Threads of Treason (19 page)

She turned off the main road and carried on along the track made by oxen pulling the felled tree trunks out of the woods. The clearing was upon her before she had really thought through her actions. There was a breeze in the tops of the trees and she looked up. She heard a whoosh from behind and an arm about her neck. She was being dragged off the pony and down onto the ground by her assailant. She choked against the pressure, pulling at his arm with both her hands. She remembered her fight with the Impostor, but this was different. Then she’d been the stronger one.

To come here had been foolish. She’d told no one. She’d thought that she must act quickly and come in Abbess Eleanor’s place. But now Agid had shown his colours and there was no hope for her. Unconsciousness was almost welcome in removing the thought of her own stupidity.

Chapter 16

Sister Beatrice tilted her angelic face up at Therese. Therese looked away. She tried to look anywhere in the church rather than let herself be spotted eyeing the wall hanging that hid the temporary doorway and the hiding place of the inkbottle. Noon prayers had been completed yet she hadn’t left. Extra time here was not wasted. She could think clearly among the pillars and vaulted roof uncomplicated by the decorations that would come when the church was completed. Therese composed herself and smiled back at Beatrice. In turn, Beatrice closed her soft brown eyes and turned away.

‘
They’ve asked me to talk to you,’ she said.

‘
Who?’ asked Therese.

Beatrice ignored the question. It was clear that she had rehearsed a little speech and that she would say it regardless. ‘I know Sister Ann is dead. I was in the infirmary at the time. Sister Agnes closed the door, but I saw and I know what they did with her body. It would be easy to tell.’

‘
So why don’t you tell someone – Prioress Ethelburga, for instance?’ Therese tried to catch her gaze.

‘
I don’t know if I would be doing good or bad. I don’t know what is going on.’ Beatrice looked hard and long at Therese clearly searching for an answer.

‘
Well don’t look at me. It may have come to your attention that I am curious about the events surrounding the death of your Impostor…’

‘
You didn’t say, “and Prioress Ursula”’, said Beatrice.

‘
You didn’t give me time to say, “and Prioress Ursula”’, Therese replied a little crossly.

‘
She is alive, isn’t she? I know Sister Ann didn’t go back to visit her family, that was Prioress Ursula leaving under cover of darkness. Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I ought to tell Prioress Ethelburga.’

‘
No don’t,’ said Therese, realising almost as she spoke that she had exposed the fact that she did have prior knowledge of Ursula being alive and that she had a reason to keep the matter quiet.

Beatrice smiled at her small triumph. ‘I will not tell as long as you do not harm anyone here.’

‘
I assure you I have no intention of harming anyone.’

‘
You will. If you carry on like you have been, someone will be hurt.’ The angelic glow of Beatrice’s face was gone, replaced by iciness. She slid along the pew, stood, genuflected and crossed herself before turning and leaving the church by the cloister entrance. As she left another nun entered made her respects and took her place again next to Therese. It was Sybil.

Were all Beatrice’s words an introduction to this? Was this the person that Beatrice was thinking of when she was concerned Therese might harm one of the fold?

‘
You claim to be Anglo-Saxon,’ she remarked with a singsong accent. She was so softly spoken only Therese, sitting close next to her would be able to hear.

‘
You’re Welsh!’ gasped Therese. This was the first time she’d heard her properly.

‘
Not really. I come from the marches–the land between Wales and England, where Offa built his dyke. I am Anglo-Saxon, but that is not why I am here.’

‘
Isn’t it?’ asked Therese.

‘
No, I am here to talk about you. You claim to be of Anglo-Saxon birth?’

‘
I am.’

‘
Well, if you think you can join in our fight against the Normans you are quite mistaken.’

‘
Why?’ asked Therese.

‘
Because there is no fight against the Normans. We are, of course, delighted that you are English, but then so are we all. The church prays for the Crown of England whoever that might be. So I advise loyalty to those who brought you up, the Normans – the nuns.’

‘
Weren’t your family dispossessed by the Normans?’

‘
So what? I have no possessions myself. I gave up all worldly goods when I came here as a Sister. I suggest you forget the outside world if you are to become a nun, Sister Therese.’ There was a hard edge to Sybil’s voice. Therese was not sure whether it was anger against Therese for her lack of gratitude towards the Normans or a kind of irony. Perhaps she was testing Therese.

‘
I mean what I say,’ persisted Therese. ‘I am Anglo Saxon.’

‘
We shall see where your loyalties lie when they are tested.’

‘
What do you mean?’ asked Therese

But Sybil did not reply. She upped and left.

Therese felt exposed. These cloistered women although quiet were sharp and thoughtful. They could make dangerous enemies and even now she did not really know whether Sybil was involved in the plot to destroy the embroidery or not. But she came from an area which had the Welsh on one side plotting against the Normans and Anglo Saxons on the other, also, it seemed, keen to be rid of the invaders. Therese was not persuaded of Sybil’s innocence.

Dappled patterns on her eyelids were the first things Ursula saw. She opened her eyes only to squint at the sunlight coming through the leafy canopy. She focussed the sounds of men talking. One in particular had a rough voice as if he’d swallowed stones. There was tightness around her wrists and ankles and the discomfort on her back told her she was lying on rough ground. She was firmly bound with strips of leather. Lifting her hands to block out the sun she observed that Odon’s ring was missing from her finger.

‘
She’s awake,’ said Agid, placing his filthy face close to hers.

‘
Don’t give me away,’ hissed Ursula to Agid, ‘or the Devil will take your bones as well as your soul.’

‘
Common thief.’ Ursula almost spat the words at him.

‘
I didn’t know it was you,’ wheedled Agid. ‘I thought you were the Abbess Eleanor.’

‘
What do you think you were doing?’ asked Ursula.

‘
Ah, Tancred, she’s awake,’ repeated Agid to the heavy man with the gruff voice as he ambled over.

Tancred lifted her by her arms – Ursula resisted the urge to scream in pain – and shoved her against a tree. He secured her to the tree with rope and reached inside his tunic. He pulled out a small draw-string bag and shook out Odon’s ring into his hand.

‘
You will be hung for this,’ said Ursula.

‘
They’ve got to catch me first, Abbess,’ he replied.

‘
Don’t you worry, they will,’ said Ursula.

Tancred turned away following the odour of cooked hare drifting across the clearing to its source. She looked about. They were not in the place where she’d cut Abbess Eleanor’s hair and turned her into Brother James. This was some other place, a more established hideout with tents and hearths. Eleanor. They would soon discover that she was missing at St Augustine’s, and soon they would look for the curious kitchen servant who didn’t know her place. She had to get out of here. Agid was still close by. She called him.

‘
Agid, you’ll have to set me free,’ she said when he came close.

‘
I can’t.’

‘
Why not?’

‘
They’ll kill me.’

‘
Of course they won’t. You can run away with me?’

‘
Have you seen their dogs?’ complained Agid. ‘I’ve pleaded for your life already. They were going to kill you.’

‘
So why have they kept me alive?’

‘
I told them you knew of a great treasure and you would tell them where it was.’

‘
What do you know of a great treasure, Agid?’ Ursula strained at her bindings.

‘
I know whisperings, and I know you sent Sister Therese to the Priory of St Thomas the Apostle.’

Ursula flopped back against the tree and shook her head. She was in total despair. All the fight had gone out of her. ‘The treasure at St Thomas’s has no value in itself. It is a great work of art, a historical document. It is not gold and precious stones.’

‘
You tell them it is, Prioress, and we’ll be all right.’

‘
No we won’t be all right, Agid. Not only would we be doing a huge crime, and sin, but we would be killed by these thugs as soon as they had gained our knowledge. You will have to go and get help.’

‘
Who should I go to?’

Ursula could not trust him to go to Eleanor – after all, he would have been happy to let Tancred kill her. She still harboured concerns about Archbishop Lanfranc’s motives, so she could not send him there either. There would be little in the way of fighting men at St Thomas’s. Sir Gilbert was needed to guard Therese. ‘Go to the Earl of Kent. Go to Bishop Odo.’

‘
He holds your brother!’ gasped Agid. Clearly his fear was for himself.

‘
You will be safe. Tell him that Abbess Eleanor has been abducted by thieves. That will get him here. With any luck we will be able to escape in the ensuing battle.’

‘
I’m getting my food first,’ said Agid.

‘
You will go?’ asked Ursula as he turned away.

‘
I’ll go. I never meant for any harm to come to you.’ Agid trailed away with his head down, though he perked up as he got close to the cooking pot and came among the hungry banter of the thieves watching their food being dished out.

Ursula felt no hunger. She felt suspended from reality. She watched the camp wind down for sleep and wondered why they hadn’t bothered to extract any information out of her about the treasure at St Thomas’s.

As night fell Agid brought her some food and told her, ‘I’ve fixed it. I’ve told them you’ve given me some information and I am going to check it out.’

‘
They won’t let you go alone?’

‘
No, they are sending someone with me. He has been bragging about his role in ambushing Abbess Eleanor and Sister Therese on the night of their arrival in England. He drove their wagon, apparently.’

‘
You do not admire this man?’ accused Ursula.

‘
It matters not, Prioress.’ Agid got up and left.

Ursula called after him, ‘What do you mean?’ But he was lost in the shadows.

Chapter 17

Agid left the wagoner, Thorkell, where he fell. Carrion would strip the carcass. He didn’t even look back at the body. The man had been in the way, that was all. He bore him no malice. His strangulation was not because he was a thief, no sense of justice had driven Agid. He made his way back to the track.

The vibration of hooves drumming the ground reached him almost as soon as he started back towards Dover. Only knights rode that fast. He glanced back in the direction of the dead body. When he saw the horsemen before him he realised they were not carrying shields or wearing helmets. He knew, though, that they would not be without their swords and one carried a lance. The horses slowed even though he moved to one side to let them pass and bowed his head, partly to hide his features. He knew he should stop them. They must be Odo’s men so close to Dover, but his fear was too great. He fancied sidling up to the castle gate and presenting his message anonymously.

Their leader drew his horse in to a standstill beside Agid. ‘Who do you belong to?’ he asked.

Agid froze. He hated the assumption that he was a slave. And there was something else. He knew those soft elegant tones so well. He never expected to hear them again. The man was dead who used to speak like that. He looked up to see what ghost spoke in this way and he saw a man the image of the one he expected to see, but younger. Then he realised there was little in the way of an accent attached to this voice. This was not Edward the Exile who came to visit King Edward long before the battle of Hastings. This was the son, Edgar Aethling, but grown to manhood.

‘
Sir, you are my master,’ said Agid nervously bowing.

‘
I have no lands in England,’ said Edgar the Aethling clearly realising that he’d been recognised. But worse than that, his countenance became suspicious as he examined Agid. Agid squirmed.