“And what exactly would you have me do with her?” I asked him.

“You may feed her to the ravens for all I care.”

He clicked his fingers at his wife, who obediently rose and followed him down the hall.

As she passed her daughter she murmured, “Be a good girl, Agatha.” But she did not once look at her child, not even when she reached the door at the far end of the hall.

I felt the small cold hand clench into a fist inside my own, then the door slammed and Agatha pulled her hand out of my grasp. Wrapping her arms around her chest again, she stood glowering at the table. We would have to talk, but that could wait. The important thing now was to remove her from the house as quickly as possible. The girl might well be all that her father described, but I would not have left a mad dog in the care of such a man.

“Will you take your things now,” I asked her, “or shall I send someone for them later?”

“I want nothing from that… that fat toad.”

“Agatha!” I said severely. “You owe a duty of respect to your father for giving you life.”

She glared at me. “You heard what my life was worth to him: so much carrion.”

I held up the three weighty bags. “Most girls in the village would not have a single penny placed upon their lives. See what you are valued at.”

“You hold the value of my father’s pride, not my worth. He wouldn’t have people say he was too poor to pay a dowry.”

There was such a cold fury in those green eyes that I wondered if her father had been correct in his judgement after all and she was indeed a fiend. Still, even a wildcat may be tamed. It would be a challenge, but I could certainly do no worse than he had. God had given Agatha into my hands so that I might bring her into His grace and I was determined to bring her there, whatever it took.

agatha

tHE SMALL GUEST HALL IN THE BEGUINAGE was hot and stifling. My body ached, my head pounded, and every joint and muscle was groaning in protest at being made to stand upright. My legs were shaking, but Servant Martha took no notice. She stood erect before the plain table, her hands clasped behind her.

“Now, Agatha, you must understand that beguines make no perpetual vows, but you must be celibate in deed and thought so long as you reside here, and so long as you live here you will obey the rules of this community agreed by the Marthas who are elected by our beguinage to have the running of it.”

I stared at her mouth, watching her lips move over her sharp teeth and the mole on her chin bob up and down. I wanted to shout-Stoptalking at me! I don’t care about your stupid rules. If this is a nunnery, just put me in a cell and leave me alone.

“You’re free to come and go as you wish, but you will be expected to attend the Sunday Mass at the church, likewise the daily prayers in our chapel. As beguines our purpose is to study, write, and teach, to care for the infirm and sick, and work selflessly for our community and for the poor. We put food on our table and clothes on our backs through the labours of our own hands, not from money taken from the people or the Church.”

The room was too warm. I couldn’t breathe. Images and faces kept sliding away from me, dissolving before I could grasp them. A fire, roaring up taller than a man; someone screaming; black wings hovering above me. I couldn’t move. I was being crushed. His weight was still holding me down and I couldn’t break free. It was all I could do to stop myself lashing out. I tried desperately to concentrate on what she was saying. Don’t think about last night. Don’t think.

Servant Martha was frowning. Her mouth grew tighter. Her voice snapped like a dog on a chain.

“Your personal belongings, dowry, and everything you bring to the beguinage remain yours and you may take these with you if you choose to leave. But if-”

A single phrase caught in my mind. “I can leave?”

Servant Martha looked startled. “This is a beguinage, not a nunnery. Did I not say that we make no perpetual vows here?”

“And I can take the money my father gave you?” That didn’t make sense. Girls don’t own their own dowries. Husbands or Mother Superiors take them.

“We make no vows of poverty. The money is yours, but while you are here you should neither live in luxury nor deny yourself to excess. Both extremes show pride of spirit. Merchant Martha, who is also our Martha of the Common Purse, will keep your money safe for you and you may ask her for it whenever you wish. Who knows, you may yet want it for a dowry.”

“Don’t be stupid! You know I won’t!”

Everyone in the village knew I could never marry. My sisters had taunted me with it ever since I was born. No one would ever take me and I was glad of it. No, more than glad, I was ecstatic. If anything or anyone ever touched me again, I’d kill them. I swear this time I’d kill them. I closed my eyes tightly, feeling that creature’s stinking breath burning my neck. I started gagging. I was going to puke. I bit my fist hard trying to choke it back.

Servant Martha drew herself even more upright. “Very well, Agatha, since firm words are all that you will respond to, I will oblige you.”

Her tone was as sharp as a slap, shaking me out of the nightmare. I was almost grateful for that. I took a deep breath and looked up at her as coldly as I could. What firm words? What did she think she could say that I hadn’t heard my father say a thousand times before? Whatever it was, I wouldn’t let anything hurt me anymore.

“Mark this well, Agatha: If you are sent from here in disgrace, you will leave with only the clothes you stand up in. All else is forfeit.”

I almost laughed. Was that all? I knew it was too good to be true. Whatever she called it, this place was no different from a nunnery. She tried to stare me down, but I wouldn’t look away; I met her hard dark blue eyes without flinching.

Servant Martha stalked over to the door and called out to someone I couldn’t see. “Would you be so kind as to ask Kitchen Martha to attend us here?”

We waited, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and the rattling of the shutters in the wind. Finally, the door opened, sending gusts of smoke swirling round the room. A small plump woman tumbled in. Despite the bitter wind, her face was flushed and shining from the heat of her fire.

“Kitchen Martha, this is Agatha; she seeks a home with us.”

Kitchen Martha beamed and hurried forward. “Welcome, child, you are very welcome.”

I had to stifle a scream as she swept me into a great hug, half smothering me in her massive bosom.

“She will be placed in your charge.” Servant Martha hesitated. “She will need as much guidance as is in your power to give her.”

I scowled at Servant Martha. Her careful words had not fooled me for one minute. What she meant was “Watch her, control her, and discipline her. She is a hellcat and must be tamed.”

But if I understood the code, Kitchen Martha clearly didn’t, for she looked from one to the other of us in bewilderment as if waiting for Servant Martha to say more, but eventually she nodded and began to bustle me towards the door.

Before we reached it, Servant Martha called out, “One thing more, Agatha. In the chapel on the Sabbath you will receive your new name, to mark the beginning of your new life with us.”

I felt a jolt of hope. “I can choose a new name for myself?”

“Of course not. We do not choose our own names in life; they are given to us. A suitable name will be chosen for you by the Marthas after much prayer and thought. It will be their gift to you.”

The despair came flooding back. It would be no different here than in my father’s house.

HOLDING OUR SKIRTS OUT of the infernal mud we scuttled, heads down, through the driving rain to a long, low building. Kitchen Martha pushed me down on a stool in front of the fire and shook the rain from her cloak before unwrapping a steaming slice of bough cake from her scrip.