Threads of Treason (20 page)

‘
I must have been mistaken,’ said Agid. He was about to turn away when he thought that perhaps he might be safer asking the Aethling for help than Bishop Odo. As he looked up he was caught by the weight of Edgar throwing himself at him. He was pushed to the ground. Agid screamed and kicked as Edgar’s hands gripped his throat. He managed to bring one of his short sturdy legs up and place his foot on the Aethling’s belly and push him away. Edgar’s guards moved forward. One, still on his horse thrust the point of a lance at Agid’s chest.

This was just the behaviour Agid expected from the aristocracy – Norman or Saxon. He would have told them so if it wasn’t for the lance blade so close to his heart. ‘I apologise for any offence I may have caused,’ he said with caution.

‘
It is more than offence you have given,’ said Edgar. ‘I know you. Your face, every inch of you was carved into my soul – not least your shifty eyes. Why have you not left this land like the others?’

‘
What others? I don’t know what you mean?’ Agid squirmed under his gaze.

‘
You claim to be my man. In what way were you ever my man? There was only one family you looked to and that was Harold’s. You were his sister’s man. You were a servant of that evil Queen Edith. She saw to the removal of anyone with any claim to the throne of England, including my father.’

‘
I assure you that was not the case, my lord.’

‘
I am not your lord,’ said Edgar. ‘I ought to have you run through here and now. No-one would miss you, and England would be a cleaner place without you.’

‘
I protected you,’ Agid claimed. ‘They wanted you dead, but I was there to make sure no harm came to you or your sisters. I am not the bad man you think me to be. You were a child. You cannot be sure that I meant you harm. Think back. Can you really remember what happened?’

‘
My father was announced dead and I saw you leaving his room,’ Edgar claimed with certainty. His guard pressed the lance into Agid’s clothing, piercing the cloth.

‘
It was he who charged me with your safety. But before you kill me I must give you a message from Prioress Ursula.’

‘
Prioress Ursula who was among the needle-women of Queen Margaret of Scotland? This is the second time I have heard of her in as many days.’

‘
Yes, the same.’

‘
I have been told that she is dead.’

‘
She is not dead. Let me up and I will tell you all. You need to know.’ Agid frowned at Edgar Aethling and wondered how much he already knew. He was, after all on the road to Canterbury and beyond there was the Priory of St Thomas the Apostle. He shook his head. He long since had enough of aristocracy’s in-fighting. Prioress Ursula was his priority now.

Edgar nodded at the guard whom he addressed as ‘Sir Alun’ and he let Agid rise. ‘You run and we will kill you before you reach the first tree,’ threatened Edgar matter of factly.

Agid sat down and invited Edgar to do the same. He crouched down opposite Agid and tilted his head towards him. He was clearly listening. So Agid told him about Prioress Ursula’s fall, her hiding and her kidnapping. He did not include her exchange of identity with Abbess Eleanor or his part in her attack by the robbers.

Edgar leapt to his feet. ‘Quick, man. Show me the way.’ He directed his other guard, Sir Guy, to put Agid on the animal they’d brought to carry the baggage but was as yet unladen. Sir Guy slung him on as if he were a sack of wheat.

Agid settled himself. A feeling of importance pushed up through his feet and ankles, straightened his back and squared his shoulders. As far as he was concerned he was riding with the most important man in England.

Eleanor lifted her head and viewed the monks. She was beginning to recognise their faces. She scanned along the row, just checking with her tidy mind that all was in order. Her eyes stopped. There was an unfamiliar fresh, round face next to Brother David. He was deeply coloured from hours spent outside. The prayer ritual required them to bow. While the others dropped their heads Eleanor did a head count. There was no doubt about it: Richard of Caen had arrived.

When the others rose to leave Eleanor followed the brothers towards the door to the cloisters. Daring to glance round, she saw Brother David leave with Richard of Caen through the public entrance. Clearly, some of Brother Richard’s time would be taken up in looking at the works to the new cathedral. She wondered how long she could avoid him as she made her way to the infirmary. A flame of indignation burnt below her ribs. Her questions about Archbishop Lanfranc and Prince William Rufus were still unanswered.

After some miles Agid was still enjoying the fact that he was not on foot, however he could feel the bones in his rear end. It was as if they were trying to poke through his leathery flesh. Edgar and Sir Alun rode in front while Sir Guy rode beside him. ‘Edgar Aethling,’ he called out.

Edgar turned in his saddle. ‘What is it?’

‘
Can you give me a better ride than this?’

‘
I advise you not to get above yourself, Agid. My knight, Sir Guy, is short of patience and you are at best only tolerated here. I do not think that you are the sort of man my father would have charged with our safety. It is more likely that Queen Edith set you to spy on us.’

Agid reined in his animal. ‘So how do you think you and your sisters grew up to leave court?’

Edgar stopped and turned his horse on the spot to face Agid. ‘I suspect the King threatened her.’

Trembling slightly at the young warrior’s intensity, Agid explained, ‘He dared not threaten the Queen. Her brothers held sway in the land. It was I who told her you were young and kind and you and your sisters held a great interest in the church. It kept you safe.’

‘
All that you said was blatantly true,’ said Edgar.

‘
But I could have said you looked likely to grow into a fine young warrior with more grace and dignity than any of her brothers – just like the son she would never have. Then what do you think your fate would have been?’

There was rustling just off the road ahead of them. Agid was sure they were still a half hour or so from the thieves’ camp site, yet he could hear the distinctive tones of Tancred approaching.

Sir Guy directed them off the track and Agid felt himself pulled off his mount and pushed behind a thorn bush. He complained bitterly as Edgar, already dismounted, told him to hold his tongue or he would cut it out for him at the earliest convenient moment.

A train of thieves straggled past them. Some were on foot, others on donkeys, a couple on ponies. There were two creaking carts. In the back of one was the distinctive shape of Prioress Ursula. All her good humour seemed to have been punched out of her. Agid instinctively moved forwards. ‘We must attack them,’ he said. ‘They have Prioress Ursula and she does not look right at all.’

‘
Not yet,’ said the Aethling.

‘
Why not?’ Agid was furious with this young upstart.

‘
There are too many of them.’

Agid looked carefully at Edgar’s face, but he could not tell what he was really thinking. He could be right. If they followed them they could snatch Prioress Ursula from the thieves at a suitable moment. Or was his decision of a different nature? Had he not only recognised Prioress Ursula but also the thieves? They could, indeed, be under his own employment with Prioress Ursula’s demise an unauthorised action by Tancred because of his greed for the ring. He took another look at the young man’s strong profile. No, he could not tell.

‘
It seems, Agid, that they have not waited for your return before setting out again. Perhaps they did not trust you either?’

‘
If any harm comes to the Prioress…’ Agid started, but he could not finish for Edgar was already mounted on his horse and moving away.

Chapter 18

Therese paced the cloister of St Thomas the Apostle. Exposing her past had achieved nothing except suspicion from those who barely trusted her anyway and an expectation of success at putting all things right, which she could not believe she could fulfil, from others. She approached the corridor that led off to the chapter house and the stairway to the sewing room. As she started to pass it a broom shot out and tripped her up. She stumbled but did not fall.

‘
That Prioress Ethelburga has me sweep for no reason,’ complained Gertrude. She pulled a face at Therese. ‘Just getting my own back, you tripped me up. And don’t look so shocked. I haven’t heard you confess to it yet.’

Therese dropped her head guiltily and scratched the newly tiled floor with the toe of her sandal. ‘Why are you here, if you dislike it so much at St Thomas’s? I’m sure there are plenty of other places you could be. You don’t sew.’

‘
I don’t have the skill. That is true,’ said Gertrude sitting down on the wall next to the cleared but as yet unplanted garden. Her dumpy figure and the arch of the cloister were picked out by the bright sunshine behind her. ‘The skill was well established in England before your lot came. Many of the experts we have here came from Winchester – and that remains an Anglo-Saxon strong-hold even now.’

‘
You’ve heard about me, my place of birth?’

‘
You wanted everyone to know, didn’t you?’ Gertrude looked at her weathered hands.

‘
So how come you’re here?’

‘
I have well placed relatives in Winchester. I am an embarrassment to them. I speak my mind in the Anglo-Saxon tradition and now we must be careful. Pah.’

‘
Do you want to damage the embroidery?’ asked Therese.

‘
Do you?’ asked Gertrude.

‘
No, I don’t,’ said Therese thoughtfully. She hadn’t considered it before, but even if she did hold Anglo-Saxon sympathies she knew she could not bring herself to damage the labour of others. And the small piece she’d seen had been so carefully worked.

‘
Well neither do I,’ said Gertrude. ‘I don’t care for fine things particularly, nor do I care for most of the stuck up women here, but I do care for my safety and that is being endangered.’

‘
By me?’ asked Therese.

Gertrude’s face softened. ‘No, lass.’ Her fleshy jowls rattled as she shook her head. ‘You have no control over what is about to happen. None of us have. I suggest you take your leave tonight. I tell you this because despite you tripping me up, I quite like you. And you are in more danger than me.’

‘
What is going to happen tonight?’ She remembered her promise. ‘I vowed to protect the embroidery. Who is it? Who’s going to damage it?’

‘
Damage. Hah! You don’t know the half of it!’

‘
Tell me!’ Therese moved forwards.

Gertrude held her broom defensively. ‘That is all I know.’

‘
Who is behind all this?’ The bell rang for prayers and Therese stamped her foot in frustration while Gertrude ignored her last question and went into the church. Therese followed. But her mind was already made up, and on the conclusion of prayers she remained behind while the others filed out. The wall hanging and the door brace in the builder’s door in the temporary back wall gave her little resistance. Alfred would not be there, but Abbess Eleanor would have ensured the placement of another guard, of that she was sure.

She would try the far side of the southern woods first. That was where Alfred was meant to have set up camp – even though there had been no sign of it when she visited the place –so his replacement might well be directed to go there too. The shortest route from here meant passing the gatehouse and going round the western end of the priory complex. The builders ignored her as she walked through their works, as they were sitting with their wives eating lunch. The children were down at the stream chucking stones in the water. She did not take the time to see if Eric was among them. She felt invisible as she passed the gatehouse. The porter too was eating. She did not feel hungry. The nuns did not usually eat until later, so there was no fear of being caught out by an empty seat in the refectory.

Soon the priory was behind her with the sewing room and its sheets of linen across the windows to filter the harsh light from the south facing windows – and the heavily covered window of the secret room. She could almost feel them looking at her going down the hill. In front, and coming upon her fast, was the swamped woodland. She waded straight in. The water level was lower than before, but the mud was thick and she sunk into it. Dragging her legs through she found exhausting and after a short distance her breath was rasping in her lungs. She stopped by the river crossing and leaned on a tree.

Having caught her breath she pulled her feet from the mud and slithered across the fallen tree-trunk bridge she’d used before when she’d met Michael in the woods. Suddenly there was more sky showing through the trees, but another fallen trunk barred her way. Beyond it she saw a Norman knight in full battle dress – a sword resting in his scabbard, a mail shirt protecting his body, helmet and a wing-shaped shield. The knight seemed deep in thought, or prayer. She did not recognise his armoury, but Sir Gilbert’s own pieces had been stolen by the thieves in the forest. It had to be him in some different garb. At last she could unburden herself, let someone else sort the problems out. She was exhausted. She was about to call out to him when another Norman knight ran down the slope facing her, his sword aloft. The first knight turned, saw him and drew his sword.