Child of the May (15 page)

Magda stuck her head through the hole into the shadowy room.

“It smells bad in here,” she said.

“Aye, love, it will,” Philippa told her. “Murder always smells foul. But don’t be afraid. ’Tis only the odours of our friends’ poor bodies, struggling to stay alive.”

Isabel took hold of Magda’s shoulders to pull her through. They both fell into the darkness together and it was only when Veronica came over with the rush light that Magda saw the terrible state of Isabel. Exhaustion was clear on her thin dusty face, her clothes torn, her feet and fingers bleeding.

“Oh, Isabel,” Magda cried with pity, hugging her tight.

“Bless you,” Isabel sobbed. “I could not see how anyone could help us.”

“I’m not so sure that we
are
such a wonderful help.” Philippa’s down-to-earth tones came to them through the hole. “I fear we’ve come to share this cruel imprisonment with you.”

Bread and goat’s milk were handed through the hole. “Just a small sop each,” Marian warned.

Magda tore the fresh bread into tiny pieces and dribbled the milk on to them in her cupped hand. She’d fed folk close to starvation before, though never had she cared so much that they should be revived. When all three had taken their small portion of food, Magda and Isabel set about. working more stones loose, and at last the hole was big enough for Philippa and Marian to scramble through.

“But can’t they come up here and get us now?” Magda cried.

“Quick,” Marian told her. “Fit these stones back into the wall. Their cruel intentions shall provide us with some safety; at least for a little while.”

Once the hole was filled again, they began to take stock of their situation. Marian took a small axe from her pack.

“At least we can get a bit more daylight in here.” She began to hack at the shutters.

“They nailed them up and left us with nothing,” Isabel told them. “They took Mother’s bed for FitzRanulf and did not even leave us straw.”

When at last morning light came through the windows, Philippa and Magda crammed together to look down at the gateway. James and the nuns still stood their ground though FitzRanulf had his men arrayed against them, swords drawn.

“Leave now,” he bellowed. “This moment. The Sheriff shall soon be at Langden. All those who do not leave shall be arrested. We serve the King.”

“Time for our signal,” said Philippa.

“Aye.” Marian caught up her bow and took careful aim from the window.

“Leave now,” FitzRanulf barked again. He snatched hold of Sister Rosamund roughly, hauling her away from James. “I’ll start with this sweet-faced nun.”

At that moment Marian loosed her arrow so that it fell with a thud before FitzRanulf’s feet, startling the man.

James held up his hand as though he submitted. “We shall go,” he said. “We want no trouble from the Sheriff.”

The nuns and villagers stepped back from the gate, though James stubbornly held out his hand for Rosamund.

FitzRanulf released her with a shove. “The King thinks poorly of meddling nuns,” he growled. “He’s still got bishops who will bring a charge of heresy. We like the smell of burning nuns – remember that!”

The three women at the window watched as their friends melted away into the village and woods. When at last they had gone they all sat down wearily.

“What now?” Magda asked.

There was silence in the dark bare solar, then Philippa spoke up with her usual common sense. “What now? We wait,” she said. “We trust in James and set about making ourselves as comfortable and safe as we may. We must work out our rations; fresh food first and then the grain.”

“It’s lack of water that I fear most,” said Isabel.

Philippa put out three large waterskins and the food they’d brought. “We must sip carefully and eek it out as best we can.”

“If we’re very careful we might last a se’nnight,” said Marian.

“Can there be any help for us?” Isabel asked.

Marian nodded. “Our friends will not desert us.”

They told how John had gone off to find Robert and that James would rally all the aid he could get.

“Tom has gone off to find your Templar Knight,” Magda told Mother Veronica.

“What, sweetheart?” The old nun looked startled for a moment.

“’Tis true,” Magda assured her. “Do you think he’ll come?”

Veronica returned to her usual calm. “I cannot say. From what Tom tells me he is sick and terribly marked, but . . .” she added a little wistfully, “he was always a brave man and did what he believed right.”

It was clear that Isabel and Veronica desperately needed rest, and Matilda careful feeding. Marian suggested that she and Philippa would act as lookout and nurse while the others slept.

Magda was trying to get comfortable beneath her cloak when it dawned on her that sleep was not at all what
her
body required.

She rolled over and got up. “
You
sleep, Marian,” she said firmly. “I shall watch Lady Matilda; I know what to do. You did not sleep at all last night.”

Marian opened her mouth to argue, but somehow the calm sense of Magda’s words made her close it again. Instead she kissed her and obeyed, falling quickly into a deep sleep of exhaustion.

When she woke, Philippa and Magda had quietly cleaned the solar and tidied their food and tools. They’d set a small fire burning on the hearthstone and tucked their discarded cloaks around Lady Matilda.

Marian woke with a start. “How long have I slept?” she demanded. “What has happened? What have they done?”

“Hush!” Philippa told her. “They have ventured up the staircase and I believe they’ve set a guard out there, but naught else. Why should they do more? They’ve got us where they want us, haven’t they? They do not know we’ve friends. They think they may sit tight and let us die without raising a weapon.”

“Do you think that’s what’s happened to Matilda de Braose?” Magda asked.

Philippa and Marian looked grimly at each other and nodded their heads.

“And her son too?”

Marian sighed. “I fear so.”

“If my father knew that I was here, he’d come raging through the gates at them,” said Madga. “He’d get himself killed.”

Marian smiled and nodded. “But Robert is a wicked crafty fellow,” she said. “He’ll have other plans, and he and James will hold John back.”

“And what of Tom?”

“Who knows,” said Marian.

Three days passed and they took turns at keeping watch at the window. Lady Matilda gained strength from the careful feeding, but Magda was hungry. The bread and cheese and milk had gone; their kindling turned to ashes. Now they must crush the grain and mix the meal with a trickle of water to make a cold sticky porridge that did not satisfy.

“We must keep ourselves strong,” Marian insisted. “We must be ready to run or fight.”

She made them bend and stretch in the confined space and practise drawing bows, though they did not let their arrows fly. Even poor weak Matilda had to stretch her fingers and toes and allow the others to rub her stiff shoulders and spine. Isabel was greatly cheered by their company and the hope they brought.

It was on the third day that the sound of horses arriving brought them to the window. Magda recognised the Sheriff at the head of a band of men, just as heavily armed as the wolfpack. FitzRanulf went out to meet him, and it was clear from the way they looked up towards the solar windows that the woman’s fate was being discussed, though they could not hear what was said.

Magda shivered at the sight of them crowding into the courtyard. “So many men and weapons,” she murmured.

Marian put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her tight. “But remember, love, we do not only fight with weapons. We have different ways of doing things.”

They watched as the men pitched camp; some inside the house, others outside. Some of the kitchen servants lit a fire and set up a cooking pot out in the courtyard.

“It’s a lot of men to be fed,” Magda said resentfully. “And whatever they get to eat they’ll be better fed than me.”

Marian smiled. “Maybe not,” she whispered. “I doubt the kitchen servants will relish this extra work. See who stirs broth for them?”

Magda glanced down, her mouth watering at the good smell that rose from the pot. “Why, it’s Margery.”

“Aye,” Marian nodded. “Do you trust the lass?” she asked Isabel.

“Yes.” Isabel was definite. “She’s a bold lass, and I’d trust her with my life.”

Late that evening, when the soldiers had eaten and drunk, Magda was surprised to hear the sounds of quiet laughter. It was Marian, chuckling, as she stood at her watchplace by the window.

“What is it?” Magda asked, going to her side.

“Brave Margery!” she said with relish. “Listen!”

“It sounds like someone being sick,” said Magda, puzzled.

“It’s lots of people being sick,” Marian told her. “You see, honey, they did
not
get better food than we.”

Magda understood. “The forbidden herbs!”

The sounds of choking and retching came from the ditch at the side of the manor house. They could see the pale shapes of running men, dropping their breeches to the ground as they ran outside to squat, wherever they might.

Magda and her friends crowded at the window, stifling their laughter.

Philippa put her hand over Veronica’s eyes. “This is not a sight any nun should see,” she chuckled.

Mother Veronica laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks. “God bless Margery,” she said. “Can you tell which herbs she used?”

“Oh yes,” said Marian. “She’s done very well.”

“Will the fellows die?”

Marian shook her head. “No. They’ll be weak and weary for a few days, but they’ll not die from a good clear out. Still, Margery has other herbs than these in her care.”

One of the soldiers looked up at their narrow window and shook his fist. “Barnsdale’s Witch,” he shouted. “We’re cursed!”