in her arms, wiping her streaked face and saying “Shh, shh.”
She could hear noise from the courtyard. She wondered if the Christmas merrymaking had moved into the courtyard. Or if the men were going hunting. She could hear the whinny of horses.
“Let’s go see what’s happening in the courtyard,” she said. “Perhaps your father is here.”
Agnes sat up, wiping her nose. “I would tell him of Blackie,” she said, and got off Kivrin’s lap.
They went outside. The courtyard was full of people and horses. “What are they doing?” Agnes asked.
“I don’t know,” Kivrin said, but it was all too clear what they were doing. Cob was leading the envoy’s white stallion out of the stable, and the servants were carrying out the bags and boxes they had carried in early this morning. Lady Eliwys stood at the door, looking anxiously into the courtyard.
“Are they leaving?” Agnes asked.
“No,” Kivrin said. No. They can’t be leaving. I don’t know where the drop is.
The monk came out, dressed in his white habit and his cloak. Cob went back into the stable and came out again, leading the mare Kivrin had ridden when they went to find the holly, and carrying a saddle.
“They are leaving,” Agnes said.
“I know,” Kivrin said. “I can see that they are.”
23
Kivrin grabbed Agnes’s hand and started back to the safety of the barn. She must hide until they were gone. “Where are we going?” Agnes asked.
Kivrin darted around two of Sir Bloet’s servants carrying a chest. “To the loft.”
Agnes stopped cold. “I do not wish to lie down!” she wailed. “I am not tired!”
“Lady Katherine!” someone called from across the courtyard.
Kivrin scooped Agnes up and started rapidly for the barn. “I am not tired!” Agnes shrieked. “I am nor!”
Rosemund ran up beside her. “Lady Katherine! Did you not hear me? Mother wants you. The bishop’s envoy is leaving.” She took hold of Kivrin’s arm and turned her back toward the house.
Eliwys was still standing in the door, watching them now, and the bishop’s envoy had come out and was standing beside her in his red cloak. Kivrin couldn’t see Imeyne anywhere. She was probably inside, packing Kivrin’s clothes.
“The bishop’s envoy has urgent business at the priory at Bernecestre,” Rosemund said, leading Kivrin to the house, “and Sir Bloet goes with them.” She smiled happily at Kivrin. “Sir Bloet says he will accompany them to Courcy that they may lie there tonight and arrive in Bernescestre tomorrow.”
Bernecestre. Bicester. At least it wasn’t Godstow. But Godstow was along the way. “What business?”
“I know not,” Rosemund said, as if it were unimportant, and Kivrin supposed for her it was. Sir Bloet was leaving, and that was all that mattered. Rosemund plunged happily through the melée of servants and baggage and horses toward her mother.
The bishop’s envoy was speaking to one of his servants, and Eliwys was watching him, frowning. Neither of them would see her if she turned and walked rapidly back behind the open doors of the stable, but Rosemund still had hold of her sleeve and was pulling her forward.
“Rosemund, I must go back to the barn. I have left my cloak—” she began.
“Mother!” Agnes cried and ran toward Eliwys and nearly into one of the horses. It whinnied and tossed its head, and a servant dived for its bridle.
“Agnes!” Rosemund shouted and let go of Kivrin’s sleeve, but it was too late. Eliwys and the bishop’s envoy had already seen them and started over to them.
“You must not run among the horses,” Eliwys said, catching Agnes against her.
“My hound is dead,” Agnes said.
“That is no reason to run,” Eliwys said, and Kivrin knew she hadn’t even heard her. Eliwys turned back to the bishop’s envoy.
“Tell your husband we are grateful for the loan of your horses, that ours may be rested for the journey to Bernecestre,” he said, and he sounded distracted, too. “I will send them from Courcy with a servant.”
“Would you see my hound?” Agnes said, tugging on her mother’s skirt.
“Hush,” Eliwys said.
“My clerk does not ride with us this afternoon,” he said. “I fear he made too merry yestereve and feels now the pains of too much drink. I beg you indulgence, good lady, that he may stay and follow when he is recovered.”
“Of course he may stay,” Eliwys said. “Is there aught we can do to help him? My husband’s mother—”
“Nay. Leave him be. There is naught can help an aching head save sleep. He will be well by evening,” he said, looking like he