Chapter Five #4
“What man?” Bronwyn asked.
Hugh scratched his head. “Never mind that now. Come to the kitchen, Sister, and we’ll get you a bite to eat.”
“Please, can I fetch my sister? She’s still hiding.”
“Yes. Where is she?” Hugh asked.
Holding the bread loaf tightly as if loath to let it go, Sister Rebecca led them out of the kitchen stores and through the corridors, down to…
Bronwyn sniffed. Based on the nun’s subtle odor, she had a strong suspicion she knew where the nun would be leading them.
“The brewery? You’re hiding here?” Hugh asked.
“Yes. There is a back door that leads down the hill. It’s hidden, but if you know it’s there, you can get into the brewery from outside.”
Bronwyn’s eyebrows rose. A way in and out of the castle. That was valuable information.
The nun led them into the brewery, which was dark and full of shadows and sleeping forms. The air was filled with the even snores and subtle breaths of servants sleeping, tinged with the scent of sweat, the odor of unwashed bodies, and the heady smell of oats, hops, and beer.
Sister Rebecca moved silently through the shadows, drifting amongst the darkness as if she knew it well. After a few minutes, she walked around the rows of tiered casks and whispered, “Sister Joan.”
Silence.
Sister Rebecca whispered, “Come out, Sister, it’s all right. We’re safe.”
Sister Rebecca called again, when a small head with a pale face and big, round eyes popped up behind a cask, giving Bronwyn a start.
“Heavens, girl. You’ll make my heart stop. Warn a man before you jump out like that,” Hugh said.
Bronwyn straightened and held up a finger to her lips for quiet. “Sister Joan, yes?”
“Yes,” came the hushed reply. The young woman, maybe about twenty years of age, slipped out of the shadows to face them. Her very movements were tired and her eyes darted back and forth between Hugh and Bronwyn, as if they might attack.
“Are you hungry? We have food,” Bronwyn said.
Sister Joan nodded and followed them and Sister Rebecca to the kitchen. Hugh stood by, fetching them more bread and drink, whilst Bronwyn sat with the women at the long table where the servants normally ate.
The nuns sat close together, as if afraid to be separated. Sister Joan tore into the bread loaf from Sister Rebecca, eating quickly, stuffing her cheeks. The women washed down huge mouthfuls with swallows of beer and one of the sisters coughed.
“Take your time. There’s no hurry,” Hugh said.
Bronwyn watched as the sisters ate and took in the sight of them. Sister Rebecca was tall, rail-thin, with fair, wispy, blonde hair that peeked out from beneath her veil. The beer put a bit of color back in her cheeks. She was aged perhaps in her late forties, but Bronwyn couldn’t be sure.
Sister Joan was younger, short and petite, with stringy, brown hair and wide eyes that darted around, looking at everything. She ate furiously, as if afraid her current bite would be her last.
“When did you two come here?” Bronwyn asked.
“About a week ago. We fled when the army attacked and hid with some Good Samaritans, until we had to leave. It wasn’t safe. Sister Rebecca knew the way and we hid in the brewery.”
Hugh crossed his burly arms over his broad chest. “I think that’s when I first noticed the food going missing. A few days ago, I’d been looking for some spare capons to make for dinner and could have sworn there were more of them. Now I know why.”
So that’s one crime solved, Bronwyn thought.
“We’re sorry,” Sister Joan said. “We had nowhere else to go and didn’t have anyone we could trust.”
“You’re safe now,” Hugh said.
Bronwyn sat with the young women quietly as Hugh rustled up some extra blankets from nearby.
He stepped out of the brewery only briefly and returned with his arms full.
He said, “Bronwyn, have them bed down with you. They’ll be safe in the main hall for the night.
We’ll sort out the rest in the morning.” He let out a massive yawn and put the blankets in their hands.
Bronwyn led the nuns to the main hall and stepped around the sleeping forms of the other servants. She made sure the women were safe and comfortable near her, backs against the wall, and whispered to Sister Rebecca, “You said there was a man you overheard. Where? What did he say?”
The nun paused. She looked around and said quietly, her voice so soft that Bronwyn strained to hear it. “In the brewery, from my hiding place, I heard him and another man talking. One said to keep up the writs? The drawings. And to write him more.”
Bronwyn looked at her. “Go on.”
“The other man seemed unhappy about it all. He refused, and the first man said that if he didn’t do what he wanted, he’d tell the empress what he’d done and he’d lose his position. The man told him off. He used some very… un-Christian language.”
Bronwyn thanked her and let the woman go to sleep. The nun soon was sleeping soundly.
But Bronwyn lay awake for some time, blinking in the darkness. Whom had the nun heard talking? First Agatha Carre was being blackmailed into doing something, and now a man was behind the scribbled drawings of the empress. The question was: who was behind it all?