The astronomers had reached accord in their reckonings. There seemed nothing to do but observe events as they unfolded. The moon was following its orderly path through the mansions of heaven and would soon attain its full size at the expected hour. Nothing could change that.
Already Josiana and her group were meeting in the garth with the hope that the clouds would open like shutters to reveal the constellations and the moon in all its splendour.
Josiana was especially excited by the prospect of getting a good sighting. ‘We can only guess what the shapes that make it look like a face can mean. The peasants, bless them, might call it the Man in the Moon, but we want to know more. Are they buildings like ours? Or mountains? Deserts, perhaps. Great oceans? We cannot know. But a learned astronomer in Italy is working on an eye-glass using Magister Bacon’s earlier work on the grinding of lenses that, put together, will enhance our observations. Meanwhile we must make do with what we have to aid us. Whatever we discover, we remain in awe at the mystery of the moon’s power over the tides – and we’re prepared for the worst floods ever to occur in living memory.’
Such was the excitement about what might happen, the mysterious order had gone out, namely that sand must be carted from the riverbank before the expected hour. It was to be heaped on boards above what they guessed could be the new water level. From there it was to be poured into specially stitched bags of sackcloth and then placed in such a way as to line the bottom of all the gates, for the purpose, it was said, of keeping out the water.
Whether the wooden gates would withstand the pressure, no one knew. Some of these sandbags were even propped along the bottom of the doors giving onto the inner garth to prevent further ingress of flood water, although this was thought to be excessively cautious.
The Prioress regarded these precautions with a wry expression. ‘I will not have the temerity to say a word against my astronomers. They have studied the matter. This is their conclusion. I will stand by what they say until their folly is clearly demonstrated – or not! After all,’ she added in genial tones, ‘what do we lose by it? We’ve seen how Meaux is afflicted. Their garth, as you’ve experienced yourself, Hildegard, is already little more than a lake since the rains. What will it be like when the rivers spill into the Humber at the same hour as the sea pushes the tide to its highest point of the year? Let them stack up their sandbags. At the very least we’ll have one or two fewer rats gaining entrance to our grain stores. It is all to the good.’
No deviation in the strict attendance at the canonical hours demanded by the Rule was even considered. Despite the slow and somewhat malevolent aspect of the rising moon as it waxed in greater visibility with the darkening of the sky, everyone filed into church as obediently as always. The rustle of expectation, however, could not be ignored. Hildegard could only stand on the sidelines as an observer.
Other matters were as important, were they not? The fate of Bella, for one, the safety of Leonin, for another, and the whereabouts of a paid assassin, for a third.
It was fully dark by the time Compline was over. A brief scurry to the warming room, a drink to take up to the dortoir for the night, and the gradual slide into silence before the midnight call to Matins was what many of them looked forward to, but Josiana and her stalwarts on moon watch intended to ignore sleep. They planned to post themselves on the highest place within the precinct – the flat roof of a stores barn – and wait patiently for something, anything, to be revealed.
Hildegard joined them for a time. Her cloak was still damp and she longed to hang it up somewhere to dry. She was thinking about doing so and made a move towards the trapdoor into the barn when Josiana intercepted her.
‘Will you come back when you’ve done that, Hildegard? I would like your opinion on what we observe, if indeed we see anything. As for the rising waters, someone has already gone down to check the sandbags at the main gate and the porteress has been instructed to warn us if the water level rises by any fraction over two inches on the foregate. Someone is also at this very moment checking the back lodge where the lay-sisters are on watch. If all goes well we should be undisturbed in our observations.’
‘What do you expect to see tonight?’
‘We’re not sure. But it’s such a huge, important moon this month, we cannot afford to let it go unobserved. You must admit, even if you doubt our expectations, the rain this autumn has been unprecedented. We know the moon exerts an effect on the seas, causing tides to rise and fall, and we fear the joint effect of excessive rainfall and the full moon bringing a massive tide will be a dangerous conjunction. You must agree?’
‘I’m guided by you. Nobody round here has experienced such rains before and some are listening to your warning more carefully than others. They see the flood as a judgement on their sins. When you first started to offer warnings based on a series of tables and measurements it was difficult to believe so many acres would be inundated – but you were right.’
‘We were mocked, I know,’ she shrugged. ‘But events proved otherwise. Folk find it hard to believe we can make such predictions. They trust portents more than facts. They feel a magpie in a tree or a murder of crows on the stubble says more about what’s going to happen than any careful measurement made by means of an astrolabe.’
‘It’s no surprise that folk down on the manors are returning in desperation to the rituals of their grandames.’
‘They know no better. They believe they can alter the course of nature by spells and incantations.’
‘I suspect they’re going to be disappointed.’
‘We’re fortunate to have the advantages of arithmetic, geometry and the writings of the learned Ancients to help us.’ Josiana added, ‘It would be foolish to disregard what the Greeks discovered. Ptolemy is our guide and we must make sense of the facts and build on what others have proved to be true.’ She carried a little book on her belt and indicated it now. ‘Here are all the tables needed to determine where the sun and moon rise and set from the equator to the River Don in Russia. It enables us to work out our own calculations. In the northern priory at Tynemouth they send us observations from their own location to supplement our own. As long as we know where we are we can make our calculations from that point and give fair warning to others. With such devastating floods already and now the imminence of the highest tide for some time we owe it to everyone to warn them what to expect. It’s only fair, even though they mock and call us witches. It’s up to them to heed us or not as they choose. All we can do is work things out to the best of our understanding then warn, watch and wait.’
Their lookout post gave a spectacular view over the whole, flat, inundated, once profitable sheep country stretching as far as the eye could see. The water heaved over it like a living thing.
Somewhere behind a shrug of trees to the west was the small priory of Haltemprice. The market town of Beverley lay to the northwest, like a mere smudge in the distance. Meaux with its towers and steeple was to the north of Swyne, and if they had been able to don wings and fly due east they could have reached the sea and flown across it towards the rising moon. The big threat, the over-brimming waters of the estuary itself, came from the south.
A group of interested nuns were already on the roof when Hildegard went up. It was not yet fully dark and the sun was still sending sheets of gold across the sky as it sank below the horizon. Several nuns knew enough about scientia as taught down at the abbey of St Albans to understand the workings Josiana and the Austin canon from Haltemprice Priory had agreed. It had also been corroborated by the monks at Meaux who were no doubt standing on one of their own vantage points this night to see what would happen.
It was a surprise when those with sharp enough eyesight made out a band of what could only be horsemen close to the horizon. They were wading slowly and laboriously through the silken sheen of crimson water that lay between Meaux and Beverley. The white towers of the abbey were visible over the treetops and the huddled roofs of Beverley were a half-imagined blur. The riders were somewhere between the two.
After a moment someone said, ‘They’re heading this way! They’re not going to Meaux after all.’
‘Who are they?’
‘I can’t make out whether they’re a band of militia or abbey monks … Definitely coming this way though. They’re searching for higher ground by the look of it.’
The nuns clustered on the roof amid warnings not to step too close to the edge and watched the approaching riders. They saw them straggle to a halt. Still distant it was impossible not to notice a glint of steel in the fading light. One or two small figures left the main group to cast around in the water then re-joined their companions. Nothing much happened for a while except that the riders did not turn back to Beverley but continued doggedly on what must be the higher ground of the track to Swyne.
One of the nuns sighed. ‘It’s going to take them an age if they’re foolish enough to continue. Why can’t they take a boat like everybody else? They’ll never make it through all that water. How can they tell how deep it is? It’s utter folly. That must be what they’re discussing, the lack-wits. One false step and their horses will drown under them.’
The men continued to make slow progress and one by one the nuns turned away to the more pressing matter in hand. The instrument for looking at the moon was being passed round. Comments about the nature of the eyes and mouth of the man’s face on the moon’s silver disc were made, the supposition that they indicated mountain ranges being the most popular.
Hildegard decided there might be time before anything happened to check on the cloak she had left to dry in the warming room.
The fire was well stoked when she went in and she reached up to test the fabric hanging on the rail above it.
‘Still damp?’ asked a sudden voice behind her.
When she turned there was a hooded, ghost-like figure framed in the doorway.
She gave a start as it stepped forward, pushing back the hood.
‘Surprised to see me, domina? I expect everyone was saying, “Poor Bella, we won’t be seeing her again.”’ She chuckled. ‘I’m tougher than I look.’
‘Bella?’ At least it wasn’t a ghost. Her face was dead white but she was flesh and blood.
Kicking the door shut behind her she came slowly on into the room saying, ‘What a relief to escape from that murdering knave at the mill!’
It must be Bella, thought Hildegard uneasily.
She came to warm her hands by the fire, chatting in a cosy manner that belied her words. ‘I decided,’ she said, ‘that I would have to come back to settle a few scores, you know? He can’t get away with it, can he?’ Her smile revealed long yellow teeth. ‘Nor can anyone, with what I’ve had to put up with!’
Or is it Rogella?
‘I’m glad to see you safe,’ Hildegard managed to say.
‘I’m safe all right.’ She made a small movement with her fingers inside one of her sleeves. ‘But what about you, my dear Hildegard, are you safe, do you think?’
‘What do you mean?’ Hildegard felt herself freeze. The hairs on her scalp rose. Who was this? The hostility beneath her easy manner was almost palpable.
The garments she wore, those of a novice, were mud-stained, water-stained and marked with something like dried blood and when she reached out to take the kettle off its chain she held it, steaming and bubbling, in one hand as if considering what to do with it.
‘A tisane, my dear domina?’
Bella?
‘Not at the moment—’
‘Too many other distractions?’ She chuckled again and put the kettle to one side. ‘No, “safe” is not the word I would use about your situation at present, my dear.’
Rogella?
‘Who are you …?’
‘You see? You don’t know who I am!’ She gave a trilling laugh. ‘I’m Bella. And what a time of it I had at that mill! You wouldn’t believe what happened to me.’
Bella then?
‘Poor Matthew could only lie there like a helpless fly about to be swatted. Was he worth saving, do you think?’ She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I think not.’
Rogella.
‘And, domina, after bringing him back I beg to suggest you’ve made another mistake. You hope I’m Bella. The good twin who wouldn’t harm a fly? And maybe I am!’ She gave another trill of laughter.
No she’s not – she’s—
‘But what if I’m Rogella?’ She lowered her voice. ‘What then? What if I’m the bad twin? What if, dear domina, I’m back and bent on revenge?’
‘I don’t understand you. Whichever twin you are you can have no cause for revenge, you’re a free agent, you’ve caused what happened – or do you believe your actions are directed by the planets? That’s debatable, but what is not debatable is how you can have a quarrel with me, or with anyone here—’
‘No?’ She took a step closer. Then as if without reason she adopted another tack. ‘Tell me, has he reappeared yet? After he finished with me he must surely be back on the trail of the so-called royal minstrel. He’ll have his nasty little knife well sharpened to deal with him, I don’t doubt. Did Matthew tell you what happened? Poor Matthew. He thinks he’s safe in his bed at Meaux with his legs trapped inside that wooden box but I can promise you, nobody betrays me. He will not live another moon. How dare he – well, you know what happened. Those gossiping monks were probably only too delighted to spread their lurid descriptions of a novice being raped. It was only what she deserved, they must have said. Did you imagine I would run back to them for safety after that? I’ve been hiding in the lay-brothers’ store-sheds here, living off scraps like a teeny little mouse in my hidey hole.’ She chuckled again. ‘So now you’re sure I’m Bella. Or are you? Which twin do you prefer?’ She spread her arms.
‘Why did you not return to Swyne at once and let us know you escaped from the mill?’
‘And leave Matthew unpunished?’
‘Unpunished? Did you tie him up?’
‘Don’t question me, you nun!’ She took a step forward and lowered her voice. ‘You have no idea who I am. You’re asking yourself, is she the nice twin, the one everybody favours? Or is she the nasty one they all hate for her cruelty to spiders?’ She suddenly drew the knife from her sleeve. ‘I’m going to show you how cruel I can be when you cross my path. Why didn’t you leave him to die? I’m going to carve you, nun, and that abbot will never look at you again. Better, I’m going to bleed you the way you monastics bled me with your rules and your judgements and your penances and your disdain. The things you said to that bailiff!’
She stepped closer. ‘Nice or nasty, which am I?’ Before Hildegard could get to grips with the way her mind flew in one direction and then another, she said, ‘If I’m Bella, how can I know what you said about me when you tried to turn the abbot’s bailiff against me? I must have been standing right next to you and that means I’m Rogella,’ a laugh trilled again, ‘but if that’s true how can I know what happened at the mill? Answer me that if you’re so clever!’
‘You know what happened at the mill because you heard Matthew talking about it in the hospitium.’
‘That priest! He should have died by the cure I gave him! That would have been comical! And he would have died if you hadn’t interfered!’
‘Whichever twin you are, I believe you may be genuinely confused about your identity. You happen to have picked up different rumours and now you’re trying to piece them together with what you’ve witnessed. You’re trying to make me believe first one thing and then another. You hope to confuse me so you can get the better of me. You think I doubt the evidence of my own eyes? I’m not so persuadable! You are Rogella and I believe you might be mad—’
Before Hildegard could move she saw a flash of silver as the blade came at her. Protected by the speed of her reactions she was in time to duck, then grasp the wrist that held the knife and pull downwards, unbalancing Rogella – or, still in slight doubt, Bella – but before she could do anything else the novice slammed bodily into her, toppling them both into the hearth piled with burning logs.
Flames ignited their robes in an instant. A stench of burning stamyn arose. Hildegard screamed and, struggling against her attacker’s dead weight, batted at the flames with her bare hands.
Flames coiled round them as the two women struggled among the burning logs. The novice, instead of rolling away from the fire, seemed oblivious to it and came at Hildegard again while she was struggling to rise to her feet. She was gripping her knife, poised to ram the blade into Hildegard’s face, but was suddenly stopped, letting loose a shriek as flames ignited her cloak. The pig fat used to waterproof the cloth burst into flames and towered over her in a column of raging heat.
She attempted to rise, but fell back with another howl as her hair caught fire. Both hands went up to stifle the flames.
At that moment someone opened the door and gave a shout of horror.
It was Josiana. She hurled herself across the room, shouting, ‘Away from the fire, Hildegard! Get away!’
Quick-witted enough to notice the knife still gripped in the novice’s hand she grabbed her arm and forced it easily from between her fingers to throw it across the room.
Hildegard, scrambling to her feet, kicking away the novice’s cloak to free her from its folds then tried to drag her away from the fire.
‘It’s not fair,’ muttered the twin, still struggling as Josiana helped haul her to safety. She lay groaning in a heap of smouldering fabric.
Hildegard gazed at her in astonishment. ‘It is Rogella. She must have escaped custody.’
‘Probably the men we saw on horseback were the Sheriff and his men looking for her,’ Josiana suggested.
Hildegard turned and opened her arms in gratitude. ‘Thank heavens you arrived in time!’
With a cry Josiana ran forward and the two nuns embraced.
As it happened, others followed Josiana down from their moon watch and quickly crowded into the warming room, bustling round Rogella who was half-conscious with the pain from her burns. She was frantically trying to pull away the smouldering fabric that was still sending up coils of smoke.
Somebody gripped her hands, warning, ‘No, leave it! You’ll bring your skin off!’
Snarling she reared up in her smouldering garments, screaming to be let go and trying to force her way towards the door. ‘Stop interfering! Get out of my way! I am Bella! I am better than her! I am better than any of you!’
She struggled outside, despite their calls to come back, but her animosity was so overwhelming most of them hung back until someone looked out into the garth saying she was nowhere to be seen.
Josiana observed, ‘She will not get far. There is nowhere to run.’
One of the nuns stood in the centre of the room and in tones of fear and dismay announced, ‘We came to warn you! The hour has come! The estuary has burst its bounds sending enormous waves thundering towards the priory. We are directly in their path. Now all we can do is pray that our defences withstand the assault!’