess, it is fashionably crushed. Many fabrics are worn like that in my time. I usually iron it, as I prefer it smooth, but it’s actually supposed to be worn like that.”
Two astonished pairs of eyes regarded me. The Abbess merely smiled reflectively. Sister Ursel gave a sniff of disgust. “You mean they wear their clothes like this?” She grabbed my dress from Hildegarde and gave it a disparaging look. “Your time sounds right slovenly to me.” Receiving a withering look from her tall Abbess, she cleared her throat. “I mean no offence, Marion, dear. My tongue runs away with me sometimes.”
“No offence taken, Sister Ursel. I wonder at it sometimes myself, but it does relieve us of one problem at least.”
Abbess Hildegarde took the dress from her and gave it back to me. “Wear it beneath your habit, and when we come near to the beech, we can merely remove the outer clothing.”
I stripped, self-conscious before Etheldreda’s startled gaze at what lay beneath my habit, and stepped into it, putting the voluminous garment back on top.
“Now,” Hildegarde said, “we need to make you look a little more like a nun. Tuck your hands into the opposite sleeves, like so.” She demonstrated, her hands disappearing into her sleeves.
“Like this?”
“Yes. Good. Now, cast your eyes downward and walk demurely; don’t stride.”
I took a few steps about the room. She smiled. “We’ll make a nun of you yet. Hmm. Yes, the casual eye will be well enough deceived. If we should meet anyone, keep your eyes down and do not speak.”
I nodded in what I hoped was a suitably demure fashion. “And my bag? How shall I carry that?”
“I shall place it in my basket and cover it, so.” She laid a piece of cloth over it. “When we reach the tree, you may take the basket through with you. Now we must hurry, ‘ere I’m missed.” She looked at Ursel and Etheldreda. “As must you, Sisters. We have been closeted here long enough.”
They rose, and Ursel kissed me on both cheeks. Etheldreda suddenly gave me a quick hug. “I can scarcely believe all this. Truly, I did not expect such happenings when I entered the cloister. I feel as though I am in some dream.”
“So do I.” I grinned wryly.
“We will pray for your safe return. Come Sister, we must go back to our duties.” Ursel plucked at the younger nun’s sleeve urgently, and they left the chamber, the confused-looking Etheldreda giving me one last stare, as they went. She had not heard nearly enough to understand.
Hildegarde looked thoughtful. “I shall have to explain some of this to her – but later. There is no time now. Wait here.”
I watched as she followed them outside, peering around her cautiously. Then, she beckoned me to follow. I gave the room one last look, trying to burn it into my memory – it isn’t everyone who gets to see the inside of a medieval abbess’s private rooms – and assumed my demure, nun-like posture, hoping Hildegarde was correct in thinking it would deceive the casual eye. I wanted to look about me frantically checking we were not observed, b
ut the wimple made it difficult. If this was how it felt to be a spy, I didn’t think I would be very good at it.
Hildegarde glided swiftly in front of me. I tried to glide too, but the skirt of my dress below the already cumbersome habit kept winding itself around my knees, threatening to trip me, making my gait awkward and clumsy. I was desperate to look around me to make sure no one was watching, but didn’t dare, keeping my eyes on the hem of Hildegarde’s habit instead. But I couldn’t keep up with her; I was dropping behind. Fresh panic hit me. The further behind her I got, the more likely someone else would notice me. How to attract her attention? I coughed gently. Starting, she looked around, realising how far behind her I was. She paused, waiting until I caught up. “It’s my dress, Abbess. I can’t walk very well in it like this.”
“I’m sorry, my dear, I should have realised. No matter. Is this pace easier to keep up with?” She slowed. I nodded thankfully and tried to surreptitiously ease my dress from around my knees.
We skirted the grounds, keeping close to the walls. I tried to stop thinking and feeling and just be a nun, gliding as best I could. Nothing in my head, blankness on my face, hands clasping each other gently inside my sleeves. Hildegarde just emanated quiet solitude and peace. I must try to do likewise. It wasn’t easy.
“You’re doing well, Marion. Almost there. See, here is the gate. Now, the porteress will be on duty. I shall just nod at her as we leave; there is no need for you to say anything.”
I could feel the curious eyes of the porteress burning a hole in my back, but I guessed she was too disciplined to question her Abbess. I breathed a sigh of relief as we left the Abbey behind us. Hildegarde heard me and turned. “Yes, I feel much the same, Marion, but it isn’t over yet. Keep up the deception just a little longer, dear. No more gusty sighs, please.”
“Don’t nuns ever sigh, Abbess?”
“Not if they don’t wish to draw attention to themselves,” she responded crisply.
A dishevelled figure was approaching us. I tensed.
“Don’t be afraid,” Hildegarde murmured, “he will not bother you.”
As the figure neared us, it made to skirt around us, bringing out a clapper and shaking it, shouting something I couldn’t quite make out in doleful, resigned tones.
“Poor wretch.” The tall figure beside me crossed herself and pulled out a rosary. “Another sad creature for our lazar house monks to care for.”
I stiffened involuntarily. “Lazar…you mean leper?” Would this nightmare never end?
My voice must have betrayed my feelings, for Hildegarde gave me a searching look.
“And would you have us withhold God’s grace from this poor soul, whom man has cast out?” There was reproval in the voice, although she said it kindly enough, and I felt abashed. “Marion, if not for the lazar houses, these poor creatures would be flung out to die. We cannot heal them, but we can provide comfort, food and shelter for their last sorry days. This is a cruel age, and we are God’s buffer against the cold.”
I said nothing – what was there to say? – and we continued walking in silence. Hildegarde finished her prayers and put away the beads.
Now, there was an expanse of grassy meadow to cross, before we reached the cover of the woods. The old tree was in direct view – it seemed so much smaller here than in my time; I suppose it was many centuries younger – but if we went the straight way, there would be nowhere for me to remove the habit. My heart was pounding, and any minute I expected to hear a shout of discovery behind us. There were people moving about working in nearby fields, and I felt as though every eye was upon me.
It felt as though it had taken forever, but finally, we reached the woods. As we slipped into the blessed cover, Hildegarde paused. “Now, I think we may relax. Take a few moments, Marion. If you feel as I do, then you need a minute or two to recover yourself. I confess, I fear my heart may stop beating.”
I looked at her in amazement. She seemed so calm, but when I looked closely, sure enough, there was a tic beating in her eyelid and a pulse throbbing at the side of her head.
“Well done. Now, keep your nerve. We’ve done the difficult part. All that remains is to reach that tree.”
All? Oh, that would be a doddle then.
Hildegarde, apart from that treacherous involuntary twitch of her eyelid, still looked as calm as though she did this every day. As for me, I was hyperventilating. Terrified we would be stopped, terrified I wouldn’t be able to break back into my own time, afraid that I might even end up at another point in history. How did I know this would work? How did she? By her own admission, she had never gone back. She seemed calmly assured that it would be easy enough, but she didn’t know. No one did. We paused for a few moments, and I tried to relax, leaning against the trunk of a tree as though it might lend me its strength.
“Now,” Hildegarde said, “shall we resume our journey? Come.” She gestured me to move on.
It seemed like an age, as we moved through the woods, but finally, Hildegarde put her hand on my arm to still me and pointed. There, a short way off, in front of my relieved eyes, was the beech. Our circuitous route had taken a while, but now it was ahead of me. It stood, as it would continue to stand for centuries, alone.
Now, there was clear ground between us and it. I wanted to pick up my skirts and run like the wind, but Hildegarde grasped my arm more firmly. I looked at her, not daring to speak. She had her head on one side, listening. She held up her hand. I listened, but heard nothing except for the breeze rustling the leaves. I opened my mouth to speak, but she frowned and held her finger to her lips, and we stood there silently. Shutting my eyes to concentrate more clearly, I realised what was wrong. It was too quiet. A blackbird shrilled its wild alarm and, ever so faintly on the breeze, there came the slightest sound. A snort, like that of a horse. My whole body froze. Hildegarde moved closer and put her mouth to my ear, speaking so softly I could barely make out her voice.
CHAPTER NINE
Giles de Soutenay stirred. An hour or so had passed since the nun had disappeared into the Abbey. He felt once more inside his tunic and pulled out his last two apples. Regarding them with reluctance – they were somewhat shrivelled – he shined one on his tunic and took a bite. The sharp juice teased his tongue, and he crunched with pleasure. He looked at the other, tempted to eat that too, but then remembered his horse. Poor creature, no doubt he would be glad enough of another apple.
Giles raised himself cautiously from where he sat, each step measured and silent, and moved towards Troubadour, who eyed him hopefully. “Shush, boy. Did you think I’d forgotten you?” He fondled the pricked ears as the horse sought out the apple. “Well yes, I had almost, but here, we’ll share what I have, eh?” Troubadour whickered softly, and Giles forbore to tease him, holding out the fruit on his flat palm. The large tongue curled around it and swept it up, leaving a little drool behind. Giles wiped his hand on the reddish mane. “I think I’d better untether you; I may need you yet. Now, stay you here unless I call you.” The horse turned its liquid eye on him. Mayhap it was a ridiculous thing to speak to his beast as though it understood him, but this horse seemed to have an extra intelligence, and Giles couldn’t resist. He had few confidants, and this big beast was the repository of many secrets. Loosening the reins so they were just lightly draped around the tree and would fall if the horse moved, he stood there, hand on its shoulder, watching the expanse that stretched between him and the Abbey.
At last, his wait was rewarded. The porteress opened the gate, and two figures left the Abbey. “Well, well! So our Abbess feels the need to take the air at this hour, does she? Now, that’s passing strange. And she takes a companion. A novice by the look of that robe. Well now, I think it is worth taking a much closer look, eh Troubadour? Hush now, don’t you give me away.”
The nuns were heading towards the cover of the trees a little to his right. From over the way, he saw another figure approaching the Abbey and watched as it picked its way across the ground. A dishevelled f
igure this, which, as it got closer, Giles noticed, to his horror, was holding a wooden clapper. The clamour echoed through the trees. Shouts of “Unclean, unclean,” hung mournfully in the air. Giles recoiled. A leper. Crossing himself, he pressed further into the shelter of the trees and watched as the shambling creature skirted the nuns widely. He saw the taller of the two, the Abbess, cross herself and pull out her rosary. And all the time, the two figures were coming closer and closer.
As he watched, they moved into the shelter of the woods, still to his right. He strained his ears to hear what they were saying. He could hear soft murmurs, but the words were not clear. They were almost out of his sight now, and he would have to move closer if he didn’t want to lose them. The trees, which had hidden him so well, were now hiding the two nuns also.
He trod cautiously, noiselessly, through the woods. The voices grew a little louder. A few more feet and he would be able to hear them, even if he couldn’t see them. He edged closer. As he did so, he heard a faint snort from Troubadour and froze. Had they heard? He thought not. Just a few more steps, when suddenly, he stepped on a dry twig. The sharp crack that broke the silence sounded as loud as a thunderclap to him. Again, he froze. This time he was sure they had heard him. Their whispers took on an urgency, and suddenly, a figure broke through the trees, running faster than he had expected. Not in a habit now, wearing a garment in some kind of green fabric, which looked strange to his eyes, he could see why she had been likened to a wood nymph.
Crashing through the trees, he broke cover and pounded after her. The Abbess was shouting behind him; he would deal with her later. A pity he had not kept Troubadour by, but there! He was more than a match for this woman, no matter how fleet of foot she seemed.
A pulse thudded in his temple, and he was beginning to gasp, but he was nearing. A few more yards and he would have her. There was nowhere else for her to run.
She fled blindly on, and it seemed to Giles that she must be out of her senses, for she was running directly into the path of a large beech. She was going so fast, it seemed likely she would run full tilt into it. Giles strained harder and closed on her, trying to swerve to avoid rendering himself senseless by crashing into the tree. As he put out his hand to grasp her, she reached the tree. A loud buzzing was in his ears, and he shook his head briefly to clear it, before watching with horrified eyes as woman and tree started to merge. What witchcraft was this? He could not lose her. He must not.
Out of Time Page 6