Illusions 24

Middletown? She had never heard of this nunnery before. She had asked the chaplain then, and he had told her that it was a small convent at the Welsh border, built for St. Wulfhilda, her bones being buried there up to this day. The pious woman had thrown herself between two quarrelling men to avoid a blood bath. The feud between the families had been going on for ages, Welsh against English, English against Welsh, none of them willing to yield. Probably at some time it would have become more than just a family feud; wars had started for lesser reasons. The upraised sword had wounded her mortally, and this had sobered the men instantly. Some time later there had been several mysterious incidents at the grave of the slain woman, healings from sword wounds, from sickness or a usually deathly illness; some years later an abbey had been built, but this was all the chaplain knew. – And this was the place where she would be brought.

She should have known what the plea for Guys life would mean for her. She had never been popular at the Court, but when it had become known that she had gone to the King to ask for Guy's life, the courtiers had begun to give her the cut direct. Even the servants fulfilled their duties only hesitatingly and sloppily. Marian didn't have any illusions about certain other rumours that circulated about her and of course, Robin must have heard them too and even if he didn't believe them…. She had not only lost her fiancé but also her friend and was on her way to an unknown destination and an unknown destiny. And if she decided to flee or to leave the abbey without the King's consent – Where should she go?

Servants had packed several chests with warm clothing, combs, her silver and golden bracelets and brooches, mirrors, shoes, everything a woman of her standing was entitled to. The carriage that brought her to Middletown was comfortable and upholstered, but nevertheless Marian knew that she was a mere prisoner.

Autumn was approaching and Marian wrapped up in a soft woollen blanket; eventually, due to the rocking of the carriage and drugged with fatigue, she fell asleep. It had to be hours later when she woke. The carriage had come to a halt and the door opened. "My lady…?" Walter of Creighton, the young officer who accompanied her, greeted her politely and she was grateful for his respect.

"My lady…," the soldier repeated. "It will be dark very soon and we will stay here until tomorrow." He pointed at the dim silhouette of little inn, barely noticeable against the dark trees and offered her his hand to help her out of the carriage. Some time later Marian stretched out under several itchy blankets; he had to be grateful, was her last thought before she fell asleep, that she had not seen rats or cockroaches.

Three days later they reached the Abbey of Middletown. It was only a small building that had seen better days and it accommodated not even thirty, mostly elderly, nuns. There was also a hamlet about a mile away and some farms somewhere. Indifferently Marian glanced at the abbey. Everything had remained silent and had it not been for the closed wooden gate, she would have thought the abbey abandoned. This was no rich nunnery, that much was obvious, but she had been sure of it before. Rich abbeys were destined to be the target of brigands and this cloister had only survived because St. Wulfhilda seemed to be impartial and had healed the wounds of English as well as Welsh.

The young officer knocked and a nun opened a little window in the gate. Marian saw him handling over a letter with the royal seal and then the window was closed again. Only a short time later the bolt at the gate was pushed away and the door opened, creaking. The coachman clicked his tongue and the horses pulled the carriage into the courtyard.

An old nun with a weathered face was standing in front of the old masonry, waiting as Marian descended from the carriage. She was petite but had an air of authority nonetheless. Her blue eyes were still sharp and she eyed the young woman, who would be her guest for an indefinite time, with reserve but not unkindly. She noticed at once that Marian was pale and worn out and if she was right, this was not only due to the exhausting trip. But of course the abbess had known that the circumstances could not be normal; a young lady being sent here for recovery was highly unlikely. There were several rich abbeys more than apt for sensitive young ladies. Middletown was definitely not one of them.

"Welcome, my child," she said. "I'm Mother Katherine…you look weary. Do you want to retire right away and we will talk tomorrow?" he asked mildly. "Sister Clothilde will show you to your room and bring you something to eat."

"Thank you so much, Mother Superior. I would gladly like to retire to my room," Marian replied, a brittle smile on her lips, and then addressed Walter of Creighton, who was still waiting beside the coach. "I'm indebted to you for your kindness," she said solemnly and followed the young nun, the abbess had called Clothilde.

The abbess glanced at the flustered young officer, who had blushed furiously and was still staring at Marian's retreating figure. "We have a little guest house outside the walls where you and you men can stay overnight. There is only a hamlet about a mile away and there is no inn. I will get you something to eat, too."

The soldier blinked and nodded slowly. "Uhm….Thank you….I'm grateful for your hospitality." He bowed and was going to retreat as the abbess addressed him again. "I can assure you that I'm not overly curious, but it is more than unusual that a young lady of the King's court is sent to us. Could you tell me something about it?"

Walter of Creighton swallowed. "Well, uhm, yes, Mother Superior…Lady Marian has displeased his Majesty…" The abbess waited; she had expected something like this. Sir Walter drew a deep breath. "There was some talk about a traitor…. And I don't believe in the rumours being spread about the young lady." He paused and the old nun eyed him kindly. "I don't want to abash you and you are right not to spread gossip. Lady Marian will probably tell me in due time what has happened." The young nobleman bowed again and strode away.

But time passed from days to weeks and still the abbess had not succeeded in breaking through Marian's barrier of taciturnity. She spoke, but not more than was necessary and never said anything about herself. She could not be coaxed into eating properly and lost weight she couldn't afford to lose. Sadness surrounded her that had nothing to do with the moods of a spoilt young woman, who missed the Court. Mother Katherine began to worry.

"Blessed is the man, who…." From half-closed lids Bishop Cadarn eyed the man, who was sitting on the chair opposite him. What did Father Rhobert think to recommend a man like this? Instead of being grateful to serve a person of high standing like him and to show the appropriate humbleness…this overbearing, piercing gaze…I will get rid of him as soon as possible; there is something that gives me the creeps, something… "My son, I feel exhausted and will try to rest for a while. Besides….Well, since I have taken you in my service, I am responsible for your spiritual welfare. Tomorrow I will hear your confession."

"Thank you, your Excellency," Guy replied. "Father Rhobert has shriven me before he returned to the monastery."

"Well, then…." The bishop pursed his lips indignantly. "I will accept it…for now, but of course it is of the greatest concern to me that those you serve the Church walk unblemished." The bishop rose and held out his hand for a kiss on the ring.

Guy knew that Cadarn would have preferred to have him gone as soon as possible and he abhorred every minute he had to spend in the presence of this hypocrite. The clergyman had only taken him into service because he didn't have to pay for it and because Rhobert's brother had promised to take him to Lord Rhys' court. The bishop reminded him of Sheriff Vaysey, not outwardly, but he was greedy, devious and craved power, just like Vaysey had.

If only he had a horse! But it was no need to think about it. The piece of gold Anne and Osgood had given him, was not enough by far. Guy knew that he had no future in Wales; he was English and this was more than just a minor flaw. Perhaps he should return to France; it couldn't be worse than here and in France, he understood the language much better than here and he would be able to go into service as a soldier. Even if he had not detested Bishop Cadarn, this kind of occupation was not for him. How long had it been since he had had a sword in his hands and a horse between his thighs? Yes, he would take his leave; he would write a letter to Rhobert and leave with the next ship to France.

From the beginning, Guy had mostly kept to his room or had roamed the woods, when he was off duty. He had not made any friends and he had not wanted too. He felt that most of the people resented him because he was English, but he had not cared; he had always been a loner. The decision to leave Wales took a load off his mind and he breathed freely. The only thing he regretted was that he would never see Rhobert again, but what kind of future awaited him here? There was no alternative than to leave. He would kind of celebrate his decision with ale in the tavern and would inform the bishop tomorrow. Guy smiled; Cadarn would utter some sanctimonious words of regret and would barely be able to conceal his glee.

Guy had noticed that the soldiers were watching him. Obviously, they were more than a little drunk and time and again they had darted malignant glances at him. Eventually, one of the men rose, swaying, and nearly tripping over the chair that had toppled over.

"Whattaya wan' here, Englishman?" he grumbled."Shouldn't ya pray with the bishop?" When Guy didn't react, the soldier planted himself in front of Guy. "Answer me, b***d!"

Grinning, the soldier looked at his comrades, baring a row of rotten teeth, three of them already missing, although he could not be old. He was a bulky man, bigger than Guy, with brown, matted hair and a pimpled face; his breath was foul. Guy was staring in his beer and had still not said anything. "You stinking son of a w***e, you think you're above answering me!" the drunkard roared. "Just you wait!"

The man's fist never touched Guy. While the men were still laughing and cheering their friend on the Englishman's hand suddenly thrust upward, knocking the drunken soldier to the ground. The man stared; nobody had even seen him move.

Damn! This had been a mistake; he should have left when he had seen the men's glances over even muttered an apology when the drunkard had provoked him. But he had never been good at tolerating insults and now it was too late. He only hoped it would be possible to escape from the tavern. It seemed as if he would have to leave the country earlier than intended.

The laughter and the talk had died away and from the corner of an eye Guy saw one of the men drawing his dagger, approaching him. Another soldier blocked the door, but, fast as lightning, Guy pulled out the knife Rhobert had given him and jumped on the table and then over to the door tackling the soldier. When the knife jabbed his shoulder, the man cried out, stumbling aside. Guy yanked the door open, but he was not quick enough. Something hard hit him on the head and everything went black.