He was dragging me past the blowing-house. The heat from the glowing furnace rushed at us through the open door. Inside I glimpsed two men, their bare backs running with glistening black sweat as they ladled the molten tin from the stone trough beneath the furnace and poured it, shining like moonlight, into the moulds. I wanted to cry out to them, beg them to help me, but I knew it was useless.
We turned around the corner of the blowing-house into the bitter wind. The two hounds had been chained so that their tethers would now reach the storehouse door. They sprang to their feet, barking and growling, making me jump back so violently that Gleedy, his fingers slippery with sweat, lost his grip on me. Impatiently he snapped at the dogs to lie down. But they took little notice until he reached into the pouch hanging from his belt and tossed them each a sheep’s hoof, which they caught in mid-air and flopped down at once to gnaw.
Free from his grip I stared frantically around, desperate to run, but where could I go? I couldn’t return to our hut. I’d have to make for the moor. I tried to move silently, but I was afraid to turn my back on him. If he let the dogs loose, they’d seize me long before I could scramble up the steep, slippery side of the valley.
Gleedy was dragging the growling brutes away from the storehouse door. I turned to run, but before I had taken more than a pace, a hand was clapped over my mouth from behind and a strong arm wrapped about my waist. I was dragged, struggling and kicking, away from the glow of the blowing-house and into the shadows. Hands forced me face down to the ground. A man’s thighs straddled my back. I tried to wriggle free, but his weight was too great. Stinking, sweaty fingers still pressed across my mouth, half blocking my nose. I couldn’t breathe. That became the only thing that mattered, trying to draw air into my lungs. My good hand was pinned under me. I managed to pull it free and grasp the hairy arm that was suffocating me. But strength was fast flowing out of me. Tiny golden sparks were bursting in my head. My body was drifting away from me. I lost my grip on his arm and lay limp.
I felt his hot breath on my ear and dimly heard a man’s voice whisper to me to lie still and not make a sound. I didn’t need to be told that: I couldn’t move. Was Gleedy going to drag me inside or force himself on me out there in the mud?
The hand slid from my mouth, and I took a great gasp of cold air, though his fingers still rested on my chin, and I knew they’d shoot up again if I attempted to call out. The thick legs uncoiled from my back. The crushing weight lifted, but an arm tightened about my waist again, holding me down. Every muscle in my body seemed to have turned to bone.
‘Playing games, are we, Sorrel? Hide and seek? And what’ll be my prize when I find you?’
It took a moment to realise that Gleedy’s voice was not coming from beside me. He was tramping around in the darkness, calling out first in amusement, then with growing impatience. Boots crunched over the stones just yards from me, and lifting my head, I caught a glimpse of his outline lit by the glow of the blowing-house, before a hand pressed me back into the mud.
‘Keep down!’
I strained to hear if Gleedy’s footfalls were coming closer, but it was impossible over the hissing and wheeze of the huge blowing-house bellows, the creaking of the waterwheel that drove them, and the clatter of the men inside.
The arm lifted from my waist and hauled me to my feet. ‘Come on, this way and keep low.’
I found myself running and stumbling over stones and the stumps of bushes, with the sound of rushing water growing ever louder, until I was dragged behind a wedge-shaped heap of gravel spoil, where my captor finally released me and flopped down beside me in the mud. There was not a glimmer of light and I could see nothing of the man sitting beside me. I could hear him panting hard, though whether from the effort of dragging me or from excitement I couldn’t tell. My own breath was tearing painfully in my chest. My legs felt as if my bones had melted away and I was sure I’d never be able to run again. But, all the same, I levered myself up until I was crouching, ready to spring away if the man made any move to touch me.
‘What do you . . . want from me?’ I groped behind me with my good hand, ignoring the scratches from the sharp gravel and thorns, as I swept my palm over the ground until my fingers closed around a weighty stone. Slowly, so he wouldn’t detect the movement, I brought it to my side, ready to strike.
‘Guessed he’d fetch you to his storehouse. Takes everything he buys or steals there.’ The man was keeping his voice low, but I’d heard it many times before these past weeks.
‘Todde? Is that you?’
‘Who else?’
I could hear the cocky grin in his voice.
‘Ought to be a special room in Hell for rats like him,’ Todde muttered. ‘I’d skin him alive, then cut out every twisted little bone in his body, one at a time, starting with his thieving fingers.’
I knew the smile had faded from his face for his tone was as bitter as ox gall. But I felt more angry than grateful. If Todde hadn’t stopped me, I’d be safely up on the moor by now. Then his words penetrated my fear and anger.
‘You guessed he’d take me to his storehouse? You knew what he was planning and you didn’t trouble to warn me?’ I tightened my grip on the stone.
‘Been watching you and him, just in case, though I didn’t really believe it. Even I thought a vile little weasel like Gleedy wouldn’t go that far. And bairns imagine all sorts, don’t they, always making up wild stories, especially the lads?’
‘What stories?’ I whispered.
‘After Gleedy accused me of killing Eva, I did some asking around quietly, case they did fetch the sheriff. Wanted to be ready to defend myself. Nobody would say anything, though I reckon a few knew more than they were letting on. But I noticed one little lad, seemed to be acting a bit queer, especially when Gleedy was around. I got him on his own and bribed him with a strip of dried meat that I’d . . . found.’
Stolen, he meant, but that hardly mattered now.
‘Anyway, the lad told me the day Eva went missing he’d sneaked away when he was meant to be picking over stones and gone up to Eva’s hut. He said Eva used to give him a bite of food now and again. She was soft like that. But when he got up there he heard Gleedy’s voice and hid ’cause he was afeared he’d be in trouble for skipping off. He saw Gleedy punch Eva, leastways that was what the boy claimed. She tried to get away, but that weasel put his hands round her throat and throttled her. He slung her over that horse of his and led it up the track. Lad didn’t know if she was dead or alive then, but it was the last he saw of her. Gleedy must have dumped her corpse on the moor. Probably hoped it would be picked clean afore she was found and recognised.’
I saw again, with a shudder, Eva’s face as her spirit walked the lych-way, the dark marks on her neck, the look of terror in her eyes, and I knew it was the truth.
‘Course, the lad said nowt, not even when her body was brought back, ’cause he knew he shouldn’t have gone up there when he was meant to be streaming, reckoned his father would give him a whipping if he found out. He was terrified of what Gleedy might do to him too, and with good reason.’
Eva’s face hung in the darkness in front of me. Fury raged through me. Gleedy had used her and killed her. Todde knew and had said nothing to me, to anyone. At best, that made him a coward. At worst . . .
‘I suppose you thought that if you snatched me from Gleedy, I’d be nice to you instead. Was that it? Or maybe you thought if I’d warm his bed, I’d warm yours after. Was that what you were hanging around the store for, to beg his leavings? That’s what you’ve been after from the beginning, isn’t it?’
I was only out there because of what Gleedy had threatened to do to Todde. I should have let Gleedy sell him. He deserved it. Instead, I had almost sold myself to protect this . . . this little toad. I heard the gravel grating under Todde’s backside as he moved and nearly swung at him with the stone, but behind the spoil heap it was too dark even to see his head. But I was so filled with rage, I would have pounded it to a pulp.
There was silence between us, filled only by the wind and the water tumbling unseen.
‘You can’t go back to the hut tonight. The weasel’s bound to go looking for you there.’
‘You think it’ll be any different tomorrow? I’ll have to make for the moors.’
‘You can’t do that! It’s not safe.’ Todde lunged at me.
I suppose he might have been trying to seize my hand in the darkness, but it was my thigh his fingers closed around.
‘It’ll be safer than here! You’re as foul as he is.’ I pushed myself on to my feet.
Todde grabbed the hem of my skirt. ‘I swear you’ll come to no harm from me. You’ll starve out there, if you don’t die of cold first. There’s tinners and outlaws crawling all over the moor. If they find a lass on her own, they’ll do things to you that would make even Gleedy sick to think on. At least in the camp you’ll not starve and I’ll not let that weasel lay a paw—’
But I refused to listen to another of Todde’s wild promises. ‘Aye, I’ll not starve if I let Gleedy have his way, at least until he loses his temper and I end up as hound’s meat on the moor.’
Todde was no better than those tinners. I’d cooked for them and they had just stood by and let Gleedy drag me off. Worse, they’d egged him on, just to make their lives easier. Warm his cods for him. Keep him in a good humour and we’ll all be the better for it. Was that how Todde reasoned too?
‘You don’t like to see a man force himself on a woman?’ I snarled at him. ‘No, I wager you don’t unless there’s something in it for you, and that’s a belly full of food. Was that your game, hold me here, then deliver me to Gleedy yourself, so you’d make quite sure to get your share.’
I caught the tail of my name being shouted into the wind. Gleedy was coming back.
Todde heard it too, he already had hold of my skirt, now his other hand fastened itself around my ankle. I couldn’t pull away from him. I daren’t kick out, knowing if I did, he could easily pull me over.
Fingers grabbed the back of my neck. Another arm locked about my waist, so that I couldn’t turn. Gleedy’s body pressed into my back. I could feel his prick hardening against my thigh, his mouth hot against my ear.
‘Seems I misjudged you, Toddy. You’ve done me a service catching this little cat for me. You’ll not be sorry. I’ll see you well rewarded. Always pay my debts I do, unlike some. But you’ll have to wait till morning. I fancy I’ll be a mite occupied tonight.’
I struggled, but I couldn’t break free from him. His fingers had slid around my neck and were pressing into my throat, not hard enough to make me choke, but as if he wanted me to know he could throttle me just as easily as he had Eva, more so, for I had only one hand to fight with.
I was still clutching the stone in my fist. I smashed down as hard as I could against the knuckles of his hand on my waist, and felt the stone strike flesh and bone. Gleedy yelped and his fingers released their grip. I brought my elbow back hard against his belly, heard him grunt and felt him sag. But as I tried to step away, I slipped in the mud and fell to my knees. Gleedy didn’t hesitate: before I could struggle up, he’d grabbed my hair and was yanking my head back so far I thought my neck would snap.
Todde was on his feet beside me. ‘Let her go, you bastard!’
I felt rather than saw his fist fly past my face and heard the crack as it crunched into Gleedy’s jaw. Gleedy crashed down, almost dragging me with him. Todde seized my arm and dragged me upright.
‘Run!’ he yelled. ‘Run!’
I picked up my skirts and scrambled up the slope, slipping and stumbling. Behind me I could hear the two men shouting. There was a long-drawn-out scream, then nothing but silence and darkness.
Chapter 39
Prioress Johanne
‘Brother Nicholas, I assure you that your letters have been safely dispatched to Buckland.’
My hands clenched in exasperation inside my sleeves, where I’d tucked them, not for modesty but to warm my numb fingers, since he and Brother Alban were, as usual, blocking what little heat rose from the meagre fire.
‘Any reply there may be for you will be sent with Hob when he brings the next wagon of supplies, and we cannot expect him now until the first frosts harden the ground. The servants can’t even use the sledges on the moor, for fear that the horses will get stuck in the deep mud and die of exhaustion. It is the same every year in the autumn. I grant you, this year the season has come upon us unnaturally early. But there is nothing to be done, except pray that rain will soon give way to ice. Though that will bring its own horrors,’ I told them grimly.
As if to prove the truth of my words, a particularly vicious blast of wind rattled the shutters so violently that I began to fear the thatched roof would be lifted off.
Nicholas shuffled forward to the edge of the wooden chair and spread his fingers over the glowing peats, trying to snatch at the warmth. ‘If my letters had reached Commander John, I am certain he would have dispatched a messenger with a reply at once, not trusted to carters and lumbering wagons.’ He drained his goblet and stared pointedly at the flagon of wine that had somehow found its way to Alban’s side. He gestured for it to be passed back, but his sergeant studiously ignored him.
‘He can’t handle the eighty hinds he already has in his herd, never mind chasing after the handful up here,’ Alban muttered. ‘You want your letters to be answered, Brother Nicholas, you should be sending them to Clerkenwell. They’ve men and good horses to spare as messengers. Don’t have to rely on an ancient old gammer and his mooncalf son.’
Nicholas stalked over to seize the flagon. ‘I have told Commander John quite plainly that unless he sends men-at-arms, this priory will be starved out long before winter sets in, let alone spring, because there won’t be a single head of cattle or sheep left on our lands that the outlaws, tinners or thieving villagers haven’t butchered.’
‘And I told you, Brother Nicholas, that bringing armed knights here will simply start a war we cannot win,’ I thundered.
‘I trust even you will not presume to consider yourself more able than a knight commander of St John to decide how best to protect one of our order’s priors.’
‘I am prioress here. The safety of this priory is my responsibility—’
‘Can’t see as it makes any odds either way,’ Alban cut in. ‘It’s not knights we need. This place is losing more kine to the rain and the packs of starving beasts than to tinners and outlaws. Kept awake half the night, I am, by packs of wild dogs howling out on the moor, and young Brengy in the stables tells me the foxes are growing so bold they attack the sheep in daylight. You want to tell the Lord Prior it’s hunters and trappers are wanted here.’
A look of disgust settled on Nicholas’s face as he tipped the captured flagon over his goblet, to see nothing but the gritty dregs slithering out. ‘I would indeed have informed the Lord Prior of all that has befallen this cursed priory, Brother Alban, if the prioress hadn’t sent the only able-bodied man who was capable of finding his way to Clerkenwell on some spurious errand to Exeter from which he still has not returned. And if he ever returns,’ Nicholas said savagely, ‘he is likely to find only skeletons sitting round the refectory table, since we will all have long since died of hunger and thirst.’ He flung the lees of the wine over the fire. ‘All, that is, except a cert
ain brother sergeant, who will have died of a burst gut having devoured every last morsel of food in the priory and our corpses as well, I imagine.’
Nicholas picked up his cloak and swirled it around to settle on his shoulders as he strode to the door. ‘I will bid you goodnight, Prioress, and retire to my chamber where, if I hurry and manage to get there before my brother, I might still find a goblet of wine left in the ambry.’
The door opened and slammed shut, letting in a blast of wind, which sent a dense cloud of smoke, peat ash and scarlet sparks from the fire swirling about Alban’s head. He coughed violently and overturned the chair in his haste to back away, beating out the burning fragments that had fastened themselves on his jerkin and were smouldering in his beard. Eyes and nose streaming, he stumbled to the door and out into the cold, damp air.
I waited until the second billowing of smoke had settled, then sank back on the chair close to the fire, the seat still disconcertingly warm from Nicholas’s backside. I should have returned to my own chamber and my devotions, but a great leaden weariness had settled on me and I couldn’t summon the energy to take even that short walk across the dark courtyard.
I knew my chamber would be nearly as cold as the open moor for I’d given instructions that the fire should not be lit in there, in spite of the season. From now on, we had to save most of the fuel for the kitchens. We had not had a single full day of sun, much less the weeks of good weather needed, to dry newly dug peats. The only way of getting peat or wood to burn was to bring it in wet and try to dry what little we could beside those fires that were still alight. Food was scarce enough, but if we couldn’t cook it we would surely starve.
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