Stephen and Will broke their journey at Denny Abbey, knowing they would not reach Ely by dark. The ancient causeway track across the waterways and sucking mires was dangerous enough by day, but only a man who longed for death would venture upon it at night. When they set off shortly after dawn the following morning, to their great relief a brisk wind was whipping across the bleak wetlands. It cut through their robes, but at least it blew away the thick mists that so often curled over the marshes.
The track was an ancient way constructed to take man and beast dry-shod across the sucking marshes and black expanses of water. But over the centuries the causeway had sunk in places, so that mud and water oozed back over it, and the last hot dry summer had cracked the bridges, making some of them so perilous that Stephen and Will were forced to dismount and gingerly lead their horses across on a long rein, as the wood creaked ominously beneath them. But the state of the track wasn’t the only thing that made them nervous. The tall reed beds, and the patches of willow and birch scrub, made the perfect cover for cutpurses and robbers. The monks’ cowls and tonsures would not protect them. Everyone knew that Ely Priory was wealthy, and monks travelling that road might well be carrying heavy purses or other treasures.
Stephen kept looking ahead of him to catch his first glimpse of the cathedral rising above the fenland. At any other time he would have been eager to see it, knowing he was in sight of a good meal and bed to rest his aching backside. But on this occasion, he found himself dreading his return and the inevitable interview with his superior. As Prior Alan had reminded him before they left, this whole sorry business had been his fault and he did not look forward to having to report yet another failure. But at least they had recovered the sword. Prior Alan must surely be a little cheered that such a sacred object was once more back in the hands of the Church.
It had begun to rain, and the wind was lashing it so hard against them that even their oily woollen cloaks were becoming sodden. However low a man’s spirits are, being cold and wet are certain to drive them still lower. Ahead of him Stephen saw Will dismount and start to lead his horse over another of the rickety bridges. With a sigh, he prepared to do likewise.
Will was halfway across the bridge when both monks heard the cry. The words were so faint that neither of them could make them out, but the voice was unquestionably human.
They stared around, but saw nothing except the reeds, which towered high above them and the sluggish black water in the ditch. This was just the kind of place an ambush might be set.
Will hesitated, uncertain whether to cross or go back. But it was plain he’d have to continue, for if he tried to turn his horse on the creaking bridge they would probably both end up in the water. As quickly as he dared he pulled the horse forward and Stephen prepared to follow him the moment Will’s horse was on solid ground, for it was well known that outlaws would try to separate travellers, making attack easier.
Just as Will’s horse cleared the bridge they heard the cry again.
‘Help me! Of your mercy, help me.’
‘I think it’s coming from under the bridge,’ Will called.
He hastily tethered his mount to a birch tree before stepping back onto the bridge. He peered down through the gaps in the warped planks.
‘There’s someone under there. I’m sure I can see something moving. Who’s there? Are you hurt?’
‘Mud, can’t pull my leg out… so cold.’
‘It might be a trap,’ Stephen warned. He stared round wildly, trying to peer into the reeds to see if anyone was lurking, waiting to rush out at them. His heart almost stopped as he heard something rustling, but it was only a moorhen.
Will leaned as far over the side of the bridge as he dared. ‘I see him! He’s just under this side… God’s blood, I think it’s one of our own brothers.’ He straightened up. ‘He’s up to the armpits in water. God knows how long the poor fellow has been struggling in there, but he must be numb with cold. If we knot the cords from our habits together, I can try to loop them around him and get one of the horses to pull him out.’
‘But suppose you fall in and get stuck,’ Stephen said. ‘Shouldn’t we go for help?’
‘No time. He’s exhausted. If he faints, he’ll go under and drown. See if you can find a pole or branch or something I can hang on to.’
It was not an easy matter pulling the poor monk out. Stephen locked his arm round the strut of the bridge and gripped the end of an all-too-slender birch branch. Will, grasping the lower end to steady himself, inched as far down the steep, slippery bank as he dared. Blinking the rain out of his eyes, he made several attempts to toss the loop of the knotted cord to the monk. At first, the monk couldn’t seem to summon the strength to grasp it, but finally, with Will shouting encouragement and threats in equal measure, he roused himself and managed to grasp the rope and eventually hooked one arm through it.
With Will safely back on the bank, they tied the end of the cord to the long leading rein of his horse and urged it forward. The cord straightened and groaned, then with a great splash the monk shot forward in the water and went under. For a sickening moment they thought they had lost him, but he reappeared coughing and choking, still holding onto the cord. Urging the horse another few paces forward, they hauled him out of the water, before finally managing to grasp his arms and drag him up the bank.
He lay on the track, his eyes closed, as black water streamed from his robes and mouth. It was only then, when they saw his face free from the deep cowl, that Stephen recognised him.
‘Brother Oswin! But what are you doing out here and how did you end up in the ditch?’
It was a long time before the young monk could manage to speak, never mind answer that question. Covering him as best they could with their own damp cloaks, Stephen and Will rubbed warmth back into his deathly cold limbs, and urged him to take a few sips of the wine from the leather bottle Will had in his pack. Finally, Oswin managed to sit up and his teeth began to chatter, which both men knew to be a good sign. When he did speak, however, his words made little sense.
‘Slipped off the br-bridge in the dark. Tried to stand up… wade back to the bank… sank into the mud.’
‘But what on earth possessed you to travel on this causeway in the dark, Brother?’ Stephen said. ‘No one from the priory would have sent you out on an errand alone at night.’
‘Have to get it back… Prior Alan called off the search. I thought they’d find it when they were searching for the actors, but they’re not even looking any more.’
‘Find what?’ Stephen asked.
‘Hand… hand of St Withburga.’
Will and Stephen gaped at each other.
‘Prior Alan told you it was missing?’ Stephen asked incredulously. After all the steps he had taken to conceal the theft, surely he would never have confided in a monk as young and inexperienced as Brother Oswin.
‘Prior Alan, no… I took the hand. It was me. I refused at first. I told him it was sacrilege, but my brother… Father Edmund threatened that if I did not bring him the hand he would betray a secret told to him in confession and my brother would be hanged… I had no choice.’
‘So you broke into the shrine and stole a holy relic, a relic from your own priory,’ Will yelled at him. ‘And then you desecrated the sacred body of the saint with that piece of rotting flesh. Did this Father Edmund also force you to do that?’
Will looked so angry, Stephen thought for one moment he was going to hurl the young monk straight back into the water.
‘Desecrate? No… No! I would never desecrate the shrine of the blessed saint. I prayed to the Blessed Virgin to help me and she showed me what to do. She threw the corpse at my feet. It was an answer to my prayers, don’t you see? At… at first I thought she wanted me to cut off the hand and give that to Father Edmund instead, but I realised he wouldn’t believe it was the saint’s hand… So after the midnight service, I lingered behind and hid in the shadows until the gate was locked and all the brothers were gone.’