Paul Doherty - The Devil's domain

They swept upriver and Moleskin brought his boat along the quayside steps.

‘Do you want me to wait, Brother?’

‘No. you’ll be pleased to know after this I am going to meet Sir John’

Athelstan offered some coins but Moleskin shook his head.

‘For you, Brother, it’s free. Just remember me and my boat at Mass. I mean, if you can bless a collection of rat-catchers, cats and ferrets…’ He looked hopefully up at the friar.

‘I think it’s a very good idea. Moleskin,’ Athelstan replied. ‘What we’ll do is wait for the feast of some sailor, or a Sunday when the gospel mentions Jesus going fishing with His apostles, then I’ll come down and bless you and your craft. Perhaps we can give it a name?

Moleskin’s smile widened.

‘What about St Erconwald?’

Moleskin’s smile faded.

‘Or,’ Athelstan added quickly, ‘ the Rose of Southwark?’

‘I like that, Brother. I knew a sweet girl called Rosamund. The only problem is so did half the boatmen along the Thames!’

‘Then we are agreed.’ Athelstan sketched a blessing in the air and walked up the steps.

A young novice ushered him into Lady Monica’s presence. The abbess rose, as stately as a queen, though her face was slightly flushed.

‘Ah, Brother Athelstan. Where’s Brother Norbert?’ Her eyes darted around. ‘And Sir Jack?’

‘They are not here, my lady. I have only come to collect the Lady Angelica.’

‘I beg your pardon!’ Lady Monica clasped her hands together, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘My good Brother, you don’t walk into a nunnery and demand that I hand over one of my girls!’

‘Lady Monica, I am a Dominican friar. Holy Mother Church and my Order have entrusted me with saying Mass, preaching the gospel and looking after Christ’s faithful. I am parish priest of St Erconwald’s in Southwark where, as God knows, I have more precious charges than I can handle. I am also secretarius to Sir John Cranston, lord coroner of this city, personal friend of the late and glorious Edward. He is one of my Lord of Gaunt’s most trusted counsellors and a personal friend of the young King. So, I believe I can look after a young maiden entrusted to my care!’

Lady Monica’s shoulders sagged. ‘I don’t really…’ she stammered and looked under lowering brows at Athelstan. ‘Sir Thomas Parr will…’

‘Sir Thomas Parr is a London merchant,’ Athelstan continued forcefully, ‘who has more wealth than he has sense. Now, my lady, do I have to go down to the King’s Justices at Westminster and get a writ? Collect soldiers from the Regent’s palace at the Savoy?’ Athelstan held his hand up. ‘I assure you, my lady, that the Lady Angelica must come with me to her father.’

‘Very well, if you put it like that.’ Lady Monica was now quite flustered. She picked up a small handbell and shook it vigorously. ‘Tell the Lady Angelica,’ she announced to the young novice who almost burst through the door, ‘to get herself ready to leave. She’s to wait in the guest house.’ She waited until the door closed. ‘Brother Athelstan, I would like you to sign that you have taken the Lady Angelica to her father and that you accept full responsibility.’

The abbess ushered Athelstan to a small writing-desk in the far corner of the room. Athelstan wrote out exactly what she wanted, signed it, waited until it dried and then handed it over. Then he rose and made to go towards the door.

‘Brother Athelstan.’ Lady Monica had retaken her seat. ‘Please sit.’ Her tone was almost wheedling.

Athelstan noticed Lady Monica’s face had become more flushed, her eyes glittering. He sat down.

‘How can I help you, my lady?’

The abbess sifted amongst the pieces of parchment on the desk.

‘It’s your Brother Norbert.’ She kept her head down. ‘I… I..’ She looked up, blinking quickly. ‘Brother, he spoke so eloquently of love. Since his departure, I have had strange dreams… fantasies…’

Athelstan quietly thanked God that Sir John wasn’t here. Lady Monica had now picked up a sheet of parchment, using it to fan her face.

‘I wondered if Brother Norbert would visit me, to continue his talks? To give me spiritual counsel?’

‘My lady abbess,’ he replied mournfully. ‘Brother Norbert is no longer with us.’

Lady Monica let the parchment drop. ‘Where has he gone?’

‘It’s a great secret,’ Athelstan confided, lowering his voice. ‘But he has gone to do God’s work in another place. So, I ask you to remember him in your prayers.’ Athelstan glanced away. The disappointment in Lady Monica’s face was so apparent. ‘However,’ he added quietly, ‘and I assure you of this, Brother Norbert thought as highly of you as you did of him. Indeed, until he received orders to go elsewhere, he could scarcely contain his eagerness to return here.’

‘Oh, thank you, Brother.’ Lady Monica leaned back in her chair. ‘I shall remember him. Oh yes I shall!’

A short while later Athelstan, accompanied by the Lady Angelica, still dressed in the robes of a nun of Syon, her sandalled feet slapping on the cobbles, left the convent and took the road into the city. Athelstan had hardly bothered to glance at her, never mind explain, while the young woman had enough sense not to ask any questions until they were well away from the convent gates. At the corner of an alleyway she stopped and grasped Athelstan’s arm.

‘Brother, what on earth’s happening? Where are we going? Why did Lady Monica release me? Is my father well? How is Sir Maurice?’ She wiped a tear from her eye. ‘I heard about that business at the Golden Cresset.’

Brother Athelstan grasped the young woman’s smooth hands. He ignored the curious looks of two beggars crouched in a doorway.

‘Lady Angelica, you are going back to your father’s house. Sir John and Sir Maurice are already there. Sir Maurice loves you deeply. He is a valiant, noble knight who wears his heart on his sleeve and that heart is yours for as long as it beats.’

‘You should have been a troubadour. Brother. But that poor woman?’

Athelstan swore her to secrecy then explained all that had happened. The change in Angelica’s face was wondrous, reminding Athelstan of the old adage about the ‘steel fist in the velvet glove’. Her face paled, her blue eyes became ice-cold, like hard pieces of glass, while her generous mouth tightened into a thin line.

‘My father?’ she asked.

‘I believe your father is innocent. I do not think Sir Thomas would stoop to murder to blacken a man’s name.’

‘I believe you.’ Angelica gazed over Athelstan’s shoulder. ‘I think we should walk, Brother, otherwise we might both be reported to the Bishop as a friar and a nun who fell in love and conducted their amour in public!’

They walked slowly up the street, Angelica asking questions, Athelstan doing his best to reply. Indeed, so engrossed was the friar that he hardly noticed the sights and sounds of the city, the busy frenetic cries of the market, the shouts of the apprentices, the clatter of horse and cart. Before he realised it, they were standing on the corner leading down to Sir Thomas Parr’s mansion.

‘I always despised Hersham.’ Lady Angelica ran a finger round the rather tight coif about her chin. I used to catch him watching me. He reminded me of a cat stalking a pigeon.’

‘Some pigeon, my lady. More like a hawk, as my good friend Sir Maurice will find out.’

Angelica grasped his hand and squeezed it.

‘What you did, Brother, what you did was noble.’ Her face relaxed into a smile. ‘And when I marry Sir Maurice, I don’t care what Father says, I want you to meet us at the church door and witness our exchange of vows.’

‘I wouldn’t recommend St Erconwald’s,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Especially with a ferret on the loose.’