Chapter Nineteen #2
‘No, she won’t be back till late now. She’s visiting her sister in the village and they talk a lot that pair. You and your girl will be staying tonight though? You can see her tomorrow after morning prayers before you get on your way. What did that Lady Margaret have ye doing?’
She managed to make ‘Lady Margaret’ sound like a curse.
‘Oh just some more to do with the book,’ Linnet said. ‘You said she’s not with child, did she miss a baby while she’s been here?’
‘No, she can’t have done, we do all her linen for her and there’s been nothing but the ordinary.’ She pointed towards her skirt.
So Lady Margaret was lying then. Trying to sound like a baby had started but not stayed, and another might be on the way if only her Lord was to pay her some attention.
Linnet was relieved she’d never caught for a child when she’d been with Guy.
He’d been all over her to start with but lost interest quickly and she hadn’t cared by then.
She had wondered if she was barren. It didn’t give her any pain to think that.
But if Lady Margaret were barren, that would be difficult for her.
She’d probably be left in the nunnery to moulder for a lot longer.
The nun was talking still. ‘Her Lord has two sons already, you know, from his first wife, God bless her soul, a gentle woman – nothing like this one. They’re only young though, and don’t look that strong, I’ve heard.’
‘Why isn’t she at the family home?’
‘They’ve not got one built yet, he’s not a big name in that family so he’s out to get glory agin the Scots first. The boys are with his mother, and she could be too but I heard she quarrelled something fierce with the old lady when she first was there, so she’s gone off to find him, only he keeps on the move. ’
She showed them to a small guest room, empty this time. The nunnery didn’t get a lot of people staying. Isabelle bounced on the tick and poured out a stream of questions.
‘Were all those clothes on the floor in her room for the Lady? Why did she look so angry? I’d be happy like a pig in mud if I had all those clothes, so many different colours an’ all.
Where’s her Lord gone? Why does she want a babbie?
How do you get babbies anyway? Is it like the pigs?
Why don’t Ladies have a litter? I don’t think she can read – can she, Linnet? ’
Linnet latched on to the last question with some relief, trying not to laugh at the idea of the elegant young Lady Margaret suckling a litter of pig-like babies.
‘No, I don’t think she can read, nor write. She wants the prayer book so she can look like a proper Lady, I think.’
‘I want to write, can you learn me how? You showed me letters but there’s more, I know. The Prior says I’m too little but I ain’t, am I?’
Linnet thought about it. Yes, she supposed she could continue to teach her to write. Why not? It couldn’t do any harm. Maybe something to keep from the Prior though.
‘Yes, I’ll teach you more of your letters, but not now – we’ve not got enough candle for tonight and we need some rest before starting the walk back tomorrow. Can you settle down and hush now, Isabelle?’
In the dark, Linnet was startled by a brief hug from the child before they fell asleep.
The nun was too busy to gossip the next morning, a shame, Linnet thought, she’d enjoyed their talk last night.
As promised, she took Linnet to the Abbess, who read the Prior’s letter with almost as much annoyance as Lady Margaret had.
They both knew that although the letter was phrased as a request, the Abbess had no choice but to send the book back with Linnet.
The book had been written by Dame Juliana Berners from St Albans, they had been novices together and that was how this nunnery came to have it.
She took a small key from the chain at her waist and unlocked the book closet and took it out. Linnet managed to keep her face blank, merely a scribe carrying for the Prior, but inside she was jumping with excitement at the thought of seeing this book.
The book of ‘Hawking and Hunting with all the Properties and Medicines that are Necessary to be Kept’ was written in elaborate script across the frontispiece above a drawing of birds, maybe ravens or hawks, lecturing to sparrows, as if the words within came from the birds themselves.
Linnet held it carefully and gently turned the pages.
It was, as she’d heard, a goodly bit on hawks, then hunting lore, and then the nouns of venery, the groupings of animals and others.
She spent a long time looking at the pages, seeing the want of illustration.
If she used it for another book, she would add pictures of the different hawks at least.
‘I’ll not have you keep it for long, mind, you’re to do a quick copy and we will send someone to take it back, maybe by St Benedict’s day?’
Linnet thought for a bit, then countered with St Barnabas, and they agreed finally on St George, somewhere in the middle. She could get a rough copy done earlier, but she really wanted to have the coats of arms done properly. Maybe the Prior could give her another monk to help with it.
‘We’ve done the binding for it so you can see my nuns’ work. Tell your Prior that we can do bindings for his books if he is to set up a scriptorium.’
Linnet was interested and they spoke about prices and what cloths and leather they might use, what kind of time it would take.
She made some notes to show the Prior when she returned.
The Abbess had unbent a little, even smiling as she wrapped the book for her, this could be the beginning of useful relations between the two holy houses, and would help the Prior with his ambitions.
They left without Lady Margaret demanding any more from them. She was busy shouting at a stable boy for worrying her horse in some way so they slipped away unnoticed.
It was raining lightly with the promise of more to come and the wind was getting stronger.
It was going to be a difficult journey, heads down and faces set until they could find shelter.
Linnet showed Isabelle how to play ‘slug or leaf’ and ‘bird or leaf’.
They kept count. Linnet was much better at looking down and picking out slugs, years of walking, sometimes barefoot, had taught her well.
Isabelle, with her face turned upwards, was always right on birds.
‘Will Pol know you’re gone?’ Linnet was curious.
‘Yea – but he’s off enough hisself. He has other ravens he likes – he goes off with them. I don’t mind though. It’s his nature innit?’
They didn’t see any ravens, just a few rooks soaring near their nests, high in the trees.
Linnet was keen to get to a place of shelter so she could examine the book more.
She’d heard so much about this book of ‘Hawking and Hunting’, one of the first printed books, and she was longing to look at it further.
They aimed for Alnwick but they must have taken the wrong way somewhere, and they were now near the sea.
The road was getting busier as it grew dark. People with carts, people with bundles, a flock of sheep here too. Linnet was told they were bound for Alnmouth for tomorrow’s charter market, so it would be Alnmouth for them too.
She wondered if they would find anywhere to stay. The church rooms would be full already with a market coming, but there might be a few inhabitants who would cram in a few more for just a few coins.
Isabelle had grown silent, looking around at the crowds in awe and perhaps a little fear.
She was walking a lot closer to Linnet, even holding her hand at one point when the throng began pushing in the narrower streets.
There was a weekly market on the island, but only a smattering of folk – nothing like this.
Linnet took them to the sea side of the town.
It was a bit quieter there. The fishermen were stowing their nets and pulling their boats ashore, a bit quicker than normal perhaps, wanting to get to their place in the crowded market day taverns.
She stopped one of them to ask where she might find cheap lodging.
He directed them to his wife’s sister’s house down a small lane.
Her room was nearly full already but clean, and she gave them pottage and a spot by the door to sleep.
With no one paying them mind, Linnet got the book out and opened it to feel the pages, and admire the words.
The printing was done well, she conceded, but she felt something was lacking from a proper book.
Isabelle pointed at the words, asking, ‘What does that say? And that? And that?’ every time she turned the pages.
Linnet turned to the part that explained which birds were for which rank, and read aloud to her quietly for a few minutes.
‘And this is a falcon genteel and this is for a prince. This is a falcon of the rock and this is for a duke. And this is a sacre and this is for a knight.’ She thought the quiet repetitions were soothing Isabelle to sleep but as she put the book away, the child murmured, ‘And this a raven and this is for a child.’
They got up early the next day. Linnet wanted to start away but Isabelle was lingering, eyes wide at the stalls and people preparing for market.
‘Can’t we bide a wee while? I’ve not seen a big market afore, only the usual one on the island.’
‘I’ve nothing for you to spend here, Isabelle. You can only enjoy the market when you have coin.’
The child didn’t heed her warning and skipped off, stopping to look at piles of cheeses, stalls with pins and hair clasps, and a monkey!
Was it a monkey? Linnet had seen pictures of them in her books and she was sure it was.
It was held by a string, shivering in this cold English winter, very far away from its warm home.
Linnet found Isabelle chatting to the man holding the monkey’s string. He was dark-skinned and spoke halting English but he was smiling at the child who was trying to touch the animal.
‘He bite! He teeth!’ he warned, but that didn’t stop her.