Novels 03 The Wise Woman Read online

  Alys smiled at him. “When you return this afternoon I shall give you a sixpence,” she said.

  The boy looked at her.

  “Yes?” Alys asked.

  “Could I have instead a scrap of ribbon of yours?” he asked. “Or something you don’t need. An old kerchief?”

  “Why?” Alys asked.

  He dropped his gaze to the floor. “To ward off beatings,” he said. “In the kitchen they say that you have the power to get anything you want. That you can do anything you like. I thought if I had a relic of yours…”

  Alys shook her head. “I am just an ordinary woman,” she said. “A healer with special skills, holy skills. Nothing of mine is a talisman. I am just a healer with holy powers. I do nothing for my own ends.”

  The lads exchanged one secret, disbelieving look. Alys chose to ignore it.

  “Be as quick as you can,” she said, walking from the stable yard. “And send word to me when you are safe back.”

  Chapter

  27

  Despite Alys’s careful instructions, Hildebrande sent a letter back with the kitchen-lad. It was written on coarse paper, the back of a bill from an inn with a stub of lead. It was unsealed. Alys’s lips compressed when she saw it. Anyone could have read it on its journey to her and she would not even know. It was typical of Hildebrande to care nothing for their safety, she thought. The woman was mad for martyrdom, rushing toward exposure and danger. She had been so long out of the world she had no idea of the dangers, the peril she was forcing on Alys. Alys gave the lad the sixpence she had promised and tucked the letter into her sleeve. She went out into the herb garden to read it.

  The warm evening sun gilded the enclosed garden. Surrounded by the castle walls, the garden was sheltered from wind, a trap for heat. Drowsy bees stumbled from plant to plant. Alys walked down the narrow paths, her green gown brushing against the herbs, releasing their scent. Ahead of her, in the flower garden, Ruth and Margery were sitting in the shade of a bower. They glanced toward Alys but did not approach her. The bakehouse to Alys’s left was quiet and cold. The old round prison tower behind it was silent. Alys perched on the walled edge of a bed of mint and let the sun beat down on her uncovered head. The purple flowers sweated their scent into the still air. In the orchard beyond the flower garden there were birds singing piercingly sweet. Beyond the orchard, in the outer manse, a horse whinnied in greeting.

  Alys slid the letter from her sleeve, and spread it on her knees to read.

  “Dear Daughter in Christ,” Hildebrande had begun, incriminating Alys in the first three words. Alys glanced around. There was no one near. She tore off the top of the letter before even looking at the rest, scrumpled it in her hands, pushing her sharp fingernails through the soft paper, shredding it as she stuffed every scrap into her purse.

  I do not discuss with you the reasons for your delay. There can be no reasons for delay when the will of the Lord is plain to us. Tell Lady Catherine to be of good heart and trust in Our Lady who knows her pains well. You may visit her later and care for her. I expect you this evening.

  There was a gap in the writing, then, in a more rounded hand as if the mother was speaking to her daughter, not the abbess to a disobedient nun, the letter went on:

  Please come at once, Ann. I am fearful not for myself, though I am weary and I cannot light the fire or draw water, I am fearful for you. What are you doing in that castle which makes you so slow to obey?

  “I knew she would not know how to light the fire,” Alys said irritably. She smoothed the letter out on her lap. In the sunlight of the garden, Hildebrande, aching with arthritis, struggling with a tinderbox, too frail and too old to lug a bucket of water up to the cottage from the steep riverbank, seemed a long way away.

  Alys scrunched the paper into a ball in her hand and thrust it into her purse to burn later, then she stretched out her legs before her. The green gown fell elegantly around her. Alys turned her face up to the sunlight and closed her eyes.

  “You will turn brown, Mistress Alys, brown as a peasant,” a voice said softly.

  Alys opened her eyes. David the steward stood before her, at his side was a young woman of about sixteen. She was fair, golden-headed; her hair brighter than Alys’s, her eyes a lighter, more sparkling blue. Her body was full; Alys noticed the tightness of the bodice over her firm young breasts and the shortness of the skirt of her gown as if she were still growing.

  “This is Mary,” David said, gesturing to the girl. “She is to be your maid, as Lord Hugh ordered.”

  Alys nodded, staring at the girl. The girl looked back, taking in every inch of Alys’s gown, her long golden-brown hair, her green hood.

  “Has she been in service long?” Alys asked coldly.

  “All her life,” David said promptly. “She was serving in a tradesman’s house in Castleton. She caught my eye because she is bright and quick. I thought she would suit you. I didn’t want one of the drabs from the kitchen to wait on you. They are as slow as oxen and as dull.”

  Alys nodded again.

  “You’re very pretty,” she said to the girl; she made it sound like an insult. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen, my lady,” the girl answered.

  “You call her Mistress Alys,” David corrected sharply. “Mistress Alys is not the lady of the castle. She is Lady Catherine’s woman only.”

  Alys gave David a look which would scratch glass. “Since she is to be my maid I suppose she can call me what she pleases, as long as it pleases me.”

  The dwarf shrugged his strong shoulders. “As you wish, Mistress Alys.”

  “Are you betrothed or married?” Alys asked the girl.

  “No, my lady,” she said breathlessly. “I am a virgin.”

  Alys shot a hard, suspicious look at David. He smiled blandly at her.

  “You can wait in the ladies’ gallery until I send for you,” Alys said abruptly. The girl dipped a curtsy and went into the castle.

  David remained. He took a pinch of lavender and sniffed it, savoring the smell, demonstrating his ease and comfort.

  “She is very beautiful for a peasant girl,” Alys observed.

  “Yes, indeed,” David replied.

  “Very like the girl in the field who took Hugo’s flowers at haymaking.”

  “Her sister, actually,” David said. He squinted up at the blue sky. “Very like her, now I come to think of it,” he said thoughtfully.

  Alys nodded. “Do you think to supplant me with some plump sweeting, David? Do you think Hugo would put me aside for a sudden fancy, when I carry his child and he has been besotted with me for months?”

  David opened his eyes in amazement. “Of course not, Mistress Alys! I merely obeyed Lord Hugh. He said you should have a maid of your own, my task it was to find you one. If she is not to your liking I can send her away. I will tell the young lord that the maid I suggested was too pretty for your liking, and I will find some plain old woman. It is no trouble at all.”

  “It is no matter,” Alys said abruptly. “I am not afraid, David. You can bring a hundred such as her and throw them into Hugo’s path. They will not conceive his child. They will not take my place. They may amuse him but they will not sit at the high table. D’you think the old lord will prefer a village wench to me?” She laughed sharply, enjoying the small man’s angry face. “I will employ the girl. She can do my sewing for me and run errands.”

  “Up to Bowes Moor perhaps?” David asked quickly. “To see the new arrival there? Another wise woman, in your old cottage. Who is she, Alys? Another kinswoman who is no kin at all? Or Morach returned from the dead?”

  “Hardly a ghost!” Alys said, swiftly recovering from the change of tack. “No, it is a traveling wise woman who has a fancy to stay at the cottage. I sent her some goods and a message because I shall need a wise woman in the spring, when my time comes. Either she or the one at Richmond will have to come out to me.”

  “I see.” David turned to go. Alys breathed out in relief at having co