Threads of Treason (9 page)

These men were important. Their tunics and cloaks caught the light. They wore rich reds, golds and purples: Norman knights and a cleric. And one was clearly more important than the others, as they deferred to him at the door. Not the King. The King was older, sturdier – a warrior of many campaigns. These were younger men. One of the Princes, perhaps? Eleanor’s mind raced. This was why she’d been kept hidden away in the scriptorium. These were visitors she was not meant to see, let alone meet.

As the sun caught the face of their leader she recognised the red hair and sharp face of William Rufus – the King’s second son and heir to the English throne. ‘God preserve us,’ she whispered. His brutality was of an ancient kind that she hoped would soon be unnecessary in a modern world.

The last person to leave the church was the Archbishop in his robes of office. She started towards them, but checked herself. This was neither the time nor the place to attract attention. Such an open confrontation could only work against her in these circumstances so she waited until they were quite clear before making her way out. She assumed that by now Rufus and his entourage would be enjoying the Archbishop’s hospitality. As she passed out through the gatehouse she heard voices in the yard and observed Brother David talking to one of Prince William’s guards. She turned away and walked through the butter market and onto the main thoroughfare towards Canterbury’s south gates.

She was soon aware of a beggar darting about her in the crowd. At first she tried to ignore him until she realised it was Agid. She drew into an alleyway and waited for him.

‘
Did you see that?’ he asked breathlessly when he arrived.

‘
What?’ asked Eleanor, not bothering to hide her irritation at having to talk to this filthy man.

‘
Rufus and his knights.’ He plucked at a stained bandage about his wrist.

‘
Prince William to you,’ she said stiffly.

‘
You didn’t get to see Lanfranc again, did you?’

‘
I have no intention of discussing my actions with you.’ She turned away.

‘
I knew you didn’t.’

She turned back and glared at him. ‘Who has paid you to follow me today?’ He crumpled into a humble slump and peeped up at her with a wily twinkle in his eye. She wanted to poke it.

‘
Alfred told me to keep an eye on you,’ he said. ‘I would rather see your Norman bones rot in a pit, but Alfred thinks you’re all right.’

‘
Look what we give you,’ said Eleanor making a grand arch with her arm, embracing all the new building works for the cathedral.

‘
We had perfectly good churches before you lot came along. This is The Conqueror’s penance. With all the bloodshed he’s caused the church has conned him into all this building for the sake of his soul. And he wouldn’t have cared less if they hadn’t tried to excommunicate him all those years ago for marrying his cousin.’

‘
She wasn’t his cousin.’

‘
Old Lanfranc got him off that one, didn’t he? That’s why he’s here. That old Italian. Got the top job for putting matters right with the Pope.’

‘
You are wrong. Archbishop Lanfranc is a very humble, religious monk. He didn’t want to come here.’

‘
Well then, perhaps the Pope thought he’d better send him here to keep an eye on the old sod.’

Eleanor went to clout the man’s ear for calling King William an ‘old sod’. She could have him flogged, of course, but part of her couldn’t help but agree with Agid’s sentiment. She too hoped Lanfranc could control the King’s warring. He had, after all, managed to get him to sign up to the church’s peace movement last year. And, anyway Agid had disappeared again, so she carried on walking. She was soon aware of the beggar at her heels again.

‘
Do you know,’ he whispered, ‘that old Italian monk you hold up so high struck off some of our Anglo-Saxon saints from the calendar.’

‘
Perhaps,’ said Eleanor, her temper rising again, ‘he thought you had enough holidays.’

Agid laughed. ‘You’re not so bad, Abbess.’

Already they stood at the gates of St Augustine’s.

‘
Now if you’ll excuse me, you can tell Alfred that I’m in the best of health.’

‘
There’s one more thing you ought to know about Lanfranc, but that isn’t for me to tell you.’

‘
What is that?’

‘
Ask your own archbishop – Odo of Bayeux.’ With that Agid melted into the throng.

Eleanor called, ‘Wait.’ But she received no reply.

Therese and the other nuns left the church after vespers by the priest’s door on the north side of the church. Prioress Ethelburga had explained earlier that she had decided the builders should clean up the cloisters before a final spring clean by themselves. Perhaps, thought Therese, Richard of Caen had been mellowed by Agnes’s vitals into agreement. Anyway, the work was continuing into the evening. Nor did Ethelburga think it seemly for the nuns to go through the dorter while builders were in the compound.

The setting sun gave the church a heavy shadow and this chilled the air about them so they wrapped their semi-circular cloaks tight and pulled their hoods over their veils. Therese felt a strange freedom from just standing outside the convent compound. With her head bowed she followed the others towards the gatehouse. The building site end of the church was quiet, with all the builders in the cloister.

She felt the thrumming of hooves through the hillside before glancing sideways and seeing riders coming towards them. Prioress Ethelburga looked alarmed and waved at the nuns, telling them to wait where they were while she spoke to these men at the gatehouse.

Therese looked for somewhere to hide for she had recognised the man at the front. It was Michael, the Welsh merchant. His whole entourage seemed to be with him, and an additional wagon – no, two additional wagons. To her left Therese caught sight of an open space among the piles of stone ready to construct the rest of St Thomas’s church. Once among them she was momentarily distracted by the pieces of dressed stone, many with ornate carvings already made to their surfaces. Before she realised where she was she had reached the temporary back wall of the church she had just left. And in the centre of it was a door.

She tried the handle. The door opened and caught on a bar braced against it. The builders, no doubt, liked having the convenience of ready access to the convent. But, her mind raced, this gave anyone access as long as there was someone on the inside to remove the brace. She withdrew, closing the door. Her heart was thumping. And what was Michael doing here? She returned to the place where she’d entered the building site and edged along a half-built stone wall to where Ethelburga was talking to Michael. She could see also that the Prioress had changed her mind and sent her fellow nuns through the gatehouse and into the convent.

Prioress Ethelburga was holding the reins of Michael’s pony while she spoke to him. ‘You are late,’ Therese heard her say.

‘
I have wagons now. Trade is brisk.’

‘
You cannot stop the night here. There is no room,’ said Ethelburga.

‘
The builders are camped yonder.’ He waved northwards. ‘We can make camp with them.’

Therese looked in the direction of his gesture and saw campfires burning, bright in the twilight on the level ground half way up the embankment, where she’d seen the tents on her arrival. She could just make out the shadows of people moving about up there, no doubt preparing a meal.

‘
I will not do business at this hour,’ stated Ethelburga. ‘You will have to return in the morning.’

Michael conceded the matter with a bow and waved the ponies and wagons back down the hill, complete with the priest and the boy who’d attended to Sir Gilbert on the way to Canterbury. She watched them slow to pass over the stream at the bottom of the hill.

Therese jumped, realising that Prioress Ethelburga had already gone through the gatehouse. She made a dive for the gate when she heard Michael call,

‘
Sister, you have big ears.’

‘
You cannot see my ears,’ said Therese crossly. “He must have looked back and seen me,” she wailed inside.

‘
Is that the little sister from the forest, who jumps on robber’s shoulders?’

‘
No,’ said Therese annoyed at being drawn so easily to give her voice away.

‘
All the nuns here are Anglo-Saxons. You are Norman. You have the accent.’

She wanted to tell him that this was the land of her birth, but this teasing man could be using his wiles to trick her, so she pulled her cloak about her.

‘
Sir, I was not listening to you. My sandal became loose and I tripped. When I stopped to repair it I became separated from the others. That is all.’

‘
That is possibly the weakest lie I have ever heard. But I will let it go, and you, this once. But you owe me for my silence. I will not tell Prioress Ethelburga about this little mishap, Sister Therese.’

‘
Thank you,’ said Therese feeling as if a trap had been sprung about her. She slipped through the gatehouse as quickly as she could. The guard was talking to the builders who were grumbling as they carted out the rubble and dust collected from the cloister area. She passed through unnoticed.

Chapter 7

Therese arrived at the refectory table trying to hide her shortness of breath. Grace was said and they sat down to their fish and bread. Any lateness would go against her and unreliability would not get her into the embroidery room. Yet she wanted desperately to tell Alfred of St. Edmundsbury about Michael’s arrival. Perhaps he ought to speak to Abbess Eleanor. She was grateful that the meal would be taken in silence, as always, but she would still have to stay alert to the signals given by the other nuns. Sister Leofgyth was already making a gesture to indicate she wanted the jug passed to her. She would think Therese was ignoring her if she failed to hand it to her promptly.

At least sleep came early in a priory and soon she was lying down with the others in the dorter. Already she knew how she would leave the priory. So, as soon as the nuns succumbed to their tiredness, she rose and stole her way into the church from the dorter stairway. Despite the dark she felt her way along the pews to the temporary end wall. Her fingers made contact with the soft wall hanging of Saint Thomas the Apostle. Moving it to one side with as much respect as she could muster, she felt for the wooden brace and lifted it from its hangers. The builders had clearly not used it for some time and as she opened the door dust spewed up and descended upon her. A sneeze took hold in her nose and she nearly choked trying to stifle it.

Closing the door she was grateful that the wooden formers for the arches were being assembled and the walls on the priory side of the church were well advanced. This gave her a solid screen against any curious eyes. The piles of stone blocks and structures on the other side, she noted, had not been touched since she’d hidden from Michael there earlier that evening. But she sought out the view of the builders’ campfires and, in particular, the fire made by Michael’s party. Alfred was encamped on the other, southern, side of the priory hill – that was what he’d told her. She sensed the warmth coming from the northern camp. There was a hint of laughter on the breeze. It was like being drawn on a line into the sea by a very strong fish.

Running down the hill towards the northern camp she reasoned with herself that she would hide under Michael’s camp on the slope and listen to his talk. She would then be able to work her way round the escarpment to the southern side of the priory and then she would be able to tell Alfred more than just that Michael had arrived.

At the bottom of the hill she splashed through the river using the flags laid on its bed by the builders to ease their journeys with the stones brought from the port at Reculver. The Isle of Thanet was not far from there, so she’d learnt through Gertrude’s chattering – Gertrude had been born there. She went more cautiously up the slope at the base of the escarpment until she was just below the shelf, which held the camps. There she crouched down, out of the line of sight of the campers.

Listening to the rhythm and lilt of the languages spoken above her she worked her way along from the builders’ camp and soon heard the Welsh of Michael’s group. With ale and food, perhaps his guard would be down and she might hear something useful. What deal was he involved with at the priory with Prioress Ethelburga? Why was a man who had little respect for the King here at such a sensitive time? She settled herself on the hillside below his fire.

But soon she realised that this was pointless as this was one language she did not know. It was similar to a language used by Normandy’s neighbours, Breton, but even so it was beyond her. She was about to move on when she heard footfalls coming up from behind. Flattening herself into the grass she avoided creating a shadow against the fire that would give away her position. She could feel the spring dew seeping through her layers of clothing while she waited for the walker to pass by her. She shut her eyes as if that act would make her invisible.