The Assassin's Wife

by Blakey, Moonyeen

We laughed our way back to the cluster of booths where strident voices proclaimed their wares with growing desperation. The sultry turn in the weather threatened to spoil the perishable goods and a carrion stink of putrefaction wafted from the meat stalls. We followed the bustle to where the White Brothers kept their store of cheeses and preserves, almost knocked down by a jeering hubbub of grimy, wild-haired boys and tattered girls pelting a little hunchback with clods and stones.

  “What harm has that poor creature done?” Emma said. She fumed with outrage as the unruly mob upset barrels and bottles, spilled jugs, trampled pies into the dirt, and shouted insults at the stall-holders. “Why must people be so unkind?”

  I didn’t answer. Wide-eyed and speechless, I watched a white-robed monk at the cheese stall smiling gently on the herd of matrons clamouring for service. When he glanced up at me, his mouth dropped open. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  “I wrote to you.”

  “And I to you. I had your letter from the convent—but many months after it was written. The seal was broken so I’m after thinking other eyes read it before mine. And one pair in particular—but we must speak more of that in private. I answered at once, but having no more news, I followed with another letter and another—”

  Brother Brian’s blue eyes spoke such affection, tears filled my own.

  “Are you well?” The lines in his gaunt face had deepened, but the familiar lilt of his speech and sweetness of his smile warmed me as ever. “How have you travelled to Yorkshire—so far from Norwich? What strange adventures are you after having since you left Dame Butler’s service? I thought you lost.”

  “Oh, I’ve travelled far indeed.” I laughed through my tears. “And many strange adventures brought me to this place.” I squeezed his hands affectionately. “I’m so glad to see you! I’m married now. My husband serves the Duke of Gloucester—we have a little boy and live at the castle. After Norwich, I returned to London. By chance, I met the Duke’s wife and won her favour. So much has happened—” I glanced at Emma, clearly listening to the breathless tumble of our conversation. “But how long have you been at the abbey?”

  Brother Brian read the warning in my eyes. “I think we’re after needing more leisure to tell our tales.” He rewarded me with a complicit smile. “I’ve been at Jervaulx these fifteen years—”

  “And always in my mind.” I slotted my arm through his as I walked him a few paces from the curious listeners. “We’ve purchases to make from your stall—Emma, the honey—and don’t forget the cheese.” The maid took my purse, allowing us a few delicious moments of privacy. “We must meet again—and soon.”

  “Come to the abbey. I must speak to you about Bishop Stillington—but this is not the place or time to air our history. I’ll send a message—Mistress—?”

  “Forrest.” I answered with a genuine laugh, although the mention of Stillington set my heart racing. I hugged the monk close, both of us weeping. “I’ll wait impatiently for your summons.”

  A sudden commotion diverted our attention. A breathless, red-faced matron panted into the press of women by the stall.

  “They say she’ll be tried at the assizes—as a vagrant if not a witch.”

  The woman’s words produced a cacophony of shrieks.

  “A black-haired wench she is—a foreigner by the sound of the curses she gave the guards who arrested her—”

  “But who sent for them?”

  “Did you say witchcraft?”

  The priest and I exchanged fearful glances.

  “Emma!” I all but dragged the reluctant maid back to the castle, the word “witch” ringing in my ears.

  * * * * *

  “And in all the revelry, I’ll wager tha forgot about my cheese,” said Mistress Collins, having listened to Emma’s lively account of the dancing bear.

  “No, but we’ve so much to tell you—”

  “Th’art very pale, Nan.” Jane Collins took my basket. Inadvertently her broad hand brushed my fingers. “Th’art chilled to the bone!” She chafed my hands between her own rough palms, her worried expression fixed on my face.

  “Emma, leave that.” The girl rummaged through ribbons, lace and sweetmeats to retrieve the cloth-wrapped cheese. “Fetch Nan a mug of warm ale and honey.” Her shrewd eyes assessed me swiftly. “I hope tha’s not taken a fever. These hot, damp days can be unwholesome. Who knows what pestilence vagabonds may have brought to the fair!”

  “I met my old village priest.” I wanted to quell her anxiety. “It was such a shock after all these years, I still can’t believe it’s true! I never thought to find him in Yorkshire, let alone meet him at the fair!”

  “Oh, it was lovely to see them together.” Breathless Emma planted a mug of ale on the trestle. “I’d never thought I’d see a monk weep, but he was quite overcome. He’s been at Jervaulx for years and years. He and Nan were laughing and crying and hugging like old friends. It made me cry too.”

  “Fifteen years he’s been our neighbour,” I told a bewildered Jane Collins. “And I never knew it. Brother Brian took care of me when I first went to London—after my father died. I owe him so much.”

  “They said a witch had been caught—” Emma interrupted, her face rosy with excitement. “I wanted to find out more but Nan wouldn’t let me. She said we must come home. But perhaps the monk’ll tell her when she sees him again. He wants to talk about Bishop Stillington—”

  “Stillington?” Jane Collins interrupted. “Does tha mean the king’s chancellor?” Her puzzled face accused me.

  “I met him once— in London.” Inwardly, I cursed Emma’s innocent remark. “Perhaps it’s something to do with that—” My thoughts flew to poor deluded Eleanor and faithless King Edward, gorgeous as a peacock amongst his fawning courtiers at Westminster.

  “And what’s all this about a witch?” Jane Collins stared from me to Emma and back again.

  “Oh, a woman came to the cheese stall, and she said—”

  I let Emma tell a rambling tale, pretending amused indifference.

  * * * * *

  An uneasy sensation roused me from sleep the next morning. Eerie grey light seeped through the lancet window. Thick silence enveloped the castle. Shivering at the unexpected chill I snatched up my robe and ran across the damp rushes to peep outside.

  Fog tumbled over the moors. Fascinated, I watched this ethereal tide swallow trees and buildings so fast they faded in a moment.

  Behind me, Dickon stirred. In spite of Jane Collin’s disapproval, sometimes I let him sleep in our chamber instead of the nursery. I carried him to the window.

  “Look!” I pointed to the unseasonal spectacle. “Dragon’s breath.”

  He blinked, stretching out his little arms. Laughing, I jogged him up and down, nuzzling his soft dark hair. He smelled of spring grass and I pressed my face against his baby-plump cheeks. “You won’t be able to go out today. We must watch out for dragons!” I tweaked his nose setting him gurgling with laughter and then made a growling noise as I ran back to the bed where I threw him amongst the blankets and bolsters, romping and shrieking, pretending to be a dragon threatening to devour him—a game my father played with me in the far-off days of childhood.

  A hammering at the door made me jump so fiercely Dickon giggled until Jane Collins burst in, dishevelled and florid. Never had I seen her so flustered or untidy.

  “Is the prince sick?” I leapt from the bed grabbing clothes.

  Her bosom heaved with the effort of running. “That foreign woman’s confessed to practising witchcraft. She’s to be burned for it.”

  “Burned—”

  Dickon stood up on the bed shouting for attention.

  “A foreign woman, you say?”

  Jane Collins picked up Dickon, jogging him in her arms while I clapped on my garments, clammy hands fumbling with strings and laces. My stomach lurched at the vivid memory of Mara.

  “She roamed the fair all morning. It’s a wonder tha didn’t see her. They arrested her in Sheriff Hutton. Sh
e’s a beggar or traveller of some kind. She accosted folk in the market and outside the tavern, saying she could read the future. Old Walt says she’s confessed to conjuring spirits.”

  Panicked by Jane’s stammering tale, I dressed a chuckling Dickon with some difficulty.

  “Walt says women who dabble in black arts should be burned. Oh Nan, does tha still have them cards?”

  When I opened my mouth to speak no sound came.

  “Lady Anne’s not allus careful about what she says.” Jane’s broad features twisted into a grimace. “I tried to warn thee several times, lass. When little Lord Ned were sick with fever—Remember how we sat up wi’ him night after night? When thou were brewing that coltsfoot remedy, Lady Anne told me tha’d cast her fortune with cards. She said he couldn’t die because tha’ said he’d a long and happy life.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “But tha did tell her fortune?”

  “A long time ago before the prince was born—when we were at Dowgate together.” Guiltily, I recalled the many times since I’d read the cards. “I only told her she’d bear a living baby boy.”

  “And the cards?”

  For the first time I noticed tears in Jane’s eyes.

  “Hidden away. But they’re nothing. An old woman gave them to me—The one who taught me how to use the herbs for healing draughts. I meant no harm.”

  “Tha mun destroy them! Oh Nan, dost tha know what danger tha’s in? When Emma came back from the May Fair and mentioned Bishop Stillington, I knew it mun come to this. Tha art playing a dangerous game and if the Duke should find out—”

  These words twisted like a knife in my belly. Everyone knew about the Duke’s piety, his abhorrence of ungodly practices. Hadn’t Miles warned me often enough? I could expect no mercy there. And what of Miles himself? During his long absence I trusted in Lady Anne’s protection, wallowing in ignorance like a pig being fattened for the butcher’s knife.

  “The whole country’s gone mad with talk of witchcraft. The Duke of Clarence accused that serving woman—Ankaret summat— And now Walt’s ranting about the Bible’s commands for burning witches. Oh Nan, I wouldn’t want to see thee—”

  Tears drowned the rest. Ignoring Dickon’s fretful wail, I clasped her to me. She held me with the ferocity of a mother animal protecting her cub. For a moment I yielded to the comfort of this embrace. But nothing could assuage my terrible premonition, relentless and annihilating as the fog on the moors.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Although not an enclosed order, the White Brothers of Jervaulx kept silence for much of the day, and received few guests save passing pilgrims. Strict rules governed visits. Badly frightened by the prospect of a witch trial, I determined to see Brother Brian without delay. Seeking Lady Anne’s assistance, I found her in the solar reading a letter with Meg Huddleston and Grace Pullen in attendance.

  “Of course you must visit your old priest,” she said. “Don’t look so worried, Nan. Doesn’t she look serious?” She flashed her waiting women a teasing smile. “I’ll write to the Abbot on your behalf. He won’t refuse.” She giggled conspiratorially, evidently in a good humour, and I couldn’t help glancing at the letter in her hand.

  “Perhaps Master Forrest will be home soon.” She arched her brows mischievously. “And perhaps our dear brother, George of Clarence, has done us a great service after all.” Laughing, she hid the letter in her sleeve and skipped away.

  Meg Huddleston darted a sly look at Grace which made me feel uncomfortable. Since the rumours of witchcraft at Middleham Fair, I noticed more of these covert looks, and a storm of whispers in the bower chamber. But perhaps a strange mixture of guilt and imagination provoked these feelings? Meg, in particular, delighted in stirring dangerous tittle-tattle. Eyes sparkling with mischief she drew attention to my skill at making remedies from curious plants, hinting about strange country crafts and pretending fear of my powers.

  “Is it true you saw a witch at the Fair?”

  Seeing Grace hide a smirk behind her sleeve, I forced a smile. Linking an arm in Meg’s, I drew her with me to the settle.

  “Do you know,” I said, adopting such a friendly manner she was plainly startled. “I was there all day with the little nursery-maid but we missed all the excitement. Is it true she’s a foreign woman?”

  My feigned ignorance clearly surprised her but she retained her composure.

  “I believe so. But there are so many rumours it’s difficult to know what to think.” Flashing Grace an appeal for rescue she rose gracefully. “Forgive me, Nan, but we have an appointment with Master Giacomo concerning music lessons.”

  Alone in the solar, I sat haunted by memories of Mara. Suppose the woman arrested at the Fair was one of the Rom I knew? In spite of the brilliant May sunshine, I shuddered. Perhaps Brother Brian could supply an answer to this mystery.

  * * * * *

  Strolling among the abbey herb gardens with my erstwhile priest some days later, I recalled Lady Anne’s unexpected behaviour. Thanks to her, the Abbot granted Brother Brian the quiet hours for private prayer and spiritual readings till Vespers to spend with me. Sister Ursula of the grudging, gargoyle face would never have approved this dispensation.

  The aromatic scent of flowers wafted on the breeze; bees hummed lazy lullabies amongst the carefully tended plants; birds chirruped in the leaves—but my thoughts ran restless, goaded by fears of discovery and denouncement.

  “Stillington came to Jervaulx some three or four months ago,” said the priest, when we were out of earshot of the infirmary building. His voice trembled, tightened by extreme anxiety. “He acquired my letters to you of a Sister Absalom at Norwich. Discovering you’d escaped from the convent, he sent his people searching for you—but without success. By the time he reached the abbey a fume of ill-temper shook him. He questioned me about your present whereabouts several times.” Fear lurked in his eyes. “What is it he seeks of you so urgently?”

  Twisting my fingers in a fever of apprehension, I surveyed the dusty tracks beside the neatly planted rows of lavender. How should I answer? To reveal my secret would burden him. Yet he was the one person I trusted.

  “I met Stillington at Westminster.” I halted, weighing each word carefully. “It was when Dame Eleanor pressed her petition to King Edward. I believe he suspected something irregular in their relationship—When you were at St John’s I told you about her infatuation, if you remember—”

  The mention of the priory clearly stirred a different memory. Anguish flickered in the priest’s eyes.

  “I do recall it.” Pausing as if to consider the matter deeper he sighed and shook his head. “But how can this be of interest to the bishop—unless—” A sudden stab of understanding seemed to pierce him. “Is this then the reason for his recent association with Clarence?”

  “Clarence?”

  “There’s some tale about Clarence questioning the validity of the king’s marriage—”

  “Then Stillington has told him!”

  My sharp cry startled the priest. He drew me to a bench. Several novice monks tending the gardens stared in our direction.

  “What is it, Nan? I’m thinking you have something heavy on your mind—something you need to tell me.”

  How well the priest knew me. Wistfully, I smiled up at him. Like the little girl who’d travelled with him to London all those years ago, I put a trusting hand in his.

  “King Edward promised Eleanor Butler marriage,” I said. “I witnessed his pledge.”

  The priest’s eyes widened.

  “Only I and Brother Thomas—Dame Eleanor’s chaplain—knew of it. I don’t know what became of Brother Thomas, although Eleanor’s scullion said Stillington’s man took him away—and me, Stillington locked up in the Norwich convent, as you know. He seemed very anxious then to scotch any gossip. My escape must have shocked him. Once he sought my silence, but now he seeks me out to further a different purpose. No doubt Clarence promised him great honours if he attains the crown.” I squ
eezed Brother Brian’s tremulous hand. “It’s a secret I’ve guarded a long time. And now I’ve placed you in grave danger by sharing it. Forgive me.”

  Withdrawing my hand, I bent my head like a penitent. Around us the birdsong continued to flow harmoniously, the soft breeze fanned the trees, the insects droned. All remained the same. Yet in a single moment I had destroyed the old monk’s peace entirely.

  “There’s nothing to forgive, Nan.” His low, melodious voice proved comforting. “Haven’t we shared our troubles through the years? And once again I’m after fearing for your safety. But where can I hide you now?”

  “No need,” I answered. I met his troubled gaze without blinking. “Stillington will find me soon enough. But first he’ll wait for the opportunity that suits him best.” I laughed suddenly, recalling the prelate’s shrewd, predatory eyes. The discordant sound startled Brother Brian. He touched my hand, his gaunt face twisted with anxiety. I shook my head. “Don’t worry. I’m valuable to Stillington now. Though once he desired to stop my tongue, now he may require me to speak out. All depends on Clarence and the king. They say at Middleham the queen’s angry and the king will do anything to soothe her. And even Lady Anne—Oh, these royal cousins are devious in their desires. Your presence is my greatest comfort. All we can do is wait.”

  I rose as if to continue our walk, my confidence too fragile a disguise to pursue conversation. Nor dare I mention the witchcraft arrest or the cards. Instead, I spoke of Lady Anne and how she’d brought me to Middleham, of Dickon, and the little Gloucester prince. Yet all the time my mind ran upon Miles and his secret errand in the city. What scheme had Gloucester devised concerning his reckless brother, Clarence? Could it be Lady Anne pursued her own ambitious purposes? Miles was wrong about her influence. She knew well how to manipulate her husband. I reeled at the magnitude of my own suspicions.

  “The light’s fading.” Brother Brian drew my attention to the dappled shadows gathering round us like curious watchers. “You’ve a long walk back to the castle.”