Chapter Fifteen #4
She stayed there on the shore, watching as the fishermen gathered more bracken and dried grass, and some put shells and stones in the boat.
No words were spoken. This wasn’t a funeral rite or a ceremony.
It was a thing that needed doing, that needed doing right.
She glanced over at the spot where they’d buried him, hidden now below the morning tide, and she thought his spirit was in his boat, if not his body.
The oldest fisherman stepped forward and lit the fuel on the boat with his candle, which he’d been carefully shielding against the light morning wind.
The sun hit the far edge of the water, turning it golden, mirroring the boat as it took light.
They pushed it off and it steadily bobbed.
The leaves and bracken caught fire and briefly flamed but it took a long time before the boat itself caught.
The fuel kept it going, even as little waves put out the odd flame, and finally it was fully alight – burning strongly as it drifted a little further away, before it was nothing but a blackened hulk, slipping under the waves.
Once it was over, the fishermen got their nets and rowed away like any other day, leaving just Isabelle and Linnet on the shore, watching them go.
The tide put Linnet in mind of the pedlar.
It was beginning to go out and he’d be leaving once he’d seen the Prior.
She hurried back up to the Priory, slowing near the parlour to see if the door was open, if she could hear anything.
But the door was firmly shut and although she could hear voices inside, she couldn’t catch anything clearly this time.
Where would the pedlar go after he’d finished his business? The stables or the kitchen? She thought the kitchen for food to take with him on his way. He was plump, not one to wait for food to find him, rather on the hunt for it wherever it could be found.
She found Ann in the kitchen, her usual bad-humoured self. ‘Coming to help or just for picking as usual?’
Information would have to be paid for so Linnet sat to peel and chop turnips. She hated turnips. Hated using her good knife on their scabby skins.
‘Has the pedlar been here yet this morning?’ she asked.
‘No, he’s coming in after he’s seen the Prior. You got coin to spend then?’
If she wanted a reason to talk to him, she might have to spend, perhaps some gum arabica for a new ink.
‘Where’s he been before here?’ she asked, trying not to sound concerned as her knife slipped on the stubborn turnips, almost catching at her hand.
‘How would I know that then?’ Ann was in no mood to chat, that much was clear. Linnet went back to her turnips.
She’d nearly finished the chopping when the pedlar came in, pulling his bags through the door, cheery and loud.
Ann did a quick bit of business with him, selling him some small pies for his trip. Linnet tried to get a little closer.
‘Got far to go?’
‘I’m bound for Newcastle down the coast,’ he said, sitting down next to her. ‘But I’ll be doing all the towns and small places in between. I seen almost everywhere, you know.’
He smiled at her as if she were a simple, taking her for an islander no doubt. She decided to keep it that way, no need to go and get coin.
She gave him her best try at an admiring look. ‘You must have been even down South I should think?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve been down as far as Kent. That London isn’t for me though, too many others with their buying and selling. You’d be amazed at the folk and the smell! Oh my God, the smell!’ He laughed as he wafted his hand in front of his nose.
She laughed along with him. The smell in London had never troubled her.
It was a different kind of place to hide in, all those people everywhere, but after a few months she’d learnt that each busy street was its own village.
She could only stay unseen if she moved all the time.
That’s when she’d decided to come to Holy Island.
‘Where were you last?’
‘I’ve come last from Seahouses,’ he waved more or less towards the mainland, ‘but I’ve been on the road from York for the last few months.’
York. It was York she’d last seen Guy, York where he’d been taken into the prison.
Yes, that was probably where the news had come from.
Could she get him talking about the area without making him suspicious?
She was trying to think of a way when he got up, thanked Ann for the pies and headed off briskly towards the stables.
She gave Ann the chopped turnips and followed him. She could pretend interest in some fairings maybe.
He was still cheerful when she caught up with him, but his mind was on the tide. His cart was full to bursting and she cast around for something she could want. There was a soft leather pouch that would take her pens and knife.
‘How much for that?’ she asked.
The price he asked was too high. He shrugged as he said it, knowing she couldn’t afford that, especially not as the ignorant kitchen girl he was taking her for.
‘Tell me more about York,’ she said eventually, despairing of getting the information out of him any other way.
‘It’s a busy place, full of all sorts of folks.’
‘And the prison there?’
He laughed. ‘And why would you want to know about that?’ Then he looked more suspiciously at her.‘ Are you after getting me into trouble?’
And with that he turned his back on her and finished his packing.
She loitered anyway, picking up ribbons and putting them back until he shooed her away. He didn’t see what she took, or the little hole she made in his packs, something for him to blame the loss on later when he discovered it.
Returning to the Scriptorium, she found Luke busy cutting parchment for the new Gospels book. She’d left a note of the sizes and he’d taken it on himself to start. She was pleased but didn’t show it.
‘Mind those holes in the skins,’ she pointed out. ‘We’ll have to work around those so better on pages with text where we can encircle them.’
He nodded and kept working.
She went along to the Prior’s parlour, to see what inks or gilt he may have got from the pedlar.
He was sorting through a small heap of powders in twists of paper and cloth, and little clay pots.
‘Ah, Linnet, I have some more of that gum arabica and some oak galls, and this packet of shell gold for the new Gospels. I’ll keep the shell gold here until you need it, you’ll have to ask me for it.’
‘And the lapis, the aquamarine?’
‘Yes, yes, he brought that too, I’ve got that safe. How is Brother Luke’s work?’
‘He’s learning well, he’ll be a good scribe.’ She just hoped he wouldn’t replace her when he was good enough. ‘Do you want me to enter the goods in the Bursar’s book?’
Marcus stopped her. ‘No, I’ll be doing that,’ he said but as he bustled her out of the way, the Prior stopped him.
‘Linnet’s hand is better.’
Marcus shot Linnet a glance of pure malevolence, but as the Prior looked over, Linnet saw it vanish. She’d made another enemy there, without even trying. Although the Prior seemed to be using her more, that might protect her.
‘Is there a receipt for the lapis?’ she asked after a while, when she couldn’t find it in the column.
‘Negligent man,’ the Prior muttered. ‘No, I think the pedlar forgot to put it on.’
He gave her the figures and she made a new line for it, blotted the page and closed the book. The duck was looking better, more bright-eyed if still very quiet.
‘How is the duck, Prior?’ she asked.
His face lit up. ‘She’s doing very well, she takes her bread and milk and I think her wing is healing. The cat isn’t very happy though, I’ve caught him trying to strike her before.’
The cat probably felt the spot next to the fire was his by right. No wonder Linnet had seen him about more.