"Arrangements will be made," said Foville. "There will be a boat to take you across to France and you will be told where to go. You ride like a man, I know, and you’ll be provided with horses on both sides of the water. As soon as everything is ready, you will be told. The first horse and an escort will be waiting for you here in the Priory. Now you must leave it’s almost time for Vespers and no-one must see you go from here."
He opened the door and Judith slipped past him and down the stairs. Walking swiftly through the cloisters, she found the little door in the side of the church, and opened it softly. She slipped inside and crossed to one of the pillars, where she stood searching for a sign that she was not alone. A shadow seemed to move to her right, but when she looked again, she could see nothing. She walked silently down to the door leading into the tower, was through it, across the tower and outside in the now complete darkness, in a moment. She pushed the door closed behind her and leant on it, letting out a long sigh of relief.
Inside the church, the boy Colin rose from where he had crouched down behind the statue of the Virgin to avoid being seen.
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Belaset’s Daughter
CHAPTER THREE
Amiens in February was as cold and unwelcoming as any English town. Its cobbled streets lay under a cloak of muddy slush, composed of snow, straw, and a malodorous mixture of waste matter. The buildings lining the streets looked grimy and melancholy under a menacing yellowish-grey sky, and a thin wind whipped round corners to catch the unwary. The few people abroad were mostly on foot, huddled in their cloaks as they made their way cautiously through the streets. Stepping daintily along, a horse came down the street, its rider looking from side to side, obviously searching for a particular house. He was dressed in a long cloak, lined with squirrel fur, and a fine woollen tunic showed its hem as the wind caught the edge of the cloak. The rider’s hat was pulled well forward, and was edged with the same squirrel fur. The horse, a high-strung chestnut with a white blaze, and four white socks, slipped slightly and tossed its head in alarm. The rider soothed it, patting its neck and clicking his teeth until, calmer, it began again to pick its way along the street.
A shopkeeper came out of his door, and turned to open the shutters across the window.
The rider pulled up and sat with his right hand resting on his thigh, as he gazed at the man thoughtfully. Conscious of the gaze upon his back, the shopkeeper turned and raised his head, waiting for the rider to speak. The man on the ground found himself looking into the bluest eyes he had ever seen, set in a face with a serious, questioning expression on it.
"M’sieur?" said the shopkeeper, uncertainly.
"Where does the priest live? Is his house nearby?" asked the stranger, in the same language.
"Ah, yes!" responded the shopkeeper swiftly. "He lives two streets away, on the left hand side. When you come to the turning you will see the church at the corner. The priest has a room at the side. Knock loudly, he’s getting deaf these days."
He bowed, and watched with relief as the rider nodded his thanks and began to make his way along the streets again. Glancing round, to make sure that no-one else had seen him in conversation with the stranger, he scuttled back inside his shop, and began arranging the bolts of cloth which he sold, with hands that trembled.
Meanwhile, the stranger had found the turning, with the church on the corner, and the rough doorway which indicated the priest’s quarters. Dismounting, he allowed the reins to dangle free, as the horse, too tired to do anything else, drooped its head despondently.
The rider stroked its cheek affectionately.
"Poor old fellow," he murmured to it. "You have carried me bravely. Please God, the journey is nearly over now."
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Belaset’s Daughter
He turned to the door and rapped sharply. When there was no apparent response, he knocked again, louder this time. The door flew open almost immediately, and a small man past middle age stood there, shivering slightly in a threadbare cassock.