Although night is the time when imps lewdly dance in the guise of shadows and the Prince of Darkness fills wicked souls with the desire to do evil unto other mortals, it is also the hour of dreams, often bitter but on occasion sweet.
Some claim that soft dreams are God’s way of reminding us that good may still rule during the season of Evil’s dominion. Others believe that such sweetness in the dark hours comes from Satan himself, cursed by the memory that he was once one of God’s most powerful angels.
Whatever the truth might be, the dreams of those mortals, safely surrounded by the walls of Master Stevyn’s manor, were gentle enough that following night.
Mariota fell into the deeper sleep of healing, her dreams perhaps reflective of hope that she might still live.
The Prioress of Tyndal remembered only one dream in which Mistress Maud, who had taken over the sick watch, slipped from the room. A dream it most certainly was, she decided, for the physician’s widow was sitting by Mariota’s bed when Eleanor woke for prayer.
As for Thomas, he fell asleep once again in the arms of Huet who seemed to hold him even closer than he had the night before. At some time in that night the young man left their mutual but chaste bed, and the monk awoke to regret the resultant chill. Then he too rose to chant the early Office and thank God that he had been blessed for once with no dreams at all.
And what were Tobye’s dreams that night, sleeping alone in the warm straw of the stable, before a figure crouched over him and slit his throat?