‘Godstou Abbey?’ I asked, Dulcette easily keeping pace with Edmond’s big bay courser as we turned down a narrow roadway. ‘Why?’
‘There is a woman there I wish you to meet,’ he said.
‘One of the nuns. I knew her when I was a youth, and respected her mightily. She has recently joined the nunnery, deciding to spend her remaining years in service to God.’
He wanted me to meet a woman he knew as a youth?
‘My lord?’ I said.
‘Her name is Uda,’ Edmond said.
‘She has powerful judgment.’
I felt extremely uneasy.
‘Why do we need to meet with her, my lord?’ Edmond chewed his cheek in that manner he had when he was debating within himself how to answer a question.
‘Uda is a powerful sage,’ he said.
‘She can see how matters rest within people.’
‘I am to be tested?’
‘Maeb, I am sorry for this, but I need to know one way or the other. I no longer know what to think of you, if you are to be trusted or not. I want to trust you, but should I? If we were but man and woman …’
He shrugged.
‘But we are not. Many tens of thousands have died because of this plague. I do not want tens of thousands more to so die. I will leave no stone unturned in order to do what is best for the people of this realm, not what is best for you. And if that means testing you until I am satisfied that you tell me the truth, then so be it.’
‘It is a shame you did not bring the burning gauntlet with you,’ I muttered, and Edmond surprised me by bursting into genuine laughter and he was still chuckling when we turned into the grounds of Godstou Abbey.
We were met by the abbess, a woman who surprised me by her youth. I thought she might fuss over the king, and perhaps force us to some chat over a cup of wine, but she showed us directly into a large chamber, warmed by a bright fire in its large hearth and then excused herself.
An old woman waited there. She sat by the fire like any good wife, rubbing her hands up and down her knees as if to calm their ache, or perhaps warm her hands. As soon as we stepped into the chamber she stood up, clapping her hands once, and crying out, ‘Edmond!’
He strode over to her. She did not look directly at him and for a moment I was puzzled, until I realised the nun was blind.
‘My boy,’ she kept saying, patting his hand as he took one of hers. ‘My boy!’
I had to smile. I had never thought anyone, not even Edmond’s mother had she still lived, could have stood there and patted his hand and called the king ‘My boy!’ with the same love and verve and enthusiasm as Uda did. Even though she was old, she was still very lovely and I thought that she must have been a great beauty in her time. Her hair was pure white, and dressed simply in a long plait down her back, her figure slender although stiff, but it was her face, wreathed in such happiness at meeting Edmond again, that was her best feature.
Edmond too was smiling as I had never seen him — that this was a woman he loved as well as respected was abundantly clear.
Eventually, Uda calmed down and sat herself, gesturing to Edmond to pull over one of the stools.
‘Who have you for me?’ she asked.
‘What makes you think I “have someone for you”?’ Edmond said.
‘Because I heard her enter at the same time as you,’ said Uda.
‘Have you brought one of your mistresses to meet me?’
Now I was privileged to witness my king blushing like a girl. He flicked a glance at me and flushed the deeper as he saw my smile.
Even Uda chuckled, patting Edmond’s hand yet once more.
‘Bring her over,’ she said, ‘and I shall see.’
Edmond gestured me over, standing back from the stool and indicating I should sit there.
‘This is Maeb, Countess of Pengraic,’ he said.
‘We have travelled a long, long way to see you, Uda.’
‘As if I was your only reason for travel,’ Uda said, chuckling. ‘Come, girl, give me your hand, and we shall see what is what.’
I extended my hand, more than a little nervous about what might happen, and took the one that Uda held out.
As soon as she felt my hand touch hers, she took firm grasp, then clicked the fingers of her other hand impatiently. ‘Both hands, girl, if you please.’
I shifted the stool a little closer so she could easily hold both hands, and waited.
Uda closed her eyes, her head nodding a little as if she were listening to an unheard melody.
Then, very suddenly, her eyes flew open.
Previously her blue eyes had been unfocused, a little bleary with age.
Now they were bright, very clear, and completely focused on me — I shivered, for her eyes met mine directly, and they felt as if they saw down into the very depths of my being.
‘Where did you find this girl, Edmond?’
‘She fell at my feet one day,’ Edmond said laconically.
‘Is she yours?’
‘No.’
‘But you wish it,’ Uda said. Her hand gripped mine tightly, relaxed, then gripped again.
‘Your husband, girl. Do you know who he is? What he is?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and Uda unexpectedly chuckled again.
‘Uda,’ Edmond said, ‘I need to know if she is true.’
‘True?’ Uda said.
‘Who to? You?’
‘I need to know if I can trust her,’ said Edmond.
Uda’s hands had relaxed about mine again, for which I was truly thankful, although she still held them firmly.
‘She has a good heart and a shining soul, my boy. You can trust her as much as you can trust anyone. There is no darkness about her, no deceit.’
Edmond let out a long breath.
‘Thank you, Uda. That is all I needed to know.’
‘Maybe you,’ said Uda, ‘but I must speak to this girl. Go fetch the abbess, boy, and tell her we need some refreshment. And the good wine, not that stuff she keeps for the bishop when he attends us.’
My mouth twitched at the imperious way Uda ordered the king of England, but I kept the smile from blossoming until Edmond, like the good boy he was, went to fetch the abbess.
‘Girl,’ said Uda, ‘we won’t have much time. Listen to me. You must trust your husband.’
‘But —’
‘You know what he is?’
‘Yes. But I cannot —’
‘No “buts”. I can feel that you are now distanced from him. That is not good. You must trust him.’
‘I cannot,’ I said.
Uda let go my hands and sat back in her chair.
‘You are of the Old People, Maeb. Their blood runs strong in you. You have walked their falloways. Strange things have happened to you and you have taken them in your stride. Now, I dare not speak openly, but I can say only this to you. Trust your husband.’
I sat back, feeling cold at what she asked of me. She knew what my husband was. And yet she asked me to trust him?
Perhaps age had addled her wits.
Or was she, too, a servant of the Devil? ‘And trust Edmond,’ Uda said.
‘He will be good to you.’
Then she sat back and age overcame her face again. Her eyes lost their focus, and became once more blurred.
When Edmond and the abbess returned, it was to find Uda and myself prattling on about the best ways of healing footrot in sheep.
Edmond helped me mount Dulcette, then he stood by her shoulder, one hand resting on the crest of her neck.
‘You know I had to test you, Maeb,’ he said.
‘Both king and man needed it.’
‘I know,’ I said. Then I risked a smile.
‘But are you not the fine one to toss accusations of witchcraft at me when you use Uda as your trusted aide.’
He grunted, and one corner of his mouth turned up, just a little.
‘Witenie is close by,’ he said.
‘Two days’ detour.’
&n
bsp; My home, where I spent my entire life save for this past year or so. How far away it seemed now.
‘My lord,’ I said, ‘I cannot think what might be found there. Have not the Templars been through my father’s old estate with their fine comb of obsession? What could you and I find?’
‘You would have the eye of familiarity,’ Edmond said.
‘Did your house have any secret chambers? Hiding places?’
‘If so, my lord, they were also secret from me. My lord, the Templars have been there, as has the plague — and it moved on.’
Edmond sighed and nodded.
‘To London, then.’
‘What do we do when we get there? What do I do?’
‘We find this diadem, Maeb, and we loose this realm of its plague. It must be in London.’
And you must have the key to the diadem’s finding was the unspoken word between us.
I thought of returning to London, and of returning to Raife. I had a sick, hollow feeling inside of me, a bleakness I could not shake.
Raife …
No matter what the witch-woman Uda had said, I determined not to trust him. How could she have wanted me to trust the Devil’s right-hand man?
Part Seven
The Devil’s Diadem
Chapter One
We rode into London five days later. The last I had seen London it was barely recovering from fire and river tragedies. Then I had thought it a sad and wretched city — now words cannot even begin to describe the bleak horror of the place after the plague had scoured its streets.
We were to enter via Cripplegate, a fitting entry if ever there was one. But before we entered London we came across the ghastly evidence of the horror the pestilence had wrought on London — huge plague pits dug in the fields beyond its walls, some not yet filled in with soil. These were the worst, for the stink of their rotting, smouldering bodies was appalling, and everyone in the company, king and myself included, retched as we rode through the pall of stinking smoke. It was filthy; I could taste particles of flesh on the smoke, and it left a moist, grey residue on my mantle. Even the horses coughed from time to time.
The only creatures that seemed content amid the horror were the rooks feeding from the corpses.
There was a party to meet us at Cripplegate, a deputation of two aldermen (the only aldermen surviving, we later discovered) and a nobleman called Ralph de Warenne, brother of the Earl of Sudrie, who was now working in my husband’s household.
‘Greetings, my lord king,’ de Warenne said. ‘My lord of Pengraic awaits you and his wife in the Tower.’
Edmond nodded, looking down Wodestrate which led down to the markets about Saint Paul’s. This street had been untouched by the fire that had spread from the bridge, but now … now it was lined with burned-out buildings, sometimes three or four in a row, and many others that were badly fire-damaged. There was almost no one about, a few people walking this way and that, their shoulders hunched, but no sign of the thriving wood market that usually lined this street. A few dogs wandered, barking now and again, but their movement and noise only served to further accentuate the desolation of the street.
There was stink here, too, partly of the burned buildings and partly, I assumed, from some of the bodies left inside them.
Further into the city I could see trails of languid smoke rising through the still, foetid air into the sky.
I felt ill.
Hell had visited this place.
‘My God,’ Edmond muttered, ‘how is it that any have survived?’
‘Only by the miraculous intervention of the saints, my lord,’ said one of the aldermen. ‘The plague showed us no mercy.’
‘How many are dead?’ Edmond said.
‘Thirty-four thousand two hundred and fifty,’ the other aldermen said. Thirty-four thousand two hundred and fifty. My mind could barely encompass the number.
‘And many more fled,’ said the first alderman.
‘London is home to dogs and rooks now, my lord, and little else.’
Tears ran down my face. Was I responsible for this? Could I have somehow prevented it?
‘Are there any new infections?’ Edmond asked, and the alderman shook his head.
‘We have had no new reports of infection for nigh on two weeks now, my lord.’ He paused.
‘My lord king, we are glad you are home.’
Edmond nodded, and I saw tears glinting in his eyes, too.
And he would have been home earlier, if not for me.
And perhaps then dead of the plague, too, if not for me. ‘Is there plague elsewhere?’ de Warenne asked.
‘I have not had reports of it,’ said Edmond.
‘It appears to have died down.’
‘At least until the heat of summer,’ de Warenne muttered, ‘when it will doubtless re-emerge in its full anger.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ said Edmond, glancing at me, and leaving the other three looking puzzled.
We rode through the city, turning down West Cheap from Wodestrate.
Here was similar devastation, if not worse. Many tenement buildings and houses had gone, as had even some churches. There were buildings badly damaged and leaning but still standing — there was no one to tear them down. As we rode by one of them its roof timbers collapsed, sending our horses skittering and shying across the street.
‘What is Pengraic doing to help?’ said Edmond as we tightened our reins and pulled our horses back under control.
‘Everything possible,’ de Warenne said. ‘He has every available man out aiding those who still survive, organising shelter, food, comfort. But our forces were hit hard, too, my lord. The Tower … you will find the Tower almost deserted, and pits dug beyond its walls for your servants. It shall be easier to list those who survived rather than those who died.’
‘Sweet Jesu,’ Edmond muttered.
We were approaching the turn into Cornhill now.
‘I will go home to my house in Cornhill,’ I said, somewhat suddenly.
‘Not to the Tower. With my lord’s permission.’
Edmond looked at me.
‘My lady, you shall be far safer in the Tower.’
I raised an eyebrow at that.
‘I want to go home, my lord.’
‘You won’t avoid him there,’ he said, low.
‘I know, my lord.’
Edmond sighed.
‘de Warenne, we will detour via Cornhill. If my lady’s house is safe then I shall leave her there. But I need to see it is safe, first.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Our Cornhill house had largely escaped destruction, mainly because of the open areas about it. Nonetheless, it had been used as a hospital in the early days of the plague and two of the outbuildings had burned, and the roof of the main house was scorched.
To my utter relief fitzErfast met us in the courtyard. If he had survived, then the house might be in order.
He helped me down from Dulcette, a pale, thin version of the man I remembered.
‘FitzErfast!’ I said.
‘I am right glad to see you live!’
‘Not many others from the household do, my lady. There is only myself, a cook, three house servants and a man-at-arms remaining.’
I saw that he had my old eating knife at his belt, and I was absurdly pleased to see he had treasured it enough to use for his daily meat.
Edmond had also dismounted and came over.
‘Are you troubled by any ruffians, fitzErfast?’ he said.
‘Beggars? Unworthy itinerants? The homeless?’
FitzErfast gave a wan smile.
‘There are rich enough pickings and empty houses aplenty lying open for anyone who wishes in London, my lord king,’ he said.
‘We are left alone because there are still people here unafraid to wield a sword. But in any case, beggars and itinerants are few and far between. Either they died in the plague, or they are still too frightened to come near the city. It is safe enough here for my lady.’
/> ‘Nonetheless, I shall leave ten soldiers here to guard her,’ said Edmond, and I breathed a sigh of relief that I was to be allowed to stay.
‘What food stores do you have?’
‘Enough for both my lady, her women, your men plus those already here,’ fitzErfast said.
‘Of recent times there has not been much call for food.’
‘The house is habitable?’
‘Yes, my lord. One upper chamber is water-damaged from a leak caused by a fire … but that leak is now fixed and the chamber only requires replastering to make it pretty. Meanwhile, it is still habitable.’
Edmond gave fitzErfast a nod and turned to me.
‘Any of my soldiers can reach me at any hour,’ he said, ‘if you need help.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ I said.
We looked at each other for a moment — an awkwardness that hung heavy in the air between us — then he nodded at me as he had just nodded at fitzErfast and turned back to his horse.
I was left standing in the courtyard with Ella and Gytha, a cart of our belongings, and the ten men Edmond had detailed for my care.
I felt very alone, adrift both in this ruined city and in my life.
Although it was a warm day, unusually so even for this time of year, the house was cold. The signs that the house had been used as a hospital during the worst of the plague were still here: cot beds, now stacked in an ungainly pile at the end of the hall; scorch marks in a score of places on the hall floor and on one wall; stacks of dishes; stacks of linens (I made a note to direct fitzErfast to burn them). There were no fires lit in any of the chambers, and the shutters closed in both the solar and my privy chamber.
‘I will direct the cook to prepare a meal for nones,’ fitzErfast said as we stood in the solar, Ella and Gytha moving to open the shutters and allow light to stream in.
I nodded.
‘And I will send a man to bring wood, and set the fires,’ he continued.
I nodded again. I was almost in tears at the loneliness in this house, and about us in the deserted streets.
‘What will become of this place?’ I said.
‘Of this house, or of London?’ fitzErfast said.