I nodded. I knew that pain; I suffer from it myself when I spend too long hunched over my work. It sometimes feels as if someone is sticking a knife into me.
I reached for another bottle of the remedy and crossed the room. The second old monk was perched on the edge of his cot and had already bared his shoulder. With a smile, I put down my satchel, took off my cloak, rolled back my sleeves and poured oil into the palm of my hand. I rubbed it between my hands to warm it a little and then advanced on my patient.
I worked on my old monk for some time, gently at first and then, as I felt his flesh warm and soften beneath my hands, more vigorously. I was embarrassed by his thanks; I did not really deserve such profound gratitude when I was here on a mission of my own and the healing was only to cover up my true intentions.
Word of my presence must have spread. Several more old monks appeared and, before Brother Philius and I were done, we treated nine men. When we had finally finished, we stood together wiping our hands, both of us red-faced and sweaty.
‘Thank you, Sister Hilde,’ he said. ‘I understand that you cannot reveal the recipe of this wonder remedy, but. .?’ He left the question unspoken, hovering in the air.
I reached for my satchel, extracting a bottle. ‘This is the concentrate,’ I said, giving it to him. ‘Mix it with oil in the following proportions — ’ I described various concentrations for different ailments — ‘and remember it is strong, so don’t be tempted to use more.’
He held up the bottle as if it were the Holy Grail. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘On behalf of my old monks, thank you so much.’
I rolled down my sleeves and reached for my cloak. ‘May I make a request?’ I asked. I felt mean, as if I were taking advantage of his gratitude and choosing the exact moment when he couldn’t refuse me.
‘Of course!’ he exclaimed. ‘Name it.’
I squashed down my guilt, reminding myself firmly why I had needed to get into the abbey in the first place. ‘I have heard tell that St Etheldreda’s church is being demolished to make room for the new cathedral,’ I said. ‘Would it be permitted for me to look?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Brother Philius replied. We were at the door now, and I saw that afternoon had merged into evening. ‘There won’t be many workmen there at this hour, for it’s getting dark.’ He glanced back inside the room. ‘I need to get back to my patients — it’s time I saw to their supper. If I show you the way, may I leave you to look round on your own?’
It was what I’d been praying for. ‘Very well,’ I said meekly.
He led me along a dark passage that abruptly opened into a huge open space. Skeletal walls rose up in the distance and high above our heads a frame of wooden falsework stretched up into the evening sky. The detritus of demolition and the tools of construction were all around but, other than a group of workmen huddled around a brazier and a carpenter planing a length of pale oak, the site was deserted.
‘The little Saxon church stood just there.’ Brother Philius pointed. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I must leave you.’ I bowed my head in acknowledgement. ‘Farewell, sister — it was a good day for my old monks when you came along!’ He grinned, gave me a wave and hurried away.
I stood in the soft light, staring round me. Where should I look first? Where might the pale monk be at this moment? The immediate thing was to get out of sight so that, with any luck, everyone would forget I was there in the abbey. Then I could pursue my quarry until either I found him or they found me and threw me out.
I slipped into the deep shadow cast by one of the new walls, already high above my head. Then I set about my exploration.
I had failed. I had tiptoed up what seemed like dozens of passages, and I had forced myself into countless hiding places when footsteps echoed and discovery loomed. Each time I had prayed that the footfalls would be those of the pale monk, and each time I had been disappointed. It was hopeless and I knew it.
I seemed to have gone round in a big circle, for now I was once again approaching the building site. Now only a couple of watchmen remained, seated either side of the brazier and muttering in low voices. I slipped behind a pillar, working out a route to the gate that would keep me out of their sight. Go there, I thought, to that ancient stretch of wall out in the middle of the site, then dodge over to the far side, keeping behind the screen made of the wooden falsework. It looked easy.
I gathered up my skirts and ran light-footed to the old wall. I was about to hurry on but just at that moment I sensed something snag at my attention. A stab of horrified fear sheared through me, instantly followed by pain so severe that it was all I could do not to cry out. Then I was assailed by a fury so great that it drove me to my knees.
I crouched on the ground, huddled down in the shadows. I covered my head with my arms in a futile attempt to defend myself, although I knew enough about the deep, dark mysteries of the spirit world to recognize that it was no living hand that threatened me. Slowly, the dread faded, and in time I was able to straighten up.
I stared at the ground around me. I could see the outline of the Saxon church; it had been quite small, with narrow aisles on the north and south side forming side chapels. It was the wall of the south side chapel that I stood beside. Immediately to my left, at the west end of the church, I could make out the scar where the foundations of the tower had been ripped out.
The wall of the south side chapel was where the old bones had been stored. Every bit of common sense and self-preservation told me to get out of there, but I watched, almost as if I were outside myself and a mere observer of my own actions, as my hand stretched out to investigate.
The shock went through me so fast that at first I thought it had come from whatever it was within the wall that I had just touched. An instant later, I realized that somebody stood beside me, someone warm-blooded, mortal, someone who had just grabbed my arm.
I spun round. He was white-faced, white-haired and his eyes — his strange, pale eyes — were wide with horror. He whispered, ‘Did you see it? Oh, is it true then? It really exists?’ Then his grip on my arm weakened, and I watched in horror as he slumped to the ground at my feet.
Gewis knew he must open his eyes. He had set out for what was left of the little Saxon church without permission, and if they found him there he would be punished. He did not understand why, any more than he understood any of what was happening to him. He’d been brought here, and he had to pretend he was a monk. His mother had approved, and they had told him he would be safe here. Safe from what? And how long would the threat last? Would he have to stay here for ever?
He groaned and, without his volition, his eyelids fluttered. No, he thought, no! It is better to remain unconscious, for reality is too much to bear.
Then he remembered where he was and what he had seen. The terror grabbed him in its fierce claws. Instinctively, he rolled himself into a ball, seeing again that looming, white shape with its face of horror and the blood, oh, the blood. .
Hands were on him, strong hands, and a scent of sweet oil was in his nostrils. ‘Do not screw up your limbs so violently,’ said a soft voice, ‘for you will do yourself damage.’
He froze. Had the spirit spoken? If he found the courage to open his eyes, would he see it bending over him, stretching out its hand to drag him into whatever hell it inhabited?
Ghosts do not speak soft words, the voice of reason said in his head. Nor do they smell of ginger and rosemary.
With what felt like a huge effort, he opened his eyes.
A young woman was leaning over him, her expression anxious. She wore a white wimple, and over it what looked like a black veil. A nun then. He stared back at her.
She was slender, her figure quite boyish. She was around his age, perhaps a little older. Her skin was very smooth, pale in the dim light. Her features were fine, the nose small and straight, the mouth wide and well formed. There was a haunting beauty in her face, and her watchful eyes held intelligence. Her eyes. . He stared into them, for they fascinated him. They must surely be blue, or perhaps green, but in the twilight they appeared silvery, the irises surrounded by a rim of indigo. .