I stared at her, unable to believe I’d heard her aright. “Do you understand what you are saying? It is unthinkable.”

“Why so?” she stubbornly persisted.

“Because… because the Church forbids it, you know that.”

Two furrows, like iron bars, deepened between her eyes. “Church forbade you to give it to Andrew, but you did it all the same. Whatever others may believe, I’m the gatekeeper and I know the Franciscan did not come within these walls, any more than Andrew could walk to the alms window. So it stands to reason, you must have given it her. Don’t fret,” she added, seeing my startled expression. “I’ve said nowt to the rest. But the way I see it, if you gave the Host to Andrew, why not to the rest of us? Aren’t we good enough, is that it? We’re no saints, that I’ll grant, but I reckon sinners stand more in need of His meat than saints.”

Healing Martha had warned me that Gate Martha knew what I’d done, but if she had worked it out, how many of the other beguines had also done so? How long before that rumour reached the priest’s ears as well?

I shook my head. “It’s far too dangerous. We have already been betrayed. It could have been a beguine, one of us who-”

“Don’t talk daft. It wasn’t a beguine.” Gate Martha poked another log into the brazier. “You think the whole of Ulewic hasn’t been asking themselves why our cattle were spared the murrain? Owl Masters have spies everywhere. They’ll have been watching the track to the beguinage. But there’s no reason any of the villagers need find out you’re giving us the Host. Not if we’re careful. Say Mass at midnight; all in the infirmary’ll be sleeping then.”

Gate Martha made it sound so simple. Maybe she was right; it was the only thing I could do. I would not lead the beguines in an act of public penance and humiliation. It would devastate the women and destroy any faith the villagers had in us. And neither would I surrender the relic to the priest. The beguines had put their faith in it, and how could I continue as Servant Martha if they saw me intimidated into relinquishing it? But the beguinage would not continue without the sacraments. The beguines were devout pious women who had dedicated their lives to God; they would never stay if they believed they were condemning themselves to Hell.

I sank shakily onto the bench, grasping the reality of the wood, solid in my hands. My fingertips dug into its unyielding form so hard they hurt, but I couldn’t seem to let go of it.

The first Christians broke bread and shared among themselves. Why not us? Why should we not do as they did? Women sow the fields, reap the grain, grind it, shape it, and bake it-why then do we shrink from placing it in the mouths of God’s children?

I thought I glimpsed the faintest of smiles on Healing Martha’s face, as she watched me. Were my thoughts so transparent to her? I rose without speaking and walked towards the chapel. But even without turning, I knew Healing Martha and Gate Martha were exchanging silent nods, smugly certain that they had persuaded me.

THE CHAPEL WAS EMPTY AND SILENT. The chill air leached the heat from my bones. Lights from the candles flickered like moths across the dark walls, setting the painted figures dancing in and out of shadows.

The women had gone to their beds. Only Healing Martha knelt with me. I couldn’t see her face, so deep was it shrunk inside her hood, but I knew she prayed; I could feel the spirit rising from her. Was she praying for me? I stared up at Andrew’s reliquary on the altar, resting like a tiny coffin between two candles.

Andrew had placed herself, body, mind, and spirit, under the protection of the Church, that holy shield beneath which all fragile human souls find refuge. The shield of faith and obedience passed from hand to hand in an unbroken chain of male consecration, stretching all the way back through the darkness of persecution to Saint Peter and through his hand to our blessed Lord Himself. Through that chain a priest may touch Christ’s hand and may grasp the very power of God.

Yet here I knelt asking Andrew for her grace, while refusing to submit my will to the Church. Worse than that, seeking, as I asked for her blessing, to take powers upon me that are denied even to ordinary men.

A gust of wind tore at the chapel door and the candle flames guttered. Healing Martha clambered painfully to her feet and limped to the door. I followed. Together we walked back towards our rooms, drawing the sharp night air into our lungs. We paused at the door of Healing Martha’s cell.

She lent wearily against the wall in the darkness, massaging the small of her back. “You are resolved now?”

“I can see no other way to hold the beguinage together. But will the women accept the Host from my hands?”

“Our sisters in Flanders have given the Host to those whom the Church has cast out. The Marthas know that and they will help you to convince the others. But there is something more you have not yet considered.”

“Can the matter not wait until tomorrow, Healing Martha?” I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep.

She took my hand and squeezed it. “I wish it could, but you need to understand what you are about to do. The Host which the Franciscan brought-there are only three pieces remaining. Even broken, it will not be enough.”

“Then we must get word to the Franciscan to ask him to resume his visits. He will help us, I’m sure.”

“No, no, old friend, that he must not do. It would be dangerous for him and for us. You heard Gate Martha-they are watching the beguinage.”

“Then we must find someone else to bring it. Someone the priest will not suspect.”

She shook her head. “You know what punishments are meted out to anyone caught giving the Host to those who have been excommunicated. We’ve no right to ask it of others.

“As for us, we must pray the Franciscan is never found. Even the strongest of men can be broken by the Church’s interrogators. Father Ulfrid may be as blind as a mole in sunlight, but there are others whose vision is clearer. If the friar were to confess that he never came within our walls, they would not be slow to reason out your role in this play and if they did, the matter would not end with excommunication. Not for you, not for any of us. Father Ulfrid wouldn’t plead clemency for a newborn babe inside these walls.”

I felt like screaming in exasperation. “Healing Martha, you were the one urging me to give the Host to the women. What have we been wasting time talking about this for, if there is no Host to give them and no hope of obtaining any? We have failed. We may as well pack up now, tonight, and return to Bruges. The beguinage cannot survive here.”

As if it heard me, a sudden gust of wind howled around the beguinage walls. Doors and shutters rattled and a leather pail skittered across the courtyard.

Healing Martha pulled her cloak tighter around herself. “There is only one thing you can do, old friend. You must consecrate the Host yourself.”

“No! To give the Host that is already consecrated, that is one thing. I would merely be acting as the servant, passing a dish offered by a host to a guest. But I cannot consecrate it. I cannot take bread and turn it into His flesh.”

“It’s but another small step and you are already walking upon this path.”

“I cannot do it,” I insisted. “How could you even think it? I’m not a priest. I am not a friar. I am not even a man.”

“It is not the merit of the priest who turns bread into flesh. It is God who turns bread into flesh and even when that priest has sinned, still the bread becomes flesh.” Healing Martha grasped my wrists and turned the palms of my hands upwards. “So why should God not make flesh of bread held in these hands?”

Why was she asking this of me? I was exhausted. Hadn’t I carried enough in these past weeks? And now, instead of supporting me, she added this terrible weight. Around me lay the closed shutters of the other rooms, the fastened doors, the impenetrable shadows of the empty courtyard. It was a cloudless night. A thousand stars flickered like distant candles in the violet sky. And behind each candle in the darkness was a face watching, waiting, listening. They were silent. They would give me no sign. They would only judge. They would abandon me to choice and condemn me when I chose wrongly.