By Sylvian Hamilton (13 page)

Ever
since the prior's decision five years ago, they had traipsed from
shrine to shrine around the country in hope of miracles. 'This year,
we been to Saint Thomas and Saint Winifred and Saint John and Saint
Edmund.'

'Any
luck?'

'Taint
luck! Tis Grace of God, shown through Is blessed saints. But well,
no, we ain't ad any luck this year.'

Now
and then one of them actually did improve. In the five years of their
wanderings, two had got better. And sometimes they died, or sickened
with other ailments. 'Fevers, coughs, agues, you know.'

'Are
they troublesome?'

'What
d'you think? Course they are. Not always, but they needs watchin.
William, now, you seen im brandishin is bum, and e shouts rude
things, and people laugh, and e waves is cock at em. And there's
Alice, always pullin er frock up. Sigbert ere can't be trusted with a
knife, e cuts imself up, silly sod. Cuthbert there, e as fits. Walter
thinks e's John the Baptist and dunks folk in water, only e olds em
down too long. E drowned is wife and kiddies. That Maudlin steals
babies if she gets arf a chance. It's all go with this lot, but the
poor buggers can't elp it. They're not too bad, as long as folk don't
tease em, but folk will, and once they're upset it's a long job
gettin em settled. Nor we can't beg proper, not if one of em's
displayin is bum, or oikin er clouts up, or chuckin turds at folk, or
pinchin their babies, or pissin in their washtubs.' 'So you beg.'

'Between
shrines, a course. We gets fed at all the proper oly places, we're
proper pilgrims. I got my prior's token, and most of em as word of us
by now. And sometimes we earns a bit. They be'aves emselves quite
nicely when they wants to. Walter, if e gets a chance, can play the
bagpipe jaunty as ever you card. Tom's a wonder with beasts, ain't
you, Tom? Cattle, orses, sheep, pigs, dogs, they do anything e wants.
E can whistle just like a bird and birds'll come and sit on im. E
does it sometimes to cheer us up, if everything's quiet.'

Walter
had a small sack hanging at his belt from which he produced a folded
wad; this, opened, became a large-brimmed shapeless hat studded with
badges, which he identified for Bane, with pride. 'This is Saint
Thomas of Canterbury, we been there, thass where Brother got is bell.
This one's Saint Winifred, we been there. This is Saint John, we been
there, too. This is Saint Dunstan, we was there last summer. And
Saint Cuthbert.' He frowned unhappily at Cuthbert's badge. 'We went
there, but we couldn't go in, cos e don't let women in, and we can't
leave our women outside. Thass where Pernella died. We cried. Brother
cried too. You cried, dint you, Brother? This one's from somewhere
foreign; I swopped it for another Canterbury one.' He spat on his
finger and rubbed the dull lead badges tenderly, humming; then
abruptly stuffed the hat back in its bag, glaring suspiciously at the
others. 'It's my at,' he said, low and urgently. 'My at!'

'No
it ain't, Walter,' chided the monk. 'That at belongs to all of us,
you knows that. But it's you what takes care of it, ain't it, cos we
all knows you'll look after it proper.'

They
made their way back to the road, collecting Bane's horse on the way,
and headed for Altarwell at an easy pace, passing between them a
bottle of ale from Bane's saddlebag.

'They
does dreadful things to loonies,' Celestius said, 'cos they say God's
punishin em for great sins. But I thinks they're just sick, like
anyone else. Like fevers, or lung rot. Sort of mind rot, maybe, poor
sods. Just sick. And sick folk should be elped, not urt. Look at
Millie.'

Millie
shuffled along behind the rest, both hands to her face, holding her
cheeks. A greasy stained cloth cap was pulled well down over her
forehead and ears, and her eyes looked up nervously beneath its
floppy overhang.

'Millie,'
said the monk, 'show Master Bane your poor ead.' She shook her poor
head violently and began to cry.

'E
won't urt you, Millie, will you, Master Bane?'

'Of
course not,' said Bane, gently.

Millie
slowly untied the capstrings at the back of her neck and pulled the
thing off. Her head had been shaved recently and was a mass of
bristles, jagged shallow cuts and great scabs, some still angry, with
clots of unguent here and there. She wiped her eyes on the cap,
fumbled it back on and pulled its strings tight again.

'That's
supposed to cure madness,' said Celestius angrily. 'They ties em down
and shaves their eads and burns em with of irons. I'd like to put the
irons to their eads. God forgive me, I'd like to stick the irons up
... Oh dear, mustn't think uncharitable thoughts. They means well,
but it's ard to remember that when they dumps these poor buggers
after the doctors and priests ave been at em. Dumps em, they does, at
the nearest monastery if they're lucky, or just any old where, so
long as they gets rid of em. So ere we are, tryin to find a saint as
will be merciful to us.'

'Aren't
you afraid of them?'

'Lord
no! They won't urt me, won't urt each other neither, not now. We been
on the roads a long time together –me and William and Maudlin
and Tom the longest –we been together five years. Some dies,
and every now and then we gets a new one tagged on. We got Millie
last month. We looks after each other. I keeps em out of trouble, and
we keeps moving. There's always ope over the next ill.'

Chapter
16

The
door of Prioress Rohese's chamber burst open without ceremony
admitting a flushed dishevelled young nun who, before the irate
prioress could utter her rebuke, gasped, 'Madam! The lord king is
here!'

'Here,
now?'

'He's
at the gate, Madam.'

'With
what company?'

'Well,
none yet. He's alone, he's left them behind.'

'Just
like Father,' muttered the prioress. 'Tell cellaress to prepare for
twenty attendants, that's his usual lot. The rest of his household
will have to quarter in the will. Have fires lit in the refectory.
Send to the will for kitchen help; and make sure the silver
candlesticks he gave us last year are somewhere he'll notice them.
Prepare the guest rooms, put two braziers in his, and hang the
Penitent Thief tapestries in there. Oh, and make sure there's a tub
ready, and plenty of water heating, in case he wants a bath.' As she
snapped her orders, the prioress swept the clutter of parchments,
rolls and books off her table into the document chest, locked it and
pocketed the key. The flustered nun sped off on her errands, and the
prioress just had time to set two cups and a flagon on the table when
once again the door was flung open and the king bounced in, beaming.
His face was nearly as red as his hair and glossy with perspiration.
He was clad all in reds and purples, and brought with him a strong
smell of horse, leather, perfume and sweat –not unpleasant but
shockingly male and startlingly vivid in the pale quiet room. His
colour and scent filled the place and seemed to use up all the air.
The prioress felt breathless just looking at him and had a headache
coming on even before he swooped to one knee before her, grabbed her
hand to kiss her ring, then bounced up again and embraced her
fiercely.

'Dear
sister,' he said, letting go and smiling broadly as she smoothed her
rumpled veil and adjusted her wimple.

'I
wish you wouldn't do that,' she said.

'Ah,
rubbish, you know you're glad to see me! Breath of fresh air in this
arid sanctuary. All the news, all the gossip, a damn good dinner;
I've got a present for you.'

'I
don't want your present,' she said ungraciously. 'What are you doing
about this damned Interdict?'

'Ah!
That. Well. Exploring all avenues of mediation, of course....'

'That
means you're doing nothing at all and waiting to see what'll happen
next,' she snapped. 'Have you any idea what a nuisance it all is?

'Of
course, of course, but it's not my fault, Rosy. Even you must admit
I've done my best. Anyway, I didn't pop in to discuss politics.'

'What
did you "pop in" for, then? And don't call me Rosy!'

'To
cheer you up. Break the monotony. Give all your hens something to
talk about. I'm on my way to Arlen, and Holystone is only a step out
of the way.' (The 'step' was a detour of some forty miles all told.
'I've got some fellows coming along behind with stuff for the Priory:
fish and flour, and wine, and oranges, and some cloth –I think
–and some splendid venison. Rosy, I had good hunting yesterday
... I hope you'll find it useful.'

For
a moment he looked oddly anxious, and the prioress, who had never
needed to complain of his lack of generosity, said sincerely, 'Thank
you, My Lord, you have always been a loving patron to our house.'

'And
I brought this for you,' said John, flinging himself down on the
window seat and rummaging in pockets and layers of garments,
eventually fishing out a small jewelled bauble on a heavy gold chain.

'What
am I supposed to do with that?' The prioress sounded cross. 'I can't
wear jewellery.'

'It's
all right. It isn't jewellery, it's a relic. Look.' He held it up, a
square gold locket set with a large emerald that caught light from
the window and gleamed green flame. 'See, it opens.' He pressed a
catch, the locket sprang open and something small fell out and rolled
across the floor.

'Oh
bugger,' said the king. 'It's come loose again!' And down he went on
hands and knees, crawling across the floor patting the boards. 'Where
did it go? Did you see? Under the table?'

'I
didn't see anything. What is it?'

'Get
round the other side.' He had his head under the table now and,
furiously, she stalked round the other side and got on her hands and
knees, peering back at him underneath the table. 'There it is!' He
pointed. 'Look, under your chair.' She saw a small grey object like a
little stone and picked it up. 'Give it here,' said the king, and she
handed it to him between the table legs. He scrambled backwards
awkwardly and got to his feet panting. 'John,' she said, exasperated,
'whenever you come here, it's just like being back in the nursery!
What is that thing?'

'A
tooth of Saint Ursula.' He beamed at her. 'I knew you'd love it. It
cost a fortune!' He fumbled with the locket and the blue-grey
much-decayed tooth. 'See, here? It fits in this setting. One of the
claws has pulled away a bit. I thought I'd fixed it.' He pressed the
claw setting hard with the royal thumb, squashing it well down on the
saintly tooth. There! It can't come out again now.'

He
took her hand, turned it palm up and dropped the locket and chain
into it. She looked at it and at his flushed face, and down at her
dusty creased skirt, and began to laugh.

After
dinner, the lord king sent for his sister to attend him in his
chamber. He had bathed. All had been cleared away but the room was
still steamy, and heady with scents. The sturdy plumpish royal body
was comfortably enveloped in an elegant dressing gown. The king's
short curly hair was still damp, and he sat in his chair with his
feet on a stool while his bath woman cut his toenails. 'Come in, come
in, no ceremony,' he cried cheerfully as the prioress hesitated in
the doorway. 'Sit down, make yourself at home. You've heard all my
gossip at dinner, now it's your turn. What have you been up to
lately? Give Madam Prioress a cup of malvoisie and some macaroons.
Dinner was splendid, Rosy! Squabs in honey and almonds, delicious.
You must give my cook your recipe. Here, have a cushion.' He pulled
one from the pile behind him and tossed it to her. She caught it and
held it on her lap.

'My
Lord,' she said, 'I must thank you for your generous gift of
provisions. The waggon arrived while we were at dinner. The oranges
especially, a great treat for our sick and infirm. It was very
thoughtful of you.'

'Well,
there you are; I'm a very thoughtful man,' said the king, and, to his
bath woman, 'Have you done? Right, sling me my slippers and you can
clear off.' He pulled his jewelled velvet slippers on and admired his
feet. 'You must tell me if there's ever anything you need, Rosy.
You're not wearing your reliquary.'

'It's
in my prie-dieu,' she said. 'I can't walk about jangling with gold
and emeralds. It is a rich gift.' She eyed him cautiously.

'Where
did you get it, My Lord?'

'The
Archbishop of York had it from a relic-pedlar, who got it in Naples
from the Count of Ischi,' said John. 'I bought it from York. I
intended it for my Halidom, but then I thought of you. I know you
have a passion for relics.'

'Passion?
Hardly. The priory has a decent collection, of course. We add to it
from time to time.'