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decisions on her behalf, decisions that were blatantly wrong, but perhaps a small show of meekness might help.

      ‘I am sorry to spoil your plans, Edouard, but I really have no wish to become a nun. I did try to tell you back at Crèvecoeur.’ They began walking towards the Abbey gates. ‘Believe me, the life of a nun does not appeal.’

      Edouard gave her a searching look and grunted. ‘I do realise that, even though after Martin’s death I clearly recall you saying something about retiring from the world.’

      Crossing the thoroughfare, they nodded a greeting to the abbot’s sentries at the gatehouse and passed under the arch and into the Abbey courtyard. The church of Our Lady stood before them with its two massive towers. The façade was bright with fresh paint—the reds and blues glowed like jewels.

      Aude grimaced. ‘Yes, I remember. A person says many things in the first throes of grief that later they come to see are untrue.’

      ‘I can understand that, you loved Martin a great deal. Relax, Aude, I can’t see you in a convent myself, that was not my main reason for arranging the interview. I was hoping that you might be ready to consider marriage.’

      ‘Marriage? No!’ Suppressing a shudder, she moderated her tone. ‘One day perhaps.’ Immediately her unruly mind presented her with a disturbing image of a half-naked deck-hand. Swallowing hard, Aude thrust it to the back of her mind.

      ‘Aude, it was not easy arranging this appointment with the Abbot, I had to call in a few favours to get it. I insist you speak to him.’

      She stiffened her spine. ‘Very well. Since you wish it, I shall meet with the Abbot. But I want to make it quite clear, I will not be forced into making vows of any kind.’

       Chapter Two

      Downstream at Château de Tancarville, a lookout high in the clifftop tower was idly staring at an eagle as it glided over the river below.

      He yawned. Despite the wind that whistled round the heights summer and winter alike, the man’s helmet was hot and tight, and he couldn’t wait to remove it. But he was proud of his position as castle guard, so he stood firm. Duke William’s own tutor had made this castle what it was today, a defensive watchtower with clear views of Normandy for miles around.

      On one side you could see the Seine gleaming like a silver snake as it wound out to the sea, and in the other direction the port of Quillebeuf. Generations ago, Viking dragonships had hidden out between raids there, as they sacked and pillaged their way inland. Jumièges, Rouen, Paris…

      Nothing half so exciting had happened that morning and the sentry was bored, glad his stint was almost over.

      A bell sounded the noon hour.

      A rowboat was drifting at the midpoint. The rower had shipped oars and his head was turned in the direction of a mysterious wave which had formed right across the water. The lookout could not see the rower’s expression, but his stomach gave a sick lurch. He had never seen a wave like that, not on a river. It stretched from one bank to the other and it was powering upstream towards Quillebeuf and the rowboat like a serpent from hell.

      A wave? Coming upstream?

      ‘Here, Gérard, is that a tidal bore?’

      ‘Can’t be, Pascal. Wrong time of year.’

      ‘Well, I might have had too much Rhenish last night, but that looks like a tidal bore to me. Come on, man, quick!’ he said, pointing.

      Gérard looked and went grey. He swore and hastily crossing himself, leaned out over the parapet. ‘Tidal bore!’ He grabbed the rope of the alarm bell. ‘Tidal bore! La barre!’

      ‘That rowboat,’ Pascal added, shaking his head in horrified fascination. ‘Will it make it?’

      It looked unlikely. Forced upstream by the incoming tide, the wave was gathering height as well as pace. It whipped along, bearing down on the boat faster than a man could run. Foam sprayed out along the riverbanks.

      The noon bell had stopped ringing. Gérard’s alarm bell died away. Down by the river, the screaming began.

      It seemed there was no escaping the interview with Abbot Bertram. Aude was determined it would not take long.

      Shortly after noon, she and Edouard went to meet the Abbot in the old church, St Peter’s. They stood in the shady cool of a side passage as the chanting faded, and watched the monks file out. The rich scent of incense lingered in the air. Shafts of sunlight were falling in perfect lines through the narrow windows, illuminating here a carved bird, there an angel in full flight.

      Abbot Bertram was sitting on a stone wall-bench, a compact, stern-faced man with little hair; whether this was because of his tonsure or because he was bald it was impossible to say. His face was elongated; he had strong features and startling black eyebrows that gave him a somewhat surprised air. Gems glittered in the polished gold cross that hung at his breast.

      ‘Lord Edouard, it is good to see you.’

      ‘Thank you, Lord Abbot. I trust you are in good health?’

      ‘Never better. Please sit.’ The Abbot waved Aude and Edouard to cushions on the bench. The windows above their heads were unglazed, but since it was the height of summer, the breeze playing over their heads was a blessing rather than a curse.

      ‘So, Lord Edouard, this is the sister I have heard so much about.’

      ‘Yes, my lord, this is Lady Aude de Crèvecoeur.’

      ‘My lady.’

      ‘Abbot Bertram.’

      ‘Lord Edouard, when your letter first arrived, I assumed you to mean that your sister had a vocation and that you wished me to find a suitable house in which she might live out her life.’

      ‘Lord Abbot,’ Edouard said, ‘I apologise if you were put to any trouble.’

      ‘My son, it is never a trouble to find places for any of our sisters who have a true vocation. And it is never wrong to test that vocation before binding vows are made. Such vows are sacred; once made they are irrevocable. It would be a grievous sin for someone to make them only to discover later that they have changed their mind and that they no longer wish to offer their life to God.’

      Aude met the Abbot’s gaze. ‘Abbot Bertram, if I may say something?’

      ‘Speak freely, my lady. You have considered how you wish to spend your days?’

      ‘I have. You must know that my fiancé, Martin de Beaumont, died just over a year ago?’

      ‘Indeed, your brother informed me of his untimely death. Please accept my sympathies.’

      ‘Thank you. Abbot Bertram, it is true that after Martin’s death I considered taking the veil. But deeper thought has made me realise that the contemplative life is not for me.’ It was Hugh, Aude realised with a start. Hugh with his teasing smile, the smile that could lift me out of my grief, the smile that could startle because last spring it made me wonder what it might be like to kiss him…

      ‘Are you certain, my lady? The Church would welcome you. Perhaps one of the less…austere orders might suit you?’

      Aude’s every muscle tensed and she had opened her mouth to speak when Edouard cleared his throat. ‘My lord, I am sorry if there has been any misunderstanding, but I must make it clear, my sister is not to be coerced. I have given my word that her will should be respected.’

      Aude sent him a grateful smile.

      ‘Of course, of course.’ The abbot was beginning to sound irritable. ‘Compulsion would negate the offering to God. Anyone giving their life to the Church must do so freely. But I would hate to see your sister idle away her days. She has many strengths and talents, and to waste them would be a sin against the very God who gave them to her. Perhaps Lady Aude needs further, more focused guidance—a

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