Alys Clare - The Way Between the Worlds

If that was true, then I could be in danger.

As I walked along the quayside towards the abbey and the settlement around it, I wondered what would happen if I was right and Father Clement really was eager to find me. The problem was that to many churchmen, anyone whose religious beliefs differed in the smallest degree from their own was guilty of heresy. Once someone had set him or herself apart in this way, other accusations often followed. When life was cruel, it was natural to want to put the blame on someone, and sooner or later the cry would go up that the misfortune had happened because a witch had uttered a curse. Much of Edild’s and my work as healers consisted of providing charms and remedies for people who believed they had been cursed. Neither of us truly believed this was possible, but Edild’s view was that to prescribe a ‘magic’ rabbit’s foot or a mild herbal concoction would do no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact; we usually found that the cure was effective simply because the patient believed it would be.

We were on the fringes of Christian society, my aunt and I. So, come to think of it, were Gurdyman and Hrype, but they were inconspicuous compared to a pair of village healers, and, anyway, I reckoned they could both look after themselves. My fear, when I made myself face it, was that I would be the subject of Father Clement’s attention simply because, although I dutifully went to church from time to time, I also practised what he would call pagan rites. If he was as fanatical as Hrype believed, then undoubtedly he would see me as a heretic. At best, I might have to do several years’ penance. At worst — and I knew there were precedents — I could be put to death.

The sensible thing would be to quietly get off the island and go back to Aelf Fen or Gurdyman’s house, then avoid Chatteris Abbey until either the fire went out of Father Clement’s belly or he went away again. Don’t think I wasn’t tempted: of course I was. But I knew that if I slunk away, the dreams would go on tormenting me and, for all that I now knew it wasn’t Elfritha’s, that voice would give me no peace. I could not for the life of me see how my night terrors could be connected with the murder of a novice nun, but I knew as well as I knew my own name that they were. Instinct again, but, as I have said, I was learning that my instincts were almost always accurate.

Having made up my mind, I felt better. The first thing I must do, I decided, was to find out as much as I could about the late Sister Herleva. Discovering where she came from, and whatever it was about her that had driven someone to kill her, would be a good start. The obvious person to speak to was her best friend, my sister, but Elfritha was the one person I couldn’t seek out, for if I did so someone would probably remember who I was and I could be putting myself in danger. I would try not to enter the abbey at all, I thought; instead, I would keep my eyes open for some local person — a tradesman, a craftsman — who had dealings with the nuns without being of the community. If I was lucky, encouraging this person to talk would be the easy part. Murders were a rare occurrence, especially in abbeys, and this one would be the talk of the area for weeks, probably months, to come.

I went back to my hiding place under the alders, made myself comfortable and waited.

Presently, a fat, red-cheeked countrywoman puffed in through the abbey gates, two large half-barrels suspended from a wooden yoke that rested on her broad shoulders. I stood up to see better and saw that each barrel contained what looked like small, round cheeses, each wrapped in white cloth. My hungry stomach gave a growl at the thought of a fresh, tasty cheese, and as I reached in my leather satchel to find coins, I realized I had the perfect excuse to catch the old woman’s attention.

She stayed for quite some time inside the abbey. I hoped she was busy gossiping. When she emerged, I slipped out from the trees and followed. I waited until she was some distance down the track that led to the settlement to the east of the abbey, then increased my pace and caught up with her.

She was happy to sell me a cheese, putting down her burden to rest as she did so. She perched her ample buttocks on the bank beside the track, and I sat down beside her. Not wasting a moment, I said, ‘I hear there’s been a murder at the abbey.’

As soon as she turned to me, eyes wide in wonder and an expression on her face that told me she was just dying to tell the latest news to somebody, I knew I’d chosen well. ‘Yes, my dearie, so there has!’ she began. ‘It’s one of the novices, a pretty, plump, chatty little thing, quite my favourite because whenever she was on kitchen duty when I delivered my cheeses, she always gave me a drink and a crust to help me on my way. She and her friend, they were about the only ones who had time for a weary old soul like me.’ Her face fell momentarily. I did not believe her, for Elfritha had many good friends among the nuns, both novices and the fully professed, and I was quite sure most of them would have had the charity to give their cheese woman some refreshment.

‘What was her name?’ I asked, although of course I already know.

‘Sister Herleva,’ the woman said. ‘She was from over beyond Lynn way, from some place up on the coast. She hadn’t been with the nuns long — let me see, I reckon it was last summer she came, maybe autumn. It’s — it was taking her a while to settle down to convent ways, and I did wonder if she’d stay. They don’t let them take their vows, you know,’ she added confidingly, leaning towards me, ‘if they don’t think they’re ready. Sometimes they never are and then they go out again.’ She smiled in a self-congratulatory way. ‘I know a lot about nuns, me. I’ve been taking my cheeses to Chatteris Abbey these thirty years, and not much gets past me.’

‘No, I’m sure it doesn’t.’ Flattery seemed a good idea. ‘They say her throat was cut,’ I said, dropping my voice to an intimate whisper.

The cheese seller put her mouth close to my ear. ‘She was hit on the head and her neck was slit from ear to ear,’ she whispered back. She looked swiftly up and down the track, but there was nobody in sight. ‘There’s something else,’ she hissed. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you this. No one’s supposed to know, not even the nuns themselves, but I had to visit the herbalist on account of she wanted some of my sage and I overheard her talking to the abbess.’ She paused, undoubtedly for dramatic effect, then said, ‘Poor little Herleva was poisoned!’

I remembered Elfritha mentioning the pool of vomit. I’d thought perhaps Herleva had been sick because of her terror. But poison! How extraordinary, that she’d been poisoned, then hit on the head, then had her throat cut. Had the poison not been sufficiently potent and the blow to the head not hard enough? Poor little Herleva, indeed. Somebody had been utterly determined that she should die, even if it took three attempts.

‘Surely she was very young, for someone to hate her so much?’ I said, opening my eyes wide and trying to sound naive.

The cheese seller patted my hand kindly. ‘Oh, there’s reasons enough to kill a person other than hatred,’ she said, ‘as I fear you’ll come to understand, my dearie, before you’re much older.’

‘But what could they possibly be?’ I asked, genuinely wanting an answer. Herleva was young, kind, gossipy and a novice nun. Why would any of those things make anyone want to kill her?

The old woman shook her head. ‘No use asking me, dearie. I came to realize years ago that the ways of this wicked world are beyond my comprehension.’

She levered herself to her feet and raised her yoke back on to her shoulders, wincing as she did so. ‘The lass would have been poor, so it can’t have been theft that made someone do for her. Nor love, come to that, since the nuns are chaste, or meant to be!’ She laughed shortly. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, dearie. Now, I must be getting on my way, or I won’t be done afore dark.’