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The abbess, still in her robe and slippers, sat at her desk. “Sister Morwen, I didn’t see you at midnight prayers. I presume I’m about to hear why.”
Sister Lillian whispered, “I told them you were feeling ill and had gone to the infirmary.” She still seemed a bit confused as to why Morwen had asked her to come along to the abbess’s house.
Morwen went around the desk to kneel at the abbess’s side. “Sister Alberta, I very nearly did something very foolish and sinful.”
Lillian let out a tiny gasp. “Oh, Morwen!”
The abbess didn’t look nearly so surprised, though. “I’m going to guess this had something to do with our unwanted guests and their plans for our estates. Very well, what did you do?”
“Sir Halvor told me he would permit the abbey to keep the land if I married him. I was ready to tell him I would do it. I might have...,” Morwen took a breath, “I might even have contemplated breaking my vows tonight, if it would have helped convince him to leave the abbey alone.”
Sister Alberta nodded. “Yes, you’re right. That was extremely foolish. The Epistles of Valamir counsel us to never despair, Sister Morwen. Even the end of the world wouldn’t justify sleeping with Sir Halvor Ingridsson. Earstien always provides a way.”
Morwen bowed her head. “Indeed. I believe he has done so, through the offices of a pair of...very brave women. Sir Halvor has lost his prisoners. Elwyn and Edwin Sigor have escaped.”
Lillian clapped her hands and jumped up and down.
The abbess bit her lip. Then she passed a hand over her face. Finally, she lost her composure and started laughing. “Oh, my. Sister Morwen, will I regret it if I ask how exactly they escaped and how you came to know about it?”
“There are details I would prefer not to mention,” said Morwen, her face growing warm. “But Sir Halvor and Duke Lukas were undone by their own pride and lust.” Briefly, she described the escape, omitting the part where she had surprised Molly Coburn and Vittoria in Sir Halvor’s bed.
“A thrilling tale,” said Sister Alberta. “But surely there must be more for you to wake me at this hour.”
“Exactly,” said Morwen. “This is providential, Sister Alberta. The quicker this news reaches Formacaster, the better for us. The king will be furious when he hears of it. I believe we should send a message ourselves, this very minute, to ensure that Sir Halvor and the duke aren’t able to concoct some story that puts them in a better light.”
Sister Alberta glanced at Lillian, and then back to Morwen. “And let me guess. You already have an idea who should take this message to the capital.”
Morwen smiled. “Indeed, I do, sister.”
Lillian looked from one to the other. “Wait. I don’t get it. Who’s taking the message?”
In less than half an hour, Morwen and Lillian were rolling out the front gate of the convent in a tiny cart. It was nearly time for the first prayers of the day, but they would have to carry out their devotions in silence on the road. There wasn’t a minute to waste.
Morwen had the reins, and she threaded the cart down the smallest back lanes of the Basing Valley, doing her best to avoid the Gramiren camps. She could see them around her—dim pale shapes of tents, watch fires burning red and low. She had a letter signed and sealed from the abbess, but she had no idea if that would help or hinder them. Sir Halvor might have given orders to intercept any attempts by the nuns to present their case to the king. If at all possible, she wanted to avoid any contact with the soldiers, and she wanted to get well away before the Sigors’ escape was detected.
They went up the far hillside, over the battleground where the Earl of Hyrne’s army had been crushed, and into Almoner’s Woods. There Morwen and Lillian both breathed a sigh of relief.
“I was so scared,” whispered Lillian. “I still don’t even know why you wanted me to come along.”
“Because our rule says I need at least one other sister. And I trust you more than anyone else at the convent.”
“Oh, you can’t mean that,” said Lillian, ducking her head and smiling.
“I can, and I do.”
They were almost at the edge of the woods when a low, harsh voice called out of the darkness and commanded them to stop. The cover came off a safety lantern, and in its glare, Morwen could make out the face of a soldier. His black Gramiren surcoat made it look as if his head was floating in the air at first.
“Where are you going at this hour?” he demanded, coming around to Morwen’s side of the cart.
“I have business with the abbey’s wool factor in Formacaster,” said Morwen. It was a lie, but a very small one, as far as she was concerned.
The man, a grubby little fellow with a bristling beard, held up his lantern and squinted at her. “Are you the nun who’s Flora Byrne’s daughter?”
“Perhaps,” said Morwen stiffly. “What of it?”
“Suppose I said I’d only let you pass if you showed me your tits. What would you do then?”
Morwen looked at him, considering her options. The choice was obvious. “I would have to share a little scripture with you,” she said. Then she bent over, reached into the bag at her feet, and pulled out her beloved copy of the Epistles of Ovida. The one with the lead-lined case of solid walnut. The one that weighed eight or nine pounds. She spun around and, with all her strength, smacked the soldier across the face with it.
He dropped like a stone and crumpled into a heap in the ditch. Morwen set the Epistles back in her bag, picked up the reins, and clicked her tongue. “Walk on,” she said.
As they pulled away from the unfortunate soldier, Lillian turned to look at his motionless form. “You...you hit him! I can’t believe you hit him! Do you think he’s dead?”
“I doubt it,” said Morwen. “He seemed like he had a thick head.”
Later, though, when it was time for her and Lillian to say their sunrise prayers, Morwen spared a thought for the man. “Please let him not be dead,” she said to Earstien. “I’m not sure I could handle being a killer.”
Not like Vittoria. Morwen paused in her prayers as she recalled the Immani spy coming out of the back of the inn with a bloody knife, showing no more remorse than if she had swatted a fly. Morwen said a quick prayer for Vittoria’s soul, but reminded herself not to judge too harshly.
And then Morwen’s mind returned inexorably to what she had seen Vittoria doing with Molly. She didn’t know if the two women were of a “Thessalian” persuasion, or if they’d only gone to bed in order to pleasure Sir Halvor. But whatever they had done, it was the sort of thing that no decent girl would ever contemplate.
“Except that I contemplated it, too,” thought Morwen. Then, blushing, she corrected herself: “Well, not the part about having another girl there. But sleeping with Sir Halvor....” She still didn’t know if she could have really done it or not. But she had considered it, and so she knew a little of what might have motivated Vittoria and Molly to do what they did.
She thanked Earstien that she had been able to preserve her own chastity, but she knew that she had only been able to do it because of the sacrifice of Vittoria and Molly. She prayed for them, and for Timothy, and for Edwin and Elwyn, too.