Free Threads of Treason by Mary Bale

enough to reach it. The tip of her broom handle could get in though, confirming it as a substantial hole. To one side of the broom-handle she noted a holder in the wall designed to take a lighted taper. She waited to see if there was any reaction to her broom handle from the other side of the wall.
    A scream wrenched at the air above her – not a human scream, nor a shout of surprise given by a nun seeing the end of a broom poking through a wall. This was like the scream of a soul in Purgatory. Her flesh jumped and she brought her broom close to her chest like a staff. She knew it would be useless against a damaged spirit, but it might defend her against worldly obstacles. She rushed up the last twenty or so steps. She flung open the door at the top and threw her broom at whatever was there. A crow’s wing span blackened the opening but moved before the wooden handle made contact with it.
    Beyond Therese could see the parapet, so close to the door. And her broom was flying towards it. And she was following, but she stopped herself from going over the top by catching the stone wall.
    Hanging over she saw the broom land at Gertrude’s feet. It snapped. The old nun visibly jumped, looked at the broken pieces, and at Therese. ‘There’ll be trouble now,’ she shouted, struggling to stand. She stooped to collect the smashed broom. ‘Heed my warning,’ she added, shaking the splintered wood at her.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
     
     
     
    On her return to Canterbury Abbess Eleanor formally introduced herself to Abbott Scotland at St Augustine’s monastery. This would be a convenient location within easy walking distance of Christ Church Abbey and the growing structure of Canterbury Cathedral standing by it. Archbishop Lanfranc was so close, yet so out of reach. But Alfred’s connections with other people within Saint Augustine’s would not be without their uses, and the closeness of Ursula was a comfort.
    This was already her second day here and it was time to make substantial inroads into the matters that brought her here. She rose and left the Church of Saint Peter and Paul within the grounds of St Augustine’s and walked out into the sunshine, through the gatehouse to the walls of Canterbury. She entered the town by the South Gates and proceeded north to Christ Church Abbey. Once there she made enquiries about Sir Gilbert’s health, but was told he was still poorly and should be allowed to rest.
    Once again, she decided, she must try to speak with Archbishop Lanfranc. That was really why she was here, after all. She drew up her reserves of stubbornness and settled in for a siege. She would stay for as long as it would take.
    At the visitor’s hall she was greeted as before and then interviewed again by the stooped clerk, Brother David.
    ‘ I will intercede on your behalf,’ said Brother David, bowing a little too low. He left only to return a while later and say, ‘Follow me.’
    ‘ At last,’ muttered Eleanor under her breath. She rehearsed what she would say to the great man. But she realised they were heading out of the Archbishop’s chambers, not even in the direction of the chapter house, but to another building.
    She followed him up the steps. Her nostrils caught the sour smell of ink. ‘The scriptorium?’ she enquired. This was clearly a diversionary tactic. But it still might be worth looking around, she decided. She walked steadily around peering over the shoulder of each monk.
    Some were writing what appeared to be copies of letters for the abbey’s records. Others seemed to be making new editions of old books, with the original laid out beside them. Some were involved in illustrating works with elaborate pictures of animals and scrolls of red and yellow.
    While Brother David was answering a query posed by one of the monks Eleanor returned to one of the letters she had noticed earlier. She read the Latin quickly. She had been drawn to it as it was addressed to Bishop Odon de