But the words were lost in a second yawn. He turned on his side,
made himself comfortable, and then drifted off. Gervase settled down on his own mattress but he slept more fitfully, dreaming fondly of Alys and waking intermittently to ponder anew the mysteries that surrounded their female companions. The ambush had certainly enlivened their day and the journey on the morrow would be far more interesting now that they were escorting two nuns from Maldon Priory. He mused on the paradox that underlay all of the nunneries. They were the exclusive preserve of the aristocracy, of women from wealthy families who could afford the large dowry that was necessary. Nuns paid for the privilege of taking the vow of poverty. Those who were already poor had no chance of gaining admission to the religious houses. Only the rich qualified.
As was customary Ralph Delchard awoke just before dawn. He was keen to get them on the road early so that they could make full use of daylight. When he shook the drowsiness from his head and sat up, he saw that Gervase Bret was already awake, poring over some documents by the light of a candle and talking soundlessly to himself. It was no more than Ralph expected. When they reached Maldon, it was the young lawyer who would lead them into battle against any malefactors. Like an experienced soldier, Gervase knew the value of careful preparation and the importance of keeping his mental weap-onry in good working order. Ralph was duly impressed by his colleague’s diligence.
“You must know those documents by heart,” he said. “It helps.”
“How can you plough through all mat heavy detail with such enthusiasm? Latin confuses me. Facts bore me. Figures make my eyes cross.” “You have to read between the lines, Ralph.”
“No, thank you,” said the other, hauling himself to his feet. “I leave those interminable scribblings for you to interpret. What interests me are the people.”
Gervase smiled. Some of the names that had been thrown up in the returns for the county of Essex had caught his friend’s imagination. Godwin Weakfeet, Robert the Perverted, Tovild the Haunted, and Roger God-Save-Ladies had all diverted him but there was one favourite, which Ralph was bound to mention first. Gervase braced himself.
“Humphrey Goldenbollocks.” “The Latin is more tactful.”
“Who wants tact?” said Ralph. “Aurei testiculi. That’s how this
Humphrey is set down. Goldenbollocks.” “A crude translation.”
Ralph chuckled. “He sounds like a crude fellow and one after my own heart. I look forward to meeting this Humphrey of the Heroic Appendages.” He nudged Gervase. “How do you suppose he got such a name?”
“I dread to think!”
“Perhaps they glow in the dark!” “Ralph …”
“What a blessing of nature that would be! Those bollocks are worth
their weight in gold. That is how the name arose. Humphrey has probably fathered a dozen children. Fifty. A hundred. A thousand.”
“There may be an easier explanation.”
“King Midas slept with him and touched his balls.” “Perhaps this gentleman simply has red hair.”
“Then he’d need red bollocks to match it, Gervase, and the document
styles him Aureis testiculi. Red is not gold. I will raise the matter with
Canon Hubert.” “Heaven forbid!”
“I have it!” decided Ralph. “Our translation was too literal.
Goldenbollocks does not refer to their colour so much as to their status. They have been elevated above the common stock because they have a feature that gives them the quality of precious metal.” He flashed a broad grin. “Humphrey has three of them!”
Gervase gave way to mirth for a few moments then guided his friend back to the more seemly subject of the two nuns. Ralph was confident that he would be able to divine their secret before they reached Maldon but Gervase had doubts. If such a skillful interrogator as Canon Hubert could extract no more than a list of books from the noble lady, then Ralph’s own efforts were doomed. Prioress Mindred was self-possessed and supremely well defended. Even such a master of siege warfare as Ralph Delchard would not take this citadel.
The guests at the manor house ate breakfast together then joined the armed escort that was assembling outside. Canon Hubert and Brother Simon had been up before dawn to visit the little Saxon church, which stood nearby. It. was now the turn of the two nuns to offer prayers for a safe journey. Gervase Bret slipped quietly after them into the church and lowered himself to the cold stone. Prioress Mindred and Sister Tecla were kneeling at the altar rail in attitudes of supplication. They were only a few yards in front of him and their low chant in unison was quite audible. Gervase was shocked. Expecting the same Latin phrases that he himself was reciting in silence, he was astonished to hear the words of an Anglo-Saxon charm in which Christian and pagan elements were curiously inter-mingled.
I chant a charm of victory, I bear a rod of victory;
Word-victory, work-victory; may they be of power for me
That no nightmare hinder me, nor belly-fiend afflict me
Nor ever fear fall upon my life;
But may the Almighty save me, and the Son and the Holy Ghost, The Lord worthy of all glory,
And, as I heard, Creator of the heavens.
Abraham and Isaac, Jacob and Joseph, And such men, Moses and David,
And Eve and Hannah and Elizabeth, Sarah and also Mary, Christ’s mother, And also the brethren, Peter and Paul, And also thousands of the angels,
I call upon to fend me against the fiends,
May they lead me, and guard me, and protect my path.
Gervase could not believe his ears. The charm was such a compound of faith and ignorance that it seemed incongruous on the lips of two educated nuns. There was a rustle of skirts as the women rose to their feet and Gervase bent his head lower and kept his eyes shut. As they walked softly past him, something brushed his shoulder and he realised that it was the leather pouches carried by the prioress. Even in church, she would not be parted from them. For a few more minutes, Gervase concentrated on saying his own prayers, then left the dank shadows of the church to step back out into the light. Ralph Delchard chided him for keeping them all waiting and hurried him to his horse. The two nuns were already mounted on their palfreys. Gervase looked across at Prioress Mindred to be met by a cool, steady, inscrutable gaze, which was mildly unsettling, but it was when he glanced at Sister Tecla that he got a sharp jolt. She was staring at him with a mixture of interest and apprehension, subjecting him to a frank appraisal that was tempered by a natural timidity. As soon as their eyes locked, she turned her head away like a startled fawn and lowered her lids. Gervase was strangely excited. It would indeed be an intriguing journey.
Oslac the Priest was old enough to remember what life in Maldon had been like before the Conquest and young enough to adapt successfully to its harsh consequences. The three hides of land that he had once owned had been summarily confiscated by the Normans, but Oslac was philosophical about it. He still retained his Church of
All Souls’ and his pastoral role in the community. Much of his work consisted of trying to protect his flock from a tyrannical landlord, which meant that he was constantly in dispute with the powerful Hamo FitzCorbucion. Ironically, he had now been summoned to Blackwater Hall in order to direct his sympathy and advice there.
“Why?” asked Matilda, pacing the room and twisting the ends of her belt between nervous fingers. “Guy was so young and full of life. Why did he have to die?”
“Because he was called by God,” said Oslac quietly. “For what reason?”
“Ours not to question the Almighty. We must accept His right to
take us away from this world whenever and wherever He chooses. Your brother’s death is a deep loss but it was ordained by divine will.”