The convent of Our Lady’s In-the-Woods turned out to be much as Wolf had imagined it: a small, stone building with a slate roof, a few outhouses, and a walled garden currently buried under a foot of snow.
Mother Aethelflaed, however, did not much resemble the bewhiskered crone he had vaguely pictured whenever Nest had mentioned her. She was a tall, smooth-faced, stately woman with keen grey eyes, who wore her black habit and white wimple with an air of efficient authority, and who could not be more than thirty.
Her household was so well run, in fact, that not even the late-night arrival of Lady Agnes of La Motte Rouge, along with eight exhausted men, a boy, a strange-looking dumb child, and a quivering, miserable white dog, could disturb her calm control. Not even when Agnes seized her hand and dragged her outside into the snow, babbling about angels.
“They went before us the whole way — like huge, pale pillars, lighting up the snow! We’d never have got here without them. The wood is all drifted through with snow: you can’t see any of the paths. They led us all the way. Godfrey couldn’t see them. He never stopped complaining. But we could see them! Me and Wolf, and Elfgift! Look, look. Look where they’re going away!”
Mother Aethelflaed looked. And certainly there were some odd milky shafts of light over the wood — like sunbeams striking through dusty air — only it was midnight — and the dust was snow — and the shafts of light were moving. She didn’t have time to wonder about it.
“Father’s dead,” said Nest, and burst into tears.
Mother Aethelflaed gripped the girl by the shoulders and pushed her gently into the house. The nuns were already gathering, flinging on their mantles. Some were building up the fire. Others headed out purposefully to take care of the horses.
“Hot drinks,” said Mother Aethelflaed. “And then all you men must sleep in the stable—”
“I say!” Lord Godfrey was looking ghastly, but he stirred in protest. “I’m Lord Godfrey fitz Payne of Blanchland, you know! I’m betrothed to Lady Agnes. In fact, we’re nearly married!”
Mother Aethelflaed lifted an eyebrow. “Betrothed is not married. And if Lord Hugo is dead, it’s not very likely that you’ll be married any time soon. In any case, I shall have to know a great deal more about all of this before I give my consent.”
“Your consent? On whose authority?”
Mother Aethelflaed looked him up and down till he squirmed. “Agnes has been delivered to this house by angels, Lord Godfrey. I think that is sufficient authority. Meanwhile all you men will sleep in the stables.”
“Except Wolf,” Nest hiccupped. “I want Wolf.”
Mother Aelthelflaed’s eyebrows rose a fraction higher. “And Wolf is…?”
“Me,” said Wolf hoarsely, huddled by the fire with Elfgift on his knee. Mother Aethelflaed relaxed. “Certainly, Wolf may stay.” Her eyes travelled to Argos, pressed against Wolf’s legs, his wet, curly coat steaming. A faint smile touched her lips. “And Wolf’s dog, too.” Her fingers brushed Elfgift’s flaming cheek. “And this…” She paused. “Who is this little girl, Agnes?”
“Elfgift!” said Wolf and Nest together.
Later, much later, after the weary men had been despatched to the stables, and Mother Aethelflaed and the nuns had gone to their beds, Wolf and Nest and Elfgift sat by the fire.
Nest’s eyelashes were still wet. With her arms around her knees, she stared into the golden embers.
“Father’s gone to Paradise,” she said, as though trying the statement out. “He has — hasn’t he?”
“Of course he has,” said Wolf.
Nest turned her cheek sideways and looked at him. “You’re not sure.”
Wolf was too tired to lie. “How can anyone be sure? But I think he’ll be all right. Because — well — because we loved him. And he saved Elfgift. And he was brave, and he was sorry for what he’d done…” There was a painful lump in his throat. He could feel Hugo’s arm around his shoulders, could hear his voice saying, If I’d had a son like you, I wouldn’t have put him in a monastery…
Neither of them spoke for a while. At last Wolf asked, “What will you do, now that you don’t have to marry Lord Godfrey?”
Nest turned back to gaze once again into the fire. A very small, dreamy smile appeared on her lips. “I’m going to ask Mother Aethelflaed to send me on a pilgrimage,” she said. “To some distant shrine, to pray for my father’s soul.”
“Maybe Rome. Santiago de Compostela. All the places on my mother’s map. Jerusalem…” She stretched her arms, and tipped back a shining face. “Just think! We could go anywhere. Even the Earthly Paradise. It’s here on this world, if only we could travel far enough to find it!”
“We?” asked Wolf. His heart beat fast.
“And we can take Elfgift,” Nest went on. “Maybe at some shrine or other, there’ll be another miracle. Maybe she’ll learn to speak!”
“We?” said Wolf again.
Nest looked at him, her skin ivory and gilt in the firelight. “If you’d like to come,” she said with diffidence. “I mean — couldn’t you be my squire? If that’s not too silly?”
Wolf caught an uneven breath. He started to laugh, though there were tears hiding in the laughter. He put out a hand, and Nest gripped it hard.
“What do you think, Elfgift?” he asked. “Would you like to come with us?”
Elfgift looked up, her eyes sleepy slits against the bright fire.
She nodded.