Doomsday Book (56 page)

"You're supposed to be asleep,' Kivrin said, brushing straw from her red kirtle.

"Some men came," Agnes said. "They wakened us."

Kivrin looked inquiringly at Rosemund. "Has your father come?"

"Nay," she said. "I know not who they are. I think they must be servants of the bishop's envoy."

They were. There were four of them, monks, though not of the class of the Cistercian monk, and two laden donkeys, and they had obviously only now caught up with their master. They unloaded two large chests while Kivrin and the girls watched, several wadmal bags, and an enormous wine cask.

"They must be planning to stay a long while," Agnes said.

"Yes," Kivrin said. God has sent you to this place. He will not let you be taken from it. "Come," she said cheerfully. "I will comb your hair."

She took Agnes inside and cleaned her up. The short nap hadn't improved Agnes's disposition, and she refused to stand still while Kivrin combed her hair. It took her till mass to get all the straw and most of the tangles out, and Agnes continued to whine the whole way to the church.

There had apparently been vestments as well as wine in the envoy's luggage. The bishop's envoy wore a black velvet chasuble over his dazzlingly white vestments, and the monk was resplendent in yards of samite and gilt embroidery. The clerk was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Father Roche, probably exiled because of his robe. Kivrin looked toward the back of the church, hoping he'd been allowed to witness all this holiness, but she couldn't see him among the villagers.

They looked somewhat the worse for wear, too, and some of them were obviously badly hungover. As was the bishop's envoy. He rattled through the words of the mass tonelessly and in an accent Kivrin could scarcely understand. It bore no resemblance to Father Roche's Latin. Nor to what Latimer and the priest at Holy Reformed had taught her. The vowels were all wrong and the "c" in
excelsis
was almost a "z." She thought of Latimer drilling her on the long vowels, of Holy Reformed's priest insisting on "c as in eggshell," on "the true Latin."

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."

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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.

"My hound is dead," Agnes said.

"That is no reason to run," Eliwys said, and Kivrin knew she hadn't even heard her. Eliwys turned back to the bishop's envoy.

"Tell your husband we are grateful for the loan of your horses, that ours may be rested for the journey to Berncestre," he said, and he sounded distracted, too. "I will send them from Courcy with a servant."

"Would you see my hound?" Agnes said, tugging on her mother's skirt.

"Hush," Eliwys said.

"My clerk does not ride with us this afternoon," he said. "I fear he made too merry yestereve and feels now the pains of too much drink. I beg you indulgence, good lady, that he may stay and follow when he is recovered."

"Of course he may stay," Eliwys said. "Is there aught we can do to help him? My husband's mother -- "

"Nay. Leave him be. There is naught can help an aching head save sleep. He will be well by evening," he said, looking like he had made too merry himself. He seemed nervous, inattentive, as if he had a splitting head himself, and his aristocratic face was gray in the bright morning light. He shivered and pulled his cloak around him.

He hadn't so much as glanced at Kivrin, and she wondered if he had forgotten his promise to Lady Imeyne in his haste. She looked anxiously toward the gate, hoping Imeyne was still chastising Roche and wouldn't suddenly appear to remind him of it.

"I regret that my husband is not here," Eliwys said, "and that we could not give you better welcome. My husband -- "

"I must see to my servants," he interrupted. He held out his hand and Eliwys dropped to one knee and kissed his ring. Before she could rise, he had stridden off towards the stable. Eliwys looked after him worriedly.

"Do you want to see him?" Agnes said.

"Not now," Eliwys said. "Rosemund, you must make your farewells to Sir Bloet and Lady Yvolde."

"He is cold," Agnes said.

Eliwys turned to Kivrin. "Lady Katherine, know you where Lady Imeyne is?"

"She stayed behind in the church," Rosemund said.

"Perhaps she is still at her prayers," Eliwys said. She stood on tiptoe and scanned the crowded courtyard. "
Where
is Maisry?"

Hiding, Kivrin thought, which is what I should be doing.

"Would you have me seek for her?" Rosemund asked.

"Nay," Eliwys said. "You must bid Sir Bloet farewell. Lady Katherine, go and fetch Lady Imeyne from the church that she may bid the bishop's envoy goodbye. Rosemund, why do you still stand there? You must bid your betrothed farewell."

"I will find Lady Imeyne," Kivrin said, thinking, I'll go out through the passage, and if she's still in the church, I'll duck behind the huts and go into the woods.

She turned to go. Two of Sir Bloet's servants were struggling with a heavy chest. They set it down with a thunk in front of her, and it tipped over onto its side. She backed up and started around them, trying to keep from walking behind the horses.

"Wait!" Rosemund said, catching up with her. She caught hold of her sleeve. "You must come with me to bid Sir Bloet farewell."

"Rosemund -- " Kivrin said, looking toward the passage. Any second Lady Imeyne would come through there, clutching her book of hours.