?lfwold took no interest in any of this, however, and I was beginning to wonder whether he’d been here before. But if so, did that mean he also knew Eadgyth?
We crossed the courtyard towards a large stone-built hall. The nun knocked at the door and then, though I couldn’t make out any reply, entered. ?lfwold went next and I after him, ducking to avoid hitting my head on the low cross-beam. The inside of the hall was lit only by two candles, arranged either side of a slanted writing desk. There was a hearth at one end but no fire had yet been lit, and so there was a damp chill to the air. Beside the hearth, a door led through into the next room, from which a girl promptly appeared. Her hair was fair in colour and unbound. She looked no older than about eleven or twelve years. Her eyes were wide as she saw us all standing there, and I wondered what we must have looked like to her: seven strange men, six of us in mail hauberks and chausses, marked with the scars of battle. If she had grown up solely in the convent, she might never have seen so many men together in one place.
The nun said something to her; the girl nodded and, hardly taking her eyes from us, retreated through the doorway.
‘Go back outside,’ ?lfwold told me curtly. ‘I wish to speak with the abbess alone.’
‘The abbess?’ I asked, surprised. I thought we’d been coming to see Eadgyth.
‘Who else?’ he said, with some impatience. ‘I can’t deliver my message without her permission. Now, go.’
I didn’t move. ‘We wait here,’ I insisted.
‘This is not your concern—’
He turned as the door opened again, and through it, a woman entered, dressed in a brown habit with a simple cross embroidered in white thread on each sleeve. Like the nun who had brought us from the gate, she was advanced in years, but there was wisdom in her eyes, which were the colour of burnished copper, and dignity in the way she walked towards us, as if every step held some divine purpose.
She gave a flick of her hand towards our nun, who nodded solemnly and then departed, leaving us alone in the candlelight.
‘F?der ?lfwold,’ she said.
‘Abodesse Cynehild.’ The chaplain knelt down before her, taking her hand and kissing the silver ring which adorned it.
‘You come with a full conroi this time, it seems,’ she said, speaking suddenly in French as she looked about at the six of us. ‘How times are changing.’ But if she was trying to make a jest, it did not show in her face, which remained expressionless as before.
?lfwold rose. ‘The escort given to me by my lord,’ he explained, replying likewise in French.
‘Guillaume Malet,’ she said, and I thought I detected a hint of scorn in her voice, though I was not sure.
If there was, the chaplain did not seem to notice. ‘Indeed, my lady.’
The abbess looked pensive for a moment, then she turned her gaze towards the rest of us, as if inspecting us. ‘You look surprised,’ she said to me. ‘Why is this?’
I hadn’t realised it was so obvious. ‘You speak French well,’ I said, not out of politeness but because it was the truth. In fact she spoke it remarkably well, as only someone who hailed from the country would. Or at least, one who had spent a good many years in French company.
‘And that surprises you?’ she asked.
‘Only because I’m not used to hearing it from English lips,’ I answered, choosing my words carefully.
‘Yet ?lfwold here speaks it just as well as I.’
‘His lord is a Norman,’ I said with a shrug. That seemed to me plain; how could she not understand that?
‘Then, by that same measure,’ she said, with a smile that spoke of quiet victory, ‘should not the whole of England be French-speaking, since we are all subjects of our liege-lord, King Guillaume?’
I felt my cheeks turn hot. It seemed to me that I was being put to the test, for some reason that I could not discern. ‘Yes, my lady,’ I replied, not knowing what else I could say.
She frowned, keeping her gaze upon me.
‘My lady,’ ?lfwold spoke up, and for once I was thankful for his interruption. ‘I’m here—’
‘—to speak with the lady Eadgyth,’ she finished for him, turning her eyes away from me at last. ‘Yes, I had thought as much.’
‘To pass on a message from my lord, if you will allow,’ the priest said, unperturbed.
The abbess nodded. ‘It would be hard for me to deny you. Unfortunately at present she isn’t here, but in Wincestre.’
‘In Wincestre?’ ?lfwold was silent for a moment, his eyes closed as if in thought. ‘How long ago did she leave?’
‘A week ago, perhaps.’
‘But she will return soon?’
‘Tomorrow or the day after, I should expect,’ she said. ‘You are welcome as always to stay here until she does.’
Her words gave me a jolt. I was right; the chaplain had been to Wiltune before.
‘That’s most kind,’ ?lfwold said.
The abbess gave a thin smile that quickly retreated. ‘It is no more than what’s expected. You will, of course, remain in the guest house at all times,’ she said, and she glanced around at all of us as she did so.