Doomsday Book (Oxford Time Travel, #1) - Connie Willis Page 0,173

was walking him toward the gate. He’s going with them, she thought. Perhaps on the way to Courcy I can persuade him to take me to the drop. Perhaps I can persuade him to tell me where it is, and I can get away from them and find it myself.

“Can she not ride with you to Bernecestre then, and a monk escort her to Godstow? I would have her returned to her nunnery.”

“There is no time,” he said, picking up the reins.

Imeyne grabbed hold of his scarlet cope. “Why do you leave so suddenly? Has aught offended you?”

He glanced at the friar, who was holding the reins of Kivrin’s mare. “Nay.” He made a vague sign of the cross over Imeyne. “Dominus vobiscum, et cum spiritu tuo,” he murmured, looking pointedly at her hand on his cope.

“What of a new chaplain?” Imeyne insisted.

“I am leaving my clerk behind to serve you as chaplain,” he said.

He’s lying, Kivrin thought, and glanced up sharply at him. He exchanged another, secretive glance with the monk, and Kivrin wondered if their urgent business was simply getting away from this complaining old woman.

“Your clerk?” Lady Imeyne said, pleased, and let go of the cope.

The bishop’s envoy spurred his horse and galloped across the courtyard, nearly running down Agnes, who scurried out of the way and then ran to Kivrin and buried her head in her skirt. The monk mounted Kivrin’s mare and rode after him.

“God go with you, Holy Father,” Lady Imeyne called after him, but he was already out the gate.

And then they were all gone, Gawyn riding out last at a flashy gallop to make Eliwys notice him, and they hadn’t taken her off to Godstow and out of reach of the drop. Kivrin was so relieved she didn’t even worry over Gawyn’s having gone with them. It was less than half day’s ride to Courcy. He might even be back by nightfall.

Everyone seemed relieved, or perhaps it was only the letdown of Christmas afternoon and the fact that they had all been up since yesterday morning. No one made any movement to clear the tables, which were still covered with dirty trenchers and half-full serving bowls. Eliwys sank into the high seat, her arms dangling over the side, and looked at the table disinterestedly. After a few minutes she called for Maisry, but when she didn’t answer, Eliwys didn’t shout for her again. She leaned her head against the carved back and closed her eyes.

Rosemund went up to the loft to lie down, and Agnes sat down next to Kivrin by the hearth and put her head on her lap, playing absently with her bell.

Only Lady Imeyne refused to give in to the letdown and languor of the afternoon. “I would have my new chaplain say prayers,” she said, and went up to knock on the bower door.

Eliwys protested lazily, her eyes still closed, that the bishop’s envoy had said the clerk should not be disturbed, but Imeyne knocked several times, loudly and without result. She waited a few minutes, knocked again, and then came down the steps and knelt at the foot of them to read her Book of Hours and keep an eye on the door so she could waylay the clerk as soon as he emerged.

Agnes batted at her bell with one finger, yawning broadly.

“Why don’t you go up into the loft and lie down with your sister?” Kivrin suggested.

“I’m not tired,” Agnes said, sitting up. “Tell me what happened to the maiden whose father told her not to go in the forest.”

“Only if you lie down,” Kivrin said, and began the story. Agnes didn’t last two sentences.

In the late afternoon, Kivrin remembered Agnes’s puppy. Everyone was asleep by then, even Lady Imeyne, who had given up on the clerk and gone up to the loft to lie down. Maisry had come in at some point and crawled under one of the tables. She was snoring loudly.

Kivrin eased her knees carefully out from under Agnes’s head and went out to bury the puppy. There was no one in the courtyard. The remains of a bonfire still smoldered in the center of the green, but there was no one around it. The villagers must be taking a Christmas afternoon nap, too.

Kivrin brought down Blackie’s body and went into the stable for a wooden spade. Only Agnes’s pony was there, and Kivrin frowned at it, wondering how the clerk was supposed to follow the envoy to Courcy. Perhaps he hadn’t been