osmanna

i'D WATCHED THE PALE LIGHT in the tiny slit of the window turn pink and grey, then shiver into hyacinth. But now there was nothing, not night, nor day. Just a shimmering oblong of pearl, hanging high above my head. I thought I had slept without knowing and it was dawn and they were coming for me, but it couldn't be daylight; that whiteness was not the sun. in the tiny slit of the window turn pink and grey, then shiver into hyacinth. But now there was nothing, not night, nor day. Just a shimmering oblong of pearl, hanging high above my head. I thought I had slept without knowing and it was dawn and they were coming for me, but it couldn't be daylight; that whiteness was not the sun.

I was so cold. I had not known how cold my head could feel without my hair. The horn-shaped hat with its scarlet letters waited for me by the door, waited for me to put on my new name. It was too dark to read the word anymore, but I did not need to read it. Know your own name Know your own name, old Gwenith had said, but deep down I had always known it. It was there at my birth, the Demon star, Lilith's star, the evil eye that winks at man from the heavens. It was my star now, for under that star was I born and under it would I die. Birth and death they are the same; the one curses the other.

My nursemaid told me that I was born with her sign. It was only a little thing, a tiny red mark on my chest, shaped like a crescent moon, Lilith's symbol and Lilith's curse. Three days after I was born, my father had taken a hot iron from the fire and ordered my nurse to strip me of my swaddling bands and stretch my little body out. Then he laid the red hot metal to my mark to rid me of the curse. It would keep me chaste, he said, drive out the demon whore, for, as everyone knows, fornication is the greatest sin and my father demanded chastity. My nursemaid swore she pleaded with him to stop, but he held the brand there, determined to obliterate every trace of the curse. It burnt deep into the flesh beneath. I had taken many moons to heal and she feared I wouldn't live, but I had.

Lilith, the night-hag, the winged demon with hairy legs and goat's feet. The bloodsucker who rides the night, who invades men's dreams and steals their seed. Who strangles babies in their mothers' wombs and devours her own children. She fled Adam before the fall, before he brought death into the world. She is immortal. She cannot die. She cannot die in the flames. They will go on burning her forever and she will not die. There cannot be an end to her pain. She will be bound forever, naked and screaming.

If willpower alone could have made my heart stop ... but it wouldn't stop. It just kept on beating as if I wanted to live. I'd taken off my shift and twisted it into a noose. I tried to climb the wall to the bars on the window to hang the noose from them, but I couldn't reach them. For hours I had searched every inch of that cell, trying to find a nail to scratch open my veins or a sharp shard buried beneath the straw; even in the dark I went on searching with my fingertips. Groping through the straw, sweeping my hands over the cold flags trying to find one scrap of something I might have missed. Let them not burn me. Blessed Virgin, let me not burn. Please let me die now. I cannot bear it. I know I cannot bear it Let them not burn me. Blessed Virgin, let me not burn. Please let me die now. I cannot bear it. I know I cannot bear it.

There were voices outside the window, a woman's voice and murmuring words too low to be distinct, excited laughter, then a thump against the wooden door.

"I told you, she's not coming. I saw her ride off towards the forest," the woman said.

"So, the bitch really believes she can stand against the Aodh, does she? It will be her last ride."

"Don't you fancy a ride, Master? Come on-it's a pity to waste the evening."

The man laughed. I knew that deep mirthless laugh. It was my cousin Phillip.

"I usually prefer them young and tender, but why not? Most of the women in this village think they have to put up a show of resistance. It gets a little tiresome. They are all strumpets under their skirts; it makes a change to find an honest slut."

There was a resounding slap on well-rounded flesh and the woman laughed.

"God's blood ... what you wearing?" Phillip was panting. "It would be easier to bed a virgin abbess, and don't think I haven't tried."

"If you're too weak, I'd best find a man who can keep his end up."

Another slap, a squeal and low chuckle.

"I could fuck you till dawn and still have strength enough to whip you bloody for the whore you are."

"Could you now? Why don't you put your prick where your mouth is and prove it then?" The voice belonged to Pega!

Phillip was grunting hard like a farrowing sow. I stuffed my fingers in my ears, but I could still hear the moans and pants as they copulated against the wall. How could they? How could she? she? She must have known I could hear them; why else would she have come here? I wanted to scream at them to go away, but they'd only laugh and do it all the more. A final groan and it was over. She must have known I could hear them; why else would she have come here? I wanted to scream at them to go away, but they'd only laugh and do it all the more. A final groan and it was over.

For a long time I could hear nothing except their deep panting breaths. Then finally Pega spoke. "I've wine here; that'll get you going again. Come on, drink up. I warrant it's better than that arsehole of a priest is supping tonight."

"I can swear to that," Phillip answered. "I've suffered the pig's piss that priest calls wine more than once. Where did you steal this from?"

"The house of women, of course. The leader doesn't stint herself there. Straight from France this. Sit yourself down and rest a while. Get your strength up; you'll be needing it. I've a few tricks to show you that I warrant none of your highborn ladies can teach you."

"I bet you learned ... a thing or two from those women ... heard those foreign whores can ..."

Phillip's voice trailed off into heavy snores. There was what sounded like a heavy kick into a mass of flesh, but the snores continued unabated.

"Osmanna?"

Pega's outline suddenly filled the window, blocking out the white. Only someone as tall as she could reach it. In the darkness I couldn't make out her expression, but I could smell his sweat on her. I crouched against the wall. I couldn't bear her taunting, not now.

"Osmanna!" The whisper was more urgent this time. "Osmanna, I know you're awake. Stand up where I can see you."

"Won't there be time enough to mock me tomorrow?" I said bitterly. "Why must you come tonight? I've no doubt you're going to watch me burn. That's what you've always wanted, isn't it, revenge on my family?"

"Osmanna, listen to me, I-"

"I've already heard you, Pega. Do you creep out to whore every night? Or did you find it amusing to do it outside my window and force me to listen? So you've had your fun; now for pity's sake go and leave me alone."

"Listen to me, you sour-faced little cat," Pega snapped. "No one from the beguinage can get near this place. Tutor Martha, the others, they tried. The only way I could do it was to fuck that bastard Phillip to get him off guard. You can't just walk up to a man and give him drugged wine. He'd have known something was up. There are ways of dealing with a man, which you'd know if you'd ever had to survive in the world for yourself, m'lady."

"Am I supposed to be grateful that you sacrificed your virtue just to speak to me? It didn't sound much of an effort from here. Don't tell me they've sent you as my confessor?"

"Nobody sends me anywhere," Pega retorted. "I came 'cause I'd a mind to, though God alone knows why I bothered. You are the most stubborn, stuck-up vixen that ever drew breath. Anyone who offers you their hand in friendship gets their whole arm bitten off."

"So why don't you go and leave me alone?"

"'Cause I'm as stubborn as you are. I heard about the way you faced down old D'Acaster. Though how he ever came to spawn a salty brat like you is a mystery only your mam can answer. For all my talk, I'd not have the stomach to see this through, not to that end. You've the faith to equal any saint. I wish I'd a gill of it."

"You couldn't be more wrong, Pega." I said softly. "It's not faith. It's hatred."

"Is it now? Aye, well that I can understand. I've seen hatred drive many a man to face the kind of death that would make faith shrivel in its tracks. Do you hate your father that much? It seems we've something in common after all."

I rushed towards the window and tried to reach up to her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to feel a warm human hand in mine. "I'm scared, Pega. I am so frightened. You cannot begin to know how much. I can't face it ... haven't the strength ... Help me, Pega, please help me!"

I tried not to cry, but the tears were forcing their way out. A rough hand pressed down on mine, solid and warm as if Pega had the strength to pull me through the tiny space and out into freedom. I clung to her hand like a lost child, wanting her never to let me go, as if she could keep me from all the terrors of this life and the next.

"Pega," I pleaded, "give me something sharp, your knife or a piece of broken flagon, anything so that I can kill myself before morning. I can't face the flames, Pega. I can't do it."

"You think I came here to help you kill yourself? I've thieved, lied, and fornicated for you this night, lass. You think I'm about to add murder to the list?"

"It wouldn't be murder, if I did it. Pega. Please help me. Please, I beg you. Don't let them burn me, Pega, please."

"Course I'm not going to let them burn you, lass. What do you think I'm here for? But we have to hurry. Your cousin's snoring away like an old boar now, but I don't want to be around when he wakes up. The pig'll have a head like a swarm of hornets when he does and serves the bastard right."

"What are you going to do?"

"Get you out of here, of course; what did you think I came for? The Commissarius kept the key himself, he'd not entrust it even to Phillip. So we'll have to take you out through the roof, lass. It's only thatch."

"But I can't reach it."

"No, but I can. They didn't call me the Ulewic Giant for nothing. I've a rope I can use to haul you up once I've made a hole. Someone must have been praying some pretty powerful prayers for you, lass-this sea-mist is sent from Heaven. It'll cover us while I work and our tracks while we make off."

Her face vanished from the window and I heard the sound of the reeds being torn away above my head. Gradually a bright white patch began to glimmer through the dark roof.

"But we can't go back to the beguinage, Pega. They'll come looking for me there and for you too. Phillip's bound to tell them what you did."

"Phillip'll never admit he let himself be tricked by a whore. But he'll come looking for me, make no mistake, and I've no intention of being around when he does. No, lass-you and I are going to have to disappear. Boat to France, then who knows where? I've a hankering to see more than this poxy village before I die. We might not make it, and if they catch us, we'll likely burn together. But they'll have to catch us first and we'll give them a run for their money. What say you, Osmanna: You willing to take a chance? You and me together, lass. I reckon with your learning and my brawn, together we could take on the world."

january saint vincent of saragossa's day spanish martyr and the patron saint of drunkards, he refused to sacrifice to heathen gods and was roasted on a gridiron and left in the stocks to die.[image] six ancient english churches bear his name. six ancient english churches bear his name.

pisspuddle iT WAS THE HIGHEST TREE I'd ever climbed. I could see forever, right over Ulewic and the hills beyond it. I was balancing on the branch and I wasn't even holding on. I just had my hand pressed against rough bark above, but I wasn't gripping it, just resting my hand. I could walk that branch without holding on if I wanted, but I wasn't going to, not yet. I'd ever climbed. I could see forever, right over Ulewic and the hills beyond it. I was balancing on the branch and I wasn't even holding on. I just had my hand pressed against rough bark above, but I wasn't gripping it, just resting my hand. I could walk that branch without holding on if I wanted, but I wasn't going to, not yet.

There'd be a fair next May Day, I knew there would be. The tumblers would come again and this time they'd take me. I'd be ready by then; if I practised all winter, when the spring came, I'd show them. I'd show everyone. I'd steal Father's big sharp knife and cut the webs between my fingers and then Ulewic would have to let me go, for I wouldn't belong here anymore. With the tumblers I'd travel way beyond the hills to castles and towns bigger even than the forest. And one day we'd come back here to the fair. I'd be wearing a red and gold costume and William wouldn't even recognise me and I wouldn't even speak to him, not once.

I'd walk the whole length of the springy pole and when the two men holding the pole on their shoulders bounced it upwards, I'd somersault and land on it again, my fingers spread wide like flowers. Everyone would cheer, especially William; then I'd speak to him, but only so he'd know it was me.

I'd be rich then. Father would beg me to stay the night in the cottage and say that I could have all the best bits from the pot and tell William he'd have to sleep on the floor, but I'd not go. I'd be feasted at the Manor. Father and William would have to wait in the rain in the courtyard outside. If they were nice to me, I'd have a few scraps sent out to them from the table, but only if they were really nice, otherwise I wouldn't.

"Get down here, Pisspuddle!"

The sudden shout startled me. I slipped, grabbed for the branch, and hauled myself back up again. My knees stung like fire, skinned on the rough bark. It hurt. It was all his stupid fault, bellowing like that. He made me slip. I hated him.

"I'll leave you here in the dark by yourself and the Owlman'll get you!" William bellowed.

"No, wait, I'm coming, William, don't go."

I looked round trying to find the quickest way down. I couldn't remember how I got up here.

"I'm going right now!"

Below me I could see him walking away from the tree.

"No, wait, wait. Look, the sea fog is coming in again. I can see it from here. Look, William, look!"

A thick mist was rolling across the fields, tumbling over itself, sliding along the ground, then rearing up again.

"This'd better not be one of your games." William swung himself up into the tree and quickly reached the branch below me. He was good at climbing.

"Isn't, look there."

The huge wall of fog drifted beyond the village. William sniffed the air and slapped me across my head. I had to grab on tight with both hands to stop myself falling off.

"What did you do that for?"

"You wouldn't know it if your own arse was on fire. That's no fog. That's smoke that is, you daft beggar."

"What's afire?"

William shrugged. "House of women, I reckon."

"Are they burning the women too?"

"Lettice says they're gone." William craned to get a better view. "She said Father Ulfrid went out there and there wasn't a soul left. It was like they'd all vanished in the night."

The girl they were going to burn was gone too. The door of the jail was still locked, but there was a big hole in the roof. Father Ulfrid said the Owlman had come in the night and torn the roof open with his talons. He ripped her heart out of her chest with his beak and ate it right in front of her while it was still beating. Then he carried her soul straight to Hell in case she repented in the flames and Satan was cheated of her. Father Ulfrid said she was his greatest prize because she was so wicked, but I didn't believe she was wicked at all.

I was sorry they'd gone. Servant Martha hadn't got angry when I gave her the hair and the feather. She held them in her hands for a long time staring at them, and then she said softly as if she was remembering something, "He has freely given me my free will. How easily we forget that we have chosen what we are and can choose what we will become. ..."

She looked at me then and gave a tiny sad smile. I'd never seen her smile before. "Remember to choose, child."

William whacked my leg. "C'mon, we've got to get going. It'll be dark soon. What did you have to climb up here for anyway, you daft beggar? You'll fall."

He held my ankle and pushed my foot down safely onto the next branch, then the next, till I was down.

Mostly I hated William, but sometimes since Mam got taken and Father went strange, he looked out for me. Sometimes it felt like William was all I'd got left. It was just the two of us now. When the tumblers came in spring, maybe I'd take him with me. William didn't have a web. So we could run away together, far, far away and nothing could ever pull us back to Ulewic. Maybe that's what we'd choose to do one day, very soon.

epilogues

MOKE BILLOWED UP FROM THE RUINS of the beguinage. Only the buildings burned. They had been stripped of anything moveable as soon as the women and their curse were gone from the village. Looted for valuables first by the Manor, as was their liege-right-even thieves know their place-then by the villagers gleaning for broken furniture, food, pots, and sheer curiosity. The Manor found little worth the bother of their efforts except the livestock, wine, and stores of grain, but the villagers were always glad of any prize they could snatch from their neighbours, be it a straw pallet or a patched blanket. Tables and benches rejected as too rough and plain for the Manor were carried off on cart or foot. They were far too big to fit inside the cottages, but good wood was hard to come by and they could always be made into doors to keep out the cold, or hurdles to keep in the sheep. Even the dead got their dues, for a tabletop makes a serviceable bier.The villagers stripped the beguinage to the bare bones, but in this world even bones have their scavengers, and finally the beggars were allowed their turn at the carcass. They all took something, even the slowest and feeblest cripple scuttled away with crocks and scraps, for the meanest rag is a fur robe to a naked man.Too occupied with fighting for the spoils, no one so much as glanced at the two slender mounds in the dirt outside the chapel walls. One was almost grassed over now, invisible. The other, smaller, strip was still bare. A little wooden trolley stood at the foot of the grave. A boy snatched it up; it would make a fine toy. The villagers trampled the tiny grave flat, not knowing or caring that the wasted body of a child lay just below their feet. It was only little Ella, that was all. But she had been loved. Ella and Gudrun, they had both once been loved, and love needs no cross to mark it.Father Ulfrid hurried straight to the chapel. The green altar stone with its bloodred flecks, the chalice, and the paten were all gone. Carefully wrapped in wool they were safely stowed in the beguines' chests on the ship bound for Flanders. There was nothing left to show that women had ever served at this altar.Father Ulfrid was not expecting to find anything of value, but even so he had convinced himself that the reliquary containing Andrew's Host would be there, waiting for him. The Commissarius had ordered the beguines to surrender it to the church and the Commissarius could not be disobeyed, for he held the keys of Hell in the next world and in this.But the reliquary was not standing on the altar where the priest expected it to be. Unable to bring himself to accept that his last hope of salvation had vanished, Father Ulfrid spent a long and fruitless time turning the chapel upside down inch by inch, even brushing the rushes aside to see if there were any signs of it having been buried in the ground. Pale with frustration, he scoured the walls of the chapel desperate to find any loose stone or niche that he had overlooked. But at last he had to admit that the miraculous Host was gone.He glared up at the walls, choking with rage. He had been so obsessed with searching for the reliquary that he had barely glanced at the wall paintings, but now he saw them. The paintings were finished at last. The serene eyes of the dying beguine looked down on him, her triumphant smile undisturbed by his rage. Her long hair flowed from under her invalid's cap, bright and shining as if she was a girl again, and the Son of God Himself held out a hand from Heaven towards her, a bridegroom welcoming his bride. Every muscle and bone in the priest's body were so racked with hatred that he felt as if his sinews were tearing themselves apart. He snatched the knife from his belt and gouged into the plaster, chipping and scratching away at that painted face like a cornered rat."Whore! Heretic! Blasphemer! Cunt!"He tore at the body like a torturer with a flesh rake, obliterating breasts, loins, and hands until only a space remained, a hollow outline of an empty woman.As he spun away, he stumbled hard against the stone altar. A dark red stain, the size and shape of a holy wafer, marred the whiteness of the stone; for a moment, Father Ulfrid thought it was his own blood. Without thinking, he reached out to wipe it away, but as his palm touched the red stain, he yelped in surprise, clamping his stinging hand under his armpit. He examined his palm. A burning livid red sore was etched deep into it, as if an iron nail had been driven right through it. Aghast he stared at the wound, then he fled from the chapel, leaving only the Virgin staring sadly down above the altar.Outside, the Owl Masters were waiting, blazing torches at the ready. Dry straw and rags had been dipped in tallow and stuffed under eaves and in the crevices. Piles of dry rushes had been heaped inside the open doorways."Do we burn the chapel too?" they asked Father Ulfrid. Even they would not presume as much without the voice of God to give authority."Burn the vipers' nest out. Burn every stinking stick of it. There will be not a stone left standing to remind anyone that this foul abomination ever existed."It burned and was burning still. But there was something that escaped the burning. It lay outside the gate, half hidden in a patch of weeds, its wrappings crumpled nearby. A villager had snatched up the bundle, not troubling to find out what it was, and then discarded it as soon as he'd unwrapped it. It was a battered thing, bound in calf's leather, a book, just an old book. Tomorrow it would be picked up by a peddler, a camelot with a badly scarred face, on his way to a fair in a distant town. It might not fetch much, but the camelot was learning that anything was a profit on nothing and someone, somewhere would buy even an old book, if he spun them a good enough tale.High up on the hill above the burning beguinage, a woman squatted on the bank of the river by old Gwenith's tumbledown cottage. She could smell the smoke and if she had looked, she would have seen the distant lick of flames climbing into the darkening sky. But she did not raise her head.The woman's clothes were sodden and so caked with mud, you could scarcely see the grey of her kirtle beneath the dirt. Mud streaked her face and hands, but she wasn't aware of that, nor of the way her hair tumbled loose down her back. She had discarded her grey cloak even though the air had grown icy. She no longer felt the cold. Her hands were too busy. She was too joyful.First she had fashioned a mound of mud and dirt, long and narrow like a heap of soil over a new grave. Then she'd begun to shape it, dimpled legs and a fat little body, a softly curved belly, chubby arms and a beautiful smooth head. She put bright shining river stones on the tiny face for eyes and gave it waterweed for hair and a smooth silky pebble for a sleeping mouth. She bent to kiss the cold lips and smiled.Then she began to make another mound. One by one she raised the graves from the earth; again and again she pulled from them her own mud babies. They lay all around her cradled in the moss, three, four, five of them, and still she worked making more graves and more babies. Light was fading so fast that she couldn't see their faces anymore, but it didn't matter, for she could feel their skins, soft and moist and slippery as newborns. She gently squeezed their chubby limbs and stroked their damp hair. They were sleeping. They didn't cry because they were glad to have her as their mother.A great black bird fluttered onto the ragged roof of the cottage. It stared down at the woman, its head cocked. The harsh caw made the woman look up. Someone was standing in the doorway of the cottage. In the darkness she could just make out the faintest shimmer of pale bare limbs and flame red hair. The woman smiled."There you are at last, my little Gudrun; where have you been? I've been searching for you everywhere."She'd known all along that the body they pulled out of the pond wasn't her Gudrun dead. She knew her daughter would come home to her. Beatrice knelt on the ground and swept out her arms over the graves and the babies. They had all come back to her. And they would never leave her again.The sun was almost gone now. Only a sliver of red rind showed above the hills and darkness crowded hard upon its heels. A gangling lad with straw-coloured hair and a dark-haired little girl stumbled homeward from the forest, dragging bundles of dead wood behind them by ropes looped across their shoulders. The girl trailed behind, wailing to her brother to wait for her. He pretended not to hear, but every now and then he slowed down, not enough for her to fully catch up with him, for he didn't like to be seen walking with her, but just enough to close the distance between them.Their hooks were tied to the bundles of the dry kindling twigs they carried on their backs. The boy's sling was ready in his hand just in case a complacent bird or hare should amble across his path. The children's grubby cheeks were flushed with exertion.The little girl glanced fearfully over her shoulder. Imagine if the Owlman chased you while you were so weighted down, the wood dragging you back so you couldn't run. Imagine feeling the breath of his wings at your back, hearing the snap of his beak. The darkness gathered about her and every bush along the path took on an animate form-a cutthroat with a murderous knife, Black Anu with her long talons, the faerie birch with white fingers long enough to strangle the throat of such a very small girl. In the forest a vixen screamed and both children started like rabbits. They should not have waited so long. The boy knew it was his fault, but he cuffed his little sister to make her hurry and to hide his own fear.A hollow tapping, like fingers on a coffin lid, echoed through the gloom. The children stopped dead. It was coming towards them. In the witch-light you could just make out a shape, like a man, but not a man, wings dragging on the ground, hopping like some great bird. The little girl struggled to free herself from the tangle of wood and rope that was pinning her down between the forest and the nameless thing. Her brother clapped a sweaty hand across her squealing mouth and dragged her off the path.The melancholy knell of the leper's clapper drew nearer. Now they could just make out a figure limping on crutches towards them. One knee was bent under him, resting on a stick to keep the weight from his foot. A leper's cloak was pulled down over his face and flapped behind him. He passed the children crouched in the bushes, but gave no sign that he had seen them.The leper saw much, but registered nothing anymore. His mind was as numb as the stumps of his feet. He didn't even turn his head as the boy fired stones from his sling at his sticks, jeering and boasting to his sister that he could knock the old crow off his perch. It was the boy's revenge on the leper for making the boy hide as if he was scared, which of course he wasn't, not for a moment.The stones struck Ralph's back, leaving small dark bruises, but he was almost grateful for the sting. He could at least feel that. He didn't know where he was going, but he would hobble through the night and the next day and the next until he dropped from exhaustion, and even that would not be far enough away from this accursed village. For he knew the smell of the burning would cling to him like a drunken whore until they tumbled into the grave together. Ralph was not afraid of the dark, or the wolves or the Owlman. What could any of them do to him now that would not be a blessing?Behind him, the little village of Ulewic hunkered down for the night, wrapping itself in the ragged smoke of a hundred hearth fires. The ditches and middens farted their noxious odours into the twilight air, but the village was comforted by the smell. It was the smell of its own fart after all. It shuffled down into the damp earth and its wooden bones creaked. Under the cover of darkness, bedbugs crawled out to feed on its frowsty flesh and the rats fought for its shit. Ulewic moaned a little in its sleep, that's all; scratched, but otherwise it did not stir. It was complacent, senile, old, tired enough to sleep for a thousand years, and why not? Those troublesome women had gone and would not come again.With outstretched wings the barn owl, silent and pale as a dead child, flapped slowly across Ralph's path and the leper lifted his head. The winged cat from the threshing barn was seeking a new home. He turned his face away. Better not to think, not to feel, not to remember. He slammed his crutch against his foot as if to reassure himself his body at least was dead. Fiercely he dragged himself on, then turned, suddenly desperate for one last look at her, but the owl had vanished.finis

historical notes

In the first half of the fourteenth century, Europe was experiencing a period of change and unrest remarkably similar to the present day. There were significant and rapid climatic changes resulting in widespread droughts, flooding, and crop failure. The changes were so noticeable and drastic that the Pope ordered special prayers to be said in every church five times a day.The fertility of both animals and humans had fallen markedly and people and livestock were becoming prey to new diseases sweeping the countryside, which created a climate of fear and suspicion. Lay people began to ignore ecclesiastical authorities, even on some occasions throwing priests out of their own churches and engaging in bizarre cults. Despite the terrible punishments meted out for crimes, general lawlessness, especially among young male gangs, was widespread.Against this background a remarkable movement emerged in Europe that became known as the Beguinage Communities. Thousands of women who did not want to marry or take the veil began to set themselves up in female collectives. The women farmed and supported themselves through the practise of different crafts, particularly weaving. They traded, established hospitals, educated girls, and wrote many books. They preached openly on the streets; they translated the Bible into the local vernacular, long before this was officially done by the Church; and when they were excommunicated, these Catholic women took on the priestly role of administering the sacraments to one another and to others who were barred by the Church. They took no vows except that of celibacy for as long as they chose to stay within the beguinage, and they were free to leave whenever they wished. A number of the hospitals and schools which were founded by beguines in the Middle Ages still flourish today in the cities of Northern Europe.Beguines often broke the power of local male guilds by deliberately undercutting them through their ability to trade via the network of beguinages. Some beguinages were protected by powerful and wealthy patrons, but many beguines encountered violent opposition from Church and Society. Beguinages were attacked; their books were burned. The beguines were arrested on charges of heresy and gross immorality.Some beguines were charged with "Heresy of the Free Spirit," because they believed in a doctrine similar to that held by Quakers today, which declared that the physical sacraments were not necessary to Christian practice or salvation, and that Christians did not need the mediation of priests. A number of beguines were burned at the stake for this belief, including Marguerite Porete, author of The Mirror of Simple Souls of The Mirror of Simple Souls, who, in 1310, was executed for heresy in Paris.The Beguinage in Bruges, known as the Vineyard, was founded in 1245 by the Countess of Flanders, Margareta of Constantinople. Despite attempts by both Church and Reformation to destroy it, it remained a beguinage until 1927, when it was taken over by Benedictine nuns. Though many of the houses and the gateway have been rebuilt over the years, it is still one of the most peaceful and enchanting corners of Bruges. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage site and visitors who pass over the bridge and under the word Sauvegarde Sauvegarde may freely wander around its beautiful and timeless cobbled lanes. may freely wander around its beautiful and timeless cobbled lanes.Beguinages flourished for several centuries in Europe, especially in Belgium, the Netherlands, France, and Germany, but for years historians claimed that there were never any beguinages in Britain, although many women from England went to join beguinages in France and Belgium. But recent research has revealed a number of tantalising hints that attempts were made to set them up in England during the Middle Ages, but they quickly disappeared within a few years, for reasons which so far have not come to light. This novel is, of course, a fictional portrayal of an attempt to found one such beguinage on English soil. FLANDERS WAS AT THIS PERIOD RULED by the Counts of Flanders. By 1256 Bruges had already secured the English cloth monopoly, growing prosperous on the cloth it made from English wool, so much so that the city had gained an almost unique autonomy to govern its own affairs. Mathew of Westminster wrote, "All the nations of the world are kept warm by the wool of England made into cloth by the men of Flanders."The Counts of Flanders were pledged to the French king, but the powerful Flemish Guilds supported the English throne in order to maintain their supplies of wool, and at the end of the thirteenth century they invited Edward I of England to send an army to help them repel the French. Ties between Flanders and England were further strengthened by Edward III who lived in Ghent, where his fourth son, John of Gaunt, was born in 1340. John of Gaunt's son became Henry IV of England. Throughout the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries trade between the east coast of England and Flanders was so strong that it would appear that more goods and people travelled to and from Norfolk and Flanders than between Norfolk and London.THERE WERE A NUMBER OF FAMINES which affected England from 1290 onwards, due to the changing weather conditions. The year 132122 was particularly bad in the east of England where extreme suffering was caused by failed grain harvests during which yields fell as much as sixty percent. This was compounded by flooding as well as an outbreak of liver fluke in sheep and cattle murrain.The 1321 outbreak of cattle murrain was believed to have been anthrax, of which there are three methods of infection. The most common is cutaneous anthrax, which enters through cuts or abrasions on the skin, resulting in painless ulcers with a black necrotic centre. This spoils hides, but is rarely lethal. Inhalation anthrax, where the spores enter the lungs, results in a flulike illness with severe breathing difficulties and was, in those days, often fatal. The third method of infection is intestinal anthrax, which the child Oliver dies from in the novel. It was contracted by eating infected meat, causing severe inflammation of the intestinal tract with bleeding, and usually resulted in rapid death.FROM THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY, even in official documents, people did not use numbers for dates. Instead they referred to the nearest Saint's Day or festival to date documents or events.Throughout the Middle Ages the old Julian calendar was in use in Britain and Europe. In 1582 Europe adopted the Gregorian calendar, but Britain, hostile to Rome, refused to follow suit until 1752. As had happened in Europe two centuries before, when Britain switched to the Gregorian calendar there were riots in the streets because the calendar suddenly jumped eleven days forward and people thought their lives had been shortened by eleven days. We now run approximately thirteen days ahead of the old Medieval Calendar, which means that fixed events such as the equinoxes and the longest and shortest days fall on different dates to those they would have done in the Middle Ages.Although in Roman times Julius Caesar had officially moved the New Year to the first of January, many places on the fringes of the Roman Empire still kept to the old practise of celebrating the New Year from the twenty-fifth of March to the first of April. In England during the Middle Ages, the years continued to be numbered from March 25 (the Incarnation of Jesus) and not from January 1.ULEWIC-WHICH IN OLD ENGLISH MEANS the place of the owl-is the place of the owl-is a fictional village, but is based on villages found on the coast of west Norfolk. Many of these villages became depopulated and eventually abandoned over the centuries from the time of the Black Death onwards. a fictional village, but is based on villages found on the coast of west Norfolk. Many of these villages became depopulated and eventually abandoned over the centuries from the time of the Black Death onwards.Churches and chapels dedicated to the Archangel Saint Michael were often erected on former sacred Celtic sites where the gods of air and earth met. Such sites were also said to be the entrance to the underworld, which is perhaps why old churches with the name of St. Michael have frequently been associated with both black magic and the disappearance of bodies from graves.The old woman with the gaping vulva carved above the church door is typical of what in recent years have come to be known as a Sheela Na Gig Sheela Na Gig. These are found on medieval churches all over Britain, although most villages have their own local names for the carving. In style, the Sheelas are unlike any of the other medieval grotesques carved on these churches.Some people argue the origin of these carvings is pagan and that the figure represents a much older Celtic goddess which was later incorporated into the Christian building. Others claim they date from between the eleventh and twelfth centuries and are purely Christian in origin, put there as a warning against lust. The problem with this theory is that many of the figures are hidden on church roofs or places where the ordinary populace would be unable to see the warning. And although some of these carvings may have been moved in later centuries, when the church was altered or repaired, it doesn't account for all of these hidden carvings.Black Anu or Black Annis stories are to be found all over England and Ireland. Anu was originally the "mother" form of the triple Celtic goddess, but like Lilith, as Christianity spread, she was transformed into a monster who was said to snatch and eat children. Black Annis is still remembered in the Dane Hills near Leicester where she was said to inhabit a cave called Black Anna's Bower, which is supposed to be connected by a series of tunnels to Leicester Castle. Black Annis would scuttle back to her lair through these tunnels after prowling the town at night. Black Anna's Bower has since been destroyed in building work, but the tale lives on. Her name also survives in many landmarks across Britain such as Black Anne Pool in the River Erne in Devon.Right across Europe the owl was in ancient times sacred to the goddesses symbolising wisdom, and many of the Celtic and tribal goddesses had the power to change themselves into owls; for this reason the owl was never harmed. But when the goddesses themselves were demonised by Christianity, so was their symbol the owl, which became hunted and persecuted as an evil omen, a harbinger of death.The Owlman was a familiar monster of the Middle Ages, part of the pantheon of strange and dangerous beasts such as the griffin, which had the wings of an eagle and the body of a lion. Like the Basilisk, the Owlman was believed to inhabit old church towers.But unlike the other medieval monsters which have been consigned to ancient myth, the Owlman lives on in the human psyche. In 1995, an American student of marine biology wrote to a newspaper saying that she had witnessed a "vision from hell" near the church in Mawnan, Cornwall, England. "It was the size of a man, with a ghastly face, a wide mouth, glowing eyes, and pointed ears. It had huge clawed wings and was covered in feathers of silver-grey. The thing had long bird legs which terminated in black claws."This was not the first sighting in Cornwall, for in April 1976, two young girls staying on holiday with their family ran screaming to their father claiming they had seen a gigantic feathered bird-man hovering over the church tower. The Owlman was also seen in July of that year by two girls camping in the woods near Mawnan church and in a separate incident by three young French girls who reported their terrifying ordeal to their seaside landlady. The Owlman put in another appearance two years later when he was seen by a young woman, and was eventually seen by a man. However such sightings are explained-hoax, adolescent fantasy, too much cider, or a trick of the light-such reports demonstrate that we today are not so very different from our medieval ancestors, for we share with them the same lusts, ambitions, and hopes. And like them, we are still afraid of the dark.

acknowledgements

I would like to express my deep gratitude to my wonderful editor, Kate Miciak, for her amazing editorial insight and for the suggestions she offered to improve the text of this novel, as well as her unfailing patience throughout the many revisions. I would also like to say a huge thank-you both to my British agent, Victoria Hobbs, and to Kathy Anderson in the States, for their brilliant support and constant encouragement during the entire writing process.

glossary

BID-The old name for a "familiar"-that is, an animal or bird with magical powers kept to do the bidding of its owner. Women who owned a cat or even a chicken were often accused of having a bid bid, a sign of witchcraft, an association which has given rise to the derogatory term for elderly women, biddy biddy.BLACK BANE-The deadly disease anthrax. It was named black bane because the sores on the animal or human skin develop a black necrotic centre.BOUGH CAKE-A long stick was threaded with a mixture of dried fruits such as apricots, apples, and plums. The fruit was coated in batter and spit-roasted over an open fire. More batter was spooned over the fruits as they cooked until they were covered in a thick layer. Once cooked, the bough cake was rolled in honey and spices before being served.BULL OAK-An ancient hollow oak tree. There were several names for different shapes of hollow oaks. A bull oak was one with a hollow reaching to the ground which was large enough for sheep or pigs or even bulls to take shelter in it.COMMISSARIUS-Within the Church, he was a man who was personally commissioned by a Bishop to exercise spiritual authority within the Bishop's diocese or See. The Commissarius could preside as a judge in court on behalf of the Bishop.CUNNING WOMAN-The term cunning cunning comes from Old English comes from Old English cunnende cunnende and Old Norse and Old Norse kunna kunna, which both mean to know to know or or to have the knowledge to have the knowledge. A cunning woman, later called a wise woman, was highly skilled in herbal medicine, folk magic, and divination. For many centuries after the coming of Christianity, they were the keepers of the old pagan practises. Although they mostly used their knowledge to help and heal, the Church and medical profession frequently denounced them as witches.DEMON STAR-Also known as Lilith's star or Algol, is in the constellation Perseus. It was considered the most dangerous star in the heavens, bringing evil and death, for it seems to wink like a great eye. A girl born under its astrological influence was said to bring a curse upon her family and any man she married. The star appears to wane in brightness over four and a half hours, remaining dim for twenty minutes, then increases to its original intensity for sixty-nine hours. We now know this is caused by a dimmer star eclipsing a brighter one.DRINDLE-East Anglian dialect word for a trickle of water or tiny stream.HARROW-In some places, the name derives from Hearg Hearg, which is Old English for a pagan site of worship.GREEN SICKNESS-Serious, often fatal, anaemia caused by what today would be labelled anorexia nervosa anorexia nervosa. Common in the Middle Ages among pious teenagers and "saints" who regularly starved themselves to mortify the flesh.HENBANE-Botanical Name Hyoscyamus niger Hyoscyamus niger. "The seed that breedeth madness." Known since A.D. 1000, the leaves, which are the most poisonous part, can cause giddiness, restlessness, hallucinations, and, if ingested, death. It was used widely in medieval medicine, when the seeds were heated over charcoal and the fumes inhaled as an effective painkiller or anaesthetic.JACK-IN-THE-GREEN/DEVIL'S PRICK-Botanical name Arum maculatum Arum maculatum. Also known as Lords and Ladies, because of its resemblance to male and female genitalia. This poisonous herb had many medicinal uses in the Middle Ages including inducing menstruation. It was also used by young men as a love charm. It was said to have grown at the foot of the cross where drops of Christ's blood fell on it, marking it from that time onwards.KA-A cry of affirmation, meaning "so may it be," traditionally used in the Norfolk and Suffolk area to seal a spell.LILITH-In the book of Genesis in the Bible there are two different accounts of the creation of "woman." In medieval times this was explained by the idea that Adam had two wives. Lilith, his first wife, was created at the same time as Adam from the dust. Therefore, regarding herself as equal to him, she refused to lie beneath him when they made love. She fled Eden, and God was forced to create a second woman, Eve, from Adam's rib. Lilith remained immortal, but she was transformed into a demon who made men get erections in their sleep, and caused the death of newborn babies.MOULD-When the high spring and autumn tides wash over a beach they leave behind salt water, which is dried by sun and wind, forming a salty crust in the top layer of sand or silt. This layer is known as mould mould. In the Middle Ages the mould was scraped off by the salt-makers. It was then washed and filtered to extract the salt in the form of brine. This was the first step in the salt-making process. (See also Weller Weller.)NEED-FLAME-On Samhain night, what we now call Halloween, all hearth and cooking fires in the village had to be extinguished and relit from a need need or or neid neid fire, that is, one that had been kindled by friction, usually by striking a flint. This was to drive away evil and encourage the sun to return. In some areas people made their own need-fires; in others a communal fire was lit, with every householder collecting a need-flame from the fire to kindle their own hearth fires. Where a communal need-fire was lit, debts or disputes had to be settled before the householder was allowed to take a flame from the fire. fire, that is, one that had been kindled by friction, usually by striking a flint. This was to drive away evil and encourage the sun to return. In some areas people made their own need-fires; in others a communal fire was lit, with every householder collecting a need-flame from the fire to kindle their own hearth fires. Where a communal need-fire was lit, debts or disputes had to be settled before the householder was allowed to take a flame from the fire.ORDEAL BY WATER-Under King Athelstan (925939) and later, Edward the Confessor (10421066), trial by water (iudicium aquae) (iudicium aquae) was enshrined in law as one of the tests of guilt or innocence for all crimes. The suspects were bound hand and foot, then thrown into water. If they sank, they were innocent. If they floated, they were guilty. This was based on the belief that water was used for baptism; therefore water would not receive anyone who was guilty and refused to confess it. Ordeal by water was officially abolished in 1219, under Henry III, but its use continued unofficially for many centuries, increasingly reserved for those suspected of witchcraft. was enshrined in law as one of the tests of guilt or innocence for all crimes. The suspects were bound hand and foot, then thrown into water. If they sank, they were innocent. If they floated, they were guilty. This was based on the belief that water was used for baptism; therefore water would not receive anyone who was guilty and refused to confess it. Ordeal by water was officially abolished in 1219, under Henry III, but its use continued unofficially for many centuries, increasingly reserved for those suspected of witchcraft.PUREFINDING-Collecting dog dung to sell to leather tanners. Dog excrement was vital to purify skins and hides by breaking down the collagenous proteins prior to curing and tanning. Treating the skins with dog excrement was called puering called puering. Dog dung was therefore a valuable commodity in the Middle Ages, with white dung being the most highly prized.RECKLING-(Also written as recklin recklin.) Lincolnshire and East Anglian dialect word for the smallest pig in the litter. A runt. Often applied to a weak and sickly child.ROUGH MUSIC-Sometimes know as ran-tanning, it was a way of expressing social disapproval of such things as adultery or wife-beating. Neighbours would gather outside a wrongdoer's house for three successive nights banging metal objects. If by the third night the victim hadn't taken the hint and left the neighbourhood, he or she would be dragged out of the home and beaten. It was erroneously believed that if a "ran-tanning" was in progress and the victim was badly injured or died as a result of the beating, the assailants could not be punished by law. This custom, often used on those thought to be engaged in sexual immorality, continued well into the nineteenth century all over Britain, and in one sense still continues today when local people surround houses of suspected paedophiles to try to force them out.SOUL-SCOT-As well as each household having to give tithes, a percentage of livestock, grain, candles, et cetera, to the Church on pain of minor excommunication, the Church also demanded scots, or sums of money to perform certain rites such as christenings and marriages, including a soul-scot, money paid to the priest to perform the burial rites, in addition to money which also had to be paid for a Mass to be said for the soul of deceased. This scot was enshrined in law by King Alfred, A.D. 871901, and was hated by the poor, who saw it as a tax on death.TOADSMAN-An East Anglian term for a horse whisperer. A man could gain extraordinary powers over horses, pigs, and people, by killing a Natterjack toad and carrying the corpse against his chest until it rotted to bones. The bones were floated in a river at midnight. The bone which floated upstream was magic and the person who took hold of it would be pulled across the river by it, after which they would possess the power.WELLER-Along the East Coast a common method of producing salt in the Middle Ages was by sand and silt washing. The brine washed from the sand would be boiled in lead pans over peat fires. This was done by the wellers who had the most difficult job in the salt-making process. Brine contains six different salts, each crystallising out at a different rate. Only the third, sodium chloride, was used for preservation and flavouring, so that the weller had to be adept at collecting this particular salt at precisely the right time without its becoming contaminated by the others. The remaining salts, collectively known as the bittern, were usually discarded.