Chapter Two
The light was going but that wasn’t what drew Linnet’s attention from her work. The voices outside the Scriptorium were not quite arguing but there was something strained, and one of them belonged to someone she didn’t recognise.
She flexed her hands to get the blood moving in them again, got up and went to the doorway, careful to stay in the shadows.
The Scriptorium was at the end of the Chapter House, overlooking the inner courtyard where the Prior was walking slowly past with a visitor.
The man, a monk, was stocky and dark-haired, with pale skin.
His robes looked freshly washed, pressed smooth, although not as clean at the bottom.
His arms were folded, hands resting on his rounded stomach.
Something about the wiry black hairs on his white knuckles made Linnet flinch a little and she drew further back.
She could see a novice monk following them, but not one she recognised. He looked old for a novice, a large man, head down, at a respectful distance, having to slow himself from his usual stride to stay at their pace.
‘—of course and we’re delighted to help you, Father Nicholas. Our Priory is open to you for anything you need.’
‘It’s not about delight, Prior. I am here to see that you are working according to the Rule, and to the Bishop’s requirements.’
Father Nicholas must be an Inspector. His voice was high-pitched but deliberate and slow. Linnet had visited monasteries under inspection before. If the Inspector couldn’t find any fault, he would have to invent something, to show he was doing his job. Most holy houses had plenty of faults though.
‘Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ll find we are in order. Take care in the Priory Church, the new floor is being laid and it’s uneven.’
The Prior didn’t sound his usual calm self, but a little uneasy.
‘How much is the floor costing?’
‘It was paid for by the Bishop in his kindness, he—’
‘The last Bishop.’
The Inspector stopped, glancing around him as if already looking for errors he could note down. Catching sight of the mud on the bottom of his robes, a stark contrast to the rest of their cleanliness, he turned back to the Prior.
‘Who is the boy who takes visitors over the way to the island? He made us wait another hour although the way looked clear, and then I am minded he took us a long route, and my horse stumbled several times.’
Linnet tried not to let a laugh escape her.
It would have been Daniel or one of his three brothers.
Only their mother could tell them apart.
Large and freckled and slow to speak or move, their eyes were quick with malice, and Tom told her they only took the shortest route if they were assured of a good payment.
The more they disliked the look of you, the muddier you got.
‘Oh, the boys from the inn at Beale, they have walked the route for years now and I’m sure he will have been keen to keep you out of harm’s way.’
She caught a glimpse of a slight smile on the Prior’s face and wondered if he too noticed how the rudest visitors were the dirtiest to arrive on the island.
The Beale boys had a grudging respect for the Prior, she knew, and he for them.
The way onto the island was treacherous and it was hard to be sure when it would be safe, and when covered in water.
The fishermen knew the times but couldn’t explain how they knew how it changed, and at times, they got it wrong, to their cost. She hadn’t dared to venture back off the island since her arrival over a month ago, memories of that night still fresh enough to chill her through.
The men kept walking down the passageway towards the guest quarters and Linnet lost sight of them in the gathering gloom.
It was now cold as well as dark. The Scriptorium was a small room, taking up the end space of the Chapter House, set within the calefactory, a place for the monks to warm themselves between their tasks.
That had a fire most of the time but the thick wall didn’t let much heat through.
The Scriptorium also had a fireplace but with just Linnet working in it, there was no fire.
She shivered as she drew her cloak around her.
It was more holes than cloak, but still soft and warm, in parts at least. One of the best things she’d stolen.
She turned back to her work to put away her quills and ink when something large swooped at her. Startled, she jumped backwards and knocked the ink over.
‘Damn, damn, damn!’ At least it was the oak gall ink which she had plenty of. She mopped it with her dark cloak which wouldn’t show the stains.
‘You marn’t say that. Not here with the Fathers.’
She jumped again. ‘Isabelle, you’re as sly as that bird of yours. Creeping up like that!’
The dark-haired child and the sleek black raven looked at her in unison, heads both tilted as she cleared up the mess they’d made.
‘You wan’ get that cloak mended. Tom’ll do it for you.’
It was like having a nagging conscience made flesh, the child always lurking and telling her what she should and shouldn’t do.
Isabelle didn’t seem to belong to anyone on the island, although the women in the kitchen at the Priory would feed her if she turned up at meal times.
She was dirty and wild, but had a strong sense of order, even if she didn’t think it applied to her.
Her pet raven, Pol, was equally stubborn and strong-willed.
Linnet hadn’t spent much time around children, or ever wanted them, not even when she was first with Guy.
When she was a child herself, her father had taken her along with him as he took the obituary rolls from monasteries to priories to cathedrals.
She was petted by the young monks, given sweetmeats by the older ones, and fussed over by the cooks and the laundry women.
In between those floods of attention, they would walk for miles and sleep under hedges.
Her father was saving the horse money and the inn money for a rainy day, although they always seemed to have plenty of rain as they travelled.
She wondered if he still did that. He must be more than fifty now, too old for those long walks surely, if he were alive of course.
She had no idea why Isabelle kept following her around but she didn’t like it.
The child drew too much attention, always asking questions and bringing that raven with her.
She was too tired to shoo her away tonight, though.
Neither of them would have anything to eat if they didn’t hurry.
They left the Scriptorium, the little girl skipping slightly, while Linnet picked her way between the loose stones, and the raven hopped from low wall to hedge to rock before flying away into the dark.
They passed the Refectory where the monks were waiting for their food.
The Prior and the Inspector and the other man were coming back from the guest lodging where the Inspector would be staying, just next to the Prior’s parlour.
Linnet wondered who would do the reading while they ate.
She thought Oswyn, the bursar, was most likely, he would enjoy showing off his Latin for an important guest.
The kitchen was busier than usual, Ann sweating as she stirred and chopped and shouted.
She had set up lamb cakes for St Agnes Eve, ready for the young girls on the island, Linnet too old at twenty-five, and Isabelle too young, to take part in the traditional ritual, eating the cake and sprinkling the corn on the field to see the face of your beloved.
The cakes had been pushed to one side for this unexpected visitor and Linnet could see Ann was not pleased.
Linnet and Isabelle slipped into the back of the room, staying out of the way.
The talk was all about the Father and his inspection.
There hadn’t been an inspection for many years now so some thought he was bound to find much to complain about.
Another faction stoutly defended the Prior saying he was a clever man and would know what to say and do to keep the report favourable.
Linnet began making a list in her head as she sat there; she could think of at least five ways the Priory was breaking the Rule.
Who knew what the new Bishop wanted anyway – he might have new strictures that the Prior didn’t even know about.
She knew religion was merely a veil over their motives for many of the powerful men of the Church.
The bustle began to die down as the monks’ food was taken out. Linnet ate quickly, even the leftover food was better when there were visitors. The soup had more vegetables and even some scraps of meat in it for once. She slipped out as Isabelle was begging for a bit of pastry.
She bumped straight into the bursar, Brother Oswyn. He couldn’t have done the reading as he still had his cloak on. He took her by the arm, laughing.
‘What are you running from, Linnet? Have you been up to no good?’
She took a quick step back, shrugging off his hands.
His breath was hot on her face, but sweet-smelling.
He stepped in closer again, almost whispering.
‘I know your secret, Linnet, and I bet the Prior would like to know it too. A little Dutch mouse told me something tonight that I think he’d be interested in. ’
Linnet forced her face to go blank and looked at Oswyn as if he’d not said anything at all.
The noise of the kitchen behind them carried through the night air.
Linnet wondered how long he’d been waiting for the moment to pounce, looking to feed off her fear.
She’d been on the island for more than a few weeks and he’d not said a word until now, contenting himself with scowling at her if she passed him.
Well, damn him. The sound of the curse echoed in her head as loud as if she’d shouted it at him. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction though. Anyway, the only reply she could make would be ‘Which secret?’