"What?" Kivrin said. She couldn't get the stiff leather untied. She glanced anxiously back at the church door.
"I saw you and Father Roche by the tomb. Was the wicked man hiding in grandfather's grave?"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Father Roche.
The stiff reins came suddenly loose in Kivrin's hands. "Father Roche?"
"I went in the bell tower, but he was not there. He was in the church," Agnes said. "Why was the wicked man hiding in Grandfather's tomb, Lady Kivrin?"
Father Roche. But it couldn't be. Father Roche had given her the last rites. He had anointed her temples and the palms of her hands.
"Will the wicked man hurt Father Roche?" Agnes asked.
He couldn't be Father Roche. Father Roche had held her hand. He had told her not to be afraid. She tried to call up the face of the priest. He had leaned over her and asked her her name, but she couldn't see his face because of all the smoke.
And while he was giving her the last rites, she had seen the cutthroat, she had been afraid because they had let him in the room, she had tried to get away from him. But it hadn't been a cutthroat at all. It had been Father Roche.
"Is the wicked man coming?" Agnes said, looking anxiously at the church door.
It all made sense. The cutthroat leaning over her in the clearing, putting her on the horse. She had thought it was a vision from her delirium, but it wasn't. It had been Father Roche, come to help Gawyn bring her to the manor.
"The wicked man isn't coming," Kivrin said. "There isn't any wicked man."
"Hides he still in the church?"
"No. I was wrong. There isn't any wicked man."
Agnes looked unconvinced. "You cried out," she said.
Kivrin could hear her telling her grandmother, "Lady Katherine and Father Roche were in the church together and she cried out." Lady Imeyne would be delighted to have this to add to her litany of Father Roche's sins. And to Kivrin's list of suspicious behavior.
"I know I cried out," Kivrin said. "It was dark in the church. Father Roche came upon me suddenly and I was frightened."
"But it was Father Roche," Agnes said as if she could not imagine anyone being frightened by him.
"When you and Rosemund play at hiding and she jumps suddenly at you from behind a tree, you cry out," Kivrin said desperately.
"One time Rosemund hid in the loft when I was looking at my hound, and she jumped down. I was so affrighted I cried out. Like this," she said, and let out a blood-curdling shriek. "And another time it was dark in the hall and Gawyn jumped out from behind the screens and he said 'Fie!' and I cried out and -- "
"That's right," Kivrin said, "It was dark in the church."
"Did Father Roche jump out at you and say 'Fie!'?"
Yes, Kivrin thought. He leaned over me, and I thought he was a cutthroat. "No," she said. "He didn't do anything."
"Go we still with Father Roche for the holly?"
If I haven't frightened him away, Kivrin thought. If he hasn't left while we've stood here talking.
She lifted Agnes down. "Come. We must go find him."
She didn't know what she'd do if he'd already gone. She couldn't take Agnes back to the manor to tell Lady Imeyne how she had screamed. And she couldn't go back without explaining to Father Roche. Explaining what? That she'd thought he was a robber, a rapist? That she'd thought he was a nightmare from her delirium?
"Must we go into the church again?" Agnes asked reluctantly.
"It's all right. There's no one there except Father Roche."
In spite of Kivrin's assurances, Agnes was unwilling to go back in the church. She hid her head in Kivrin's skirts when Kivrin opened the door and clung to her leg.
"It's all right," Kivrin said, peering into the nave. He was no longer by the tomb. The door shut behind her, and she stood there with Agnes pressed against her, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. "There's nothing to be afraid of."
He's not a cutthroat, she told herself. There's nothing to be afraid of. He gave you the last rites. He held your hand. But her heart was pounding.
"Is the wicked man there?" Agnes whispered, her head jammed against Kivrin's knee.
"There isn't any wicked man," she said, and then saw him. He was standing in front of St. Catherine's statue. He was holding the candle Kivrin had dropped, and he bent and set it in front of the statue, and then straightened again.
She had thought perhaps it had been some trick of the darkness and the candle's flame, lighting his face from below, and he wasn't the cutthroat after all, but he was. He had worn a hood over his head that night, so she couldn't see his tonsure, but he was bending over the statue the way he had bent over her. Her heart began to pound again.
"Where is Father Roche?" Agnes said, raising her head. "There he is," she said, and ran toward him.
"No -- " Kivrin said, and started after her. "Don't -- "
"Father Roche!" Agnes shouted. "Father Roche! We have been seeking you!" She had obviously forgotten all about the wicked man. "We looked in the church and we looked in the house, but you were not there!"
She was running full tilt at him. He turned and bent down and scooped Agnes up into his arms all in one motion.
"I sought you in the bell tower, but you were not there," Agnes said without the slightest trace of fear. "Rosemund said you had gone."
Kivrin stopped even with the last pillar, trying to get her heart to slow down.
"Were you hiding?" Agnes asked. She put one arm trustingly around his neck. "Once Rosemund hid in the barn and jumped down on me. I cried out in a loud voice."
"Why did you seek me, Agnes?" he said. "Is someone ill?"
He pronounced Agnes, "
Agnus
," and he had nearly the same accent as the boy with the scurvy. The interpreter took a catch step before it translated what he'd said, and Kivrin felt a fleeting surprise that she couldn't understand him. She had understood everything he said in the sickroom.
He must have been speaking Latin to me, she thought, because there was no mistaking his voice. It was the voice that had said the last rites, the voice that had told her not to be afraid. And she wasn't afraid. At the sound of his voice, her heart had stopped pounding.
"Nay, none are ill," Agnes said. "We would go with you to gather ivy and holly for the hall. Lady Kivrin and Rosemund and Saracen and I."
At the words, "Lady Kivrin," Roche turned and saw her standing there by the pillar. He set Agnes down.
Kivrin put out her hand to the pillar for support. "I beg your pardon, Holy Father," she said. "I'm so sorry I screamed and ran from you. It was dark, and I didn't recognize you -- "
The interpreter, still a half-beat behind, translated that as, "I knew you not."
"She knows naught," Agnes interrupted. "The wicked man struck her on the head, and she remembers naught save for her name."
"I had heard this," he said, still looking at Kivrin. "Is it true you have no memory of why you have come among us?"
She felt the same longing to tell him the truth that she had felt when he'd asked her her name. I'm an historian, she wanted to say. I came here to observe you, and I fell ill, and I don't know where the drop is.
"She remembers
naught
of who she is," Agnes said. "She did not yet remember how to speak. I had to teach her."
"You remember naught of who you are?" he asked.
"No."
"And naught of your coming here?" he said.
She could answer that truthfully at least. "No," she said. "Except that you and Gawyn brought me to the manor."
Agnes was obviously tired of the conversation. "Might we go with you now to gather holly?"
He didn't act as if he'd heard her. He extended his hand as if he were going to bless Kivrin, but he touched her temple instead, and she realized that was what he had intended to do before, beside the tomb. "You have no wound," he said.
"It's healed," she said.
"We wish to go now," Agnes said, tugging on Roche's arm.
He raised his hand, as if to touch her temple again, and then withdrew it. "You must not fear," he said. "God has sent you among us for some good purpose."
No, He hasn't, Kivrin thought. He hasn't sent me here at all. Mediaeval sent me. But she felt comforted.
"Thank you," she said.
"I would go
now
!" Agnes said, tugging on Kivrin's arm. "Go fetch your donkey," she told Father Roche, "and we will fetch Rosemund."
Agnes started down the nave, and Kivrin had no choice but to go with her to keep her from running. The door banged open just before they reached it, and Rosemund looked in, blinking.
"It is raining. Found you Father Roche?" she demanded.
"Took you Blackie to the stable?" Agnes asked.
"Aye. You were too late, then, and Father Roche had gone?"
"Nay. He is here, and we are to go with him. He was in the church, and Lady Kivrin -- "
"He has gone to fetch his donkey," Kivrin said to keep Agnes from launching into the story of what had happened.
"I was affrighted that time when you jumped from the loft, Rosemund," Agnes said, but Rosemund had already stomped off to her horse.
It wasn't raining, but there was a fine mist in the air. Kivrin helped Agnes into her saddle and mounted the sorrel, using the lychgate as a step. Father Roche led the donkey out to them, and they started off on the track past the church and up through the little band of trees behind it, along a little space of snow- covered meadow and on into the woods.
"There are wolves in these woods," Agnes said. "Gawyn killed one."
Kivrin scarcely heard her. She was watching Father Roche walking beside his donkey, trying to remember the night he had brought her to the manor. Rosemund had said Gawyn had met him on the road and he had helped Gawyn bring her the rest of the way to the manor, but that couldn't be right.
He had leaned over her as she sat against the wagon wheel. She could see his face in the flickering light from the fire. He had said something to her she didn't understand, and she had said, "Tell Mr. Dunworthy to come and get me."
"Rosemund does not ride in seemly fashion for a maid," Agnes said primly.
She had ridden out ahead of the donkey and was nearly out of sight where the road curved, waiting impatiently for them to catch up.
"Rosemund!" Kivrin called, and Rosemund galloped back, nearly colliding with the donkey and then pulling her mare's reins up short.
"Can we go no faster than this?" she demanded, wheeled around, and rode ahead again. "We will never finish ere it rains."
They were riding in thick woods now, the road scarcely wider than a bridle path. Kivrin looked at the trees, trying to remember having seen them. They passed a thicket of willows, but it was set too far back from the road, and a trickle of ice- bordered water ran next to it.
There was a huge sycamore on the other side of the path. It stood in a little open space, draped with mistletoe. Beyond it was a line of wild service trees, so evenly spaced they might have been planted. She didn't remember ever having seen any of this before.
They had brought her along this road, and she'd hoped that something might trigger her memory, but nothing looked familiar at all. It had been too dark and she had been too ill.
All she really remembered was the drop, though it had the same hazy, unreal quality as the trip to the manor. There had been a clearing and an oak and a thicket of willows. And Father Roche's face bending over her as she sat against the wagon wheel.
He must have been with Gawyn when he found her, or else Gawyn had brought him back to the drop. She could see his face clearly in the light from the fire. And then she'd fallen off the horse at the fork.
They hadn't come to any fork yet. She hadn't even seen any paths, though she knew they had to be there, cutting from village to village and leading to the fields and the hut of the sick cottar Eliwys had gone to see.
They climbed a low hill, and at the top of it Father Roche looked back to see if they were following. He knows where the drop is, Kivrin thought. She had hoped he had some idea where it was, that Gawyn had described it to him or told him which road it lay along, but he hadn't had to. Father Roche already knew where the drop was. He had been there.
Agnes and Kivrin came to the top of the hill, but all she could see was trees, and below them more trees. They had to be in Wychwood Forest, but there were over a hundred square kilometers in which the drop could be hidden. She would never have found it on her own. She could scarcely see ten meters into the underbrush.
She was amazed at the thickness of the woods as they came down the hill into the heart of them. There were clearly no paths between the trees here. There was scarcely any space at all, and what there was was filled with fallen branches and tangled thickets and snow.
She had been wrong about not recognizing anything -- she knew these woods after all. It was the forest Snow White had got lost in, and Hansel and Gretel, and all those princes. There were wolves in it, and bears, and perhaps even witch's cottages, and that was where all those stories had come from, wasn't it, the Middle Ages? And no wonder. Anyone could get lost in there.