The Wise Woman

Nine

After Alys had flung herself out of the ladies' gallery she ran as far as the outside gate before she hesitated. The air was icy and dry, as if it might snow at any moment. The town was closed and silent. Morach's cottage was half a day's walk away. Mother Hildebrande was gone forever. She could feel the absence of the abbey and the loss of her mother in the arid air, in the low soughing of the winter wind around the castle walls. There was nowhere for her to go.

She turned back at the castle gate and walked slowly across the outer manse. A few thin hens pecked at the cold earth. A fat sow. bulging with piglets, grunted in the sty. Alys shivered as the sun dipped down behind the high round tower. She walked across the second drawbridge, into the inner wall of the castle. Mother Hildebrande was dead, the abbey was in ruins. There was nowhere for her to go but back to the gallery to the spite and triumph of the women.

Her head was still hammering from the wine and from the sudden flood of her anger. She walked slowly, past the herb-beds to the well at the centre of the little garden. She wound up the bucket and drank the icy brackish water, tasted the foulness of it slick in the back of her throat. Then she walked on, past the great hall to the bakehouse, a little building round like a beehive set down between the brooding blackness of the prison tower and the castle physic garden. Alys pushed open the little door and peered curiously inside. It was warm and quiet. The two great rounded ovens held their heat like a brickyard. The floor, the tables, the shelves, even the brass tins on their hooks, were covered with a thin white film of flour. The bakers had deserted it after their morning's work – baking the bread for breakfast, dinner and supper in one long sweating shift. They had gone into town to find an alehouse, or into the great hall of the castle to gamble or doze. Alys went quietly inside and shut the door behind her. The room smelled sweetly of new-baked bread. Alys sank to her knees in the white dust at the hearth and found that tears were running down her face. For a moment she was back in the abbey kitchens watching the lay sisters bake and brew. For a moment she remembered the sweet white bread, milled from their own flour, baked in their own ovens, the hot warming taste of fresh-baked rolls for breakfast after prime in the early morning.

Alys shook her head, took up the bulky hem of her navy gown and rubbed her eyes. Then she sat back on her heels and stared into the warm heart of the bakehouse fire for long minutes.

'Fire,' she said thoughtfully, looking to the hearth. She rose up and lifted down two small tins from the wall. One she scooped full of water from the barrel by the table. She placed it before the fire. 'Water,' she said softly.

She took a handful of cold ash, fallen soot and brick dust from the back of the chimney. 'Earth,' she said, putting it before her. Then she pulled the empty tin forwards to complete the square. 'Air,' she said.

She drew a triangle in the spilled flour and ash which covered the stone floor, binding the three points of fire, earth and air.

'Come,' she said in a whisper. 'Come, my Lord. I need your power.'

The bakehouse was silent. Across the courtyard in the castle kitchen a quarrel had broken out, there was the noise of a slamming door. Alys heard nothing.

She drew another triangle, inverted, binding the points for the earth, air and water.

'Come,' she said again. 'Come, my Lord, I need your powers.'

Delicately she stood, lifting her gown as carefully as a woman stepping on stones across a torrent. She stepped across the line, she broke the boundary, she stepped into the pentangle. She turned her head upwards, her head-dress slipped back and she closed her eyes. She smiled as if some power had flowed into her, from the fire, water, earth, air – from the flagstones beneath her feet, from the air which crackled and glowed around her head, from the radiating warmth of the bakehouse which was suddenly hot, exciting. 'Yes,' she said. There was nothing more.

Alys stood for a long still moment, feeling the power rise through the soles of her feet, inhaling it with every breath, feeling it tingle in her fingertips. Then she straightened her head, pulled up her hood, smiled inwardly, secretly, and stepped out of the shape drawn on the floor.

She tipped the water back in the tub. She set the tins back on their hooks and swept, with one swift, careless movement, the shape of the pentangle from the dust of the floor. She untied the purse on her girdle. Morach's candlewax moppets were cool in her hand. Alys turned them over, smiling at the accurate detail of Hugo's face, her expression hardening when she saw the doll of Catherine with its obscene slit. She went to the pile of firewood stacked at the side of the oven and pulled out a log at the bottom of the pile. She pushed in the candlewax moppets as far as they would go, and then gently put the log back in place. She stepped back and looked critically at the pile. It looked undisturbed. She picked up a handful of dust from the floor and blew it over the log so that it was as pale and dusty as the others. 'Hide yourselves,' she said softly. 'Hide yourselves, my pretty little ones, until I come for you.' Then she sat before the fire and let it warm her. It was only then, as if she were only then ready to be found, that the servant came panting across the courtyard and glanced, without much hope, into the deserted bakehouse.

'The lord wants you,' he said, flustered and out of breath. 'At once. I had trouble finding you.'

Alys shrugged indifferently. 'Tell him you couldn't find me,' she said. 'I walked out of Lady Catherine's room without leave. I lost my temper. I don't want to serve her, or him, or anyone. She'll have run to him to complain of me. I won't go.'

The servant shrugged unsympathetically. 'You have to,' he said. 'They're all there. The young lord and the shrew, the old lord and the priest. Even Eliza Herring. Now they want you. You'd best go, and quickly too.'

Alys' blue eyes sharpened. 'What are they all doing?' she asked. 'What is Father Stephen doing there? And Lord Hugo? What do they want with me?'

'It's a row,' he said. 'Lady Catherine is calling up a storm and the old lord is taking her side, I think. But you have to go.'

Alys nodded. 'I'm coming,' she said. 'Run and tell them I am on my way.'

She rubbed her face with the corner of her sleeve and pushed her fingers through her tangle of curls, pushing the longer ringlets behind her ears and pulling the hood forwards into place, so that not a scrap of her hair showed around her face. Then she pulled down the long stomacher of the blue gown, shook out the plain blue underskirt, and then crossed the yard to the door of the great hall. She walked through the hall, where a lad was heaving logs on the fire to keep the room warm and ready for supper, and through the lobby at the back of the dais, to the tower. Up the stairs, through the guardroom with a nod like a queen to the lounging soldiers and a servant, and up to Lord Hugh's door. It stood open. They were waiting for her. Alys, composed, her head high and her face defiant, stepped into the bright room and heard the door swing shut behind her.

She faced the old lord in his chair by the fire. She was dimly aware of Lady Catherine standing behind him, her hand possessively on the carved back of his chair, glittering with triumph. The priest stood away from the fire by the table in the window; before him was a black bible and a silver salver covered with white linen. Next to him stood Eliza, her eyes wide with terror. Alys glanced at her and then saw Eliza's hands. Both of them were clenched into fists with the thumb between the second and third fingers, to make the sign of the cross, the old protection against a witch. Alys' blue eyes became a little darker. She was starting to know what she should fear.

Furthest away from them all was the young Lord Hugo. He was sprawled in a chair with his riding boots thrust out before him, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his breeches, his face dark and sullen under his cap. He met Alys' swift glance with an angry glare which was full of warning.

Alys was silently alert to her danger. She looked back to the old lord again and scanned his face. He was sallow and his hands resting on the carved arm of his chair were trembling.

'There's a grave accusation laid against you, Alys,' he said. 'The gravest accusation a Christian can face.' Alys met his gaze squarely. 'What is it, my lord?' she asked. 'Witchcraft,' he said.

Lady Catherine gave a little irrepressible sigh, like a woman at the height of pleasure. Alys did not look at her, but her colour ebbed, her face paled.

'It is said that you have foretold my death,' the old lord said. 'That you have said that you will be the lady of the castle and bear Lord Hugo a son and heir. It is said that you have foretold that all this will happen in just two years from now.'

Alys shook her head. 'It is not true, my lord,' she said confidently.

Hugo leaned forward. 'Was it a dream, Alys?' he prompted. 'D'you remember nothing?'

Alys glanced in his direction, and then turned back to the old lord. 'I did not say it,' she said.

The old lord glanced towards Father Stephen. 'It is possible that the girl was in a trance and is now speaking the truth as she can recall it,' the priest said fairly. 'If she were a true seer she might do that. I have heard of some very saintly prophets who have foretold the future without knowing what words they were saying. There are records in the gospel, the speaking in tongues and other miracles. But also it can be a trap from the devil.' 'D'you have the Sight, Alys?' the old lord asked. 'Hardly,' she said tartly. When they stared at her in surprise she said sharply: 'If I had the Sight, my lord, I would not stand here accused of witchcraft by Lady Catherine who has hated me since the day she first saw me. If I had the Sight I would have been well away from the castle before this day. Indeed, if I had the Sight I would not have been helpless at Morach's cottage when your men came for me and took me against my will.'

The old lord chuckled unwillingly. 'Then what of these words of yours, these predictions, Alys?' he asked.

Alys, sweating under the dark blue gown, laughed. 'A dream, my lord,' she said. 'A foolish dream. I should have known better than to dream it, and better than to speak it. But I was drunk and very full of desire.'

Hugo, leaning forward, saw the sheen of sweat on her pale forehead. 'You were pretending?' he asked.

She turned and looked straight into his face, her blue eyes as honest as a child. 'Of course, my lord,' she said. 'D'you think I don't know that you take women and use them and cast them aside? I wanted you to desire me, and I wanted you to cleave to me, and I wanted you to think me more than any ordinary wench. So I pretended to have the Sight and I promised you all that your heart desires. I meant only to trick you into being constant to me.'

Hugo's eyes narrowed. 'You have wanted me all along?' he asked.

Alys faced him squarely. 'Oh yes,' she said. 'I thought you knew.'

He heard the lie as loud and as clear as plainsong. But he nodded. 'That explains it then,' he said. 'Wenches' tricks and silly games.' He got to his feet and stretched. His head brushed the carved and painted beams. 'Have you done, Sire?' he asked his father. 'The wench was laying snares to trap me – ' he grinned ruefully ' -I was caught well enough.'

He turned to Lady Catherine. 'I owe you an apology, Madam, I have been cunt-struck – and not for the first time. When we are alone together I will make you handsome amends.' He gave a low seductive laugh. 'I shall treat you as you command me,' he said.

Catherine's hand went to the base of her throat as if to hold her pulse steady. 'It's not over yet,' she said.

The old lord was settling back in his chair, hooking a footstool into place with one foot. 'Why not?' he asked. The wench has pleaded guilty to lying and explained her prophecy is a false one. We can see well enough why she should lie. The castle's a big enough place, Catherine, I'll keep her out of your way. You can sleep easy in your bed with Hugo restored to you. The wench is a liar and a strumpet.' He shot a little smile at Alys. 'Nothing worse.'

'She should take the ordeal,' Lady Catherine said. 'That was what we all agreed. She should take the ordeal.'

Alys took a half-breath of fear before she could stop herself. Lady Catherine beamed at her. The colour was draining from the girl's face, she looked ready to faint.

'We are agreed that you should take an ordeal for witchcraft,' Lady Catherine said silkily. 'If you are indeed guilty of nothing worse than a bungled seduction then you will have nothing at all to fear.'

Hugo put out a commanding hand to Catherine and she moved reluctantly from the shelter of the old lord's chair to stand beside her husband. He slid his hand around her waist and looked down into her plain, strained face.

'Come, my lady, have done,' he said. His voice was low. Catherine swayed towards him like an ash tree in a breeze. 'Let us go to your chamber and leave Alys to her clerk duties. I am cured well enough of my lust for her, and if the son by Alys in her prediction was a lie and a bait, then perhaps I shall get a son on you.'

He turned towards the door with his arm still around her waist and she, half drugged with her ready desire, went with him. It was done. It was nearly done. Alys froze, afraid to move, conspiring not to break Hugo's spell, willing herself to be invisible. The priest was silent, looking from Catherine to Hugo, and back to Alys' wary stillness, letting them settle it as they chose. Lord Hugh was weary of it all, satisfied with the outcome. It was done.

'No!' Lady Catherine cried with sudden energy. She broke out of Hugo's encircling arm back to the old lord. 'If she is innocent then she need not fear the ordeal. We have to test her before we can leave your health in her care, my lord. That is what we agreed to do. That is what we should do. And I will not leave this room until it is done!'

'Catherine!' Hugo said commandingly. 'You are my wife, I order you to leave this matter alone. It is settled to all our satisfaction.'

'Not to mine!' She rounded on him, panting. 'Not to my satisfaction! Not to my satisfaction! You would lead me out of the room like a bleating lamb, my lord. And I know why! It is to spare her the ordeal! Confess it! You do not want me! You have never wanted me! It is to spare your harlot the task of showing she is not a witch! And why?' Her voice grew louder, more shrill. 'Because you are bewitched into shielding her. Shielding her from the rightful anger of your father and you are ready to risk his life, and my life, so that you can have her!' She dropped on her knees before the old lord. 'Test her!' she demanded, like a woman begging for a lifetime's gift. 'Test the witch! Make her take the ordeal.'

The old lord looked at Hugo. 'Tell me the truth,' he said gruffly. 'Are you shielding her from this? If there's any chance she is a witch you should speak, Hugo. We none of us can dare to play with the devil's arts. Not even for love of a maid.'

Hugo gave a ragged, strained laugh. 'There's no chance,' he said carelessly. 'No chance at all. But we shall do whatever you wish, my lord, whatever you wish. I would have thought that we have wasted too long on this matter already. I would have thought you were weary of it. I do not fear the little slut, I see no reason to prolong this more.' He laughed more easily. 'Let's have done and away to our suppers.'

The old lord narrowed his eyes. 'No,' he said gently. 'She can take the ordeal. There's no harm done if she is innocent, and I am not sure of you, Hugo. I am not sure of you in this matter.' He turned toward Alys; her face was greenish white. 'Alys, you are to take an oath,' he said. 'Do as Father Stephen commands.'

Alys shuddered, a tiny movement which betrayed her deep fear. 'Very well,' she said, her voice level.

The priest stepped forward, held out the bible. 'Put your left hand on the Sacred Book,' he said. 'Raise your right hand and say "I, Alys of Bowes Moor, do solemnly swear and attest that I am not a witch."'

'I Alys of Bowes Moor, do solemnly swear and attest that I am not a witch,' Alys said evenly.

A log fell in the grate sending a shower of sparks upwards. The room was so silent that they all flinched a little at the noise. 'I have never used the black arts,' the priest intoned. 'I have never used the black arts,' Alys repeated.

'I have had no truck with the devil.' 'I have had no truck with the devil.' 'I never looked on his face, nor the faces of his servants.'

'I have never looked on his face, nor the faces of his servants,' Alys repeated. The rhythm of the vows was pressing down on her. She could feel her gown wet under her arms, she could feel a cold sweat down her spine. She fought to keep her face serene. She was sick with fear.

'I have not lain with the devil, nor with any of his servants, nor with any of his animals.'

'I have not lain with the devil, nor with any of his servants, nor with any of his animals,' Alys said. Her throat was tight with fear, her mouth dry. She licked her lips but her tongue itself was dry.

'I have not given suck to the devil, nor to any of his servants, nor to any of his animals.'

'I have not given suck to the devil, nor to any of his servants, nor to any of his animals,' Alys repeated.

'I have made no waxen image, nor cast a spell. I have summoned no ghosts, nor witches, nor warlocks, nor any of the black company.'

'I have made no waxen image, nor cast a spell. I have summoned no ghosts, nor witches, nor warlocks, nor any of the black company.' Alys' voice shook slightly but she had it under control again.

In the utter silence of the little room she could hear her heart beating so loud that she thought they would all hear it and know her fear. The candlewax moppets were so bright in her mind's eye that she thought anyone looking into her face would be able to see them. The fingertip which had drawn the pentangle tingled and stung. There was a tiny scrap of flour beneath her nail.

'And to prove my purity from these devilish skills,' the priest started.

'And to prove my purity from these devilish skills,' Alys repeated. She tried to cough to clear her throat but it was too tight.

'I take this sanctified bread, the body of our Lord Jesus Christ,' the priest said.

Alys stared at him in blank horror. 'Repeat it,' he said, his eyes suddenly sharp with suspicion.

'I take this sanctified bread, the body of our Lord Jesus Christ,' Alys said. She could hold herself no tighter, her voice was a thin thread of fear. Lady Catherine's nostrils flared as if she could scent Alys' terror.

The priest lifted the silver salver and took the linen cloth from it. In the centre of the gleaming plate was a large white wafer with a cross marked on it.

'I take the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, and eat,' the priest said.

'I take the body of our Lord Jesus Christ, and eat,' Alys said breathlessly. She eyed the thick wafer and knew she would not be able to swallow it. Her throat was too tight, her mouth was dry. She would gag on it, and then they would have her.

'And if I am perjured, if I am indeed a witch, then may it choke me; and may those that here witness do what they will with me, for I am damned,' the priest dictated urgently.

The very words stuck in Alys' throat. She opened her mouth but no sound came, she tried to clear her throat but the only noise she made was a harsh croaking sound.

'She's choking!' Lady Catherine said eagerly. 'She's choking on the oath!'

'Say it, Alys,' said the old lord, leaning forward.

'And if I am perjured, if I am indeed a witch' – Alys' voice was harsh, her throat rasping – 'then may it choke me; and may those that here witness do what they will with me, for I am damned.'

'This is the body of our Lord Jesus Christ,' the priest said, and took the bread from the plate and held it towards Alys' face. 'Eat.'

She swayed as she stood, as her knees softened and her terrified blue-black eyes went out of focus. The nausea from last night's wine rose up in her throat tasting like bile. She swallowed it down so that she should not retch and found her throat would not respond. The bile was coming up, upwards. She put her hand to her face and found she was wet with icy sweat. She knew she would vomit if she so much as opened her mouth.

'Eat, wench,' the old lord said with gruff urgency. 'I don't like this delay.'

Alys gulped again. The sickness was unstoppable, her belly was in a spasm of fear, her throat tight with her terror, it was rising up and up, it would spew out the moment she opened her lips.

'She cannot!' Lady Catherine breathed in triumph. 'She dare not!'

Goaded, Alys opened her mouth. The priest crammed the wafer in, the thick handful of papery mush half suffocated her, half choked her. She could feel her lungs heaving for air, she knew she must cough, she knew when she coughed she would spew it all out, bile, vomit and wafer; and then she would be lost.

Alys squared her shoulders and closed her eyes. She was not going to die. Not now. Not at these hands. She chewed determinedly. She thrust a gob of the dry mush towards the back of her throat and forced it down. She chewed some more. She swallowed. She chewed some more. She swallowed. Then she gave one last convulsive gulp and the task was done.

'Open your mouth,' the priest said. She opened her mouth to him. 'She swallowed it,' he said. 'She has passed the ordeal. She is no witch!'

Alys swayed and would have fallen, but the young lord was at once behind her. He took her by her waist and guided her back to his chair. He poured her a glass of ale from the jug and glanced at the priest. 'I take it she may drink now?' he asked acidly. When the young man nodded he gave her the glass. For a moment his warm fingers touched her frozen ones, like a secret message of reassurance.

'I am glad,' Lady Catherine said. 'This is the best outcome we could have hoped for. Alys has proved her innocence.' The old lord nodded. 'She can stay,' he said. 'And live with my women, as she has done,' Lady Catherine said swiftly. 'And she will make me a promise.' She smiled at Alys. 'She will promise me that she will have no more truck with my husband, and that she will tell no more tales of a child for herself from him.'

The old lord nodded. 'That's fair,' he said to Alys. 'Promise it, wench.'

'I swear it,' Alys said, her voice very low. She was still sweating, the lump of communion bread thick and cloying deep in her throat.

'And when I have a child, as I know I will have this year, then we will know that Alys is completely innocent,' Lady Catherine said sweetly. 'Alys can turn her skills towards making me fertile that I may bear an heir.'

The old lord nodded wearily. 'Aye,' he said. 'Alys can have a look at you and see if she has herbs which will help.'

'I am counting on it,' Lady Catherine said. Behind her pleasant tone was a world of threat. Alys, sitting without permission in Lady Catherine's presence, shifted uneasily as she recognized renewed danger.

'My lord will lie with me, not with you, Alys,' Catherine said triumphantly. 'And I will bear his son, not you, Alys. And when our son is born then you will be free to leave, Alys.'

'Aye,' the old lord said again. 'Now go, all of you. I'll take a rest before supper.'

Eliza fled for the door and was away downstairs without another word of bidding. Alys rose wearily to her feet. Hugo glanced at her and then went to Lady Catherine, who beckoned imperiously for his arm.

'Let us go to my chamber,' she said. Her look up at his dark face was hungry. She was breathless with lust. He had promised to lie with her, and Alys' defeat had excited her. 'Let us two go to my chamber, my lord.'

Alys, left alone in the room with the old lord, moved slowly towards the door as if she were very, very weary. 'Get her with child, for God's sake,' the old lord said. He was leaning back in his chair, his eyes were closed. 'I'll have no peace until she has a son, or I am rid of her; and I cannot be rid of her inside a year.' He sighed. 'You will be in danger every day of that year until she has a child or until Hugo's eyes are turned away from you. He must be blind to you, and deaf to you, and insensate to you. Get her with child if you can, Alys -or avoid Hugo's desire. Your luck will run out one day. You were perilously close today.' Alys nodded, saying nothing, then she slipped from the room and hobbled slowly down the stairs to the guardroom below. Eliza was waiting for her.

'I thought you were going to choke and they would kill you,' she said, wide-eyed.

'So did I,' Alys said grimly.

'Come back with me and tell the others! They won't believe it!'

'No,' Alys said.

'Oh, come on!' Eliza urged. 'They won't believe me if you don't tell them too.'

'No,' Alys said again.

'I thought I would die of fright!' Eliza said excitedly. 'And when you were slow repeating the oath, I thought they would have you! I've never seen anything like it!' She caught at Alys' arm. 'Come on!' she urged. 'Come and tell the others!'

'Let me go!' Alys said, suddenly shaking Eliza off. 'Let me go, damn you! Let me go!'

She pushed Eliza roughly aside and fled down the stairs, through the hall where the servants were putting out great jugs of ale and beer, and out across the yard to the bakehouse. Only there, when she had slipped through the door and slammed it behind her and sunk down to the hearthstone, did she let herself weep. And then, to her horror, she felt her vomit rising, rising up in her throat again.

She kneeled and faced the embers of the bakehouse fire and felt her throat clench against the rising tide of bile. Then she vomited, spewing it out into the ashes. Six times she heaved and puked until her belly was empty and her mouth sour.

And it was then that Alys knew fear. For in the embers of the fire, whole and untouched, unblemished in its white circle, was the sanctified wafer. Not a mark on it, as whole as when she had sworn an oath and chewed it and swallowed it. It had choked her as she had known it would.