He smiled grimly. ‘They were bearing arms.’
I realized that I did not want to believe him. ‘Most men carry a knife,’ I protested, ‘even monks, if they have to go on a journey that takes them out of the safety and sanctity of the abbey.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ he conceded. ‘I’m not talking about some tiddly knife.’
‘What then?’
He spoke right in my ear. ‘One of them caught his hem as he got out of the boat. He had a sword in a scabbard hidden under his robe.’
A sword. Still I would not be convinced. ‘But-’ I began, my mind whirling.
‘Anyway, they didn’t talk like monks,’ the boatman said with an air of finality.
‘What do you mean?’
He smiled again. ‘I know monks. I meet a great many of them, and I’m familiar with the way they address each other and how they speak. Believe me, your two burly men may have been dressed as holy men but they’re not.’
I believed him. My mind racing, I understood then that the quartet must be inside the abbey of Ely with the knowledge and, presumably, the consent of the abbot and the brethren. Whatever they were doing there, whatever mystery Gewis was caught up in, it went right up to the highest authority in the abbey of Ely.
And that was the most alarming thought of all.
I left my boatman and walked on along the quayside. I walked aimlessly, for I had much to think about. I kept close to the water — perhaps its proximity was a comfort, giving the illusion that at any moment I could summon a boat and get away, back to my home — and soon I found that I had reached an area of hectic activity, where a boatload of passengers had just disembarked and another group were waiting to go across.
The waiting group included about half a dozen nuns, several of whom were white-faced and frightened-looking and one of whom was sobbing, her hand held against the front of her head. Drawing closer, I observed that she had a black eye.
The oldest of the sisters was only a few years older than I was and so I thought I would chance it. ‘Can I help?’ I offered, addressing the senior nun. ‘I’m a healer, and I observe that one of your number is hurt.’
The nun spun round to look at me, her pale blue eyes chilly. ‘We are perfectly capable of taking care of our own,’ she snapped.
The injured nun let out a low moan. ‘Please!’ she whispered. ‘My head hurts so, and it will be ages before we are safe back at Chatteris and in the care of the infirmarer.’
Chatteris! Hastily, I scanned the faces again but none belonged to Elfritha. Some at least of these women would know her though. The thought gave me courage.
‘I have willow for head pain,’ I said eagerly.
The wounded nun looked at her senior, and her eyes spoke eloquently. ‘Please, Sister Maria?’
Sister Maria’s frosty frown melted a few degrees. ‘Well. .’
I decided to take that as permission. I hastened over to stand by the injured nun and put my hands up to feel around her head. I felt the lump — it would have been impossible not to — and winced in sympathy.
‘How did it happen?’ I asked as I put down my satchel, opened it and drew out the willow-bark remedy. Then, touching her black eye, I added, ‘Did you fall?’
She looked at Sister Maria, who nodded curtly and spoke for her. ‘No, she did not,’ she said tersely. ‘She was attacked.’
A warning sounded in my head, clamouring for my attention. A nun had been attacked. .
‘Attacked?’ I echoed, my hands busy preparing the correct dosage.
‘On behalf of all of our sisters, we have come from Chatteris to pray one last time in the place that used to be St Etheldreda’s church,’ Sister Maria said, ‘and to view the great new cathedral that rises in its place. We were asleep at our lodgings last night when an intruder slipped in. We have no idea what he wanted with us for, as is well known, we are vowed to poverty and have nothing upon us or with us that could be of interest to any thief, even the most desperate.’
No, I thought. But I already knew that theft had not been the intruder’s motive.
‘Sister Anne here woke up — ’ Sister Maria indicated a short, stout, whey-faced nun whose upper teeth protruded over her lip — ‘and saw him. She was too terrified to cry out and alert the rest of us — ’ her tone gave away what she thought about that — ‘and she watched in horror as he went from cot to cot, staring down at the sisters as they slept. Then he came to Sister Magda, who awoke as he crouched over her. Before she could open her mouth to scream he hit her, giving her that black eye, then he raised his hand, in which he carried some hard, blunt object, and hit her on the forehead. The sound woke us, and we all jumped up. He must have decided he could not fight all of us, and he shot out of the room and fled.’
I had been looking very closely at Sister Magda while I listened. The close-fitting wimple concealed her hair and her skin was light, her eyes blue-green. She was about my height and build. Of all the group, she was the only one who looked anything like me.
I watched as she drank the medicine, then I offered a little pot of catmint and caraway cream. ‘Rub it around your eye,’ I said. ‘It will help bring out the bruise and lessen the pain.’
She smiled her thanks.
Sister Maria was clearly becoming impatient. ‘The boatman awaits us,’ she announced. ‘Come along, sisters. Let us hasten away from this place.’
She let her cold eyes sweep along the quay, taking in everything from the rats under the piles to the sweaty ferryman who had just arrived and was resting, slightly breathless, on his oars. Then she ushered her nuns on to the waiting boat, stepped down after them and, keeping her back turned, lowered herself on to the thwart. I watched as she and her sisters were born away. Only Sister Magda risked a farewell glance; our eyes met and she mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
I stood where I was for some time. I felt safe there among the hurrying people. Nobody would risk an attack in broad daylight with so many witnesses. Would they?
For I was in danger of an attack, and I had to admit it. The four burly monks — no, they weren’t monks, were they? — the four tough men who guarded Gewis so closely knew that a young nun had been inside the abbey and spoken to him. They knew he had told her he came from Fulbourn and was a carpenter’s son. One of their number had gone to Fulbourn to cut off the source of information there by killing Gewis’s mother; a second had gone out to meet him to make sure the job had been done. They had not waited to see if the young nun reached Fulbourn; with Asfrior dead, it hardly mattered if she did or not. That night one or more of the quartet had gone out under cover of darkness to the place where a visiting group of nuns was lodging. He had looked at each face and, believing that he had found the one he searched for, he had attacked her. Perhaps his aim had been to scare her off the hunt. Or perhaps he had tried to kill her. Either way, the other nuns had woken up and he had fled.
They think I am a nun, I kept repeating to myself. They do not know me in my true identity. I am safe. I must be, for they attacked not a healer but a nun.
Perhaps I was safe, for the time being, unless — or until — they discovered their mistake. I would. .
But then, with a stab of fear that felt like ice in my veins, I remembered that I, too, had had a visitor during the night. One who had searched through my satchel as if in need of something he knew that I carried. He. .
Again, the progress of my thoughts was interrupted by something more urgent. This time the interruption brought sweet relief, for I was picturing the corner of white cloth that had stood out in the bottom of my bag. My intruder had seen it, investigated it but, thank all the good spirits, had not recognized it for what it was, or, rather, for the use to which it had recently been put.
I had used the cloth to fashion a wimple like my sister Elfritha’s. My intruder had actually touched, unaware, my nun’s disguise.