The Agents of William Marshal Volume I: A Medieval Romance Bundle, page 23
“St. Blitha is the patron saint of hunters and wine, so the feast will be simple, as it is every year,” Sister Petronilla said as she came to a halt. “We will only have meat and wine and bread. There are sisters who will cook these things. All you need to do is ensure it makes it to the Mother Abbess’ table and to the king. But for the king, we shall have a very special wine meant only for him.”
With that, she began to pull at the dried leaves of the very tall foxglove stalks. She pulled off several, then had Andressa hold out her hands. Into her open palms, Sister Petronilla began to pile more leaves and using the tapers as light, she located even more to strip from the stalks. The leaves were shriveled up and ready to fall to the ground. As Andressa looked at the leaves curiously, Sister Petronilla spoke.
“My father taught me that there is great poison in the dying leaves of the foxglove,” she said quietly. “You will take these leaves and you shall crush them into a powder, and that powder shall be put into the king’s wine pitcher. Make sure to grind the leaves up terribly fine so that he will not see them or taste them. Mull the wine a little with cloves and cinnamon to ensure he does not taste any hint of the poison. You will also make sure that the rest of the wine, that not meant for the king, is mulled with cloves and cinnamon so that it all tastes the same. He must not be suspicious.”
Andressa was looking at the leaves in her hands, feeling the familiar taste of fear upon her tongue. “How… how will I know how much powder to use?” she asked.
Sister Petronilla moved to a second stalk and stripped more dead leaves from the base of it. “Crush all of these leaves and that shall be sufficient.” She moved on from the foxgloves to another patch of scrub-looking plants, and pointed to one that was bushy, with fibrous stalks and purple berries. “This is dwale. All parts of this plant are poisonous. Take care not to touch it with open cuts on your fingers. And after you have handled it, you must wash your hands thoroughly with soap and vinegar. It is so deadly that it can be absorbed through your skin.”
Andressa looked at the plant, wide-eyed. “What would you have me do with it?”
Sister Petronilla studied the plant for a moment. “Tear two or three plants out of the ground,” she said. “Mash the roots and put them in an oilcloth to steep in the king’s wine. Remove the oilcloth before you serve it. There are also berries on the plant though, at this time of year, there are few. Pick them and squeeze the juice into the wine as well. The more, the better.”
“And do this in addition to the crushed leaves from the other plant?”
“We want to ensure that the job is done.”
It seemed like a good deal of poison for just one man. “Are you certain that you would not like to do this yourself?” Andressa asked, thinking that something like this was too big for her to manage. “This is a very important task. I do not want to fail.”
Sister Petronilla shook her head. “You shall not fail,” she said patiently. “Andressa, this must be your task. The Mother Abbess cannot do it; she is expected to escort the king. I cannot do it, nor can Sister Dymphna or Sister Agnes because they will have other duties. You must ensure the powder of the leaves, and the juice of the roots, make it into the king’s wine. Be sure to seal the pitcher so we know which one is meant for the king. Seal it tightly with oilcloth that is tied to the mouth of the pitcher.”
Andressa was feeling sicker and sicker with the realization that they expected her to be the one to poison the king. “Then… then you wish for me to do this?” she asked, looking at the woman. “The Mother Abbess said I was to learn, but I did not know she meant that I would be carrying this out alone. It is such an important mission, Sister Petronilla. I fear that I cannot do this all by myself.”
Sister Petronilla didn’t seem overly concerned. “All you need to do is follow my instructions and make sure that the king is the only one who is served that particular pitcher of wine,” she said, sounding oddly reassuring. “You must accomplish this, Andressa. This is your test to see if you are truly worthy to follow in our footsteps.”
So it was a test! Andressa was stunned to hear that such an important task would be placed squarely in her hands. It was like a nightmare, something she wanted no part of, but she had no way to decline. If she didn’t accept the task, the pain of The Chaos would, indeed, belong to her. She would suffer right alongside Sister Blanche and countless other women who had found themselves in that hellish place. It was a do-or-die situation.
They want me to kill the king!
It was becoming increasingly difficult for Andressa to keep her composure. The more she heard about the evil intentions of these women, now imposed upon her, the more she wanted to run away and never return.
Maxton had begged her to, in fact. He’d offered her his protection, asking her to find a corner of the world with him where two sinners could find happiness in each other. It was such a beautiful offer, but she was still deeply torn by it. She still didn’t want to accept an offer on impulse, but she was terrified of remaining at St. Blitha. Was it possible Maxton would have made her the offer even if there hadn’t been a deadly threat involved?
She wondered.
She felt as if she were going mad.
“I will do as you ask, Sister Petronilla,” she said, but she was having trouble looking at the woman. “I will ensure the crushed leaves and the root juice make it into the king’s wine.”
“Be very careful, Andressa.”
“I will, Sister.”
Sister Petronilla was watching her closely, perhaps looking for cracks or hints of untrustworthiness. “Do you have any plans to leave St. Blitha tomorrow?”
Did she? Andressa hadn’t really thought about it, but as Sister Petronilla asked, it was as if a light went on in her mind. She had promised Maxton she would return with any additional news and, certainly, she had additional news now. After a brief hesitation, she nodded to the woman’s question.
“Not tomorrow,” she said, daring to glance up at the woman. “But I intend to return to Lady Hinkley’s tonight. When I was there earlier, she had nothing to give me at the time. That… well, that was why I had waited so long. She told me to go away and come back later, which I assumed meant later tonight. I thought to see her before I go to bed. She is such a valuable customer that I do not wish to disappoint her. I want to please her.”
One of Sister Petronilla’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “Tonight? But it is already well into the night, child.”
“As I said, she said return later. I can only assume that meant when she retired so I could have her clothes cleaned in the morning. I would rather go tonight in case that is what she meant.”
Sister Petronilla nodded faintly but didn’t reply. Andressa thought that meant their conversation was ended, but just as she turned away, Sister Petronilla’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the arm.
It was an abrupt move with a clear message. The woman’s long, dirty nails dug into her skin as Andressa looked to the woman with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. She didn’t like to be grabbed. But Sister Petronilla’s dark-eyed gaze was grim.
“Be sure that is the only place you go this night,” she growled. “You are one of us now, Andressa. The eyes of the Mother Abbess are upon you. Remember that.”
Andressa was no cowering flower; she never had been, and she didn’t like being threatened by this woman, no matter how wicked she was. She feared her, aye, but not enough to shrink from her.
“I have been trustworthy since my arrival to St. Blitha,” she said, taking a stand against the woman. “I do my work and I am obedient. You slander me to insinuate otherwise.”
Something flashed in Sister Petronilla’s eyes, perhaps even a flash of rage, but she quickly banked it. She wouldn’t lash out at the girl like Sister Blanche had, although it was clear that Andressa had a defiant streak in her.
But no matter.
She’d been warned.
Sister Petronilla released her without a word and Andressa went to her laundry area, still carrying the dried leaves. She didn’t want to take them inside because she shared a cell with two other pledges and she didn’t want the women questioning the purpose of the dried leaves. Therefore, she put them very carefully into a cloth and tucked them into a cubby that contained the soap she used. She pretended to busy herself, all the while thinking about the encounter with Sister Petronilla and the clear threat that had been made to her.
The eyes of the Mother Abbess are upon you.
Andressa knew that. Even now, she could feel them, whether or not the woman was actually viewing her from the windows of her fine solar. All Andressa knew was that she had to get the most recent information to Maxton. Time was growing short and she had no idea if she would be able to get to him tomorrow, so she would take the chance to return to Farringdon House one last time tonight.
She might not have another opportunity.
She had made a fine excuse by mentioning Lady Hinkley again, but she didn’t want to be overlong. Now that she knew they were watching, she didn’t want to give them any cause for suspicion, and that meant actually stopping at Lady Hinkley’s home to see if there was any laundry to collect. If the Mother Abbess actually had any reason to speak to Lady Hinkley, Andressa wanted to make sure that Lady Hinkley mentioned her presence there.
She had to cover her tracks.
With the half-moon overhead in a clear night sky, Andressa departed through the postern gate, heading towards Bishopsgate along the muddy road as her thoughts focused on what lay ahead.
Maxton.
He had to know.
But what she didn’t know that the moment she left St. Blitha, she was followed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Fortunately, St. Blitha wasn’t too far from Farringdon House.
Alasdair had been running perhaps ten minutes, fifteen at most on his bad ankle, when he came to Bishopsgate, which remained open because of the two churches and the hospital on the road beyond. It was nighttime, with an icy chill to the air, as there had been snowfall in London the week before. But that snow had quickly turned to water, leaving the roads swimming in mud puddles.
In fact, the entire north side of the city seemed swampy and cold to the bone, with little warmth in sight. At Bishopsgate, the usual guards were nearby, sentries appointed by the Lord Mayor of London, and really no more than older men who had bells and horns to sound in times of trouble. The weapons they carried were clubs.
They didn’t even look at Alasdair as he came near. In fact, they continued standing around their blazing fire as Alasdair passed beneath the big stone archway and headed straight for St. Blitha. The bright half-moon low in the sky gave little light to travel by, but Alasdair could see St. Blitha in the distance. Some of the windows had glowing light from within, signifying the life within.
He moved faster.
As Alasdair neared the front entrance, a figure in pale robes caught his attention, moving further down the road that paralleled the old walls of the church. As he watched, the figure went off the road, headed through the trees, and entered the abbey through the postern gate. A nun was returning, evidently, slipping in through the rear of the abbey. She’d moved quickly, a wraith that was soon gone from his sight.
But Alasdair didn’t give the figure entering St. Blitha’s yard much thought; he was in too much pain from his ankle, and there was too much to tell the Mother Abbess. In fact, by the time he banged on the front entry to the church, he’d forgotten all about the wandering nun. Now, he was becoming angry because they didn’t open the door fast enough.
It was an old, warped door that finally creaked open on its rusted hinges. In truth, the response was very quick but, for Alasdair, it wasn’t quick enough. He pushed his way into the shadowed, cavernous reception area just as a nun with bushy eyebrows approached him.
“What do you want?” she demanded in a heavy Italian accent. “We take no men for the night. You will have to sleep outside if it is lodgings you are looking for.”
Alasdair’s temper was short. “I’m not here tae sleep,” he said. “Where is Seaxburga?”
The nun stood her ground. “Get out,” she said. “You’ll not violate the sanctity of this place.”
“I’ll not get out,” Alasdair snarled. “I came to see Seaxburga and if ye’ll not tell me where she is, I’ll go find her myself.”
Before the nun could reply, a woman’s voice could be heard from the chamber off the entry. “Sister Petronilla, be on your way,” the Mother Abbess said as she came into the light. “Douglas… why have you have returned?”
Alasdair pushed past the bushy-eyebrow nun and headed straight for the Mother Abbess. He marched into the chamber where she was standing, motioning the woman to follow him as he went. The Mother Abbess obeyed, curiously, shutting the door softly behind her.
“Well?” she said. “What is it? Why are you here?”
Alasdair turned to the woman. “They know,” he said flatly. “They know of the plot tae kill John. Ye have a traitor in yer midst, woman.”
The Mother Abbess looked at him as if rather confused by his statement. “Who knows?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
Douglas was agitated. He waved his arms around as he found the nearest chair and planted himself. “I was followed when I returned tae England from our Holy Father,” he said as he gingerly touched his swollen ankle. “For almost a year, I was followed. The assassin who was paid tae follow me, sent by someone in the Lateran Palace no less, caught up tae me today. He told me that the plot against John is known and he told me that the information came from St. Blitha. Had I not escaped the man, I’d still be taking insults from him.”
The Mother Abbess listened to him carefully, surprisingly calm at the shocking news as Alasdair grunted and raged. When he was finished spewing forth his information, she turned away from him, making her way over to a sideboard table that contained expensive wine in a fine pewter pitcher. It was the very best wine, purchased with money she’d accumulated while everyone in her charge starved. She poured one cup, only for her, and took a sip as if it would help her think.
“He told you that the information came from St. Blitha?” she asked. “And he was sure of this?”
Alasdair groaned as he lifted up his muddy boot and put it on one of Mother Abbess’ fine chairs. “He was gloating,” he said, rather sarcastically. “Of course the man was sure. He had no reason tae lie. Which of yer nuns did ye tell, Seaxburga?”
The Mother Abbess knew who she had told, but who could have betrayed her? Sister Dymphna had been fearful when she’d first been told of the plan, vocal in her concern. She was in charge of the postulates, and she’d been known to gossip to them in the past, so it was possible she’d told one of her charges and word had spread. But that was unlikely, as Sister Dymphna had been known to smother charges that displeased her. The women under her were terrified of that particular inclination.
Then, there was Sister Agnes, who did the dirty work down in The Chaos. She was the one who took the bodies of the dead from the vault and boiled them down to bones that were then ground up and mixed with oats and other rubbish to be fed to the pigs. However, before she boiled them down, she removed what fat she could from the bodies and mixed it with animal suet to make the tallow candles that they used at the abbey. Their candles had an odd smell because of it, and they were quite yellow in color, but it was simply the way they did things at St. Blitha. Fat, from any breathing creature, was too valuable to be wasted.
Lastly, there was Sister Petronilla, the master of the garden who could poison a man so cleanly that there would be no trace of it. The entire garden that the Mother Abbess was so proud of was peppered with poisonous plants amongst the roses, but no one ever commented on that. They were simply awed by Sister Petronilla’s green thumb, but it was a green thumb with a purpose – every one of those poisonous plants had served the means to an end from time to time.
Each sister with her particular gifts.
All three of the nuns had been with the Mother Abbess for such a long time that trust wasn’t much of an issue. She did trust them, for the most part, but it wasn’t a blind trust. There was always some suspicion to it. Complete trust was a foolish thing so, in truth, Alasdair’s revelation didn’t shock her much.
But she did want to know where the news had originated from.
“I have three women that I have known for years,” she finally said. “We have worked together on many occasions.”
“And ye’re sure they’ve not told anyone else?”
The Mother Abbess shrugged. “I cannot be sure of that,” she said, turning towards Alasdair. “Clearly, someone has spoken about this. Or mayhap, the knight who captured you only told you such things so that you would betray your purpose. Mayhap, he manipulated you into confessing. Did you think of that?”
Alasdair shook his head. “He knew everything,” he said flatly. “I told him nothing, but he told me a great deal. He even spoke of Richard’s bastard son, something no one is supposed tae know of. But someone at St. Blitha did know – and they’ve told John’s men.”
The Mother Abbess sipped at her wine. “That may be,” she said casually. “But the king has not cancelled his visit to St. Blitha. I would have been informed by now. Until he does, we do not deviate from our plans.”
Alasdair threw up his hands. “It is possible that the king simply willna come. Do ye think he’ll tell ye if he finds out that ye plan tae kill him? Ye should be worrying about bolting yer doors and fighting off men who will be coming tae arrest ye!”
The Mother Abbess smiled, but it was without humor. “The allegations would have to be proven,” she said, “and nothing can be proven unless you yourself confirm these rumors. You would do well to stay out of sight, Douglas. If they happen to catch you again and you talk, know that we can reach you anywhere. We can kill you as easily as we can kill a king.”
