But I couldn't catch it properly and it tipped over as I pulled it. It rolled on the ground and the top fell off. Three limp draggled little bodies slithered onto the grass. Their feathers were sodden, their beaks wide open and their eyes too, but they weren't moving.

"Mam said Bryde was safe in the basket, but she's not in here. Mam didn't rescue Bryde; she didn't even try." I burst into tears. "Where is Mam? She said she'd come. She promised. She's a liar. Just a big fat liar. I hate her! I hate her!"

"Stay here," William said fiercely. "You wait for me, right? You're not to move." He clambered back over the wall and waded away.

"William, come back," I called frantically. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Mam."

beatrice

tHE VOICES IN THE REFECTORY were subdued. Kitchen Martha had cooked a special dish to try to raise our spirits-a Mutton Spicy Pie with the head meats and brains of the sheep and the last of the dried fruits of winter. The sweet and savoury aroma filled the room, a rare treat at this season of the year, but few seemed to have an appetite. We politely offered each other dishes and urged one another to pass them along, knowing they were not wanted, but just to fill the silence with a rattle of words. were subdued. Kitchen Martha had cooked a special dish to try to raise our spirits-a Mutton Spicy Pie with the head meats and brains of the sheep and the last of the dried fruits of winter. The sweet and savoury aroma filled the room, a rare treat at this season of the year, but few seemed to have an appetite. We politely offered each other dishes and urged one another to pass them along, knowing they were not wanted, but just to fill the silence with a rattle of words.

I hadn't expected Servant Martha to be here. I thought she'd take her meals at Healing Martha's bedside as she had with Andrew. But instead she was talking to Merchant Martha as though nothing had happened, except that her right arm was bound up. She ate clumsily, unaccustomed to using her left hand, but she supped steadily, her appetite undiminished. She was probably discussing the price of cloth or the shortage of salt.

I'd always known she had the compassion of a pike, but I thought if there was a mote of affection in her it was for Healing Martha. Now it seemed she had plucked even that out. She sat straighter than ever, her back upright and stiff. Even sitting she was a full head taller than Merchant Martha. Did she have to hold her head quite so cloud-capped?

There was a sharp rap of a knife on wood. Servant Martha rose to her feet and cast around the room to see that she had everyone's attention.

"My sisters, as we give thanks to God this day for our food, our tongues should not merely recite the duty they owe, but our spirits should soar on wings of praise that once again God has vouchsafed such mercies to us."

We all sat up and leaned forward eagerly. Had he worked a miracle for Healing Martha?

"Our Blessed Lord shelters us in His arms, for while our neighbours are driven from their homes by the flood, we are safe and warm in ours. While our neighbours struggle to find a scrap of bread which has not been ruined by the water, we eat hot food and drink good ale."

Yes, yes, but what of Healing Martha? Why didn't she come to the point?

"We must pray for the souls in the village whose cries are unheard by God because of their sin and faithlessness. But if we pray for help for them, we ourselves must be willing to be the instruments of answering those prayers. If we say 'Lord, send them food and comfort,' then He will turn to us and say, 'Daughters, give them food and comfort.' This very day God delivered two fine sheep into our hands, just as He gave the ram to Abraham, as a sign of what we must do."

Pega muttered, "Not much of a gift, if you ask me; they were our sheep anyway."

"God has given us the sacrifice and we will offer it. Tomorrow we will go to the village with meat, bread, and ale. After the evening prayers, instead of sleeping, I ask any who are willing to come to the kitchens, for there is much cooking and baking to be done if we are to have enough food for all who need it."

She paused to take a gulp of ale. Round the room the women glanced at one another, nodding approvingly, before all eyes turned back to Servant Martha. There must be more to come. She must speak of Healing Martha. Surely, she must.

"There is another for whom we must pray tonight even as we work." She paused.

You could feel the tension in the room. No one moved.

"As you all doubtless know, two nights ago our beloved sister, Healing Martha, was struck down not by any human hand nor by the hand of God, but by the legions of the Devil. Healing Martha fought with a terrible demon, but her faith prevailed and she vanquished it."

"The Owlman!"

The name reverberated from a dozen mouths. Servant Martha must have heard it, but she ignored it. She strode on through her speech with not so much as a flea's breath of hesitation.

"Like our blessed Lord Himself in the wilderness and all the saints who have followed Him, Healing Martha was attacked by the forces of darkness, because her love for God was so strong it struck even to the depths of Hell and wounded the Devil himself and he wanted to destroy her. But Healing Martha has so girded herself with the armour of the Lord and her shield of faith is so strong that all the arrows of Hell could not pierce it, nor any demons conquer her. God preserved her, both body and soul, to His glory." She bowed her head. "May we all strive to be worthy of such a test."

She raised her head and looked slowly around the silent room, fixing each of us in turn with her gaze as though measuring our worth and finding us lacking.

"Tomorrow we will say a special Mass to give thanks for His protection and the preservation of our sister."

"Praise God!" The cry was loud, but without feeling. Many looked perplexed.

"Does that mean Healing Martha is well again?" Catherine whispered urgently in my ear.

Muttering broke out around the room. Catherine was not the only one who was confused. Merchant Martha tugged at Servant Martha's arm and whispered rapidly. Servant Martha, frowning, took another draught from her cup.

"I have to tell you now that Healing Martha is sorely wounded from her great battle, as you would expect. For who could face such a trial and come through unscathed? But they are honourable wounds she bears, as were those of the saints and martyrs before us who have defended their faith and virtue against great evil. The burning touch of the demon paralysed her side, as our own Lord was wounded in His side by evil men. Healing Martha does not speak to us, for to tell us of the horror and evil of the demon who assailed her would be too great for us to bear. But she needs no discourse with us, for our Lord Himself speaks to her and she to Him in tongues beyond our understanding."

"Praise God! Praise God!"

Some of the women looked pleased, grateful even, but they'd not seen her. Catherine's expression relaxed too, as if Servant Martha had somehow explained everything and all was right with the world again. She smiled eagerly at me. Did she remember how Healing Martha looked when we found her? Or was that picture now diffused with martyr-light, a twisted face made pretty with gold leaf and an animal grunt sweetened to angel song?

Servant Martha rapped the table again. The speech was not over.

"It's evident that Healing Martha will not be able to perform her duties in the infirmary for some time. She was an elderly woman when she came here and after a lifetime of service many of her age might expect that they had earned the right to doze in the sun and have others care for them, but we all know that Healing Martha was never one to do that."

There was a ripple of affectionate laughter round the room, but it had a sad edge to it.

"When she is restored to health, and we pray that is soon-"

"Amen."

"-then we must persuade her to rest and let younger, stronger women take up her load. We must treasure her as a fine book-seeking her wisdom, but not allowing her to squander her precious energy on tasks that others could perform. Therefore we must appoint another Martha to take up her duties. Once we have done all we can for the village and the flood waters have receded, the Council of Marthas will meet to discuss the matter. You are each enjoined to pray that God's Holy Spirit will guide our decision. Now we shall kneel for the Grace."

There was much shuffling and Catherine nudged me in the ribs.

"That'll be you, Beatrice, the next Martha. Everyone says so."

"No," I snapped, blushing scarlet and wishing she would not whisper so loud. "There are many others who could be chosen."

"None with as much learning as you, nor been a beguine so long," she persisted blithely. "They have to choose you."

pisspuddle

iT WAS NEARLY DARK when William came back. I'd waited all day, sitting on a big high tomb so I could watch the bend where he had disappeared. I knew he'd come back round there again with Mam. William would be waving, shouting he'd found her. Mam would say I was a good girl, to wait, like she said. when William came back. I'd waited all day, sitting on a big high tomb so I could watch the bend where he had disappeared. I knew he'd come back round there again with Mam. William would be waving, shouting he'd found her. Mam would say I was a good girl, to wait, like she said.

All day people were wading to and from the church. Some came back with big bundles of dripping things tied to their backs. They said it was too wet to sleep in their cottages. Others said they were going to stay in the cottages even though there was still water in them, to keep their things from being stolen. But some came back angry or crying, saying all their things were gone, taken by the river or their neighbours. Many of the cottages were gone too, smashed to pieces by the flood.

By the afternoon the water was going down a bit. I didn't see it go down, but if I looked away for a long time, when I looked back I could see that the top of a stone which had been covered right over was now poking out of the water. I tried to make William and Mam come back. When the water is halfway down that stone, they'll come. When the water is three withies down that gate, then they'll come When the water is halfway down that stone, they'll come. When the water is three withies down that gate, then they'll come. But they didn't.

It was freezing cold sitting on the grave. Old Lettice had given me one of her old kirtles to wear while my clothes dried. She looped it up with a bit of rope but it still came down right over my feet. I wrapped the long sleeves tightly round me. I wanted to go back inside the church in the warm, but if I didn't keep watch William wouldn't be able to find Mam. I had to stay and wait, like William said, or my prayer wouldn't work.

The priest said to pray for Father, but I couldn't do that. God might not know which prayer I wanted Him to answer. Father Ulfrid said there'd been a storm at the coast, but my father said there were always storms there. He'd watch the great grey horses galloping to shore, tossing their white manes and tails, but he wasn't afeared of them. So I didn't need to pray for Father, because I knew where Father was.

Lettice came out in the afternoon. She saw me on the tomb and waddled towards me. She looked even fatter than usual 'cause she'd got lots of her clothes tied round her waist, in case someone stole them.

"There you are. I've been looking all over, dear. Whatever are you doing sitting out here? You'll catch your death. Inside with you." She caught hold of me arm and tried to pull, but I squirmed my arm away and clung fast to the stone.

"I'm waiting for Mam and William."

"And what do you think your mam is going to say, when she finds you hanging around out here in the cold? As if she hasn't enough troubles, poor soul, without you taking a chill. She doesn't need a sick bairn on her hands."

"Don't care. I'm not coming in."

"There's a little of that hot broth left, dear; don't you want some?" Lettice wheedled.

"No. It was horrible."

"There are some naughty little girls who should be grateful they've anything to eat at all. Very well, you sit here, but don't come crying to me when you're hungry, because there'll be none left." She stomped away.

I was starving, but Lettice didn't understand: I had to keep watching or William would not be able to find Mam.

When the sun went down it was colder than ever. Then it grew dark. Please make them come. Make them come now Please make them come. Make them come now. The candles had been lit in the church and light tumbled out through the windows making shadows creep through the graveyard. The trees began to creak and moan. Now there were all kinds of noises I hadn't noticed before. I cringed against the stone as something black flew across the graveyard. It was small, a bird or a bat. It swooped over me without a sound.

My heart started thumping. I looked fearfully up at the church tower. Lettice had told Mam the Owlman had flown down from there and pounced on two lasses in the graveyard. He could be up there right now, sharpening his beak and flapping his wings ready to swoop down.

I jumped up and tried to run towards the safety of the church, but I tripped over Lettice's long kirtle and went sprawling on the ground. I yelped as my knee banged hard against a stone.

"Pisspuddle, is that you?" a voice called behind me.

William was climbing over the wall. I hitched up the long skirt and ran down the graveyard. I threw myself at him, hugging him so hard he staggered backwards. He was sopping wet and stank of mud and shit, but I wouldn't let go.

"Watch it, you daft beggar. You'll squash her."

He pushed something warm and soft into my arms. I heard the chirruping gurgle. I turned the bundle towards the light from the church windows. There, nestled in a bit of sacking, was a little brown chicken with a white flash on her wing. It was Bryde, my Bryde. She was safe. I pushed my nose into her warm feathers and breathed in the new-bread smell of her.

William rubbed his arms and shivered. "Stupid bird was roosting up in the rafters in our cottage. Reckon she went in there looking for you. You'd best put her in the basket and keep her hidden, else someone will have her for supper."

"Thank you for saving her." I stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him.

"Get off!" He pushed me away, scrubbing at his cheek with his sleeve. "Here, you're perishing cold. What are you doing out here anyway? It's dark." He glanced fearfully up at the church tower, grabbed my shoulder, and pushed me towards the church door.

"But where's Mam, William? I thought you were going to find her?"

He stopped and rubbed his fist against his eyes. "She's not here then? I ... thought she might have come a different way ... Kept telling myself, she'd be here."

"She hasn't come. I've been waiting all day, William. I didn't move, like you said, but she still didn't come. Wasn't she in the cottage?"

"Door was open. Bed was smashed against the wall, but there weren't no sign of Mam. I've looked everywhere, Pisspuddle, all over the village. I can't find her." He turned his face away and his voice sounded strange as if his nose was running.

I clutched his hand. It was as cold as a frog. "I expect Mam's gone to find Father, to tell him to come home. That's where she's gone, William, isn't it?"

But he didn't answer.

beatrice

aFTER THE STEAMING HEAT OF THE KITCHEN, the sudden shock of sharp night air took my breath away. The wind still had a wetted edge to it, but at least the rain had stopped. Pale clouds were scudding across the moon, but the skies were clearing. The bell would ring for the midnight prayers soon, but the food for the village was prepared at long last. The pots would simmer slowly until morning. The wind hungrily devoured the rich aroma of herbs and mutton, wafting it out into the night air. I wondered if the wind would carry it as far as the village. If they could smell it, sitting there cold and wet with rumbling bellies, they'd curse us to Hell and back.

Holding the lantern aloft, I tiptoed into the cote, silently closing the door behind me in the face of the wind. Gudrun was curled up in the corner, her head resting on a wad of straw. Two pigeons were bedded in her hair. She'd thrown off her covers again. Her shift was so thin, I knew she must be cold. I crouched down to pull the covers up around her. I noticed her arms were covered in scratches and bruises and there was a big purple bruise across her thigh. What had she been doing? Gudrun didn't seem to notice pain. A knock that would send another wailing did little more than make her blink. Yet if someone stroked her arm in sympathy, she'd snatch it away as if they had laid a branding iron on her skin.

Except for the gentle rising of her ribs, the child didn't stir, but the birds stared at me with their dark bright eyes and wondered. I sat down on a heap of straw and watched her. I loved to watch her sleeping, but that night I was so weary. We'd scarcely slept for two nights and had been working every hour between. I longed to curl up in the straw by my Gudrun, bury my face in her long soft hair, like the pigeons, and sleep holding her in my arms, my little one, safe and warm. But it was no good even thinking of sleep; that bell would ring anytime now, summoning us to the chapel.

Would Healing Martha hear the bell? Would she struggle to rise to it, without knowing why, as a dog comes to a shepherd's whistle? Prayers would continue without her. All of life would go on without her. It seemed impossible, indecent even, that it should, but you can't hold life back.

Healing Martha lay in the infirmary, not a leader and physician now, just a body to be washed and anointed, to be talked about, but no longer talked to. And who would replace her? It would have to be someone skilled in the healing arts. I didn't possess a tenth of Healing Martha's knowledge, but who among us did? My little Gudrun probably knew more than any of us of herbs and potions, but they'd not permit her to treat a hanged man let alone themselves, even if they were all dying and she had the certain cure in her hand. Pega had helped Healing Martha with the rough work and she must have picked up some knowledge, but what use was that when she couldn't read labels on jars or recipes in books?

I knew as much as any of the others about the curing of common ailments. I had run a household in Flanders, treated the maids and manservants and my husband too, when they fell sick with agues or fevers. I would have learned more in the beguinage, but I'd never been encouraged to work in the infirmary. I was always being asked to do the hard, messy jobs in the field or kitchens and kept from learning anything skilled. Want kirtles washed or grain threshed? Send for good old Beatrice, she'll do it.

I learned quickly though. I always had, though I'd been given precious little time for study. But all that would change when I became a Martha. Then I'd have the time to study the herbals. I wouldn't be called upon to waste my days in washing and grinding. The infirmary would be my responsibility and I'd work night and day to make it run efficiently. I'd never be as skilled a physician as Healing Martha, of course; I didn't have her training. But I would be a good healer. I could be equal to any of the other Marthas here or in Flanders. I wanted that. I'd earned it and Catherine was right for once: Who else could the Council possibly appoint?

december saint stephen's day and hunting the wren a day when the church gives alms to the poor. day when the church gives alms to the poor.[image] the wren, king of the birds and the underworld, is hunted and killed to despatch winter and allow spring to return. the wren, king of the birds and the underworld, is hunted and killed to despatch winter and allow spring to return.

pisspuddle

tHE OWL MASTER SLIPPED OUT OF OUR COTTAGE. I held my breath and crouched as small as I could behind the bushes. His big feathered head turned this way and that, like he was watching what everyone did even through the walls, then he slipped between the cottages. I crept forward to see where he'd gone, but he'd vanished.

As soon as he'd gone, Lettice beckoned to me from the door of our cottage. She was always in our cottage now. I wished she'd go away and leave me and William alone. I dragged my feet over to her as slowly as I dared.

"You're as filthy as a beggar's ear, child. What ever would your mam say? This infernal mud." She spat on the corner of her apron and scrubbed at my cheek with it. "Now you listen. Owl Master said those outlanders have come back to the village to hand out food. But you're not to take anything from them. You hear?"

"But I want something to eat," I wailed. "I'm so hungry."

"Hungry or not, that food is witched. How else would they have so much food when there's not a bite left in the village?"

"It's not witched. I've had-"

"Had what?" Lettice demanded. "I hope you've not been near those women, my lass, or your father is going to give you such a thrashing when he gets back from the salterns."

"I haven't, honest, I haven't." But I felt my cheeks burning. "I just meant that I saw some villagers taking food from them yesterday and they didn't die or turn into toads or anything."