The Fifth Knight(2)

“Good cap.” Le Bret hooked it from his grasp and stuffed it in his own pocket.

Palmer squared up to le Bret, injured hand or no. “But not yours.” He staggered as the cog pitched again. “The lad’s mother should have it.”

Le Bret lowered his face to Palmer’s. A fleshy scar bloated one cheek and thickened the side of his mouth. “Then try and take it.”

Palmer forced his cut right hand into a fist, ready to land a blow.

“Palmer.” Fitzurse rapped out his name. “Stop carrying on like an idiot. Fix yourself. Now.”

Dismissed like a slack-breeched page. Palmer forced a curt nod at Fitzurse’s response. “Yes, my lord.” He made his unsteady way across the deck to the ladder below.

“Don’t fall, Palmer.” Le Bret smirked with the undamaged side of his mouth and busied himself with the sail.

Palmer itched to rub that smile out. Knighted a year early for his battle skills, he knew he could easily take le Bret. But he ignored the big lug as he lowered himself to the first rungs, careful to use his good hand. He had no estate, no lands to inherit. He made his living as a fighter, traveling to wherever he’d be paid, selling his hard-won skills for the best price. This mission to Canterbury could make him one of the greatest knights, one of King Henry’s most faithful servants. And with that would come great rewards, huge riches. All rested on how he performed. He would not, could not, risk any of that.

He had to succeed.

♦ ♦ ♦

“I confess that my mind wandered during this morning’s Mass.” Kneeling on her wooden faldstool, Sister Theodosia Bertrand kept her mouth close to the small, barred cell window that opened out onto the back wall of Canterbury Cathedral. Secure across it, the embroidered white linen curtain kept her screened from her confessor, Brother Edward Grim.

“When the holy sacrament was being said by Archbishop Becket himself?” came the monk’s low-voiced reply. “I cannot believe your openness to distraction, Sister. You are nineteen, preparing to take your final vows, yet you are tricked by the devil like a peasant girl daydreaming at her loom.”

Her cheeks warmed at his sharp words. “I am so ashamed of my lack of control, Brother. It should not happen, I know that.”

“Have you more to trouble my spirit with your besieged vocation, or have you cleared your conscience?”

“Not yet, Brother. There is more.”

“Go on.”

Her enclosure meant she had not had sight of a man, nor indeed woman or child, for over two years. But she could picture Brother Edward’s tall imposing presence, his immaculately tonsured black hair. The stern disapproval in his green eyes. She squeezed her clasped hands tight as she sought the right words.

“Brother Edward, I…I had a wicked dream last night. I dreamt I was dancing. At a feast day, the kind of dancing I saw when the lay sisters would take me out visiting the sick, when Mama was at prayer.”

“Mama?”

She crossed herself at the slip. “I mean Sister Amélie.”

“You do. But we do not speak of her or that time.”

“No. Forgive me, Brother.”

“Tell me of this sinful dream of dancing.”

“I was part of a group, with other girls. We had dresses of bright reds and yellows and straw bonnets, decked with flowers. We danced before an audience who clapped and sang.”

A sniff from Brother Edward. “Such brazen displays are most impious.”

“I know, my dear brother. I used to think so too when I saw it. I could hardly believe women could disport themselves so. But there is more.”

“More.”

“In my dream, a man joined the group and danced with me. H-he put his arms around my waist, linked my hands, spun me round. Put his cheek to mine. I made no attempt to stop him.” She paused, summoning her courage to reveal the depths of her repulsive imaginings. “Not even when he went to kiss me. But before he could, I woke. Woke in a frightful state at such a terrible lapse.”

“Oh, Sister.” Brother Edward exhaled a long breath. “It is no mere lapse. You know you have been visited by Satan himself, don’t you?”

“It was a man, not — ”

“Satan is as cunning as he is cowardly, and takes many forms. He waited until you lay in bed and sleep overcame you, waited until you were defenseless and vulnerable. When you were dead to the world, Sister, you were dead to God.”

“But I am alive to God. I am private in here with Him, I am away from all temptation.”

“Indeed you are away from the world. Behind locked doors and surrounded by thick stone walls. So how do you think Satan got his chance to uncurl the vile tentacles of lechery within you?”