And her penance would have to wait.
“Come,” Tate said, touching her friend’s shoulder.Wynflaed looked surprised; Tate wasn’t normally affectionate, hadn’t been since before she came to the abbey.In those earlier years, she had felt she didn’t deserve affection or comfort, and it had become a habit she couldn’t break.“I’ll help you prepare.”
They went down the hidden path from the hills into the sheltered valley below, and Tate dispatched Wynflaed to organize provisions.She would take the last of the asses and carts with her to Thornchurch, carrying the sisters and pilgrims who were too infirm to walk, and they would cache some of Far Hope’s treasures inside.
Heorot would keep them safe for as long as he could.He was a loyal brother and a good man, and anyone raised at Thornchurch understood the need for keeping old things safe and secret.
As they were packing the carts, a horse thundered through the gates, its rider covered in sweat despite the late winter day.It was Seamere, a beekeeper from two villages over.
“It’s the Wolf,” he panted, not bothering to get down from his horse.“At Sutreworde.I just heard from the miller of Ashburton, who heard from someone in Bovey.The Wolf is coming this way.”
Tate stopped packing the cart—mostly linens and wool blankets, along with several skins of water to last the caravan the half-day journey.She was surprised to see her hands were shaking.
She spoke softly to make sure that her voice didn’t tremble as well.“Are you sure?”
Seamere nodded.“The miller was certain it’s him.They’re saying that William the Bastard has given him free rein to sack as much as Devon as he pleases until the rebels at Exeter surrender.”
God damn Gytha and her stubbornness!It was one thing to bring the king’s attention to an already beleaguered land, but forthe Wolfto be unleashed upon them merely for her stupid scheme to set one of her hapless grandsons at the opposite end of a battlefield from William…it was absurdity.Selfish absurdity.William might be cruel, tyrannical, a threat to Tate’s beloved English church, but one thing he was not was a bad commander.He would win this fight and he would keep on winning every fight after, because God had forsaken this land and the people in it.
All that was left to do was protect the few blessings remaining.Like Far Hope.
“Did you say the Wolf?”Leofgifu asked.She was a resident at the abbey, an earl’s widowed niece who hadn’t wanted to remarry and also hadn’t wanted to take the veil.She would stay with Tate to help with the few pilgrims and sisters who couldn’t make the journey to Thornchurch even by cart, and as much as Tate wanted her to go, Leofgifu was their most skilled healer.The remaining pilgrims couldn’t spare her.“But I thought he went back to Normandy.After…”
She didn’t have to finish for Tate and Seamere to take her meaning.They all knew what theaftermeant.
Afterthe Wolf had cut a swath of burning, pillaging destruction from Hastings to Southwark, and then all the way to Oxford.
Afterhis name had become a byword for Norman terror.
“There’s no way he won’t come here to the abbey,” Seamere said.He looked apologetic.“All of you should leave, as quickly as you can.”
If only it were that easy.Tate didn’t waste her time arguing with him, though.Only she and a few other people knew Far Hope’s secrets, and even now, about to face down a horde of Normans, she would die for those secrets.She would keep them safe.
“You have others to warn,” Tate said to Seamere.“We won’t keep you.”
He looked torn.“If I could stay to fight, I would?—”
“You’re better off telling everyone you can.Maybe there’s still time to bury their valuables.There’s certainly still time to flee.”Tate looked at the sky.Twilight crept in early, the last gloomy vestige of winter, and she estimated they had three or so hours of safety left, depending on how thoroughly the riders would ransack Ashburton and Houndtor on their way here.So long as she could get the sisters and pilgrims on their way to Thornchurch in the next hour, they’d be well off the road the Normans would take into the valley.
She hoped.
Seamere gave her and Leofgifu a reluctant nod.He was a pious man, and he wouldn’t like the thought of leaving nuns and pilgrims to face the Normans on their own.But Tate gave him her most serene smile, the one she’d seen Mother Ardith give well-meaning and ill-meaning men alike.On her, it probably looked more like a strained frown, but it seemed to do the job.
“God will keep you safe,” Seamere said, clearly believing it, and then he wheeled off.
Tate wanted to laugh.God hadn’t kept a single English person safe in two years.
There was no reason he would start now.
Two
TATE
THE NORMANS DIDN’T COME.
All that evening, past vespers and into compline, Tate waited.
And as the moon rose, Tate waited.
