by Mary Bale
There was barely any light left and Agid was sure that they had lost them, until his stomach was stirred by the smell of a cooking pot. Moments later, off the track, the sight of a flame flickering from the fire underneath it, confirmed the gang’s presence.
Slithering close to the camp Agid glanced round at his companions. Sir Guy had been in favour of an all out attack, but Edgar still thought the advantages of them being mounted and the thieves full of food were still insufficient considering their numbers. Agid located Ursula without difficulty. She was secured to a tree away from the fire. Crouching, the Aethling crept towards her.
If the thieves saw a shadow move, they gave it no heed. Already many were snoring with the heavy sleep of the well fed and the drunk. Agid envied them and was looking longingly at the cooking pot when Ursula’s guard, who was snoring the loudest, snorted as if he were about to wake. The Aethling stayed still within an arm’s length of Ursula until the guard settled back into sleep. Having slit through her ropes with his knife, he virtually carried the weakened woman back to the place where his men kept watch.
Agid was relieved to have Ursula back and allowed his mind to return to the demise of his stomach. He viewed the fire and wondered if he could re-enter the group and feed from the pot without being discovered. But Agid spotted a glint of silver. He screwed up his eyes to try and make it out. It was a sword – a fine Norman sword. And beside it lay the bulk of Tancred. Agid shivered and pulled back behind the Aethling’s men. He knew such a man with such a sword would make short work of a man who trades in information and not muscle such as himself.
Sir Guy growled at him under his breath and he slipped further away from the small raiding party of Norman knights and Ursula. He was soon aware that they were following him with Ursula now being carried by the Aethling’s men.
Back near their own horses they laid her down. Her face was bruised and she had difficulty in opening her eyes. She looked up. The Aethling was stooped over her. Ursula reached out her hand and touched his face.
‘Am I in heaven?’ she said.
‘Not likely,’ said Agid without thinking.
‘Oh, Agid, you got help!’ she said. Her voice was a weak mixture of pleasure and amazement. ‘But they beat me and I …’
‘Hush, Prioress,’ said the Aethling. ‘You and Agid must return directly to Canterbury and report this to Abbott Scotland.’
‘I cannot go there,’ said Ursula.
‘Well, Archbishop Lanfranc then.’
‘No,’ said Ursula. ‘There is a monk there, though, that will understand, James of Caen.’ She pulled herself upright. ‘I must speak to her…him.’
Agid squinted at her. ‘What have you been up to – pretending to be Abbess Eleanor and all?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way.’ Ursula was trying to stand.
‘Sir Guy will go with you. Sir Alun and I will stay here to keep an eye on them while you get help.’ The Aethling supported Ursula as she hobbled towards the mule.
‘This looks like my sort of mount,’ she said.
The Aethling helped her up and Agid went to vault on behind her, but Edgar caught him by the scruff and said, ‘You walk.’
Sir Guy mounted his horse and they left, yet still Agid could hear no sign of any disturbance from the sleeping thieves. Surely, the rescue had been far too easy. Still, sometimes, thought Agid, you just got lucky.
Chapter 20
Therese looked around her fellow nuns at vespers. Maude and Mabel were missing as well as Gertrude. She wondered how many more knew what would happen tonight and which one of those who were left would be involved.
Prioress Ethelburga’s face was as hard as steel as she said her prayers. Sybil and Beatrice chanted like song birds with the joy of spring in their voices. Almost too happy. Leofgyth held her own against the strong tones of the older nuns, Winifred and Aelfgyth. Powerful and clever women in their own right. Hilda mumbled, like her heart was broken. Agnes, Therese noted, was watching her watching the others.
She sighed and returned to her prayers.
* * *
Eleanor followed Archbishop Lanfranc from vespers. Outside the church of Christ, the small Italian’s face was caught by the light of a taper lit early against a rapidly darkening sky and held by Brother David. Lanfranc’s sharp, fleshless nose pointed at a document the clerk was trying to pass to him.
‘I will read it in the morning in good light,’ he said. ‘It can wait.’
Brother David accompanied him to his door and then left. The Archbishop insisted he did not need light to take himself to his chamber. The residual gloom was quite enough, so the clerk took the taper with him. He fumbled with the letter, dropped it and picked it up again. The Archbishop shook his head to himself and opened the door to his chamber. Eleanor rushed up to him. Energy swelled inside her as if she were half her age, and with this she let go of her caution and tripped slightly, knocking into the Archbishop.
He caught her with his left hand but his right found her head and patted it reassuringly. And while he helped her straighten up by giving his support to her elbow, his right hand trailed down to her chin, which he nipped slightly. When she was composed he let go of her elbow and gripped her right hand.
‘The things I have touched do not make sense,’ said the Archbishop. He sounded shocked.
She tried politely to pull her hand away from the holy man’s hold.
‘Your hands are soft, so is your hair, but you have a tonsure. Your chin is smooth. In the dark you could be a boy, but a boy does not have such a lined face. I do not know you.’
Eleanor snapped, ‘If you had agreed to see me on my arrival in Canterbury you would know me well enough. I am Abbess Eleanor of Bayeux. I am here to investigate the difficulties at the Priory of St Thomas the Apostle.’
‘But your head, Abbess? And what are these difficulties you speak of?’ From the bewilderment in the Archbishop’s voice she knew he really didn’t know anything of the problems at St Thomas’s.
‘Has Brother David not told you? I have come to speak with you several times, but he said you were busy,’ explained Eleanor.
‘I’m sorry to say I have been very busy of late, my sister. Come inside and let us talk there.’ He invited her into his chamber with a gesture and she thanked him and entered.
* * *
At last Eleanor’s mind was at rest with regard to Archbishop Lanfranc and Bishop Odon. She’d pinioned him with her tight questioning and he’d been generous and curious in equal amounts. She closed his chamber door behind her and walked out into the cool night air, pulling her cowl up over her head. She would return directly to Saint Augustine’s and organise a search for Ursula. With the gatehouse in sight she was aware of horses’ feet grinding at the ground in the courtyard behind her. Several horses, twisting and turning in excitement. The flapping of full, lined cloaks and the clashing of metals – harness and weapons – filled the air. She fell back against the wall to let the horses and their riders pass. Four sets of hooves pounded so close to her she pulled her feet back.
She did not have to see them to know who they were, so clearly leaving Canterbury while monks slept: Prince William Rufus and his three guards, Roger, Simon and Ralph.
The gatekeeper was struggling to shut the heavy timber gates behind them so she slipped through when his back was turned. She could have stopped and explained, but this seemed easier somehow. She was just recovering from being nearly trampled upon when in the gloom she heard another horse. This one was on its own, and as soon as she saw its white skin she knew the rider was Sir Gilbert. She kept her head covered while she called to him.
‘Sir Gilbert, what has happened to Therese? You have not left her on her own!’
‘She insisted, Abbess. I am sorry. She sent me to get you as there is going to be trouble at St Thomas’s tonight.’
‘We must get help,’ said Eleanor looking back at Christchurch Abbey’s gates.
‘There is not time. I do not know what is going on, but I have been lo
oking for you all evening. At St Augustine’s they said you were missing.’
‘I should have told you where to get me. I’ve been so foolish.’ She was angry with herself.
‘And I think Prince Rufus is heading out of Canterbury in that direction.’
‘Pull me up behind you,’ commanded Eleanor. ‘We must go directly to St Thomas’s.’
As they left Canterbury a wind was rising from the south west. The knight’s horse made good time despite carrying the two of them and Eleanor thought she saw the movement of horses on the far side of the river. Rufus and his men were only just ahead of them. The returning ferry held the shadowy figures of a mule and two hunched passengers just visible in the light of the ferryman’s brazier on the bank. The ferryman was grumbling about so much work so late at night, as he secured the raft to its mooring.
‘I’m packing up for the night,’ he told Eleanor.
‘I don’t think you are,’ replied Eleanor. She called Sir Gilbert over. And as she did so she felt a pull on her skirts from below.
‘Abbess.’
She looked down at the present occupants of the ferry who were gathering their strength to disembark. An arm was reaching out and its hand was holding the hem of her habit. ‘Ursula?’ she asked unable to believe her friend was this crumpled heap so close to her.
‘Agid is with me,’ said Ursula. The small man rose from beside her.
‘We had a guard, Sir Guy – the Aethling’s man – but he left us to join Odo and his men,’ complained Agid. ‘We’ve had to do the rest of the journey by ourselves.’
‘Odon de Bayeux?’ asked Eleanor.
‘The same,’ said Agid. ‘That Norman Bishop needed no more help. He is travelling with an enormous number of horsemen already.’
‘He was in Dover,’ said Eleanor.
‘Well he’s not now,’ retorted Agid.
‘I have not seen him,’ said Gilbert. ‘He did not enter Canterbury on his travels.’
‘He didn’t come this way either,’ said the ferryman. ‘I couldn’t take that lot across. And the tides have been high and the currents strong today. It would have been difficult for them to swim the horses. They must have travelled the long land route.’
‘We need to cross,’ Eleanor said to the ferryman. Addressing Gilbert, she said, ‘Odon is already in the right direction we only need to alert him and we can go on to St Thomas’s.’
‘Prioress Ursula is very poorly,’ said Agid. He opened his mouth as if he was going to tell a long story but Eleanor interrupted him with,
‘Explanations will have to wait.’ She looked searchingly at the reluctant ferryman expecting him to offer care. He grumbled and then allowed them to take Ursula to his hut.
Once settled in the ferryman’s cot Ursula looked much more her old self despite the bruising around her face, which Eleanor could now see with the light afforded by a fire in the centre of the hut’s only room.
‘Do not fear for me,’ said Ursula. ‘I will be fine now, but the thieves know about the embroidery. I am no martyr, I’m afraid, Abbess. I told them.’
‘Hush. You rest. You’ve been incredibly brave.’ Eleanor lingered over her English friend until Sir Gilbert called her away. Outside the hut she told him to stay with them. ‘I need you to protect her and keep an eye on Agid. He is not to be trusted. And I will need your horse.’
The ferryman grumbled, ‘I don’t like taking horses and that’s all I’ve had this evening,’ as he fixed on the animal’s hobbles to prevent the creature jumping off. ‘And this wind doesn’t help.’
* * *
Odon de Bayeux checked his position. He’d had to split his men. The foot soldiers could not keep up with the horses so he’d left them to follow on. Speed was the most important thing now. He was at the junction where the Canterbury road, which took the ferry, joined with the landward route. He checked Robert and Edgar’s guard, Sir Guy, who’d recently joined them saying he’d left a nun and a beggar at the ferry. He’d even said that it was Prioress Ursula. This must be a lie so he didn’t trust the man or his tale of thieves and kidnappings. They could well be part of a plot to draw him into a trap set be Edgar. Odon placed two of his most trusted men to ride next to them, just in case.
Now more horsemen approached from the south.
* * *
Therese felt like a guard dog, twitching and watching. She thought she couldn’t rest but sleep must have over-taken her because something had disturbed her and she was upright as if she had a stake at her back. From the dorter window Therese saw a light down in the cloister. It was too dark to see who was or was not in their beds, but she had to leave this sanctuary if she were to get to the bottom of the traitors at the priory. She took the stairway from the dorter that came out close to the chapter house. By its door she looked towards the timber stairway which went up to the corridor by the sewing room. The light was up there. She could just make out a flicker. Whoever was carrying the light must realise the risk they took in being caught. But it was dark tonight, cloud obliterated the stars and moon – if there was any moon. To see anything much a light would be needed.
She felt her way cautiously up the steps aware that the light was receding from her view. She crouched down below the top and expected the light to turn into the sewing room, but it didn’t. It continued along the full length of the corridor and disappeared into the tower at the other end. She rose and checked the corridor for signs of life. It looked bare, with only the one door opening onto it. On the cloister side of the corridor was a line of open arched windows. From these she would clearly be seen from the dorter window so she decided to keep as close to the sewing room side as she could. As she felt her way along the wall she realised that the upper floor walls were timber partitions, plastered and painted, even the secret room.
Just before she entered the stone tower she heard a voice. She knew it instantly. ‘Sister Agnes?’ called Therese. Therese heard her shush a companion. ‘What are you doing, Sister Agnes?’ asked Therese. She took the few steps that would bring her just below the hole where she had hidden Eric. And there was Agnes, illuminated by a taper in the holder on the wall. The tall nun had a panel of embroidery wrapping itself about her as it was being fed out through the hole above.
There were few people who could fit in that hole. ‘Eric?’ Therese called out, panicked by the thought of him being here on this dangerous night.
Chapter 21
‘Hello, Sister Therese,’ said Eric peeping out of the hole. The light from the taper made him look like something from the underworld.
‘We’re getting the embroidery out of here,’ explained Agnes. Therese didn’t know whether to trust her. It must have shown. ‘For safe keeping,’ Agnes added with a hint of exasperation in her voice. ‘You can help, or you can go. I don’t mind which, but standing right there you’re going to be in the way.’
‘Of course,’ said Therese.
‘I think you’d fit through that hole, though you’re tall there’s nothing to you. The quicker we get those panels out of here the better.’
‘Did you know about the secret room before Eric told you?’ asked Therese.
‘Yes, and so did Prioress Ursula. The rest don’t know. Now up you go.’ Agnes offered Therese a leg up with her hands clenched together to make a stirrup for her foot.
Inside she found that Eric had pulled down the coverings from the window for some light, but the night afforded little. She went down the steep steps from the timber gallery by the hole and went over to the window and looked out. Surely a better plan would be to drop them directly out of the window? But when she looked out the wind caught at her head covering and she could hear sheep sheltering below. If the panels were not blown away and ripped to pieces in the trees, they would land in filth and be trampled upon.
‘Hurry,’ said Eric.
‘We will be quicker if we can see what we are doing. I think I can see a taper in the holder by the sewing room door. I’ll light it from Sister Agnes’s one.’
‘I can manage in the dark,’ Eric muttered.
‘Well, I can’t,’ said Therese. But she was proved right as she carefully rolled each panel and carried them individually up the steps with the help of this tiny wavering light on the wall. At the top she handed the rolls to Eric who passed them out through the hole to Agnes. Even if Eric and Sister Agnes were Anglo-Saxons plotting against the Normans she could not secure all these panels without help. And hopefully Sir Gilbert would have raised the alarm by now and others would soon be coming to her aid.
* * *
The horsemen drew up in front of Odon, Robert, Edgar’s guard and the others lined up as if ready to go into battle.
‘It’s the Aethling,’ confirmed Sir Guy, ‘and Sir Alun.’ He kicked his horse forward out of line. One of Odon’s guards went to draw him back, but Odon waved him away. ‘If you don’t believe me then you might believe them,’ added Sir Guy.
Edgar Aethling introduced himself in his usual courteous manner.
‘What are you doing in these parts?’ asked Odon.
‘Has not my man told you?’ asked Edgar.
‘I want to hear it from you.’ Edgar’s explanation seemed quite unbelievable, especially the part about Prioress Ursula being alive. But it did coincide identically with what he’d heard from the Aethling’s guard. ‘There’s just one thing that I doubt.’
‘And what is that?’ asked Edgar.
‘You have arrived from the south. According to your man the thieves you were watching are to the north of here.’
‘I skirted around your group, Your Grace. I wanted to make sure you were who I thought you were before I made my approach. The darkness tonight is all embracing.’
‘These thieves sound as if they require a small Norman lesson. But if this is a trap, Aethling, I will kill you first for you shall ride beside me.’
‘You have no need to distrust Edgar or me,’ objected Robert.