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By Root 2979 0

by some twenty white-shrouded cavalry, their harness muffled and their hooves silenced by snow. He leaped to raise the alarm, but the advance scouts had climbed the hill earlier, and attacked him from behind. A moment later, and he was lifeless. A dog barked, and then stopped. The other animals had already been silenced. The troop, of two hundred foot and eighteen cavalry, was composed of Douglases and other men who called themselves supporters of Albany. It included John Douglas of Morton, David Purves, Gifford of Sheriffhall and the second Lord Boyd, who had been born in Anselm Adorne’s house, and who believed that he was simply preventing tomorrow’s meeting at Whitekirk, which might lure Sandy back to the King. His captain, Alexander Jardine of Applegarth, held the same view precisely, in a slightly different form.

Through the falling snow, at four hours to midnight, St Mary’s lay warm and secure behind its high walls; below a sky ikon-gold from the lamps from its chapel and kitchen and little infirmary; from the dormitory and the rooms of the Prioresses; from the occasional window in the range of guest-chambers and the cabins where the house-servants lived. There was a haze of smoke, and the smells of peat mixed with spiced food and incense.

It looked secure but was not, for the main gates stood unbarred, and the superb inner door had already been opened, from the inside.

Of the two hundred unmounted soldiers, only fifty slipped past the lodge at the gate, which was unguarded. With two exceptions the gentry, with the horse, stayed outside. Of the fifty, most deployed themselves quietly along the inner wall, in what cover they could find; while six of their number, bent low, ran across the outer precincts and followed their leader noiselessly into the Priory.

Upstairs, in the day-room, Mick Crackbene returned to his chair beside Nicholas, having deposited Julius in the infirmary, where he was being re-bandaged by one of the prettier nuns. Adorne looked up, and then returned to the mild conversation he had initiated with the Bishop and St Pol of Kilmirren. Jordan said, ‘It’s snowing!’ Crackbene’s flat cap was wet.

‘Maybe, but you’re not going out,’ Nicholas said. He glanced at Crackbene. ‘Unless there’s anything you’d like me to do?’

‘Such as what?’ Crackbene said.

‘Only a suggestion,’ said Nicholas.

A short time later, the door opened again, on a tap, and Dame Euphemia’s servant stood there, looking round till she found my lord Cortachy and M. de Fleury, both of whom were wanted, she said, in the Prioress Euphemia’s room.

Bishop Prospero, who had not been invited, bent a friendly eye on the woman. ‘Why not ask the lady Prioress to join us all instead? Go and ask her, my dear.’

Adorne rose and stretched. ‘She may have in mind something private. If not, I’ll bring her back. Nicholas?’

‘It is something private,’ said the maid.

Jordan looked at his father, who grinned. ‘I’ll tell you later, if it’s anything interesting. Meanwhile, do as Mick tells you, or else.’

He walked out after Adorne. The servant had vanished. The quiet way to the Prioress’s room was empty as usual. Outside her door, Adorne turned to him, his face shadowed. Nicholas said, ‘I have no regrets,’ and received a resigned grimace, with no bitterness in it. When Adorne knocked, and obtained leave to enter, Nicholas followed. He would have shut the door, but it was wrenched out of his hands by two men who immediately blocked it, unsheathing their blades when he jumped. When he turned, he saw that Adorne had continued steadily forward and stopped, as if before a tribunal, at the place where the Prioress sat, her clasped hands on the table before her, her black eyes trained first on him, and then Nicholas.

Adorne said, ‘You sent for us, Reverend Mother.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No. A frightened servant sent for you, induced by a group of silly ruffians. They think you will obey them to save me. You will not. If I see you weaken, I shall take my own life, with the full permission of God. Do you understand me?’

A man had stepped out from the shadows behind