Michael JECKS - Belladonna at Belstone

It was the barking rather than the scream that woke Simon from his heavy sleep. He yawned and blinked, stretching. In front of him he saw Constance appear in the doorway to her chamber, her eyes wide with fear. “What is it?” he asked. “Damn that bloody dog, does it always yap like this in the middle of the night?”

“That scream, didn’t you hear it?”

“Scream? What, from here?” Simon demanded, staring down immediately at his friend. To his relief Baldwin appeared oblivious to the noise.

“No, outside,” Constance said. Her hand was on her breast, and she almost appeared to be panting. “It sounded like the devil himself – oh, God save us!”

“I’m sure He will,” Simon said soothingly, although he was unpleasantly aware of his own superstitious dislike of the dark. “Where did it come from?”

Before Constance could answer, he heard a door open and the prioress appeared in the doorway. “The noise came from outside the cloister, Bailiff – from this side of the church.” Her face was very pale and she suddenly looked ancient.

Simon nodded, pulled his swordbelt around his belly and tied the thongs together. “Hugh, you stay here to protect Baldwin and the others. I’ll go and check.”

“I shall join you,” the prioress said.

“I think you should…” Simon began uncertainly.

“Do not waste your breath, young man,” she snapped.

Simon saw argument was useless. Slapping his open palm against his sword-hilt, he nodded, then hurried past the prioress and out, down the stairs to the cloister.

“Through the frater,” Lady Elizabeth called from behind him.

At the doorway Simon peered in. The hall was empty. Lady Elizabeth pointed the way once more, and Simon went to the screens, where he saw the door.

The blood was tingling in his veins now, pounding at his temples. He gripped his sword-hilt and pulled the metal free of its scabbard; the weapon gleamed wickedly where the sharpened edge caught the candlelight. Taking a deep breath Simon darted through.

He came out into a small cobbled yard, smelling of farm animals’ dung. A sow grunted at him from a quiet corner. A door was open to a shed-like structure, and Simon made for it obliquely, avoiding the light that streamed out. He went right up to the wall at the side of the door, and then slowly, with every nerve awake for a sound from within, he pressed his free hand to the wood of the door and pushed, sword held out at belly height, ready to slash or stab.

The sight that met him presented no threat. A horrified expression on his face, the smith Elias was kneeling and cradling Agnes’s head in his lap, while the blood dripped slowly from her slackly open mouth on to his stained robe.

Luke shrank back against the stonework of the wall as Simon and the prioress dashed past, and only when they had gone did he lick his dry lips and try to clear his head. He was near the door to the frater, but he could hear a chattering gaggle of nuns approaching nervously through it, so he couldn’t escape that way. The route to the outer wall of the precinct meant passing by the open doorway where Simon and the prioress no doubt stood staring in horror at Elias and the dead woman. Luke’s only chance of escape lay in making his way outside the cloister along the outer, western range of buildings towards the church. Then he could get to the alley that led along the church’s wall, and thence to the church itself. “Why?” Luke heard the prioress demand. Her voice was high-pitched, as if about to break. “What has this girl ever done to you?”

“Lady Elizabeth, I didn’t hurt her! There was a scream – I came here to make sure she was all right. I didn’t kill her.”

“Stay where you are!” Simon rasped as Elias tried to get to his feet. “My Lady?”

“We shall have to put him somewhere safe until morning,” she said. “If you heard her and came running to protect her, how did you get through the door in the church?”

“It was open, my Lady. I followed Luke.”

“Luke was here?” Simon demanded.

“He bribed Sister Denise to let him in, so that he could see this novice. I heard him arrange it, and followed when he came through.”

“And you?” Lady Elizabeth asked. “What were you doing here?”

“I came to see Constance one last time, my Lady. I had no interest in this girl – I love Constance.”

“Where is Luke, then?”

“He went straight from the church out to the cloister, and he stopped there, just as I did, because someone came past – Denise. She went into the church, then returned to the cloister. Luke went off towards the garden, and seeing that, I had decided to go round and throw stones up at Constance’s shutter, when I heard the cry.”

“What then?”

“I hesitated – I didn’t want to be found here, but the cry sounded so full of fear I had to come. I ran through the frater and saw the light. I immediately came in, and found Agnes like this. I held her head to help her soul pass on.”

“When was this?”

“Only a short time ago, my Lady.”

Simon snorted with derision. “You expect us to believe this?”

“Get Denise here, ask her!”

After a moment, Luke heard Lady Elizabeth call for a novice then send her away to fetch Denise.

Here was an opportunity to make good his escape: the nuns and novices, all fascinated by the drama being acted out in the little chamber, had drifted forward so that they could listen better, and their gradual movement had left a space near the door to the screens of the frater. Cautiously, hardly daring to breathe, Luke sidled along the wall, away from that hideous light and the scene within the room. Slipping along slowly, with infinite care to avoid making a sound, he reached the corner of the buildings and ducked around into the small garden.

At last he began to feel a little safer. It was only a few yards to the church. He rushed along on tiptoes, fearful lest he should kick a stone and waken the nuns to his presence, but he managed to cover the distance without alarming anyone and soon was at the alley by the church’s wall. Peering into the cloister, he saw nothing. He paused, trying to still his pounding heart, and moved confidently towards the church’s door. Reaching it, he closed it behind him with a gasp of absolute relief. He had to pause, panting, suddenly exhausted. But there wasn’t time, he could take a rest when he was back in his bed. He rushed over the floor to the communicating door.

His heart was thudding less painfully now, with a more steady rhythm. Thank God he had survived. He cast a smile at the altar, acknowledging it with a tilt of his head. A genuflection after this day’s work would be an insult, he reflected, and he pressed the latch to open the door.

But the door wouldn’t open. His hand still on the latch, he tugged at it, pursed his lips and pulled again, then set both hands upon the handle, his foot to the wall, and heaved until the corded muscles stood out on his neck, tears of frustration pouring from his eyes, but the locked door wouldn’t budge.

As he sagged, ready to weep, resting his forehead against the wood, he heard a noise. Spinning, he found himself face-to-face with Margherita. She stood in a choir stall, watching him with a small smile of contempt.

“So, Father Luke, you decided to come and adulterate one of the Brides of Christ yet again, did you?” she asked quietly. “And what now, Father? Will you await your fate here?”

He made as if to step towards her, but she shook her head, and with a speed that surprised him, she moved around behind the stalls, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “I would prefer to keep my distance, Father, especially with all these dead women about the place. It would be a shame to add to their number, don’t you think? Not to mention defiling the church with blood.“