‘Jump and the men within will skewer you on their swords, little ones,’ Alisoun warned.
They crept back into the darkness.
Well done, thought Michaelo. How she had detected their presence on the roof he could not guess, but he was grateful for her keen senses, far better than his, and her courage.
They rolled on a little longer, Marian’s murmured prayers now accompanied by Euphemia’s snore. As the ground rose above Michaelo to his right, seeming to press them all the closer to the mist-shrouded river, the cart slowed.
‘The Old Baile,’ said Crispin. ‘We must move with care.’
‘May God watch over us,’ Michaelo whispered.
Euphemia ceased snoring and rejoined Marian in prayer.
At a small gate affording access beyond the walls they came to a complete halt. Drake fetched a second small lantern that had been hanging on the side of the cart, opening the shutters and handing it to Crispin. Alisoun passed hers to Drake.
‘I will walk on ahead,’ said Crispin, ‘check that the track beyond the gate is cart-worthy.’
Michaelo had wondered. Beyond the gate had once been a moat. Debris had been piled up to create a pathway. Planks were kept in a shed by the gateway for use when floods or storms washed it out. When Crispin returned with the good news that it was passable Michaelo said a prayer of thanks. They moved on, slowly, the cart bumping over the uneven ground.
As they gained the smoother path on the other side Michaelo heard horses approaching, then spied the flickering light of a torch. Two riders.
‘Who approaches the priory of St Clement’s at this late hour?’ one of them called.
Crispin limped forward, identifying himself. The men dismounted. One of them engaged Crispin while the one holding the torch approached the cart. Michaelo narrated for Euphemia as the man studied Alisoun and her companion. He moved past them to shine his light on Michaelo, forcing him to shield his eyes.
‘Who is in the cart, Father?’
‘Master Crispin’s widowed mother, who seeks the care of the good sisters,’ said Michaelo.
At that moment the man’s companion called him back. ‘Come. We will escort them on to the priory.’
God be thanked.
More retainers flanked the gateway to the modest priory. Beyond, the yard was bright with lanterns and torches. A groom came forth to watch the donkey while Crispin and the young man opened the curtains and lowered the gate on the back, Marian handing Crispin the wooden steps for disembarking. As Euphemia was eased to the ground by her son, two sisters hurried toward them.
Michaelo greeted the prioress and precentrice, Dames Isabel and Veronica, both of whom had recently employed him as a scribe for confidential matters. He introduced the party, referring to the young woman as Mistress Marian, Dame Euphemia’s companion. It would be the young woman’s choice when to reveal her identity. He ended with an entreaty that at the very least they receive the two women, explaining that the others were her escort and might return to the city. Though in his heart he dreaded the thought of returning in the dark.
‘If we might leave the cart here until morning, I would be grateful,’ said Crispin.
Euphemia began to protest, but her son kissed her hand and assured her that his only concern was for her comfort.
‘Where might we place my mother’s chests?’ he asked.
The prioress was all aflutter. ‘Master Crispin, we expected your mother in a week’s time. It is most unfortunate you have come betimes, and without warning.’ Michaelo was taken aback by her discourtesy. ‘Lady Maud Neville and her women arrived this day. You must understand our priory is small, poor, we are hard pressed–’
‘I will double the donation to your building works,’ said Crispin. ‘Will that suffice?’
It was Dame Veronica who took Euphemia’s hands and welcomed her warmly, and then Marian. ‘I pray you, do not take offense. Mother Isabel frets about the great lady’s expectations. But a house of women is what Lady Maud chose over the palace, and that we are without a doubt. Mother Isabel will soon see her worries were unfounded. Lady Maud seems most gracious.’ She touched the prioress’s arm. ‘Where shall they set the chests?’
With a sigh, the prioress directed the party to follow her into a screens passage in the hall of the guest house, where she indicated they might deposit Euphemia’s belongings.
From beyond the screen came a low hum of women’s voices, punctuated by laughter, shouted questions, bursts of singing that dissolved into giggles or whispers. Michaelo noticed Marian’s eyes aglow, and he prayed she might be truly welcomed back into the order, restored to the life among pious women that she had chosen.
While the two sisters stepped aside, no doubt arguing about where to put the two women, Marian turned to gaze at a wall hanging. Though it was tattered and darkened by smoke or mold from the river damp it was a radiant depiction of the Virgin and Child. Michaelo, too, found it a soothing point of focus after the tense journey.
‘Have we company?’ A richly garbed woman came round the screens, followed by two much younger women in only slightly less elegant travel attire.
Marian turned, and with a slight inhale of breath took a step backward.
‘Marian, is it you? Can it be you?’ the woman whispered.
‘Lady Maud,’ Marian said, hand to heart, bowing.
‘God is merciful!’ Maud cried as she rushed forward and gathered Marian in her arms. ‘You are found in a nunnery! Oh, my dear, dear girl, we have been so frightened for you.’ She stepped back, holding Marian at arm’s length. ‘But why did you not send word? And why are you in such clothing?’
The prioress, witnessing the happy reunion, approached with a furrowed brow. ‘My lady, you know this woman?’
‘May I present my niece, Dame Marian, sub-cantrice of Wherwell Abbey.’
‘Is this so?’ Dame Isabel looked to Marian.
‘I was–’
Lady Maud cut in, ‘She was seven years at Wherwell when a godless madman set fire to the abbey so that he might take her away. My brother Sir Thomas has been searching for her since Pentecost. All this time I have prayed …’ She took Marian’s hand in both her own. ‘Pray assure me, Mother Prioress, that you were notified to provide her shelter should she seek it here?’
‘I did not know she was anywhere near, my lady. She has just this moment arrived. Brother Michaelo introduced her as Dame Euphemia’s companion.’ Isabel gestured toward Michaelo.
A burst of rose scent as Lady Maud turned to him. ‘Brother Michaelo. You are the monk who discovered my niece in the minster and carried her to safety, are you not?’
He was confused. She had just implied she’d not known where Marian might be, yet she knew of her night in the chapter house? ‘My lady, it was my honor,’ said Michaelo with a bow. ‘Her heavenly voice led me to her. But how did you hear of this?’
‘Is this true?’ asked the prioress, glancing at Dame Euphemia, who had pushed forward to stand beside Marian, placing a hand on her arm.
‘Perhaps we should continue this discussion where we might provide Dame Euphemia with a place to sit,’ said Alisoun, who had been watching over the blind widow.
The prioress nodded. ‘Lady Maud, Dame Marian, shall we–’
‘We must include Brother Michaelo in any discussion,’ said Marian. ‘I have him to thank for guiding me to Captain Archer and Dame Lucie Wilton, who have healed, sheltered, and defended me. They deserve a full report of my reception here, and my reconciliation with my family.’
The smile she bestowed on Michaelo, the warmth in her pale eyes – he found himself bowing his head in humble gratitude. Rarely did others judge him for his present actions with no thought for his past. Perhaps she had not heard of his sins.
‘We are well aware of the virtues of Brother Michaelo,’ said Dame Veronica. ‘He has come to our aid of late. A man of many talents. He was long the personal secretary of our late archbishop, John Thoresby.’