Chapter Fifteen
Bronwyn decided to take matters into her own hands.
The fighting between the armies had ended and there was a tentative peace in the city.
People had begun to come out from their homes.
The sun shone, offering a warm September heat.
Bronwyn no longer felt any compunction about abandoning the kitchen.
She had no friends there and there was no one to look out for her.
With Theobold in jail and Rupert watching her, she needed to play up the fact she was a servant and sneak away, particularly from his prying eyes.
Aside from Lady Alice’s fair-weather friendship, she had no one she could rely on, and she didn’t even know if her family was still alive, or if she would ever see them again.
The very thought pained her, and she felt hollow inside, so empty.
As Bronwyn slipped outside the castle grounds, she bumped into Sister Rebecca. “Good morrow, Sister.”
“Bronwyn.” The older nun inclined her head. “Where are you off to?”
“Um, I thought I’d go visit Winchester Castle.”
The sister’s greying eyebrows knit together. “Whatever for?”
Bronwyn revealed her desire to see Tristan’s body. Sister Rebecca’s polite smile disappeared. “I’m not sure of your intentions. But I will go with you. It is fortuitous that we met.”
“‘Fortuiwhat’?”
“Lucky,” Sister Rebecca said.
“Like fate?”
“I don’t believe in fate. Only our Lord, Jesus Christ. Now come along. If you are determined to do this, you shan’t do it alone.”
Together, they walked through the city. They came to the smoking ruin that was the nunnery, and Sister Rebecca’s eyes watered. “This was our nunnery.”
“Oh.”
They stood and looked at the building, which had fallen into disrepair. It had been largely destroyed by fire. Sister Rebecca walked through the wreckage, ignoring Bronwyn’s warnings about safety. She came out, her face drawn. “I will come back here. We’ll need to rebuild it.”
“Where will you get the money?” Bronwyn asked.
Sister Rebecca’s mouth twisted in distaste as if Bronwyn had said something vulgar. “I will ask the queen for it. Or I shall beg. The Lord will provide, one way or another.”
They walked on. The weather was warm that morning and people were walking around, talking, huddled in small groups.
Armed men patrolled the streets, and she climbed up the hill to Winchester Castle, out of breath by the time they had arrived at the castle courtyard.
The hill had been steep, and it was no wonder the invading army had struggled to take it over.
She wondered what would remain of the people who’d been working there.
Bronwyn entered the corridors and was easily overlooked as a servant, flanked by the nun.
She made her way to the kitchens and ran into Hugh, who clapped his hands on her shoulders and pulled her into a hug.
“Thanks to the Lord, Bronwyn. I thought you must’ve been taken prisoner or died.
And, Sister, good to see you again. Are you all right? What are you doing here?”
Bronwyn blinked away tears, so happy she was to see a smiling face. And a person who actually liked her. Even Sister Rebecca’s firm expression had softened. “Hullo, Hugh.” Bronwyn returned the hug. “I’m on an errand. I’d… like to see the cold storage.”
“What, where we keep the cheeses and preserved meats?”
She bit her lower lip. “Not exactly. You remember the squire who died before the empress left. Tristan?”
Hugh scratched his head. “Yes, I remember.” He shot her a look. “You mean to view his body?”
She nodded.
“But why? That’s morbid.”
“I want to check something.”
He frowned. “I don’t like this. Especially when so many people have died. A lot of them were put in there to wait before they have proper burials. The room will have a lot of bodies, Bronwyn. You shouldn’t go down there.”
She swallowed. She’d seen bodies before, but not necessarily in these circumstances. “I’ve seen dead bodies before.”
Hugh’s face was serious. “For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me. Trouble follows you around, girl. All right. You know where you’re going?”
She shook her head.
“Fair enough. I’ll show you. Don’t like you being there alone, anyway. It’s not right.”
“I’ll be with her. You need only show us the way,” Sister Rebecca said. “Someone will need to speak with the priests around to arrange burials.”
Hugh rubbed at his nose with his sleeve. “Good luck with that. There aren’t many religious folk around here these days.” He led them down a set of stairs, below the east wing of the castle, where the air grew colder. “You may want to cover your noses,” he warned.
He wasn’t wrong. The smell hit Bronwyn’s nose immediately and she held her sleeve to her nose, trying to breathe in through her mouth. The space that was normally used for storing cold food items had been taken over and now served the dead.
They walked into a medium-sized storeroom, where bodies had been laid out on the floor and on the shelves.
Meat carcasses hung and the air buzzed with flies.
Where possible, the faces of the deceased had been covered, but flies were unstoppable, and more than one sheet moved with the telltale hint of flies and maggots burrowing into the soft decaying flesh beneath.
Sister Rebecca uttered a curse. “I’m going to be sick. Excuse me.” She went back up the steps, coughing.
Hugh turned to Bronwyn. “This is a sorry place. Be quick about it, yeah?”
“I will.” Bronwyn stepped around the rows of bodies, looking.
The quiet of the room, the stillness, disturbed her.
She pinched her nose and lifted up the cloth covering every face, hurriedly putting them back.
The faces of the dead were gruesome, and the sight of more than one made her feel physically ill.
This was not for the faint-hearted, she realized.
She looked upon every shelf, and finally, turned to Hugh. “I’m done.”
Together, they walked back up the steps. “What were you hoping to find?” Hugh asked.
“I wanted to examine Tristan’s body and look through his things. He may have been carrying something that would give us a clue as to why he was killed.”
“But you’re empty-handed.”
“Yes.”
“So you didn’t find him?”
“No. Have there been many burials for the past few days?” she asked.
“No. None at all. And Lord knows we need them. This place stinks.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “So what does this mean?”
“His body is missing. I mean to find out why,” she said.
Sister Rebecca had gone to find a priest, whilst Bronwyn waited for her to return. She returned to the kitchen with Hugh, who put her to work kneading dough.
“There’s not been a lot of work since the empress left,” he said, “but we have to make sure the kitchen is stocked and ready, should the king and queen wish to return and use this as their base of operations. Not many servants were killed in the fighting. I’d say it was a quick fight. Didn’t last long after that siege.”
“Did you ever speak with Tristan before he died?”
“Me? Not really. Did wonder why he was wearing his best seat of clothes and where he was going to. He said his only other seat was dirty. Too much fighting with the other squires.”
She clasped arms with Hugh and said goodbye, then joined Sister Rebecca to return to Wolvesey Castle. The sister had had no luck in finding a priest, so there was no development in arranging burials for the dead.
But once the ladies had returned to the castle, they parted ways. Bronwyn went to the kitchens, where Master Christopher pinched her by the elbow and steered her toward the worktables. “And just where have you been?”
“I—”
“Dodging your work, that’s what. And it’s bloody lazy of you when the rest of us are hard at it.
We’ve had an order for manchets, and sweet white bread rolls with honey for the queen.
But when we made it, they sent it back. Can you believe it?
The bloody rudeness of it all.” He glared at her as if she were at fault.
“I’m sorry?” She pulled her elbow away. It smarted, but she made no move to touch it.
“I bet you are. As well you should be. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t been going around dallying with the ladies and talking about how bloody wonderful your white rolls are, the queen might never have asked for them.
But now she has and surprise, surprise, she doesn’t like them when someone else makes them.
Now she blames us, when it’s all your doing. ”
Bronwyn raised an eyebrow at him. She had a feeling he was about to bluster on about what he would say, when she rather suspected he was full of hot air. Her gaze was firm, and she put her hands on her hips. “Shall I make some rolls, then?”
“Yes, obviously. It’s too late now; Her Grace is already angry. But see if you can cobble something together. She might not kill us in our beds.” He walked off, cursing.
She snorted. So not only was he full of bluster, he was also on the dramatic side. She shook off her nerves, set her shoulders, and got to work.
Sometime later, standing over a worktable and kneading dough, Bronwyn gave a small sigh of pleasure. There was a beauty in her work, she decided. Working her fingers in the bread dough gave her time to think, and it was time away from scrubbing pots or turning the spit, which was nice.
She prepared the manchets and cut the dough into small loaves, working with a bit of honey. Once they were set to baking in the oven, she washed her hands clean in a bucket and wiped them dry on her work apron.
Some of the cooks were watching, but none spoke to her. She helped scrub pots and turned the spit, keeping an eye on her rolls. Once they were ready, she took them up to the queen.
Upon entering, Queen Matilda sat with Sir William of Ypres, drinking wine. The ladies-in-waiting stood some distance away, in a corner of the room, near the windows. All watched as Bronwyn brought forward the platter. She felt their eyes on her, but none made any movement to acknowledge her.