a man of his height to stand upright under the reed thatch. A small fire burned in the pit in the centre of the floor and the tiny hut was choked with smoke as it wandered about trying to find its way out of the thatched roof. There was an oily, fishy stench too. Raffe soon saw the cause. A seabird had been impaled on a wooden spike in the ground and a wick made from stripped rushes was burning in its beak, the oil for the flame being drawn from the bird's own body.
A shape rose up from behind the fog of smoke. 'Who is this?' a man's voice shrieked in alarm. 'Have you betrayed me, boy?'
'No, Father.' The boy sounded hurt. 'He says Lady Anne's away from the manor, said he'd help you instead.'
'I gave no such promise, lad,' Raffe protested. He stared at the figure in the shadows, trying to see his face, but the man's hood was pulled far down over his head.
'I came to find out what business you have with Lady Anne, for if your message had reached the wrong man, it would have been to her ruin or worse. It's lucky for you the boy found me before he ran straight into the arms of Lord Osborn. Did the boy call you Father? Are you kin to the lad or a priest?'
The man hesitated. 'I don't know if I can trust you or not, but since you must have already reasoned 1 am a fugitive, it puts me in no greater danger to tell you that I am also a priest.'
Raffe's back was stiffening by the minute as he stooped almost double in the cramped hut. He sat down cross-legged on the rush-covered floor and the priest warily followed suit.
'You are trying to get to France?'
The priest nodded.
'So why come to Lady Anne?'
'She's a pious woman. I was told she has helped other men of God. Arranged for food and money to be smuggled to them and passed on messages to those who could help them. I thought she might know someone who could help me find a safe passage.'
'He has food,' the marsh-lad chimed in eagerly, pointing to the basket.
'That I have,' Raffe said, 'but let the priest eat his fill first; I warrant it's been longer since his belly was filled than yours.'
The boy looked crestfallen, but he dutifully passed the basket to the priest and was rewarded as the priest broke a pastry in two and handed half to the boy, pausing only to gabble an exceedingly rapid grace in Latin before devouring the other half of the pastry almost without pausing to breathe. Before he had even swallowed the last bite, his hand was already reaching back into the basket.
Raffe was content to let the man eat while he considered what to do. He'd never suspected that Lady Anne was playing such a dangerous game. Although he was sure she was not meeting these priests herself, but simply passing on messages, if any message should be intercepted or a man's loyalties turned by the promise of a fat purse, then Anne was risking not only her freedom but her very life. The giving of any kind of aid to an enemy of the king could be considered an act of treason. Her sex and tide would not spare her, indeed the king would count the crime worse in anyone of noble birth. Had Gerard known what his mother did? He would have considered it good sport to take such risks himself, but he'd never have allowed his mother to do so, and besides, he would have confided in Raffe. More likely it was Anne's grief over her son dying unshriven that had drawn her into this dangerous web.
But there was something more here, something about the desperation of this man that didn't make sense.
'Tell me something, Father,' Raffe said.
The priest was thirstily gulping down the wine from the flagon he'd found in Raffe's basket, but he reluctantly laid it aside and gave Raffe his attention.
'Why are you so eager to get to France? John has done no real violence to the simple parish priests. He has imprisoned some who resisted him, but most have simply taken off their habits and gone into hiding or sought shelter in the monasteries.'
The priest remained silent for a moment and Raffe knew he was weighing up how much to confide in him.
'I have been in hiding up to now. But... I am no