Sparrows

Part 5

Part 5

The horses snort and nicker gently at their rest. The soft sound has woken me, I lie listening to the quiet of the night.

I have no dreams, not of my boy, not of my un-lamented husband. No dreams of any kind. My sleep is a deep, dark, and empty place. I know the loss of a child is no great thing in a world such as this. I know the mother of heaven has drawn my child to her, as she does all unblemished souls. Of this I am certain. But still...I thought...I thought to mourn him, to grieve full sore at his hateful death.

But I cannot; I am glad he is released, glad he is free of all this cruelty.

My poor little rabbit never walked, his baby legs lacked even that strength.

I fumble for his name.

I have forgot his name!How can that be?

My child, my rabbit, lambkin, my angel, but his name...his name?

A sob is strangled in my throat. His birth brought me such joy, his tiny fist held my heart fast, and now even his name is gone. I catch the despair in my chest, hold it in horror.

Martin.

His name in Christ is...was, Martin!

Such a foolish thing to give a babe a grown man's name.

I hug Tom closer to me and cry as quiet as I can for my forgotten little rabbit.

###

Lying curled protectively around Tom's small form, Haddie watched the sun edging its way up through the trees, pulling the day behind it. Brother William sat at his prayers by the fire, Brother Jocelyn was snoring loudly from his hard bed on the ground. Sir Robert and Sargeant Blount were both sleeping, heads resting on their saddles. It was a strangely companionable sight.

Haddie's mind was abuzz with ways to gain favour with Crumleigh's abbess, ways to show their worthiness, piety, aye and their usefulness.

At Saint Catherine's Mother Berthe liked intelligence and cleanliness; one directed the other, she said. Dirt was the sign of a slovenly mind she had held.

They must be clean.

Rousing Tom from his sleep, shushing his complaints, they tried to slip quietly from the camp, but Brother William looked up from his devotions.

"I thought we might wash ourselves in the brook." Haddie muttered, bowing her head respectfully.

"Certainly, while all is quiet. Have caution though, child. Walk a safe distance to a bend in the brook, but no further. You should be out of harm's way there." His attention returned to his rosary, his thoughts to God and, of course, the will of the Bishop.

A huge fallen oak offered a screen from any chance passerby, its bulk comfortably imposing.

"Haddie 'tis early yet, and too cold." Tom whined.

"We needs be at our best. The abbess must see not vagabonds, but worthy folk she can trust." Haddie pulled at his shirt as he reluctantly loosened the ties. "Now, breeches too."

Grudgingly he pulled himself free of clothes. "But the water's so cold..."

"In." She pointed to the tumbling water. "No arguments, and scrub yourself well."

As Tom shivered and dipped unwilling hands into the brooks flow, Haddie inspected his clothes for marks and stains, examined the seams for lice. She had made them a year past. They should be outgrown, but they hung on his spare form. The shirt no better, she clenched her jaw at the curse lingering there and set about cleaning off the worst of the smoke stains.