‘Yes,’ she answered brazenly, snuggling into my side. ‘Then she’d make you marry me.’
I wriggled several feet nearer the head of the bed. ‘If you were my wife I’d beat you every day!’
She moved up close to me again. ‘No you wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of man.’
‘Yes I am!’
‘No you’re not!’
The argument was becoming childish, and I sprang to my feet, almost knocking her sideways.
‘Cicely!’ I exclaimed in a desperate whisper. ‘I don’t want to marry you, and that’s the truth!’
To my horror, instead of spitting fury at me she began to cry, tears welling up and trickling silently down her cheeks. My first instinct was to turn tail and run, but, with a sigh, I resumed my seat and put one arm around her.
‘Don’t you even like me a little bit?’ she asked pathetically, resting her head on my shoulder.
‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘I like you very much.’
‘But not enough to marry me?’
I stroked her hair. ‘My dear, you’re not the girl for me, nor am I the man for you. You’re better born than I am, for a start. What do you think your father and aunt would say if you announced that you were to wed a Chapman?’
‘But you’re not an ordinary Chapman,’ she insisted. ‘The Duke of Gloucester would find you a place in his household if you asked him. You said he would.’ She raised swimming violet eyes. ‘Was that a lie?’
‘No. It was the truth. But I don’t want that sort of life. I hate being confined between four walls. I want to be my own master. And even if you could cozen your father into letting you marry a pedlar, you wouldn’t be happy. I’d be off at the very first hint of fine weather, leaving you behind at home. My wife won’t have to care about that. I know it’s selfish, but I’m not going to change, not while I have my health and strength. Also, I have a little girl. Would you be willing to bring up another woman’s child?’
There was a protracted silence while she reviewed the picture I had painted. I could feel the warmth of her body, the swell of her young breasts beneath the thin linen shift, and I was sorely tempted to take her at her word and leave the future to look after itself. But common sense prevailed, for which I thank God every night on my knees, for we should have been an ill-assorted couple. And in order to be worthy of her, I should, in the end, have been coerced into respectability and servitude. Cicely, like Lillis, was not a woman who would have been content to be on her own for long.
After a while she sniffed loudly and lifted her head, wiping her nose with her fingers.
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ she conceded to my great relief, adding tartly, ‘I daresay I’ll meet a man one day who I really want to marry.’
I smiled to myself. She had recovered her spirit and her tears had ceased.
‘I’m sure you will,’ I told her. ‘But you’ll need one who can put up with that cursed sharp tongue of yours.’
She laughed tremulously and wiped her nose again, this time in the sheet. Then she sobered, biting her lip.
‘I’m talking as though Peter’s dead,’ she said. Once more the violet eyes lifted to mine. ‘Do you think he is?’
I nodded. ‘I think it likely. But until we find him we can’t be sure.’
Cicely squared her shoulders. ‘Even if he isn’t, I shan’t wed him now. I don’t think Father would make me if he knew I had truly set my heart against the marriage. At least you’ve done that for me. You’ve made me see what it is I want — or rather don’t want! Aunt Joan will be upset, but I can’t help that.’
‘I’m glad to have been of some assistance,’ I answered gravely, pressing her hand. ‘Now, it really is time you returned to your room.’
‘Oh, no!’ she said, sitting bolt upright. ‘I’ll not be fobbed off again. I want you to tell me everything you know.’ She saw denial written in my face. ‘If you don’t,’ she continued softly, ‘I’ll scream so loudly that I shall wake the entire household. Then you’ll have no choice but to marry me.’
‘You’re a scheming, unprincipled hussy!’ I exclaimed bitterly, and she grinned.
‘I know. Most women are. It’s the only way we can survive.’ She folded her hands in her lap. ‘I’m waiting.’
I realized that the strange lethargy which had possessed me had now passed. I was still tired, but it was a natural weariness, engendered by the fatigues of a long, hard day. And even that was beginning to vanish as I decided I had no option but to take Cicely into my confidence.
* * *
Her eyes were as round as saucers, her voice hushed in wonder. ‘The Holy Grail,’ she whispered. ‘But … but I didn’t think it really existed.’
‘I’m not sure I do even now,’ I admitted, ‘but that isn’t the point. The point is that I feel almost certain your cousin thought he might be on its trail.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he told Maud Jarrold that the parchment was “valuable beyond price”. Also, the Grail was reputedly brought to Britain by Joseph of Arimathea and then, if we believe the stories of King Arthur, lost. The Knights of the Round Table spent a lot of time searching for it.’
‘What about this oss … ossie … oh, whatever it was — containing the bones of Saint Patrick?’
‘I don’t think such a notion would have crossed Peter’s mind for an instant. Brother Librarian has a bee buzzing around in his head on the subject of Patrick. He believes he died in Somerset and was buried in or near Glastonbury. It probably reflects an idea of Abbot Selwood’s. Abbots get these odd notions. Glastonbury spent years arguing with Canterbury that it had the bones of its former abbot Saint Dunstan, while Canterbury just as vigorously denied that the Archbishop’s remains had ever been removed from the cathedral precincts.’ I added cynically, ‘It’s all to do with prestige, pilgrims and money.’
I saw the blank look on my companion’s face and returned to the subject in hand. ‘No, I’m positive that only one relic would have occurred to Peter as being of importance to the Church here in the year 500 AD. And that’s the Grail.’
‘Why?’ she asked again with the persistence of an obstinate child.
‘Because among his folios and quartos and octavos are books by Geoffrey of Monmouth and William of Malmesbury. Peter read a lot. He knew about the Grail. And it was what first occurred to me: that here, in this ancient parchment — ’ I drew it out from under my pillow where I had placed it for safekeeping — ‘is the true story of how it was originally lost.’
Cicely’s mouth was set in a mulish line. ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said.
Of course she couldn’t. She was a woman, and women deal in practicalities. They have to; who else do we men look to for succour and assistance when things go wrong? It’s only my sex who are free to pursue impossible dreams, form secret societies, read and write books. Women are too busy mending, cooking and sweeping. And there are always the children.
‘I’m not asking you to believe it,’ I sighed. ‘As I told you, what’s important is what your cousin believed.’
She furrowed her brow. ‘You think then that he was looking for the Grail when he disappeared?’ I inclined my head and the frown deepened. ‘But what about Mark? You haven’t mentioned him. He’s vanished too, but he didn’t know what the parchment contained. No one had translated it for him, unless he also went to see this Blethyn Goode.’
‘I feel sure he didn’t. Blethyn would have told me. Besides, Mark wouldn’t have visited him without being directed there by Father Elwyn.’
‘Perhaps he was.’
‘No. I only went to the Tor because of information I had gleaned from Brother Hilarion. The path is far too tortuous for Mark to have followed in the few hours between his discovery of this parchment and his going to Beckery. And nobody seems to have seen him after that. His disappearance puts me in an even greater quandary than his brother’s. Where did he go, and why, after leaving the island?’