‘Come, Daimon. We do not want the gate warden at Bootham Bar to give up on us and return to bed.’
Her hand grasped his with surprising strength. Daimon hurried along with her, hand in hand, marvelling that his feet could still brush the earth.
Tildy had awakened Lucie with a frightened face. ‘’Tis Brother Sebastian from the abbey, Mistress Lucie. He says you must come.’
Lucie had looked up at the window, confused. ‘Is it such a dark morning?’
‘It is very early, Mistress.’
Brother Sebastian. The abbot’s secretary. Lucie sat up quickly at that. Something must have happened that Abbot Campian wished to keep quiet. Tildy helped Lucie dress. Shivering in the morning air, Lucie grabbed a shawl. Down in the kitchen Brother Sebastian waited. He looked very pale.
‘What has happened?’ Lucie asked.
‘Dame Joanna tried to kill herself, may God in His mercy forgive her.’ Sebastian crossed himself.
Lucie did likewise. ‘But she is alive?’
The monk nodded. ‘There is much blood.’
Lucie tried to keep her teeth from chattering. ‘Who found her?’
‘The Reverend Mother woke to an odd sound. Coughing. Choking.’
‘Brother Wulfstan is there?’
Sebastian nodded. ‘Our infirmarian says Dame Joanna is alive, but has lost much blood. He wants you to try to speak with her, to see whether you can wake her. He says you are best with her.’
Lucie scooped up some fennel seeds from a shelf by the door and chewed them to freshen her breath. ‘What about Dame Isobel?’
‘She fainted.’
Ah. How like Isobel.
Now, as Lucie hurried through the postern gate dragging Daimon behind her, she wondered what self inflicted wound could be so horrible as to make the prioress faint. She shivered and took a deep breath. Her stomach was not as strong as usual in her present condition. Would she embarrass herself?
Brother Oswald and Abbot Campian waited for them on the guest house steps. The hospitaller held a lantern up to Daimon’s face.
‘The lad should stay with Oswald,’ Abbot Campian said. ‘Bless you for coming, Mistress Wilton, and at this early hour. Brother Wulfstan particularly wished to have you here.’
‘Has she wakened?’
The abbot shook his head. ‘Please go up. Sebastian will wait for you here and escort you to my parlour when you have finished. I shall have food and wine for your troubles.’
Lucie gathered her skirts and hurried up the stairs. Through the doorway to the right of Joanna’s room she could see flickering lamplight. She paused, stepped inside. The serving girl bent over Isobel.
‘She is still in a faint?’ Lucie asked.
The girl raised her head, her eyes large with fear. Lucie stepped closer, noted Isobel’s bloodstained hands. A pitcher and cup sat on a small table beside the bed.
‘Wine?’ Lucie asked.
The serving girl nodded.
Lucie poured some into the cup and drank. Her shivering ceased. She drank again, welcoming the warmth that crept from her throat outward.
‘Keep the Reverend Mother warm,’ Lucie said. ‘I shall see to her after I have tended Joanna.’
The girl nodded.
Lucie left her, stepped out into the corridor, took a deep breath, pushed open Joanna’s door — and stepped back at the strong, sweet stench of blood. ‘Deus juva me,’ she whispered, crossing herself and gulping the cleaner air of the corridor. Then, getting herself firmly in hand, she entered the room and joined Brother Wulfstan, who sat nodding beside Joanna’s curtained bed, an oil lamp burning on the table beside it, the flame dancing in the breeze from the window.
Lucie squeezed Wulfstan’s shoulder. ‘Brother Wulfstan. It is Lucie Wilton. I am come to help you.’
He started, woke, rubbed his eyes, looked up at Lucie and pressed the hand still on his shoulder. ‘Bless you, Lucie. I think it best we try to wake her, see whether she can speak, where she has pain.’ He stood up.
‘She wounded herself?’ Lucie said.
Wulfstan pressed his fingers to his brows, released them, nodded. ‘She is not a pleasant sight.’
‘Why did she do it?’
Wulfstan shook his head. ‘She has slept most of the time since we bled and purged her. I had no idea she was alert enough to do such a thing.’
‘Dame Isobel has been no help?’
‘The Reverend Mother was in a faint when I was called. I have not spoken with her.’
Lucie nodded. ‘Open the curtain.’
Wulfstan gave her a worried look. ‘I hesitated, considering your condition. Owen would not like you to be exposed to this.’
Lucie clenched her fists at her side, trying not to express her impatience. Brother Wulfstan had once done her a favour that went far beyond common friendship. She would not lose her temper with him. ‘Please, Wulfstan. Open the curtain.’
Lucie held up the lamp. Wulfstan pushed the curtain away. The stench of blood intensified. Unable to help it, Lucie took a step back, turned her head away.
Wulfstan steadied the lamp. ‘Are you all right, Lucie? Do you need to go outside?’
She shook her head. ‘I shall be fine. It is just such a lot of blood.’
‘Had she been weaker, she would not have survived, I think.’
Lucie turned back to the bed, moving the lamp closer to Joanna’s still form. She lay with her right hand raised up to her shoulder, clutching a bloody knife.
‘Where did she get the knife?’
‘It is from the kitchen. She must have kept it after one of her meals.’
Across the bloody neck a wound gaped, a jagged wound. Joanna had made several tries, Lucie guessed. She turned away, took a deep breath, turned back. Joanna’s hands were smeared with blood, as was her face. Lucie had noticed a bowl of water and some cloths on the floor beside the bed. ‘Would you moisten a cloth for me?’ Wulfstan did so, pressed it into her hand. Lucie dabbed at Joanna’s face. She had no wounds on her face, thanks be to God. She went to dab at Joanna’s neck, but Wulfstan reached out to restrain her.
‘Do not touch the wound. It must clot,’ he said.
‘Holy Mary, Mother of God,’ Lucie said, crossing herself and trembling at what she had almost done. ‘I am not skilled in this.’
‘No matter.’ Wulfstan gestured at the blanket, at the bloodstains farther away from the neck. ‘Would you examine her beneath the blanket? I pulled it back, but could not bring myself. .’
Lucie nodded.
Wulfstan turned away.
Lucie pulled the blanket down. Joanna’s shift was bloody at the pelvis and the upper thighs. Lucie pulled up the shift, gave a little cry.
‘What is it?’ Wulfstan whispered. ‘Do you need me?’
‘No. It is just — Sweet Heaven, why does she hate herself so?’ Lucie bent down to Joanna, dabbed at her stomach and thighs with the cloth. The thighs were untouched. But there was a deep wound in Joanna’s womb. Jagged, as if Joanna had stabbed and then moved the knife back and forth to do more damage. How could she inflict such a wound on herself? ‘She has stabbed herself in the stomach,’ Lucie said, turning away and covering Joanna. ‘We must clean and pack the wound.’
‘I have sent for Dame Prudentia. Try to rouse Joanna, Lucie.’
But try as she might, Lucie could get no response from Joanna. At last, exhausted and faint with hunger, Lucie left Joanna in the care of the two infirmarians.
Joanna’s ragged wounds haunted Lucie as she followed Sebastian to the abbot’s parlour. How had the woman mustered strength enough to inflict such wounds? What could bring Joanna to such an act of violence on herself? Had Magda’s therapy worked too well? Had Joanna wakened, alone, confronted by a memory she had tried to bury, vivid now because her mind had cleared? Or was it perhaps Owen’s telling her of her mother’s death that had driven her to despair? It seemed too extreme an act for the mourning of a parent, but Lucie knew so little of Joanna’s heart that she could not say that it was not so.