The room fell silent. I realised that the nun was still with us, watching us as we argued. How much of what we’d been saying had she understood?
But before I could point this out, Wace asked, ‘Who is this Lady Eadgyth, in any case?’
?lfwold closed his eyes and lifted his hands to his face, his fingers like claws digging in to his brow as he muttered something in his own tongue: a curse, perhaps.
‘She used to be the wife of Harold Godwineson,’ I said, before he could answer. ‘Harold the usurper.’
Wace looked at me in surprise, although I wasn’t sure whether it was surprise at what I had said, or because I was the one who had said it. ‘Is this true?’ he asked the chaplain.
‘It doesn’t matter who she is,’ ?lfwold answered. He was staring at me, his eyes full of menace.
‘It’s true,’ I said.
Wace frowned, and I could see the same question running through his mind as it had through mine. ‘But why—?’
‘It is not your business!’ the priest said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself, and murmured a short prayer in Latin. He spoke too quickly for me to follow all of it, but somewhere in the middle I heard the words for anger – ira – and forgiveness – venia.
‘I will stand this no longer,’ he said. ‘You are insufferable, every one of you. I promise you, the vicomte will hear of this. He will hear of everything.’ He shook his head as he stalked up the stairs.
‘You knew?’ Wace said once he’d gone. ‘He told you?’
‘I only learnt yesterday,’ I replied. ‘And only after I’d pressed him.’ That wasn’t strictly true, I realised, since I’d known the name of Eadgyth ever since we were in Lundene. But it was only yesterday that I found out who she was, and that was what was important.
‘You knew, and you didn’t tell us,’ Eudo said.
I felt my temper rising. ‘After what happened last night?’ I asked, making sure that Radulf and the others could hear as well. ‘Do you think I could have trusted any of you then?’
Eudo fell quiet.
Wace was the first to speak. ‘We were wrong,’ he said, glancing at Eudo and the others, as if seeking affirmation from them too. ‘Wrong to act as we did. We forgot ourselves.’
‘It was foolishness,’ Philippe said sombrely, and beside him Godefroi nodded his agreement. But Radulf’s expression did not change; his lips remained unmoved.
‘It was more than that,’ I said. ‘What you did was reckless. But we’re here now, and that’s all that counts.’
Floorboards creaked and muffled footsteps sounded through from the room above – the chaplain moving about, I thought. My gaze fell once again upon the nun and, as my eyes met hers, she turned quickly, knocking over a stool behind her. It clattered to the floor.
‘Why is she still here?’ said Wace as the nun bent down to pick it up.
‘Why worry?’ Radulf asked. ‘She won’t have understood anything that we’ve said.’
‘We don’t know that,’ Wace said as he approached her. ‘The abbess spoke French well enough, remember. In these places they learn many tongues.’
The nun stood, regarding him with a look of defiance, though she was at least a head and a half shorter. Whether or not she understood exactly what was being said, I could not tell, though she clearly knew we were talking about her.
‘Perhaps we should speak somewhere else,’ Philippe suggested.
‘It might be best,’ I said. ‘Though we’ve not said anything that she probably didn’t know already.’ She already knew that we were here to deliver a message to Eadgyth. And if she had lived here any length of time it was likely she already knew of the lady’s connection to the usurper.
‘Why is she here, though?’ Eudo asked.
‘It’s just the custom,’ I said. ‘One member of the convent is appointed to stay with guests and watch over them. She’s here for our care and, supposedly, our safety.’
Wace raised the eyebrow above his one good eye. ‘Our safety?’ he asked, a smile spreading across his face. He turned back to the nun, who remained standing where she was, unblinking, watchful.
‘It’s what happened where I grew up, at least,’ I said with a shrug.
‘What do you mean?’ Radulf asked. ‘How do you know so much?’
‘I know’, I said, ‘because before I was a knight, I myself grew up in a monastery.’
He made a sound halfway between a snort and a laugh. ‘You were a monk?’
‘Only an oblate,’ I said sharply as I stared him down. ‘I was given to the Church when I was seven; I fled when I was thirteen. I never took the vows.’
Wace stepped back from the nun, though still he did not take his eyes off her.
‘Let her alone, Wace,’ Eudo said, yawning and grinning at the same time. ‘What’s she going to do? She’s just an old woman.’