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am leaving,” he announced, and watched the servants scurry to pull the brace from the brackets. The gates creaked open; the Bishop rode through to the opening and signaled his armed escort to fall in around him. Behind him, the gates closed. The Bishop glanced back over his shoulder, pleased at how well he had handled this most difficult situation.
    Inside the convent the Superiora and Priora met in the narthex of the chapel while the gathered nuns began to chant the salutation of the Angel to the Blessed Virgin. “What did he say?” Superiora Gundrada whispered.
    “He will consider the reports,” said Priora Iditha.
    “But he has made no decision?” Superiora Gundrada persisted.
    “Not that he imparted to me.” The Priora frowned. “I don’t know what we’ll say to the Abba when she returns.”
    The Superiora shook her head. “She will not be pleased.”
    “Then let her pursue the matter—he is her kinsman.” The Priora was annoyed. “If he will not tell her what he thinks, then we will have to continue to house her, and who knows what that may do. Once word gets out about her—”
    “Will that happen?” the Superiora asked.
    “The servants talk, the slaves talk. How are we to deal with that?” Priora Iditha looked long and steadily at the Superiora. “I haven’t satisfied myself that we should keep her here. There must be somewhere she can be sent, where she will be away from danger, and we need not fear her.”
    “You do fear her, then?” the Superiora inquired distantly, as if none of this had anything to do with her. “She is such a submissive child.”
    “Anyone would, seeing her. Her eyes alone are enough to set sensible men into a frenzy.” Priora Iditha folded her arms. “I cannot think that the Abba would want us to have the risk Gynethe Mehaut entails for us.”
    “That’s as may be,” said the Superiora. “The Bishop will decide.” She held up her hands, extending them in prayer.
    “Your piety is beyond question,” said Priora Iditha rather dryly. “But not all the Sorrae are as diligent as you are. Some are not here in the full flower of faith, but for other reasons.”
    “True. And we keep safe custody of them,” said the Superiora with a touch of unpious pride.
    Priora Iditha decided not to pursue the matter. She moved away from the Superiora, going into the chapel to join in the chants of the nuns; after a dozen heartbeats, Superiora Gundrada followed after her.
    Midway through the next morning Abba Sunifred returned to the convent, escorted by six of her father’s mounted comrades, who led two mules carrying two boars and three deer ready for the spits in the kitchens. The soldiers saw her into the outer courtyard, handed the mules over to the convent slaves, and departed without dismounting. The Abba watched them leave with a wistful look in her ruddy face. Then she signaled to the slaves. “We will have venison tonight. The pork will go into salt and smoke, against lean times.”
    “Yes, Abba,” said the head slave, having the right to speak to her.
    “And summon the Priora to me. I will be in my apartments.” She strode off, her step energetic, her meaty cheeks flushed, and not from the warmth of the day but from the fading exhilaration of the hunt. She hummed as she went, the melody one she had heard the soldiers sing.
    One of the slaves hurried off to do her bidding, while three others took the fresh-killed game from the baskets on the mules, and a remaining slave led the mules into the stable; four novices bearing short sticks followed the slaves to be sure they did their work as they should.
    A short while later, Priora Iditha stood outside Abba Sunifred’s door, asking humbly to be admitted; the Abba’s maidservant opened the door for her. “She is in her reception room.”
    “Very good,” said Priora Iditha, knowing the Abba’s apartments had only three rooms and the Abba only received visitors in the reception room. She followed the maidservant