LITMIR.BIZ

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Mother,’ she finished as the nuns filed in to their pews in sleepy silence for the first of the eight services of the day. ‘Keep her safe, for in little Alys I think we have found a special child.’

      Mother Hildebrande set Alys to work in the herb garden and still-room, and prepared her to take her vows. Alys was quick to learn and they taught her to read and write. She memorized the solemn cadences of the Mass without understanding the words, then slowly she came to understand the Latin and then to read and write it. She faultlessly, flawlessly charmed Mother Hildebrande into loving her as if she had been her own daughter. She was the favourite of the house, the pet of all the nuns, their little sister, their prodigy, their blessing. The women who had been denied children of their own took a special pleasure in teaching Alys and playing with her, and young women, who missed their little brothers and sisters at home, could pet Alys and laugh with her, and watch her grow.

      Tom – after hanging around the gate for weeks and getting several beatings from the porter – slouched back to his farm and his parents, and waited in painful silence for Alys to come home to him as she had promised faithfully she would.

      She never did. The quiet order of the place soothed her after Morach’s tantrums and curses. The perfume of the still-room and the smell of the herbs scented her hands, her gown. She learned to love the smooth coolness of clean linen next to her skin, she saw her dirty hair and the wriggling lice shaved off without regret, and smoothed the crisp folds of her wimple around her face. Mother Hildebrande employed her in writing letters in Latin and English for the abbey, and dreamed of setting her to copying and illuminating a bible, a grand new bible for the abbey. Alys learned to kneel in prayer until the ache in her legs faded from her mind and all she could see through her half-closed eyes were the dizzying colours of the abbey’s windows and the saints twirling like rainbows. When she was fourteen, and had been fasting all day and praying all night, she saw the statue of the Holy Mother turn Her graceful head and smile at her, directly at Alys. She knew then, as she had only hoped before, that Our Lady had chosen her for a special task, for a special lesson, and she dedicated herself to the life of holiness.

      ‘Let me learn to be like mother,’ she whispered. ‘Let me learn to be like Mother Hildebrande.’

      She saw Tom only once again. She spoke to him through the little grille in the thick gate, the day after she had taken her vows. In her sweet clear voice she told him that she was a Bride of Christ and she would never know a man. She told him to find himself a wife, and be happy with her blessing. And she shut the little hatch of the thick door in his surprised face before he could cry out to her, or even give her the brass ring he had carried in his pocket for her ever since the day they plighted their troth when they were little children of nine.

      In the cold morning of her new life Sister Ann shivered, and drew her cape tighter around her. She dipped the bucket in the river and lugged it back up the path to the cottage. Morach, who had been watching her dreaming at the riverside, made no comment, but tumbled down the ladder to the fireside and nodded to Sister Ann to fill the pot and put some water on to heat.

      She said nothing while they shared a small piece of bread with last night’s porridge moistened with hot water. They shared a mug to drink the sour, strong water. It was brown and peaty from the moorland. Sister Ann was careful to turn it so her lips did not touch where Morach had drunk. Morach watched her from under her thick black eyebrows and said nothing.

      ‘Now then,’ she said, when Ann had washed the cup and plate and the tin spoon and set them at the fireside. ‘What will you do?’

      Sister Ann looked at her. Her dreaming of the past had reminded her of where she belonged. ‘I must find another abbey,’ she said decisively. ‘My life is dedicated to Christ and His Sainted Mother.’

      Morach hid a smile and nodded. ‘Yes, little Sister,’ she said. ‘But all this was not sent solely to try your faith, others are suffering also. They are all being visited, they are all being questioned. You were fools enough at Bowes to make an enemy of Lord Hugh and his son but nowhere are the abbeys safe. The King has his eye on their wealth and your God is no longer keeping open house. I dare say there is not an abbey within fifty miles which would dare to open its doors to you.’

      ‘Then I must travel. I must travel outside the fifty miles, north to Durham if need be, south to York. I must find another abbey. I have made my vows, I cannot live in the world.’

      Morach picked her teeth with a twig from the basket of kindling and spat accurately into the flames. ‘D’you have some story ready?’ she asked innocently. ‘Got some fable prepared already?’

      Sister Ann looked blank. Already the skin on her head was less shiny, the haze of light brown hair showed like an itchy shadow. She rubbed it with a grimy hand and left another dark smear. Her dark blue eyes were sunk in her face with weariness. She looked as old as Morach herself.

      ‘Why should I need a story?’ she asked. Then she remembered her cowardice – ‘Oh Mary, Mother of God …’

      ‘If you were seen skipping off it would go hard for you,’ Morach said cheerily. ‘I can’t think an abbess would welcome you once she knew that you smelled smoke and bolted like any sinner.’

      ‘I could do penance …’

      Morach chortled disbelievingly. ‘It’s more like they’d throw you out in your shift for strangers to use as they would,’ she said. ‘You’re ruined, Sister Ann! Your vows are broke, your abbey is a smoking ruin, your sisters are dead or raped or fled. So what will you do?’

      Sister Ann buried her face in her hands. Morach sat at her ease until her shoulders stopped shaking and the sobbed prayers were silenced. It took some time. Morach lit a little black pipe, inhaled the heady herbal smoke and sighed with pleasure.

      ‘Best stay here,’ she offered. ‘That’s your best way. We’ll get news here of your sisters and how they fared. If the abbess survived she’ll seek you here. Wander off, and she’ll not know where to find you. Maybe all of the girls ran like you – scattered back to their old homes – perhaps you’ll all be forgiven.’

      Sister Ann shook her head. The smoke had been hot, the fire close to the cloisters. Most of the nuns would have been burned in their cells while they slept. ‘I doubt they escaped,’ she said.

      Morach nodded, hiding a gleam of amusement. ‘You were the first out, eh?’ she asked. ‘The quickest?’ She paused for emphasis. ‘Then there is nowhere for you to go. Nowhere at all.’

      Sister Ann swayed against the blow. Morach noticed the pallor of her skin. The girl was sick with shock.

      ‘I’ll take you back,’ Morach said. ‘And people will stay mum. It will be as if you were never away. Four years gone and now you’re back. Aged sixteen, aren’t you?’

      She nodded, only half hearing.

      ‘Ready to wed,’ Morach said with satisfaction. ‘Or bed,’ she added, remembering the reading of the bones and the young Lord Hugo.

      ‘Not that,’ she said, her voice very low. ‘I will stay with you, Morach, and I’ll work for you, as I did before. I know more now, and I can read and write. I know more herbs too and flowers – garden flowers, not just wild ones. But I will only do God’s work, only healing and midwifery. No charms, no spells. I belong to Christ. I will keep my vows here, as well as I can, until I can find somewhere to go, until I can find an abbess who will take me. I will do God’s work of healing here, I will be Christ’s bride here …’ She looked around her. ‘In this miserable place,’ she said brokenly. ‘I will do it as well as I can.’

      ‘Well enough,’ Morach said, quite unperturbed. ‘You’ll work for me. And when the young lord has ridden off north to harry the Scots and forgotten his new sport of tormenting nuns, you can step down to Castleton and seek some news.’

      She hauled herself to her feet and shook out her filthy gown. ‘Now you’re back you can dig that patch,’ she said. ‘It’s been overgrown since you left. I’ve a mind to grow some turnips there for the winter months.’

      The

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