Merchant Martha frowned and shuffled forward to the very edge of her seat, as if she was about to leap out of it. “I don’t agree, Servant Martha. Beatrice has a deal of common sense, which is what we need on this Council. And she wants to be given the opportunity, any fool can see that. I’ve often heard her grumble that she is sent too often to the fields and not entrusted with more weighty duties.”

“Thereby demonstrating all too plainly that she’s not ready to be a Martha,” I retorted. “Marthas are elected as servants of the beguinage. They should never grumble about performing humble tasks and most particularly they should not complain of such to the other women and encourage discontent. We need Marthas who will uplift the spirit of the beguinage, whatever their personal feelings. And we need Marthas who can keep their own counsel.”

The women exchanged sidelong glances with one another.

“Does no one else have another candidate to propose?” I asked, willing someone to propose the name that was in my thoughts. It must be seen to come from one of them. Then they would accept it. “Tutor Martha, what about you? You’ve told us nothing of your thoughts on this matter. Whom do you propose?”

Tutor Martha looked up eagerly. “I know you’ll say she’s too young, but have you considered Osmanna? Look how she’s already taken charge of the infirmary and the care of Healing Martha, and she learns quickly. I’m sure such responsibility would hasten her maturity.”

A small sigh of relief escaped my lips. “Osmanna is very young, Tutor Martha. But I agree, she shows every sign of making an excellent leader.”

Dairy Martha pursed her lips. “I’ve no objection to Osmanna personally, nor do I have any quarrel with appointing one so young. But… I hate to say this… Many of the local women are uncomfortable being around her. She never seems to make any effort to befriend any of the other beguines. I know I should not say this… but I’ve heard them describe her as cold and well… proud. They might not respect her as a Martha; they might even resent her. And besides, as Merchant Martha says, Beatrice expects to be appointed. She’ll be very hurt if she isn’t.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Dairy Martha, have I heard you aright? Are you seriously suggesting that we should appoint someone as a Martha simply on the grounds that they will cry if we do not?”

She flushed. “No, Servant Martha, that’s not what I meant. I merely-”

“I am most relieved to hear it. As to Osmanna’s popularity among the women-unfortunately we cannot be liked by everyone. I dare say some of the women dislike me.”

Kitchen Martha chuckled nervously, but no one contradicted me.

Merchant Martha coughed pointedly. I tried to ignore her, but everyone turned expectantly. This time, unable to sit still a moment longer, Merchant Martha rose and began pacing the chapel, her hands clasped behind her back.

“There’s another objection to Osmanna that no one seems to have mentioned.” Merchant Martha glanced back at me, frowning. “We all know that the state of the soul is known only to the penitent herself, her confessor, and God. Nevertheless when we are considering that person for a position of authority…” She paused and surveyed me with dark inquisitive eyes.

“Continue, Merchant Martha,” I said. “Say what is on your conscience. I know it will not be divulged outside this room.”

“Some of us have observed of late that Osmanna has not received the Host during Mass, nor even attended upon the altar. Naturally as her confessor you cannot divulge the sin, but…”

I knew she’d raise that. I’d seen the looks pass between her and Kitchen Martha each time Osmanna did not come forward to receive the Host.

“I can assure you, all of you, that Osmanna has not been refused the Blessed Sacrament because of any sin,” I replied. “On the contrary, it is Osmanna’s own desire to abstain. Something she has read in these past weeks has caused her to question whether our blessed Lord intended us to take His words literally regarding the bread and wine. She asks whether it is right to seek the presence of God through physical elements at all, when God is spirit.”

There was a gasp of horror and outrage from some of the Marthas.

“She is mistaken, of course,” I added quickly. “Nevertheless I rejoice that Osmanna desires to seek the truth for herself and I have no doubt, no doubt at all, that when she has meditated upon such questions and searched the will of God, she will again receive the Blessed Sacrament with renewed joy and understanding.”

“Then, Servant Martha, until Osmanna has resolved these matters of faith, we can’t consider her for the position of a Martha, where she must give leadership to others.” There was a note of triumph in Merchant Martha’s voice. She thought she had won.

a week of general licence in abbeys and monasteries. an abbot of misrule was appointed, monks burned old sandals instead of incense, drank, swore, and farted in church, sang parodies of hymns, and ate black puddings in a mock mass.

sERVANT MARTHA LAID HER QUILL DOWN with a sigh. “As I told you last week, Osmanna, you will continue to work in the infirmary until a new Martha is appointed. My instructions have not changed.”

But I wasn’t a physician. I could keep the place in order and continue to give the existing patients the same treatments as Healing Martha had done, for she had written down exactly what each person must be given. But if anyone came with a new sickness or injury I wouldn’t know what to do. And what of Healing Martha herself? How was I to treat her?

“But, Servant Martha, when will a new Martha be appointed?”

“Were you not listening when I explained to the whole beguinage that the Holy Spirit did not confirm who was to be the next Martha?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you already know the answer to your question.”

But that was the point; I didn’t know, no one did, although there were endless whispered speculations. “Being of one mind is the sign that the Holy Spirit has put his seal upon a decision, for He plants His will in each of our minds,” Servant Martha said. But the Marthas had not been of one mind. Everyone said that they had argued and since everyone expected Beatrice to be named Martha, it could only have been over her. But which of them had opposed her?

Beatrice was angry and hurt. She spent as much time as she could with Gudrun, ignoring all the stares and whispers. She’d always doted on Gudrun, but now she seemed to be occupied with nothing else, fussing over Gudrun as if she was a newborn baby. The two spent hours together in the cote and if Gudrun ever managed to slip out, Beatrice would abandon anything she was doing and clamber up to old Gwenith’s cottage to look for her, no matter what the weather. I didn’t blame her. Gudrun was the only person who didn’t realise the humiliation Beatrice had suffered, and Gudrun couldn’t gossip behind her back.

Servant Martha had taken me aside after she’d spoken to everyone in the refectory. It was obvious from her clipped voice and hardened jaw that she was annoyed about what had happened in the Marthas’ Council. Her instructions to me had been curt. I would continue in the infirmary until a Martha was appointed. That would be my only duty from now on and Pega would help me.

I was relieved that someone was to help me, but half of me wished it had been someone other than Pega, and the other half of me was glad it was her. I wanted a chance to explain to her why I had run out of the barn on that day she kissed me. I wanted to say to her, Hold me again and this time I won’t run. But Pega seemed to go out of her way to be busy whenever I tried to approach her.