Connie Willis - Doomsday Book

And it was the true Latin, she thought. "I will not leave you," he said. He said, "Be not afraid." And I understood him.

As the mass progressed, the envoy chanted faster and faster, as if he was anxious to be done with it. Lady Imeyne didn't seem to notice. She looked smugly serene in the knowledge of doing good and nodded approvingly at the sermon, which seemed to be about forsaking worldly things.

As they were filing out, though, she stopped at the door of the church and looked toward the bell tower, her lips pursed in disapproval. Now what? Kivrin thought. A mote of dust on the bell?

"Saw you how the church looked, Lady Yvolde?" Imeyne said angrily to Sir Bloet's sister over the sound of the bell. "He had set no candles in the chancel windows, but only cressets as a peasant uses." She stopped. "I must stay behind to speak to him of this. He has disgraced our house before the bishop."

She marched off toward the bell tower, her face set with righteous anger. And if he had set candles in the windows, Kivrin thought, they would have been the wrong kind or in the wrong place. Or he would have put them out incorrectly. She wished there were some way to warn him, but Imeyne was already halfway to the tower, and Agnes was tugging insistently on Kivrin's hand.

"I'm tired," she said. "I want to go to bed."

Kivrin took Agnes to the barn, dodging among the villagers who were starting in on a second round of merrymaking. Fresh wood had been thrown on the bonfire, and several of the young women had joined hands and were dancing around it. Agnes lay down willingly in the loft, but she was up again before Kivrin made it into the house, trotting across the courtyard after her.

"Agnes," Kivrin said sternly, her hands on her hips. "What are you doing up? You said you were tired."

"Blackie is ill."

"Ill?" Kivrin said. "What's wrong with him?"

"He is ill," Agnes repeated. She took hold of Kivrin's hand and led her back to the barn and up to the loft. Blackie lay in the straw, a lifeless bundle. "Will you make him a poultice?"

Kivrin picked the puppy up and laid it back down gingerly. It was already stiff. "Oh, Agnes, I'm afraid it's dead."

Agnes squatted down and looked at it interestedly. "Grandmother's chaplain died," she said. "Had Blackie a fever?"

Blackie had too much handling, Kivrin thought. He had been passed from hand to hand, squeezed, trodden on, half choked. Killed with kindness. And on Christmas, though Agnes didn't seem particularly upset.

"Will there be a funeral?" she asked, putting out a tentative finger to Blackie's ear.

No, Kivrin thought. There hadn't been any shoebox burials in the Middle Ages. The contemps had disposed of dead animals by tossing them into the underbrush, by dumping them in a stream. "We will bury him in the woods," she said, though she had no idea how they would manage that with the ground frozen. "Under a tree."

For the first time, Agnes looked unhappy. "Father Roche must bury Blackie in the churchyard," she said.

Father Roche would do nearly anything for Agnes, but Kivrin couldn't imagine him agreeing to Christian burial for an animal. The idea of pets being creatures with souls hadn't become popular until the nineteenth century, and even the Victorians hadn't demanded Christian burial for their dogs and cats.

"I will say the prayers for the dead," Kivrin said.

"Father Roche has to bury him in the churchyard," Agnes said, her face puckering. "And then he must ring the bell."

"We cannot bury him until after Christmas," Kivrin said hastily. "After Christmas I will ask Father Roche what to do."

She wondered what she should do with the body for now. She couldn't leave it lying there where the girls slept. "Come, we will take Blackie below," she said. She picked up the puppy, trying not to grimace and took it down the ladder.

She looked around for a box or a bag to put Blackie in, but she couldn't find anything. She finally laid him in a corner behind a scythe and had Agnes bring handfuls of straw to cover it with.

Agnes flung the straw on him. "If Father Roche does not ring the bell for Blackie, he will not go to heaven," she said, and burst into tears.

It took Kivrin half an hour to calm her down again. She rocked her in her arms, wiping her streaked face and saying, "shh, shh."

She could hear noise from the courtyard. She wondered if the Christmas merrymaking had moved into the courtyard. Or if the men were going hunting. She could hear the whinny of horses.

"Let's go see what's happening in the courtyard," she said. "Perhaps your father is here."

Agnes sat up, wiping her nose. "I would tell him of Blackie," she said, and got off Kivrin's lap.

They went outside. The courtyard was full of people and horses. "What are they doing?" Agnes asked.

"I don't know," Kivrin said, but it was all too clear what they were doing. Cob was leading the envoy's white stallion out of the stable, and the servants were carrying out the bags and boxes they had carried in early this morning. Lady Eliwys stood at the door, looking anxiously into the courtyard.

"Are they leaving?" Agnes asked.

"No," Kivrin said. No. They can't be leaving. I don't know where the drop is.

The monk came out, dressed in his white habit and his cloak. Cob went back into the stable and came out again, leading the mare Kivrin had ridden when they went to find the holly and carrying a saddle.

"They are leaving," Agnes said.

"I know," Kivrin said. "I can see that they are."

Kivrin grabbed Agnes's hand and started back to the safety of the barn. She must hide until they were gone. "Where are we going?" Agnes asked.

Kivrin darted around two of Sir Bloet's servants carrying a chest. "To the loft."

Agnes stopped cold. "I do not wish to lie down!" she wailed. "I'm not tired!"

"Lady Katherine!" someone called from across the courtyard.

Kivrin scooped Agnes up and started rapidly for the barn. "I am not tired!" Agnes shrieked. "I am not !"

Rosemund ran up beside her. "Lady Katherine! Did you not hear me? Mother wants you. The bishop's envoy is leaving. She took hold of Kivrin's arm and turned her back toward the house.

Eliwys was still standing in the door, watching them now, and the bishop's envoy had come out and was standing beside her in his red cloak. Kivrin couldn't see Imeyne anywhere. She was probably inside, packing Kivrin's clothes.

"The bishop's envoy has urgent business at the priory at Bernecestre," Rosemund said, leading Kivrin to the house, "and Sir Bloet goes with them." She smiled happily at Kivrin. "Sir Bloet says he will accompany them to Courcy that they may lie there tonight and arrive in Bernecestre tomorrow."

Bernecestre. Bicester. At least it wasn't Godstow. But Godstow was along the way. "What business?"

"I know not," Rosemund said, as if it were unimportant, and Kivrin supposed for her it was. Sir Bloet was leaving, and that was all that mattered. Rosemund plunged happily through the melee of servants and baggage and horses toward her mother.

The bishop's envoy was speaking to one of his servants, and Eliwys was watching him, frowning. Neither of them would see her if she turned and walked rapidly back behind the open doors of the stable, but Rosemund still had hold of her sleeve and was pulling her forward.

"Rosemund, I must go back to the barn. I have left my cloak — " she began.

"Mother!" Agnes cried and ran toward Eliwys and nearly into one of the horses. It whinnied and tossed its head, and a servant dived for its bridle.

"Agnes!" Rosemund shouted and let go of Kivrin's sleeve, but it was too late. Eliwys and the bishop's envoy had already seen them and started over to them.

"You must not run among the horses," Eliwys said, catching Agnes against her.