“You’ve left it late, lass. Should have come to me before.”

I clutched at her arm. “No, please! It’s not too late. You must do it. Get it out. Get it out now,” I begged.

“Hush, lass. I’m not saying it can’t be done. But it’ll go harder with you now that the brat’s quickened. Herbs alone’ll not do it now. It’ll hurt you.”

“I don’t care how much it hurts. Just get it out.”

She laughed. “Easy to say now. Wait there.”

The bracken scratched my bare thighs. The embers of the fire beneath the cooking pot were still warm enough to glow red in the semi-darkness, but the hut felt chill and damp. What did she mean herbs alone would not do it? What else would she use-an image of the knife swarmed back in my head and I was half on my feet as Gwenith returned.

She pushed me back down onto the bracken. “Here,” she said, stuffing a wedge of cloth into my mouth. “Bite on this. I don’t want screaming. It frightens Gudrun.”

The cloth stank of old sweat and I almost gagged on it, but moments later I was biting hard, as cold hard fingers prised open my rigid legs. She knelt her thighs between mine, keeping my legs apart. I smelt her sour breath as she bent over me, the stink of stale piss on her skirts. In the darkness of the hut, I couldn’t see the expression on her face, just the glitter of two eyes staring down at me.

I felt her bony fingers pushing up inside me, then a long slender stick sliding over my thigh and being forced up into me. I knew it was only wood, but it felt like burning iron. I writhed backwards, fighting to get away from it. Her free hand pushed down hard on my belly. She gave a sudden upwards thrust that sent white lights exploding in my skull. Then it was over and she was pulling the stick out.

She threw the stick aside and tugged me until I was sitting. I drew my knees up to my chin, clutching my legs until the pain subsided to a raw stinging ache. My mouth was so dry it was glued to the filthy rag in my mouth. I pulled it and tasted the blood welling on my lips as the skin tore away with it.

“Is it… is it gone?” I moaned.

“It’s dead. Blackthorn’s killed it, but it’s still in there.”

“No, no,” I screamed. “You have to get it out.”

Her greasy hand clamped across my mouth. “Hush! I told you I don’t want noise. Here.” She pushed a knotted rag into my hand. “In this are bay berries. Mind you chew them well; don’t just swallow them. Then you’ll start to bleed heavy and the dead bairn’ll come away with your blood. No one’ll know it’s not natural. You’ll have some cramps, mind-it won’t be easy.”

The old woman’s head jerked up and she tensed. “Someone’s coming.” She dragged me upright and pushed me behind a ragged cloth that hung across the corner of the hovel. “Stay hidden,” she hissed.

I crouched on the stinking earth floor and bit my fist to stop myself from moaning from the searing pain between my legs. Then I heard a man’s voice outside the hovel.

“So, Mother, I hear you’ve been sending the brat to keep watch on the house of women.”

Gwenith laughed. “What could my poor little Gudrun tell me of anyone?”

“You can hear the bones of the dead talking. I reckon you’ve ways of finding out what you want from a dumb girl. The question is, Mother, why are you so interested in the women? Do you think you’ll be able to persuade them to help you to work against us? Is that it?”

I peered round the edge of the cloth. Gwenith and the man stood just outside the door of the cottage. The man was much taller than the low doorway and I couldn’t see his face, only the long brown cloak of an Owl Master.

“Afeared of the women are you?” Gwenith’s tone was mocking.

The man snorted. “I think you’re the one that’s scared, Mother. You’re the only cunning woman now, since we got rid of that witch, your daughter. But those women’ll not take your part. They’re Christians; they’d see you hanged first.”

“Aye, they might. But then again maybe there’s more that binds us than divides us, though they may not know it yet. That leader of theirs has got the spirit of Black Anu in her. You’ll not cow them into submission like the villagers. Not every woman falls on her knees at the sight of what dangles between your legs.”

“You witch-” The man raised his fist, but I saw the flash of a blade in Gwenith’s hand. He gave a gasp of pain, clutching his arm.

“You’ve cut me, you vicious old hag!”

“Forgive a poor old woman. My hands get shaky; knife’s apt to slip. If I were you, I’d stand back. I’m such a clumsy old thing, I shouldn’t wonder if one of these days I don’t take someone’s eye out.” Her knife was still pointed at him.

He backed a pace away. “There was a time when you and I were on the same side, Mother. We could be again. Together we could defeat the Church, and bring Ulewic back to the ancient gods who first ruled this valley. You know things will continue to go ill with this land until the old ways return.”

“Together?” Gwenith laughed sourly. “In the hour you spilled the blood of the night-cat, you turned your hand against me.”

“You think you can turn the villagers back to the old ways without blood?”

“There’s blood that’s meant for the spilling and there’s sacred blood that must never be touched.” Gwenith spat on the ground. “If you follow the path you’re bent on, you’ll be leading Ulewic into such darkness and destruction that none of you’ll be able to find your way out again.” She lowered the knife, but she still held it tight. “On May Eve you spent the night in the bull oak wrapped in the hide of the white stag. No man’s dared that since my own grandam was a bairn and the last one who did ran mad and was taken by the river afore cockcrow. It takes a rare courage to brave the hide and live to tell the tale, but courage is not enough, not to stand against him.”

“How did you know about the hide, Mother?”

“It changes a man, marks him for life. Happen you think if you can survive the horrors of that hide, you can command him. But he’ll not be commanded, not by your skills alone. And I’ll not lend you ours, so think on it. Remember what’s carved above the church door-Black Anu, the maid, the mother, and the hag. She was ancient long before the Church was young. She is ours. Without our skills, you have only half the power. You’ll not control him. Don’t be such a fool as to unleash what you can’t master.”

“Your skills! A cunning woman’s skills? What are those-a witch-jar to set the bowels of some wretched man afire; a charm to flux some farmer’s calf; a toadstone to detect poison? You think a bunch of herbs can master him? Iron, blood, and fire, that’s what will control him and I have them. I am the Aodh. I have them all.”

He leant towards her. “You said there was blood for the spilling, Mother. Take care it is not yours.”

i HATED THE NIGHTS IN THE INFIRMARY, the patients moaning and whimpering in their sleep, the snores and the constant irritating coughs which you didn’t seem to notice in the daytime. Healing Martha couldn’t attend night and day, else she’d have ended up in the infirmary herself. But there always had to be someone on duty at night, to fetch a pot for those too weak to get out of bed or a cordial for a fever. So we all had to take turns, not the Marthas, of course, for they had other duties, but us mere beguines who had no domains of our own.

I’d just managed to get an old woman settled when the door burst open and Healing Martha staggered in under the weight of Osmanna, who was draped round her shoulders and doubled up with pain. Little Catherine was supporting Osmanna on the other side, white with fear.

“Bring a lamp, Beatrice, quickly now,” Healing Martha said as she and Catherine dragged Osmanna to a cot in the corner of the room.

When I returned with the lamp, Osmanna was lying on her side, legs drawn up, but even in that position I could see her shift was soaked in dark red blood. As another spasm of pain gripped her she bit hard on her fist, closing her eyes tightly against the agony.