The Marsh King's Daughter by Elizabeth Chadwick Read Free Book Online

bell rings,' she said, and the laughter left her face. 'But I don't think I'm in hell - I know.'
    The door opened, its squeaky hinge giving a spare second of warning. She jumped and whirled guiltily to face it, her fists clenched.
    'Do my ears deceive me, or did I hear laughter just now?' demanded a slack-jowled nun who was hobbling very slowly with the aid of a stick. Nicholas recognised her as the one with the whiskery chin whom he had thought a demon. Another nun, thin as a rake and anxious of brow, hastened before the older one to smooth the covering of an upright box chair and stand ready with a footstool.
    Nicholas watched the young nun's fists tighten behind her back. 'Yes, Sister Margaret, you did.' Now definite uncertainty marred the clear, low-pitched voice.
    'May I ask why?' The sound of the walking stick punctuated each step with a heavy thump. Once again Nicholas found himself the object of narrow scrutiny.
    'He said he thought he was in hell.'
    'And you think that cause for mirth?'
    'No, sister. I was just pleased that he seemed a little better. His name is Nicholas and he was caught out on the estuary when the tide came in.'
    'Hmph,' said Sister Margaret, glancing from one to the other with suspicious eyes. 'Pleased enough to laugh seems to me an excess of concern, Sister Miriel. I doubt I would have discovered you thus had our patient been one of us.'
    'I found him, I saved his life. It is no more than that.'
    The nun drew herself up. 'God led you to him, and his life is in God's hands. To say anything else is to show lack of respect.'
    'Yes, Sister. I didn't mean to be disrespectful.' Her stance was so rigid that she was trembling almost as much as Nicholas. He wanted to snap at old whisker-chin to leave her alone, but he was too weak, his eyelids too heavy. Whatever she had given him in the drink, it was flooding through his body, bringing warmth and deep lassitude.
    'Aye, well, keep a close rein on that tongue of yours. You know I'll be reporting on your progress to Mother Abbess and Sister Euphemia.'
    Nicholas heard the walking stick stump away across the floor and then the creak of overburdened chair timbers as the nun sat down from a height. 'And come away from that bed. He's asleep now. There's nothing more you can do for him, and plenty you can do for me, Sister Miriel.'
    'Yes, Sister Margaret.' Nicholas felt the vibration of the young woman's unuttered sigh as she left him. Miriel. The name twined like a ribbon through his fading consciousness and he clung to it as the dreams of drowning encroached.
     
    There was a stone sink in the infirmary with a drain. Having been thoroughly castigated by Sister Margaret for smashing the clay pot yesterday, Miriel was now washing and drying dozens of the things ready for reuse. Sister Margaret herself was snoring in her chair, her swollen legs resting on the footstool, and Sister Godefe was away on an errand to the cellaress.
    Their patient had spent a restless night, tossing and muttering, now and then crying aloud in his sleep. His rapid French bore the accent of Normandy and the curses he rained upon King John made him guilty of treason. Sister Margaret had taken the duty of watching him during the night when Miriel and Godefe were at prayers and had continued to make of herself a bulwark between the young man and Miriel as if suspecting the worst of them both.
    Miriel rinsed the last jar and let the water drain into the gutter below. His name was Nicholas and he had been caught by the tide. That was all they knew for sure of his circumstances, but there was much more she could guess. His manner of speech, coupled with the evidence that he had worn rings, marked him out as nobly born, as did his railing against King John. Ordinary folk had little enough to fear from their sovereign; it was the barons and magnates who had suffered - and rebelled. Their patient also had a soldier's physique: lean, muscular and honed. Miriel had an inkling that whatever he had