Something was wrong. Fulk sensed it strongly, but she was the lady, and he could not defy her. He had to obey. He bowed. "Aye, my lady," he told her, "but keep the gates locked both day and night until I return. You must promise me you will do it, my lady. You must promise!"
"I will do it, Fulk. Have no fear, for we will be safe," she reassured him gently. She understood his dilemma, but they had to help St. Frideswide's. There was no choice in the matter.
"You will come with me," Fulk told the messenger.
"Aye," the man agreed calmly, but his demeanor did nothing to restore Fulk’s confidence in the matter. Something was wrong!
Fulk and his men rode posthaste the miles separating Ashlin from the convent. Reaching St. Frideswide's, they discovered its outbuildings burning, its flocks and cattle gone from its fields. They banged upon the gates, and a voice called to them, "Depart you godless Welsh! In the name of Christ, depart!"
"It is Fulk from Ashlin come to help, Sister Perpetua," the captain called in a strong voice.
A small square of the gate opened like a tiny window, and the nun’s face shone in it. "Praise be to God!" she cried. The square closed with a slam, and a few moments later one side of the gate opened to admit him.
"Remain on guard here and chase off any Welsh you find," he told his men, then entered into the convent courtyard. "Where is the abbess?" he asked the portress.
"In the church with the others, praying."
Fulk refrained from a pithy reply, instead nodding and thanking the nun. He headed directly for the convent church, crossing himself reverently as he entered, his boots thumping noisily. "Reverend Mother," he said. "The lady Eleanore has sent me from Ashlin to help you."
The abbess arose from her knees, and turned to face the captain, relief showing plainly on her usually composed features. "Captain Fulk, you are most welcome," she told him, and together they walked from the church, leaving the others behind to continue with their prayers.
"Tell me what happened?" he asked her as they traversed the cloister slowly, rain just beginning to fall.
"It is the Welsh, of course," the abbess said wearily. "They have been taking our flocks and herds by bits and pieces for the past few weeks. Today, however, they fired the buildings outside our walls and slew whoever of our serfs they could find. Those poor souls who had remained at their posts to see the cows were milked and the harvest brought in on time… although I am certain it has gone off with the Welsh, if they didn't burn it, too. What we will feed ourselves, our remaining people, and our animals with this winter, I do not know. Then the Welsh were as suddenly gone as they had come. There isn't a sign of them anywhere, as you can see."
Fulk’s mind was contemplating the situation. If the Welsh had been outside the convent’s walls for several weeks, why did the abbess wait until today to ask for help? He began to consider if he might connect Arwydd’s arrival at Ashlin with the Welsh marauders' arrival at St. Frideswide's. "When did the Welsh come, Reverend Mother?" he asked.
The abbess thought a long moment, and then she said, "It was about six weeks ago. They came over the hills without any warning one afternoon. The gates were open, and several of our maidens and younger nuns were outside the gates. Sister Perpetua saw them first, and rang our alarm bell. Those outside the gates barely made it back into the safety of our walls, but praise be to God, and His blessed Mother, they returned unscathed. The Welsh made no attempt to break in then. They spent their time driving away our livestock in small groups and taking everything that wasn't nailed down. Only in the last few days did they make what to me seemed to be but a halfhearted attempt to batter in our gates, but our gates are extremely strong, being reinforced with iron straps. Today they fired the buildings outside, and departed," the abbess concluded.
Fulk’s brain was beginning to throb with apprehension and foreboding. He knew the answer to his question even as he asked it. "Then, why, my lady abbess, did you send your swineherd to Ashlin asking for the lady Eleanore’s aid?"
The abbess looked at him, surprised. "I did not send my swineherd to Ashlin, Captain Fulk. I sent no one to Ashlin. The danger was over, and other than the loss of our livestock, some serfs, and some buildings, the convent and its residents were safe, praise be to God. While I am relieved by your arrival, I did not send for you. Captain! Are you all right?"
The color had drained from his face. "A man came to Ashlin claiming to be the son of Walter, the swineherd here at the convent. He said he had escaped with your contrivance, and the convent needed our help. The lady did not recognize him, but she sent us anyway, against my better judgment. She feared for you all, and now I fear for her, as I know the man who came to Ashlin was a Welsh agent."
"God have mercy!" the nun exclaimed, her distress obvious.
"I must return to Ashlin immediately," Fulk said.
"Night is falling, and there is no moon," the abbess said. "You will need torches by which to light your path, Captain. I will have them prepared right away, but you must wait for them. To go without light could endanger you and your men, and then you will be of no help at all to Eleanore. Be patient. We will hurry."
"I will wait outside the gates with my men," Fulk said. "They will need to know what has happened." He bowed to her, then turned to go.
Fulk explained the situation to his men. "Where is the man who came for us?" he asked his second in command.
"He went to check the pigpens to see if any of his beasts had escaped the conflagration," the second replied.
"How long ago?" Fulk demanded.
The second shrugged helplessly.
"He was one of them for certain, and we will not see him again, for he has surely gone to rejoin his master," Fulk said.
They waited impatiently for almost an hour while the torches were prepared. About them the twilight deepened into night. Without a moon it would be as black as the inside of an empty wineskin. Finally the abbess came through the open half gate, followed by six or so nuns, their arms filled with torches. They passed them out among the men, lighting them from the torch that the abbess carried. Each man was given two extra unlit torches, which they stowed behind their saddles.
"Thank you," Fulk said. After turning his mount, he led his troupe slowly away from the convent. Above them the sky was a gray-black. The earlier rain had subsided, but the dampness made the night even darker than usual on a moonless night. The flaming torches flickered in the light breeze, dancing eerily as the men moved along. There was no choice but to go slowly, for the track was narrow and the night murky. Fulk was frothing with impatience. He had been gulled as neatly as any country lad in the city for the first time.
If anything happened to the lady Eleanore or the little lordling, what was he to tell his master when he returned from Normandy? He had failed in his duty to protect them, and his heart was sore weary with the knowledge. Instinct had warned him that something was wrong, but he had hesitated to question his mistress. He should have. She was young and inexperienced. Her convent upbringing caused her to look at the world with an especially kind eye. She trusted too easily. It could be the death of her, he feared. By the rood! A turtle could move faster than they were going! How far had they come? A mile? Three? He would wager that they weren't even halfway there.