‘Prettily put,’ Lady Angelica quipped. ‘I love my father but I also love someone he does not like.’ She clasped her hands in mock anguish to her breast. ‘What am I to do? How can love be contradictory?’

In any other circumstances Athelstan would have laughed at this little minx who was playing the game so coolly and so cleverly. Her eyelids fluttered.

‘If I must love my father, as I know you are going to tell me, then I must obey him. And, if I obey him, I must give up the love I have for this knight.’

‘Very well put,’ Lady Monica said. ‘Angelica, you really should enter our house of studies. Our library here is well furnished…’

‘But it’s not contradictory,’ said Sir Maurice.

‘Why is that?’ Lady Monica snapped. ‘The Fourth Commandment says thou shalt obey thy father and thy mother!’

‘In life,’ he replied, ‘there is a hierarchy, is there not? Even in this Order you, Lady Monica, are superior and the same goes for nature. Some horses are more fleet than others, some dogs more fierce. There is also a hierarchy in love, with God at its peak.’

‘And beneath that?’ Angelica asked. ‘Surely love of father and mother?’

‘That is not what Christ said,’ he replied, warming to his theme, staring fully at Angelica who now blushed. ‘He said that if a woman loves a man she should leave her kith and kin and go to him so that they become one flesh. That is God’s will and, what God has joined together, no man should try to drive asunder.’

‘Very well put,’ Angelica teased back. ‘But, Brother, I am not yet this man’s wife. I am not even betrothed.’

‘But marriages are made in heaven,’ ‘Norbert’ countered.

‘What is this?’ Lady Monica asked.

Athelstan put his hands up the sleeves of his gown and glanced sideways. Sir John was already feeling for his wineskin. Had ‘Brother Norbert’ gone too far?

‘Are you counselling the Lady Angelica to defy her father?’

‘Oh no. I was simply discussing philosophy, the true value of love and its purpose.’

‘But what is love?’ Angelica quickly spoke up to divert the Lady Monica.

‘It is the greatest of God’s gifts.’ He answered slowly as if aware that he had trodden unwarily. ‘It means giving the heart, the soul, the body to the other. It recognises no obstacle; it is pure, eternal fire.’

Athelstan raised his eyes heavenwards. He wondered whether Sir Maurice was speaking what he had read from Bonaventure’s writings or directly, from the heart. He was surprised at the young knight’s intensity and, in a strange way, he envied his burning passion. Have I, will I, ever love like this, he wondered?

‘Love has no end,’ Sir Maurice continued. ‘We are born like that, my child. I truly believe that every man and woman has two great loves: one for God and one for their spouse. Indeed, such a love reflects the life of the Trinity. As the great Bonaventure says, “As God loves the son and gives birth to the spirit which is love”, so male and female, in holy alliance, become one and create a divine life, participating in God’s creation.’

‘And it knows no lies?’ Angelica asked.

‘None whatsoever.’

‘Or division?’

‘None whatsoever.’

‘So, what shall Angelica do?’ Lady Monica asked. Athelstan noticed her face had become slightly flushed.

‘She should pray,’ Sir Maurice replied. ‘Pray with all her mind, her heart and soul that God’s will be known. My lady, it will not be Sir Thomas Parr, nor you, nor this young woman, nor even that poor unfortunate, miserable, broken-hearted…’ Athelstan kicked him on the shin. ‘Woebegone knight who will decide but God. And God loves lovers.’ He caught the steely glint in Lady Monica’s eyes. ‘His will shall decide.’

‘And until then?’ Angelica asked, drawing herself up, the laughter bubbling in her eyes. ‘Am I to stay here and pine away? Not that the good sisters here,’ she added hurriedly, ‘are vexatious but I do wonder how this will end.’

‘God will give a sign.’ Athelstan spoke up. He put his hand out and gently squeezed Sir Maurice’s knees, a reminder that he had said enough.

‘Brother Athelstan speaks the truth,’ Sir Maurice said, his eyes holding Lady Angelica. ‘He will give a sign and His will shall be known. In the end all will be well; all manner of things will be well.’

‘And will you speak to this young knight?’ Lady Monica asked.

‘Oh yes. I shall speak to him as soon as I leave here. I will seek him out.’ He held a hand up. ‘And I know what he will say, for I have met such young men before though, perhaps, none so smitten as he. He will be downcast, weeping copiously, be lost in his desolation. He will tell me that he loves this young woman more than life itself. That he will love her until death and beyond. He will say because of her, he’d storm the gates of hell and confront all the powers of darkness. How heaven and earth will pass away but his love will remain eternal. How he has given his heart to the Lady Angelica and that she will either heal it or break it!’

Lady Monica sighed noisily, her eyelids fluttering. ‘That poor, poor, young man. I shall pray for him, too.’

‘Brother Norbert. Tell him…’

‘No, no!’ Lady Monica grasped Angelica’s wrists. ‘You can send him no message, my child.’

Athelstan caught the look in the young woman’s eyes and knew there was no need. He got slowly to his feet. Sir John did likewise.

‘We must leave now,’ Athelstan said firmly. ‘But, Lady Monica, if it is agreeable to you, we will return?’

‘Oh yes, oh yes.’ The abbess wiped a tear from the corner of her eyes. ‘Sir Jack, all this brings back sweet memories.’

Cranston nodded solemnly. ‘We have seen the days, Lady Monica. Oh, we have seen the days!’

Once they left the convent of Syon, Athelstan had no objection to Sir John ‘leading them into temptation’, heading like an arrow to the welcoming darkness of the taproom in the Jerusalem Tree. Sir Maurice’s face was saturated in sweat. Athelstan found that his legs were trembling a little while Sir John was chuckling. Indeed, by the time they had ordered three tankards of good, frothy London ale, this had turned into guffaws of laughter.

‘I wouldn’t have believed that.’ He sighed. ‘Trust me, Athelstan, Lady Monica, or Isabella Fitzpercy as she was known when I was thin as a beanpole, is a formidable woman.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’ Athelstan drank the ale rather quickly. ‘I’m going to pray to St Antony of Padua, my favourite saint, that Prior Anselm never finds out.’ He tapped his tankard against Sir Maurice’s. ‘But I warn you, if he does, you’ll have to join the Dominican Order. You’ll make a good preacher, Sir Maurice.’

‘I feel sick,’ the young knight moaned. ‘Believe me, sirs, I’ve jumped from one ship to another. I have fought hand-to-hand in the most bloody melee but I have never been so terrified.’

‘Did you love the Lady Monica once?’ Athelstan asked.

Sir John ruffled his hair and twirled his moustache.

‘In my day.’ He slurped from the tankard. ‘In my day, I was truly a lady’s man, fleet of foot, sharp of eye and keen of wit. I could dance. Oh, I could dance, Athelstan! Those were the glory days when the great Edward held his court. I mean no offence, but men like Sir Maurice were as many as pebbles on the beach. Slim as a greyhound.’ Sir John wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Fast as a swooping hawk!’

Athelstan gazed affectionately at this great mound of generous, laughter-filled man with a body as big as his heart.

‘You did very well, Sir Maurice,’ Sir John said approvingly, then bawled for another tankard. ‘And the Lady Angelica is most beautiful. You could lose your soul in those eyes. If I were younger.’ He tapped his fleshy nose. ‘Never tell the Lady Maude but, if I were younger, Sir Maurice, I’d enter the lists against you. Oh the days!’ he sighed. ‘Oh, the passing of time!’

‘One thing I did notice,’ Athelstan said, putting his tankard back on the table. He watched a young boy sitting in the doorway, a pet weasel in his lap. ‘Lady Angelica knew nothing of that business at the Golden Cresset. Now, if that had been the work of Sir Thomas Parr, he would have let his daughter know immediately.’