Healing Martha smiled wearily. "I've known you long enough to know that nothing I or anyone else said would stop you doing what you were convinced was right. You are as stubborn as old Saint Thomas himself."

"Then ... will you go with me tonight?"

"You know full well I wouldn't let you go alone even if you were going to lay siege to the gates of Hell itself." She chuckled and patted my arm. "Someone has to carry the bandages."

servant martha

iT WAS AN EVIL NIGHT to be abroad. We pulled our cloaks low over our faces and led our horses quietly out through the gate. I informed Gate Martha that we were going to perform an act of charity. to be abroad. We pulled our cloaks low over our faces and led our horses quietly out through the gate. I informed Gate Martha that we were going to perform an act of charity.

"In the dark, in this wild weather?" she asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Our Lord said, 'When you give alms let not your left hand know what your right hand does.'"

Gate Martha sniffed, clearly affronted that I would not tell her more.

I helped Healing Martha to mount her palfrey sidesaddle. I could tell from the way she held herself, and the groan that escaped her, that her back was paining her even more than usual. There had been a steady procession of village women coming to the infirmary all day seeking healing for themselves or their families. They brought children with sores that would not heal or bellies grossly distended with worms from grubbing in the dirt for scraps of food. They came for potions for elderly parents who were wheezing and coughing. Healing Martha had tended to each one and she was exhausted. But I knew she would insist on accompanying me even if I expressly forbade her. Healing Martha had the gall to call me stubborn, but I'd never met such an obstinate woman as she.

The wind tore at our clothes and sent the horses skipping sideways as the animals tried to turn their faces from the blowing dust and grit. Above us the trees creaked and mewled, their branches tossed about like twigs. Clouds, thick as winter fleeces, hid the moon. Our small lantern scarcely penetrated the darkness for more than a hand's space before us.

Fearful that we were being watched I peered this way and that into the blackness. The bushes were swaying and rustling so violently that even if someone was creeping through them, it was impossible to distinguish the noise from the sound of the wind. I'd be thankful when we'd collected the baby's body and we were safely on our way back. The road through the forest offered too many hiding places for cut-purses and outlaws on such a dark night. I held the lantern low and half muffled with my cloak lest its moving light be seen.

We tethered the horses under the cover of the trees, out of sight of the road. Healing Martha called out a soft warning to Aldith of our approach, but there was no sign of the woman. She was probably hiding by the fallen tree, afraid to show herself until she was sure it was us.

"This way, I think." Healing Martha tugged at my sleeve.

We threaded our way through the trees. I raised the lantern, trying to see if the fallen tree was in sight, and sprawled headlong over a tree root.

Healing Martha rushed to help me up. "Have you hurt yourself?"

"Nothing broken."

I'd skinned the palm of my hand. I pressed it tightly under my armpit to stop it stinging. Why on earth had I agreed to meet Aldith here? An open field would have been cover enough in the darkness.

Healing Martha clutched at my arm and pointed to a great fallen oak, half its roots still clinging to the soil, the rest clawing upwards at the sky. But Aldith was nowhere to be seen. Healing Martha called out softly while I swept the lantern around, trying to peer deeper into the copse. Tree trunks loomed towards us, pale in the guttering flame. Swaying branches sent shadows scurrying into darkness, but none was human enough to be the woman.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"Patience, Servant Martha, she'll come soon. She'll be as anxious as us to be abed before the dancing ends."

The ground was dry enough to sit on and at least we had the tree trunk to provide some shelter from this wind. I closed my eyes, listening to the swish and creak of the branches above us. The pungent breath of wild onion curled about our feet. There was nothing to do but wait. Above the moaning of the wind, a deep rumble of thunder echoed a long way off. The trees shivered.

"She'd better come soon, Healing Martha. There's a storm gathering and it will drive the dancers from the forest as soon as it breaks. I've no wish to be abroad with our burden then."

"I've no wish to be abroad in a storm at all, old friend. My ancient bones do not take kindly to a wetting and I've a hankering to be warming them at my own fireside before this night is much older." She winced in pain, trying to ease herself into a more comfortable position, though she tried to muffle the cry.

I was angry with myself for dragging her out on a night like this. At her age Healing Martha could easily take a chill. And with an infirmary full of patients, how would we manage if she had to take to her bed for a week?

"I should have brought Osmanna with me, instead of subjecting you to this," I said. "She's young and fit and I trust her to keep her counsel. But for some reason she always seems to find some excuse not to go into the woods. I overheard Beatrice complaining the other day that Osmanna doesn't want to be seen by the villagers performing such menial tasks as gathering tinder or fetching herbs."

"Beatrice has resented the child ever since ..." Healing Martha hesitated. "Let us just say Beatrice has her own sorrows, which make it hard for her to understand Osmanna. But you and I both know that Osmanna is not proud. She will willingly clean up the foulest mess in the infirmary and doesn't care who sees her do it. It's fear, not pride, that keeps her out of the forest."

"Of what?" I asked impatiently. "She made excuses not to go into the forest even before rumours of the Owlman began. Perhaps she heard too many stories in her childhood."

In the darkness I could hear Healing Martha chuckling. "Pega might think that boggarts and goblins lurk beneath every sod and bush, but somehow I can't believe that of our sceptical Osmanna."

"Sceptical! Believe me, Healing Martha, that girl gives a new definition to the word. She questions everything and accepts nothing without 'whys.' She's impossible to school, for she'll not be led in any direction unless she's already made up her own mind to go there. Now she is refusing to take the ..." I lowered my voice to a whisper, "refusing to come forward at Mass. She says something she has read has caused her to question if the sacraments are really necessary at all. Can you believe that a child would question what lies at the very heart of our faith?"

"But some might say that very fault in a pupil is a virtue in a leader, don't you think, old friend? I seem to remember a young beguine in Flanders who was accused of much the same fault, always questioning, always testing everything for herself. I hear that beguine is now the Servant Martha in England and is still asking questions."

It was too dark to see Healing Martha's face, but I could hear the teasing in her voice. "I can assure you that Osmanna and I are not remotely alike. I learned meekness and obedience at a very young age, and I learned when to speak and when to be silent in the presence of those who are older and more experienced. Two lessons Osmanna has yet to master."

A white flash suddenly ripped the sky, penetrating even through the dense thatch of branches. Silence was followed by a long low rumble of thunder. The storm was drawing closer.

"We can't wait any longer, Healing Martha. I fear Aldith isn't coming. It may be that a neighbour came to sit with her or her husband didn't go to the forest after all. Let's leave before the storm breaks."

Healing Martha rocked sideways, putting her hand out to lever herself up. She gave a half-stifled scream.

"What's wrong, Healing Martha? Is it your back?"

Healing Martha clambered awkwardly to her feet and, snatching the lantern from my hand, she directed its light towards the base of the tree trunk. In the flickering flame of the lantern, I glimpsed something pale, half hidden by a clump of dead cow parsley. It was a human hand.

Healing Martha lifted up the lantern. There, in the hollow beneath the ripped up roots, lay a woman's body. Her arms were flung above her head, her legs twisted beneath her. Her belly was slashed open. The dark bloody mess of her guts had been dragged out onto the fallen leaves and torn to pieces as if some great animal or bird of prey had been feasting on her.

Healing Martha clapped her hand to her mouth in horror. I fell to my knees and vomited. I heaved and heaved until my stomach was empty, but even then I was still retching. I felt Healing Martha's hand gripping my shoulder hard, though whether it was to comfort me or steady herself I didn't know.

"Is it ... is it Aldith?" I asked.

The light trembled as Healing Martha turned the lantern on the woman's face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was agape as if she had died in the very act of screaming. But despite the distortion the face was unmistakably that of the wretched woman who had that very morning clung to me, begging me to bury her child.

Another flash of lightning cracked the sky and in the instant of blinding whiteness the dead woman's eyes opened wide and stared at me. My scream was lost in the crack of thunder. The clouds burst and an icy torrent of rain beat down upon us. The wind grappled for my cloak as the branches clashed together above us.

"We must get away from here," Healing Martha urged. "Take the lantern."

The shadows around us fought and roared. I heard her, but I couldn't move, gripped by a nameless fear.

She lifted the lantern higher, shining it onto my face. "Come, Servant Martha, we must go and quickly! Whatever did that to her may still be here."

"But the baby ... We have to find it ..." I stumbled around, groping among the dead vegetation, but I felt my arm gripped hard.

"Servant Martha, you must listen to me. We will come back and look in the morning, but now we must go." Healing Martha thrust the lantern into my hand. She forced her arm into mine and tugged me forward. My legs staggered a few steps by themselves, as if they were no longer connected to my body. I slipped on the wet earth and my shoulder banged hard against a tree.

As if the pain had wakened me, I was seized by a frenzy to escape from the trees. Now I was pulling Healing Martha forward, holding her close against me. Someone was yelling "Hurry, hurry!" but I didn't know if it was me or Healing Martha. I sensed something behind us; something was gathering out of the shadows, but I dared not turn round.

We were almost at the road. The horses reared, jerking their reins and rolling their eyes, as the lightning streaked down. Rain was streaming over their flanks. It was a miracle they hadn't already broken loose and bolted. I tried to calm them, but they shied at each new crack of lightning. I heaved Healing Martha onto her horse, then I scrambled up onto my own beast and dug my heels into the trembling animal's sides.

The icy rain stung my eyes, blinding me, but I urged my horse forward trusting that he could see the road where I could not. I knew it was reckless to force him to the canter, but I had to get back to the beguinage. Nothing else mattered except to be inside with the gate safely bolted. The trees moaned and shrieked, writhing in a frenzy of wind. I couldn't see Healing Martha ahead of me. I tried to call out, but my words were snatched away by the storm. I turned in the saddle. There was no sign of her on the road behind. She had to be ahead, already beyond the bend of the path. My horse skittered sideways, slithering in the mud.

A flash of lightning lit up the road. In that instant of dazzling light, giant trees seemed to lumber towards me as if loosed from their roots. My horse shied and twisted. Then the flash was gone and I could see nothing. For a moment I thought I had been struck blind, but it was the lantern that had been extinguished, not my sight. It lay somewhere in the streaming mud. Now, I'd not the merest glimmer of light to guide me. I didn't even know if I was riding in the right direction anymore. A branch slashed across my face and gasping at the unexpected pain, I ducked low, kicking the flank of my reluctant horse, hoping against all reason that the poor beast could find the road when I could not.

Another lightning flash and suddenly I saw something hovering above me. It was huge, bigger than a bull. It had the head of a bird of prey, with a black hooked beak, as long as a man's hand. Huge round eyes blazed unblinking out of the feathered face, the deep black pupils ringed with red flame. The creature was staring straight at me. But it wasn't a bird. It couldn't be a bird. ... Between its great wings, the broad chest was covered not with feathers, but bare wet skin that glistened bone-white.

The darkness swallowed it. The great savage beak snapped inches from my face. I screamed, trying to cover my head with my arms. The wings were beating down, so that I couldn't breathe against the force of them. The twin rings of red fire, glowing out of the darkness, came closer and closer.

With a desperate whinny my horse slipped sideways and I crashed to the ground. There was a searing pain in my right wrist. Clutching it against my chest, I staggered to my feet, sodden skirts slapping heavy as leather around my legs. The wind was shrieking like a mandrake torn from the earth. Libera nos a malo Libera nos a malo. I tried to run. In Nomine ... In Nomine Patris et In Nomine ... In Nomine Patris et ... But the thunder boomed around me, driving me back. ... But the thunder boomed around me, driving me back.

Lightning sizzled down in a blue vein. Suddenly the witch-girl was standing motionless in my path. Strands of wet hair writhed around her head. On her shoulder, wings flapping wide, crouched a huge raven, croaking into the wind. Then it all was black again. I staggered against a tree and slid down against its trunk, sinking onto my haunches, hugging my wrist and gasping against the pain. The rain slashed against my face. I couldn't gulp air, only water. I was drowning.

A raucous caw echoed inches from my ear. The witch-girl stood over me. She held out a hand, thin as a demon's claw. I shrank away from her, fearing her talons on my face. She stepped back, as if to say she meant me no harm, and beckoned me to follow. Then she walked away, without looking to see if I followed or not. I clambered to my feet, suddenly terrified that she might disappear and leave me alone.

"Wait, please, wait!"

She didn't turn her head, but she stopped and waited until she sensed I was behind her and then walked on at the same rapid pace. The raven swayed on her shoulder. It watched me, as if it was her eyes. I followed her as a small child follows its mother, struggling through the rain and the mud, my skirts and shoes dragging me down at every step. I could just make out the dark figure walking in front of me from the flash of her white wet skin in the rain. Only then did I realise that she was naked.

Cradling my throbbing arm, I stumbled forward, terrified that the monster might at any moment swoop on me from behind. I desperately wanted to run, but every grain of strength had been washed out of me. Then, just as I knew I could not take another step, the gate of the beguinage stood open in front of me. I had been staring at it without recognising what it was. Gate Martha was peering out. She shouted and ran out. Several beguines followed close behind, lanterns in their hands as if they were embarking on a journey. Where were they going? What hour was it?

The women crowded round me.

"Heaven be praised you are safe! We feared the worst. We were about to search for you."

I couldn't speak. My face was numb and my legs gave way. I staggered against them and felt arms wrap round my waist to steady me. I gasped as someone touched my arm.

"Bring her inside; she's exhausted, poor thing. We must get those wet clothes off her before she takes a chill. Is Healing Martha following you, Servant Martha? Where is she? Have you left her to shelter somewhere?"

"Is she not here?" The words emerged in a croaking voice that I didn't recognise.

There was a long silence. They all looked at one another, but no one spoke.

Then Kitchen Martha hugged me. "Her palfrey came home riderless, like yours. We thought you must be together. But don't worry, Servant Martha, we'll find her. She'll be right behind you on the road. You walk so fast, no one can match your pace."

Pega nodded vigorously. "I know every step of the road even in the dark. Tell us where you parted company and we'll find her before you've had time to dry your hair at the fire. You get yourself into the warm and don't fret."

december saint thomas's day "saint thomas grey, saint thomas grey, the longest night and the shortest day."

at solstices and equinoxes when the winged demon, lilith, queen of the night, flies over the world, her menstrual blood falls into the ponds and rivers, polluting the water.[image] so on this day all liquids in the home have to be kept covered and no one can drink water from wells or streams, or bathe in rivers or lakes, for fear of being cursed by her blood. so on this day all liquids in the home have to be kept covered and no one can drink water from wells or streams, or bathe in rivers or lakes, for fear of being cursed by her blood.

beatrice

wE SEARCHED FOR HEALING MARTHA half the night until long after we were exhausted. We were soaked to the skin and aching all over from a hundred near falls in the treacherous mud. It was a wonder we didn't all die of cold or break our necks. If we had done so, it would have been Servant Martha's fault. I'll tell you this, if she'd been the one lost in the storm, I'd have gone straight to bed and left her out there to find her own way home. If she was fool enough to go out there at night, she'd only herself to blame, but you couldn't leave a frail old woman out in that rain, could you? And we all loved Healing Martha. half the night until long after we were exhausted. We were soaked to the skin and aching all over from a hundred near falls in the treacherous mud. It was a wonder we didn't all die of cold or break our necks. If we had done so, it would have been Servant Martha's fault. I'll tell you this, if she'd been the one lost in the storm, I'd have gone straight to bed and left her out there to find her own way home. If she was fool enough to go out there at night, she'd only herself to blame, but you couldn't leave a frail old woman out in that rain, could you? And we all loved Healing Martha.

The lightning passed over, but the rain continued to beat down in torrents, turning paths and roads to running streams and fields into lethal mantraps. I found myself sprawling in the mud so often I thought my boots had been greased, but soon my skin was so numb I didn't even feel the grazes and bumps.

We shouted to Healing Martha, but our voices were drowned out by the howling wind and if there was a reply we wouldn't have heard it over the drumming of the rain. We clung grimly to one another in the darkness, afraid of vanishing like her, afraid of being snatched away. I cursed Servant Martha roundly under my breath for putting us in this danger, and I can tell you I wasn't the only one damning that woman to Hell and back.

It was Pega who called a halt in the end, but no one offered more than a token protest. Healing Martha was not on the road leading to the beguinage, but that meant nothing. She could have been anywhere out there in the enormity of the storm. In the dark we might easily have passed within feet of her and neither seen nor heard her, nor she us.

It was pointless continuing; we were just groping around in a fool's game of blindman's buff. But all the same we felt guilty abandoning Healing Martha to the night. What if she was unconscious in a ditch that even now was filling with water? What if she was lying somewhere in agony from a broken leg, praying we'd come, or worse still, believing that we'd never come? Still clutching one another, we battled back through the blinding rain, telling ourselves that Healing Martha had probably taken shelter somewhere or that she might already be safely back in the beguinage. But none of us believed that.

I WOKE, GASPING, as a log collapsed in the embers of the fire, sending a shower of red sparks spitting onto the hearth. The rush candles had burnt out. A thin sliver of morning light was already sliding in beneath the shutters of the refectory. Osmanna crouched down to rake the fire, adding fresh logs and banking down hot ash on top to make them burn slowly. Pega, already shod, tossed Catherine's cloak on her lap.

"Up off your arse, lass, and help me fetch a bier from the infirmary." She nodded at Merchant Martha. "We'll meet you at the gate."

Kitchen Martha, struggling to bend down far enough to fasten her sodden shoes, froze half in and half out of one. "Saint Andrew and all his angels defend us, Pega, you surely don't think-"

"You mustn't talk like that, Pega!" little Catherine said desperately. "Healing Martha isn't dead. God will protect her."

"Have I said she's dead?" Pega snarled. "If Healing Martha was thrown from her horse, which she must have been since the beast came back without her, then like as not she's hurt her back, for it's none too sound at the best of times. If she could walk she'd be here by now, so it stands to reason she must be lying hurt somewhere. How would you have me carry her home-slung over my shoulder like a flitch of pork?"

Merchant Martha nodded. "You heard Pega, Catherine. Make yourself useful. Don't stand there biting your nails." She knelt and pulled Kitchen Martha's shoe on for her. "As for you, Kitchen Martha, we need you here tending the pots and pies. Healing Martha will be in want of a good hot meal when she returns, as will we all."

Kitchen Martha opened her mouth to protest, but Merchant Martha was having none of it. "Have some sense, woman. If we all come back hungry and tired, we don't want to have to wait around for hours while you cook."

For all her brusque manner, Merchant Martha was trying to be kind. After the night's search, Kitchen Martha had barely managed to reach home. Such a girth as God had blessed her with was not made for walking. She was as anxious to help find Healing Martha as the rest of us, but none of us wanted to have to carry her home as well.

It was still raining hard. The courtyard was awash with puddles, bubbling like cauldrons under the falling drops. A waterfall cascaded from the roof. We made a dash through it, but chill water splashed up and rain poured down and we were wet beyond caring even before we were halfway down the road. Only Leon, Shepherd Martha's great shaggy hound, seemed indifferent to the rain. He was bounding ahead, stopping every now and then to sniff at a bush or patch of the road.

The deep cart ruts were filled with water, so we tried to pick our way along the edges, brushing against the dripping bushes, but in places the road was awash from ditch to ditch and we had no choice but to hitch up our skirts and wade through it. Merchant Martha grabbed my arm to keep herself from falling and delivered a stream of oaths that would have made a fishmonger blush.

The river was brown and dangerously swollen. A rising torrent of mud and branches hurtled between its banks. Trees and grass on the edge were already standing in water. A dead swan hung by the neck in the fingers of a half-submerged alder. The rain blanked out the hills. The river would continue to rise long after the rain stopped and there was not so much as a crack in the clouds to give promise of that.

Pega stared at the river in dismay. "The banks'll not hold when the tide in the creek turns and starts pushing this lot back upstream. We'd best pray we find Healing Martha quickly, afore the whole road disappears underwater. Spread out," she called. "Search well on each side of the path. We know she set out this way, so if the horse threw her she'll likely be lying just off it."

The pasture beyond the fringe of scrub and trees glistened green and horribly empty. The massive horned skull of an ox rocked disconsolately on a pole in the middle of the field, a grim warning not to let beasts stray near this place for fear of the murrain. A few tattered shreds of withered flesh and hair still clung to it, but the ravens had picked the rest clean.

We reached the copse and scuttled in among the trees, not that their branches offered much protection against the downpour. Rivulets ran down the banks and dripped from the trees. Armed with our staves, we poked among the bushes and brambles, calling out to Healing Martha. The old vegetation was so sodden, I could scarcely lift it to search beneath. I was so afraid of what we might find, but more frightened of finding nothing. Please God, let her be alive Please God, let her be alive.

The rest of us may have been searching frantically, but there was one person who certainly wasn't. As I glanced up, I saw Osmanna. She stood a little way off, just gazing into the deep of the trees, not even trying to look for Healing Martha. As usual, she had no intention of getting her hands dirty.

"Aren't you even going to bother to try to find her, Osmanna?"

She ignored me.

"Osmanna!"

But she didn't move. She was standing rigid, her fists clenched, as if she couldn't tear her gaze away from something. My heart began to thump. What was she staring at? Not a body, not that, please don't let it be that!

"Wait there, I'm coming!"

My skirts caught in the brambles. I tore the cloth loose and ran towards Osmanna. I couldn't see anything except the silvery trunks rising out of a mire of twisted undergrowth. I turned to Osmanna, trying to see where she was looking. Her eyes were fixed wide open, her lips thin and dry. Her breath came in rapid, noisy gasps.