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Hanna’s hand felt warm in hers. Liath held it tightly. My father is a sorcerer. Of course it isn’t from natural pursuits. But she could not say it aloud, not even to her dear friend. In the village they all had thought Master Bernard was a defrocked monk, a man who had dishonored his vow to Our Lady and Lord and been forced to leave the cloister because he had confessed to getting a woman with child. A churchman knew how to write. A churchman understood the power of herbs and hexes to ward off pests and sickness and worse evils. Da had never disabused them of this notion. It made it possible for the villagers to accept him without fear. A fallen monastic was a shamed man but not a dangerous one.
Only Frater Hugh had suspected. Only he had wormed himself into Da’s confidence. Footsteps sounded in the corridor behind. She heard muffled voices.
“Hanna. Go.”
“But, Liath—”
“Someone’s coming.”
“Mother is going to bring you food. I’ll come tonight.”
A key scraped in the lock. Chains met and rang softly. Liath turned as the shadow vanished from the lip of the window. With a slow grind of wood against stone, the door opened. Liath retreated until her back was against the wall. She lifted her chin defiantly.
Three figures stood at the door. Two entered: Frater Hugh and the marshal. Hugh carried a candle. The better, thought Liath coldly, to illuminate his handsome face.
“The book,” Hugh said immediately in his clipped, arrogant voice, so unlike the honeyed tones he used to cozen her father. “After a night here, have you thought better of telling me where the book is?”
“Frater,” interposed the marshal in a calm voice. “You have finished with the child’s testimony, I believe. I am satisfied that she had nothing to do with her father’s death.” Marshall Liudolf had an accounts book clasped under one elbow. “Now, child,” he said, turning to Liath, “I have tallied the whole of your father’s debts and possessions, and Frater Hugh has copied them here, in these pages. I will list them to you now.”
Hugh was staring at her. Even when she kept her eyes focused on the old marshal, she could feel Hugh’s gaze. Four books he had found in the cottage; four books he had stolen, whatever he might say about the church. He knew there was a fifth book, one she had hidden.
Marshal Liudolf stated the tally aloud, not referring to the parchment, since he could not read. But his memory was good. The tally of debts was impressive, and the tally of possessions short in comparison: one bow, a quiver, and fourteen arrows; quills and scraping knife and parchment; a silver sceatta minted during the reign of the Emperor Taillefer; one cooking pot, one bowl, two spoons, and one knife; a honestone; two shirts and one wool tunic; a wool cloak lined with rabbit’s fur; a bronze brooch; leggings, boots; a bed, a table, a bench, a shelf, and a copper basin; two wool blankets; half a barrel of ale, honey, smoked meat, and three soapstone vessels, one filled with salt and two with ground wheat; two hens; two pigs; and one daughter.
“Aged fifteen,” Liudolf finished.
“I turned sixteen four days ago, on Mariansmass.”
“Did you?” Liudolf asked with interest. “That changes the auction, then. There can be no question of a bond price. As a legal adult, you assume all of your father’s debts. Unless there is some other living relative?”
“None that I know of.”
He sighed and nodded. “Then whoever assumes your debt will buy your freedom with it.”
“There were books,” she said quickly, not looking at Hugh. “My Da had four books and a …” Here she must be circumspect. “And a brass instrument for telling the time.”
“Those items have been confiscated by the church.”
“But they would bring enough to pay Da’s debts!”
“I’m sorry, child.” He said it firmly. She knew at once there was no point in arguing. Why should he listen to her, a kinless girl with no possessions and no one to protect her? “Here, you must mark the page where this is all written, to show that I’ve tallied it out correctly, so far as you know.”
She took the pen and balanced the open book in her left hand. Hugh watched her avidly, but she carefully drew an awkward ‘X’ below the last bit of writing. She handed the book back to the marshal, and he clucked under his breath, looking truly sorry for her plight, sighed again, and scratched at his hair.
“It will be the auction tomorrow, child.” Liudolf glanced at Hugh, knowing as well as Liath did that the frater was the only person able to buy off the entire price—especially now that he had also taken the books. Or at least, Hugh was the only person who might want to buy her. Old Count Harl had the wherewithal, and he even had a few slaves, but he had never interested himself in the affairs of the village except to hire Hanna’s mother as a wet nurse for his children.
“Begging your pardon, Frater, Marshal,” said a woman from behind them. “May I come in now?”
“Of course, of course. We’re finished here.” Liudolf retreated. Hugh glared at Liath, not moving. “Frater,” said Liudolf mildly. “We’ve business to finish before tomorrow, have we not?”
“I’ll have that book,” muttered Hugh. He left, taking the candle with him.
Mistress Birta came forward out of the gloom, holding a pitcher and a small package wrapped in cloth. “Here, Liath. I heard you had no food nor drink at all yesterday.”
“I had a little wine.” Liath took the pitcher. Her hands shook as she set it down on the floor, and she unwrapped the cloth to find a loaf of bread and a square of goat’s cheese. “Oh, bless you, Mistress Birta. I’m so hungry. I didn’t know it until now.”
Mistress Birta glanced behind. The two men stood in the dank corridor, waiting for her. “I’ll see that you’ve food in the morning, too.” She raised her voice slightly. Daringly, Liath thought. “It isn’t right to keep you hungry, no matter your circumstances.” Taking a step closer to Liath, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “If we could have, child, we would have made the bond price at least, and treated you well. But custom has been off this year, and with Inga’s wedding feast last autumn…”
“No, please, Mistress,” Liath said hastily, embarrassed. “I know you did all you could. But Da never had any head for what it cost him—” She broke off, aware of the silence from the corridor, of Hugh listening avidly to every least word she said. “To live as he wished. He loved it here and had many a good evening at the inn gossiping with your husband.”
