The Dream Weavers by Barbara Erskine (books you have to read txt) 📕

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That morning Bea had stirred when Mark put his head round the door to check where she was before he went out. She was fast asleep, her face serene. He hesitated and then quietly closed the door again without waking her.

Staggering to her feet, Eadburh dragged herself back across the field to the convent entrance gates and beat on the high oak doors with her fists. No one came and there was no sound from inside. Slowly the sound of her frantic calls grew more feeble and at last she subsided onto her knees, too exhausted to move. She heard the chapel bell ring out for lauds. Snow began to fall again; the only sound was the sighing of the wind in the trees across the fields and the soft patter of its flakes. She could no longer feel her fingers or her toes. No one was coming to her aid. Somehow she managed to climb to her feet. Looking round now that it was growing light, she saw buildings in the distance and remembered the byres and barns of the abbey farm where she would at least find shelter from the snow and perhaps warmth from the huddled beasts. Somehow she managed to shuffle one foot in front of the other and grope her way along the wall and it was there in the cowshed that the dairymaid found her as she brought in her pail and her stool as the first cocks crowed and the convent bell rang out in the distance, for the daybreak office of prime.

When she regained consciousness, Eadburh was in the farmhouse, wrapped in blankets. She had friends, it appeared, amongst the farmworkers. The king’s men were searching for her, she was told. The convent was in uproar, the sub prioress had assumed command, forbidden anyone to mention her name and threatened her with death, as ordered by the emperor, should she be found on the home estates. It was only a matter of time before they came here. She had been lucky. A second brief fall of spring snow had covered the footsteps that led from her desperate flight from the gates to the barn and those of the men who had come to carry her back to the warmth of the fire. They gave her a gown and a rough woollen cloak with a pair of worn shoes; they fed her some potage. Her desperate questions about the man who had been with her were met with shrugs and shaken heads.

It was full daylight when the boy who had collected the milk for the convent kitchens returned with the empty pitchers. He squatted before the fire and with a quick worried look at Eadburh as she sat huddled on a stool nearby, he told them what had happened.

The abbess’s friend, he cast another fearful glance in her direction as he stammered over the word, had been dragged out to the shambles behind the cookhouse and there he had been tied down and the slaughterer had castrated him like a hog before his body was thrown out into the pig pens.

Eadburh’s screams were so loud that the farmer’s wife ran to her and put her hand over the abbess’s mouth. ‘No, no, no. Please, you will have us all killed.’ She clutched Eadburh’s head to her bosom, trying to stifle her cries. ‘Please, Mother Abbess, please, be quiet! You are not supposed to be here. You can’t be found or you will be killed as well.’

Eadburh was shaking all over, her grief and rage overwhelming. ‘No, no, no!’ She cried again and again, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘No, no. no. This can’t happen. It can’t. I won’t let it. Elise, my love!’ She wrapped her arms around herself and her rocking grew more frantic. ‘I can’t lose you now. Elise! Elise!’

One by one the men crept away, dragging the milk boy with them. They would not betray her, but this was women’s business. If they were shocked at what had happened, they kept their faces impassive. Best to go out to tend the beasts.

It was a long time before Eadburh stopped sobbing, too exhausted by her grief to do more than cradle her head in her arms as the firelight died. The farmer’s wife crept to the door and looked out. Her husband and the other men were nowhere to be seen. The convent farm was deserted and quiet. With a sigh she looked back at her uninvited guest, no more than a humped shadow in the flickering light of the dying fire. She didn’t know what to do. ‘You have to go,’ she whispered at last. ‘I can’t hide you here. They will find you. Is there no one who can help you?’

Eadburh had few friends within the convent walls. She shook her head. ‘Better I die here.’

‘Not for me,’ the woman replied tartly. ‘If you are found here, we will all die!’

In the end they sent one of the farm boys with a message for Sister Ermintrude, the nun who had charge of Ava.

It was much later that one of the slave girls from the dairy crept back across the yard with a secret message. The mother abbess must leave. The slave girl, Cwen, would go with her and guide her up into the forests where she would be safe. Her only chance was to leave Francia as soon as possible. If she was caught by the emperor’s men she could expect no mercy. His rage at the betrayal of his trust knew no bounds. From the bundle in her arms Cwen produced a grey shawl from Sister Ermintrude’s own cell and a few silver pennies, stolen no doubt from convent treasury, all the nun could extract without being seen. There would be ructions when the shortfall was discovered when the chamberlain did her accounts at the end of the month. Eadburh took the bundle from the girl, and then let it fall to the floor, still shaken by sobs.