Authors: Cassandra Clark
“Go on, my pet,” Hildegard encouraged when her sobs abated a little.
With difficulty and with many hesitations, Maud whispered, “After that they marched them down the lane away from the cottages and set the thatch on fire and we thought they’d march them back again, but one of the men rode back by himself and … and he was laughing and he said, ‘They won’t be rebels now!’ And then he told us they’d been strung up … food for crows.”
She stopped suddenly and Hildegard wrapped her cloak more closely about her.
But Maud had not finished her story. “The other men came back. There were six of them.” The words seemed to stick in her throat again and she was unable to continue.
Eventually Hildegard was forced to ask, “When the men came back, Maud, my pet, did they harm your mothers?”
Maud nodded. Her eyes moistened and then suddenly the dam broke and she burst into a flood of tears.
“And the rest of you?” Hildegard asked after a long time, when the child had cried her heart out. “Did they harm you, Maud?”
She nodded then clung to Hildegard as if she would never let go. Eventually in a stifled voice she said, “They killed my little brother. They cut him with their swords and killed him because he threw a stone at them to make them go away.”
“How old was your brother?”
“Five.”
Hildegard held the child and rocked her to and fro. It would be useless to show weakness when she was all the child had left.
When she could Hildegard rose to her feet, keeping a fold of her robe round Maud’s shoulders. “Thank you for telling me what happened. These men with their so-called lord must be caught and punished, whoever they are.”
Maud was silent.
“Where exactly is your manor, my pet? Do you know its name?”
“It’s near Pentleby.”
A long way from here, over beyond Doncaster. Gaunt’s country.
Hildegard took her by the hand and together they climbed back up the bank. Petronilla, white-faced, was still waiting for them.
It was late now, the end of what should have been another perfect summer’s day with the sun descending in a ball of flame. It sent fingers of shadow across the meadow into the woods. Under the trees everything was reduced to darkness. An eerie silence pervaded the place now that the sheep had left the upper pasture. The fires had almost burned themselves out and, standing in a mound of ash, only the blackened timbers of the house and barn remained with a faint glow from the dying embers.
When Hildegard and her two silent charges rejoined the others she told them they would leave as soon as they were ready. First, though, she had something to say.
The question uppermost in her mind was this: Why would a group of armed men pursue with such venom the daughter of a bonded labourer? It made no sense at all.
Chapter Four
Night fell. They were ready to leave.
After a quiet word with Maud, Hildegard briefly told everyone what had befallen her to turn her into a runaway. There was a stunned silence when she finished, then, one by one, the women gave the girl a hug. “Now we know what we’re facing we’ll stand together,” Agnetha said for them all. “They will not get away with it. You’re safe with us.”
Before they set off Hildegard went back into the herb garden where the lovingly tended cures had been trampled into the dust. Now, in the blue haze of evening, she grubbed among the stems to find some of the leaves she might need. Stowing them safely in her scrip she returned to the others. “Let’s go,” she said.
So it was, under cover of darkness, the small community made its way along the ridge above the woods and out of the dale by a secret route, leaving the charred desolation of Deepdale behind. The hounds coursed through the trees on both sides as they stepped out. The two girls gripped each other’s hands and all but trampled on Hildegard’s heels in their eagerness not to be left behind, while the two nuns followed, Agnetha staunchly taking up the rear. They walked for some time in a wary silence. A half moon slid little by little across the sky.
Eventually the rounded hills and sheltering dales of the North Riding lay behind them. Ahead came the flat land, ghostly under the vast sky of Holderness. The summer night had a silver quality. The faces of the women seemed luminous in the strange light. When they came to a fork in the path it was only faintly visible, a deceptive shadow in the undergrowth. One path dwindled in the direction of Swyne. The other disappeared into the west.
Hildegard prepared herself for what she was about to say. She knew there would be opposition.
“Let’s stop here a moment.” She glanced round the group as they gathered. Their expressions were faintly visible in the gloaming. “I want you four—Agnetha, Cecilia, Marianne and Petronilla—to go on to Swyne. You must tell the prioress the full story of what’s happened. I’m going to go on to York with Maud and—”
“No!” To her surprise it was Maud who objected first. “They’ll put me in a prison! I won’t go!” She turned as if to run off but Petronilla caught hold of her by the sleeve.
“Don’t go running off again. You’ll be putting yourself in danger, you goose. Listen to what Sister Hildegard has to say.” She held on to her and announced, “No wonder she wears her hood up to hide from God. She’s frightened he’ll find her and punish her after what’s happened.” She shook Maud by the arm. “You’ll be safe in York, goosey. And anyway, God isn’t angry with you.”
“I hope she’s not blaming herself for what those devils did?” said Marianne briskly. She went over and took Maud by the hand. “I’m sure God doesn’t blame you, Maud. You couldn’t have done anything against armed men, my dear.” She gave her a little hug. “Now, why don’t you do as Sister Hildegard says? She’ll put things right for you when you get to York.” The nun lifted her head and gave Hildegard an apologetic shrug as she met her eye and added, “I know she’ll do what she can.”
Agnetha spoke up. “Of course you should go with Sister Hildegard, Maud. The sheriff must be told. These men have to be caught and punished. But,” she turned to Hildegard, “it’s a mad idea to go off by yourselves. I’m coming with you.”
“I’d like to come too,” Cecilia broke in.
“If it comes to it, so would I!” Marianne stepped forward.
“I can’t give you permission to remain outside the priory,” Hildegard pointed out. “You’ll be in trouble with Brother Alcuin if he hears you’ve been running about the countryside without his warrant.”
“I’m free to do what I like,” Agnetha interrupted. “I haven’t taken any vows yet. And I’d like to see anybody try and stop me coming with you. You included,” she added for good measure, giving Hildegard a strong glance.
Petronilla broke in. “I’d like to go to York as well. If the prioress thought I was in danger at Swyne, where the priory is unprotected from the ravages of men-at-arms, then I’d be safer at York, inside the walls where the bailiff’s men will look after us.”
Hildegard frowned. What she said was true. “But you, Cecilia,” she put a hand on her arm, “I really believe you should go back to Swyne with Marianne. She’ll need a companion on the way.”
“I’ll do whatever everyone thinks best. I’m more than willing to defy the abbot’s stand-in and come with you. Bless Brother Alcuin,” she added to soften her defiance.
Hildegard shook her head. “You’re courageous to make such an offer, but you both have to live with the consequences. Don’t make difficulties for yourselves. And someone needs to give a good account of events to the prioress.”
It was agreed. After an emotional farewell they started to move off in separate directions. Petronilla watched the two nuns set out on the track to Swyne then turned to Hildegard. “And I’m with you?”
She got a brief nod in reply. Why not, Hildegard thought. What the girl had just said about safety was probably true. Better to be inside the town walls where some sort of law prevailed than outside at the mercy of any armed horsemen who came along.
Accompanied by the two hounds, the four set off into the dark west, while behind them the two dressed in white headed towards Swyne and the thin line of expanding scarlet where the sun was beginning its ascent into another cloudless sky.
* * *
It was mid-morning when they stopped in a glade in the woods to finish off some bread and cheese. Everything tasted of smoke. Because the weather was so hot, they all but drained a flask of ale with a broken stopper that Hildegard had carried carefully upright in a corner of her scrip ever since they set out. The path they were on led through thick woodland, well hidden from pursuers, but even so Petronilla was all for going on without delay. She fretted and fumed at the delay and jumped at the slightest sound. When a rabbit scuttled out of the undergrowth at her feet she gave a little scream. “I won’t feel safe until we’re in amongst the crowds of the city.” She exclaimed with a dramatic shiver, “Oh, sister, I think we’re done for!”
Agnetha rolled her eyes
“No one has followed us.” Hildegard’s tone was sharp. The silly girl was frightening Maud with her dramatics.
They walked on. Eventually Hildegard felt a tug on her sleeve. It was Petronilla again. “Sister,” she began, “may I ask something of a personal nature as we walk along?”
Despite her sombre mood Hildegard’s lips puckered. “I don’t see why not.”
“It’s this. May I ask, do you believe in angels?”
Hildegard frowned. “It’s an ancient and commonly held belief,” she replied cautiously.
Petronilla’s eyes were fixed on hers. “Some people believe that everyone has an angel to guard their body and soul,” she continued. “And I’m told there are hierarchies of angels just as there are hierarchies of people.” She paused. “I’m also told that Archangels are the ones who carry out God’s will and lesser angels exist to perform minor tasks for us in everyday life.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that too.” Hildegard was noncommittal.
“But,” Petronilla went on importantly, “as well as being helpers in a kindly way, angels also punish us. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“So some people say.” Wondering where this was leading, Hildegard would go no further than that.
Petronilla continued. “Angels have work to do like everyone else in the world, and when they see someone break the laws of compassion and respect they calmly and without any anger chastise the transgressor to help them become better people.”
“That’s another common belief.” Hildegard led the way down a short incline between the trees with Petronilla, Maud and the two hounds jostling at her heels, but Petronilla caught up with her and began to trot by her side.
“Sometimes,” she continued, “their punishment is so harsh it takes the form of death, or so I’m told. After that the evil-doer has to go down into hell where their impure soul is cleansed by the most horrible fires to make it ready to return to the world of humans. The hope is that it can live a better life than the one it forfeited. The angels,” she continued, as if having learned the words by rote, “are the true protectors of our souls. By their help we can attain the reward of everlasting joy in the heavenly paradise that awaits.”
When Hildegard made no comment she turned to Maud who was still following close behind and said, “So you do see, don’t you, my dear little Maud, there’s no need to plan revenge on those violent men as I’m sure you would like to and as I most certainly would, because the angels will do it for you. That is their law. They punish evil-doers. And no one can escape their terrible vengeance.”
Maud, her hood still up, walked on in silence.
* * *
At last they came out on a rise where the trees had been felled and the path led down into a wide dale with a river running through it. There were other signs of settlement, an enclosure, empty of kine, the distant barking of a dog, the scent of woodsmoke. Hildegard told them she guessed they were less than a mile from York in a place called Two Mills Dale.
This was proved when they came across the first of the mills on the other side of a narrow causeway. It was now nothing more than a derelict hulk and was separated from the path they were on by a marsh meadow, incongruously bright for so melancholy a place, with king cups, purple flag and bog wort among the bulrushes.
The mill had clearly been unused for many years, its roof partly caved in, the vanes rotted, broken paddles hanging askew, and the great wooden wheel itself looking as if it would never turn again. It hung half under the water, the surface of the mill pond covered by a thick skin of duckweed.
Everyone seemed to feel ill at ease. Petronilla made little shuddering sounds, Maud increased her pace and even Agnetha looked warily across as if expecting something monstrous to emerge from the slime. Hildegard tried to allay their uneasiness with a story she had heard based on fact not fantasy.
Many years ago, she told them, the abbot of that time had built a new mill farther downstream. It was closer to the vills owned by the lord of the manor than this one. Soon the abbot’s miller was in competition with the one employed by the manor lord. A dispute arose as to who was the best miller. Eventually the miller here had been put out of business. Now nobody even remembered his name. All anyone knew these days was the abbot’s miller at Low Mill.
“An example of sharp practice if you ask me. I’m glad it wasn’t one of our abbots who ruined his trade.” Agnetha cast a glance over her shoulder as they left the derelict mill behind.
Soon a pleasant and well-ordered domain came into view farther on. It was a prosperous-looking sunlit mill house with seven geese in the yard, a thatch-haired child playing with a stick among a brood of contented hens and, from somewhere within the house, the sound of a woman singing. The regular clack-clack of the wheel as it creaked round and the pleasant and continuous splashing of water falling from the turning paddles added to the sweet harmony of the scene. For a moment Hildegard felt a twinge of longing for a life that could never be hers before quickly reminding herself that the longing to have what other’s have is a sin for good reason.
A short time after this they emerged from the woods, and at last, on the far side of a stretch of common land, they saw the great stone walls of York.