‘There, my daughter. This is the child from whom evil must be purged. She dreams of the caresses of men; give her the caress of the cane.’

‘Mother,’ began the nun.

The Abbess turned her venomous gaze on the nun. ‘Do you disobey me, then?’

‘Nay, Mother.’ The nun came to the prostrate figure of Edith and lifted the cane. It came down stinging her across the thighs. ‘Again,’ said the Abbess. ‘Are you so feeble that you can do no better than that? Again and again.’

Edith turned her back on them and covered her face with her hands. ‘Oh, Uncle Edgar,’ she prayed, ‘why did you send us here?’

The Abbess had snatched the cane from the nun that she herself might use it. The strokes were more firm, more vicious.

‘Aunt Christina, I beg of you...’

‘Ah, the miscreant becomes a penitent. Yes, daughter, what have you to say?’

‘Do not, I beg of you.’

‘Then you will wear the robe and love the robe, the outward sign of that which is holy?’

‘Yes, I will wear the robe.’

The Abbess laughed. ‘Your tender skin may rebel even more so than before. There are weals on your buttocks, girl. Do not strip naked and dream that they have been put there by a too eager lover. Come, get up. Put on your shift. Is it not shameful that you should stand thus naked. You will love the robe. You will remember that these are the robes of the Black Benedictines which our famous ancestor founded. You will pray that you may be purged of your worldliness. Come, I am impatient.’

Painfully Edith rose to her feet. Over her head went the hideous black hairy shift; she was enclosed once more in the black robes.

‘On your knees,’ said the Abbess. ‘Ask for forgiveness, for you are in dire need of the intercession of the saints.’

With lowered eyes Edith stood before her aunt. The Abbess was satisfied. She turned and with the attendant nun left the cell.

So she must wear the robes. But never, never shall I take the veil, Edith promised herself. This could not go on. A time would come when Uncle Edgar came to visit them. Then she would remind him of her father’s determination that she should marry. Her mother, it was true, had wished her to take the veil, but her mother had not known how vehemently she hated it.

She shuddered as the rough stuff touched her sore body

She would never forget the sight of Aunt Christina, the cane raised in her hand, her eyes gleaming with a virtue so intense that it was like a fierce pleasure.

How she longed for the old days in the schoolroom under dear old Turgot.

But the beating had strengthened her determination to escape.

* * * * *

There were visitors to Rumsey Abbey. Alan, Duke of Bretagne, wished to pay his respects not only to the Abbess but to the Atheling ladies whom he understood were being educated there.

The Abbess was gracious yet haughty.

‘It is not the custom of the Abbey to allow novitiates to receive visitors.’

‘Novitiates!’ cried Alan. ‘I understood that the Princesses were merely here to receive an education, and were destined to play that part in the world so often reserved for ladies of their blood.’

‘They have a great desire for the convent life,’ said the Abbess and then to absolve her soul she thought: As yet they are not fully aware of this but it exists.

‘I do not think it is the desire of their uncle and their eldest brother that they should take the veil.’

‘That is a matter for the future. For this time I must respect their youth. They cannot receive visitors.’

‘I understood differently from the King.’

‘You come from the King?’

‘With his blessing.’

The Abbess was taken aback. She dared not offend Rufus. She had to be grateful that he allowed her, a member of the Atheling family, to take up the post of Abbess in an English abbey. If Rufus had sent Alan of Bretagne here it could be with one purpose. He was a possible husband for one of the girls and as Edith was the elder her turn would probably come first.

This was disturbing, but the Abbess was not one to be disturbed for long. She could however not prevent Alan’s seeing Edith and Mary.

She sent for the girls. A summons to the Abbess’s apartment was a cause for apprehension, but Mary, who had not been selected as the butt for Christina’s venom as Edith had, and for whom the Abbess had no special plans as yet, was less concerned than her sister.

When the girls stood before her in their black garments, their hair carefully hidden, the Abbess surveyed them critically.

Edith had a certain beauty but the habit was very effective in concealing it and if this man had thoughts of marrying her, it might be possible to hurry her into taking some sort of vow. The determination to thwart Edith’s desire for a worldly life was growing in the Abbess. A strong woman, accustomed to having her own way, never forgetting her royal birth and that the crown of England should have belonged to her family, she was anxious to rule her own empire and that included her nieces who had become part of it.

She had considered Alan of Bretagne. A middle-aged widower, a man not without power and clearly a friend of Robert of Normandy and Rufus King of England since the former had sent him to England on some mission and the latter had given him permission to come and visit the Atheling girls at her Abbey.

Of course he was looking for a bride, although he was a little old for that, but if he were hoping for heirs he would select a young girl. Constance, his dead wife and daughter of the Conqueror, had been childless during their six years marriage. And his union with the royal family had perhaps given him a taste for Princesses.

Christina did not like it. Nevertheless she could not disobey the orders of Rufus. She shuddered to think of the man. He was crude and vicious. She was well aware of his perverted sexual tastes. She thought a good deal about such sinful practices, conjuring up pictures of the crude red-faced King and his favourites, the better she promised herself to implore the saints to put a stop to such evil.

She noticed with satisfaction that Edith was looking a little fearful.

She kept them standing in suitable humility.

‘We have a visitor who has asked to see you. As you know it is against the rules of the Abbey for our young novices to receive visitors. But this is an old nobleman who is visiting England on some mission from the Duke of Normandy and the King has asked if I would graciously receive him. I shall of course be present. Now, we will go.’

Alan of Bretagne bowed low and said what a pleasure it was to meet the Princesses.

It was long since Edith had seen such a man. He was old it was true, but he was a warrior and he brought a new and alien atmosphere into the Abbey.

‘I have recently come from Normandy on a mission from my Duke to the King. The King will I doubt not wish to have news of you.’ He had a commanding air, this man. He turned to the Abbess. ‘I would like a word in private with the Princess Edith.’

The Abbess bristled. Her strength was as great as his and she was on her own ground.

‘My lord Duke, I could not so far forget my duty.’

‘Then,’ said the Duke, ‘we will sit together in yon window seat while you remain here with us.’

The Abbess looked thunderous but the Duke had bowed to Edith and she without looking at her aunt walked to the window seat with the Duke in her wake. Christina, reminding herself that he came with the blessing of the King, and being astute enough to ask herself what report he would take back, had no alternative but to sign to Mary that she be seated on the far side of the chamber with her while the visitor and Edith conversed—in sight of her alert eyes, yet out of earshot.

The Duke bent towards Edith; she noticed his big hands, his weather-beaten skin, his rather rough method of speech. He lacked the grace of her uncle Edgar. He repelled her slightly. Ever since that day when her aunt Christina had made her put on the nun’s habit and her father had expressed his annoyance and said: ‘She is to be a wife and mother,’ she had dreamed of the man she would marry. Naturally he was young, handsome, courteous, learned, noble; this rough Norman soldier appeared to have few of these virtues.