Chapter Nine

As soon as she could, after she’d scraped the porridge bowl featuring the red-dress lady by the blue fence, Anne raced to the laundry to dress in her breeches and doublet. She made her way to the big oak tree and found her sword where she’d left it, tucked into the hollow. She unwrapped the present, throwing the crumpled fabric back into the darkness. Then she balanced the sword on the edge of her hand, getting a feel for the weight, balanced it on her palm: first with the point, pointing the cross into the sky; then the pommel of the handle, pointing the sharp end to the heavens.

She took up the fencing stance and practiced trying to hit the willow ball following different directions to defend, trying to remember what Maynard had taught her about the first two parry movements. One across the body, prime, and the other, seconde, to dash the opponent’s blade away on her sword side. Stab. Defend. Stab. Defend. Parry. Parry. Parry.

Although the handle was smooth, it was not that smooth and, although the sword was light, after a time it became heavier. She leaned for a moment against the tree, massaging her palm. She was in thick foliage here, the area having been harvested for timber years ago and left to regrow. Now it was dense woodland.

The tree next to her was blasted in the middle, providing a kind of doorway for someone of Anne’s stature, and had a smaller hollow near the top. Under the tree was a scattering of dry pellets. She could see the splash of white bird mess down the side and a beautiful broad feather lay on the ground, striped with bars of different shades of brown. It looked like it might have been made of layered wood. Retrieving it, she put it into her tangled hair. Were there any more feathers? Perhaps there might be one for Jeanette and another for Claude …

As she searched, she became aware she was not alone. There, tucked in behind one of the large knotty roots, was a ball of grey fluff. The feathery fluff, about the size of two of Anne’s fists, had a funny little flat beak in the middle of its fluffy face and half-shut eyes stared right at her. Anne leaned closer. The little owl did not seem unhappy. She just sat on the ground and contemplated Anne steadily. When Anne tilted her head, the creature also tilted, as though they were connected by invisible eyeball threads. Anne looked up to see if there were any parents nearby. She stood and searched around the tree branches, up into the sky. There was no sign of an adult owl. Had she fallen from the nest?

Then she herself fell. Hard. Her head ached.

She had been pushed down. Feet surrounded her. She didn’t see where they’d came from. There were two of them, bigger village lads, and they didn’t bother with insults, just kicked, and hit her. She was lucky Maynard had taught her how to roll away, for she did, fast, like a curling insect, gathering energy from the speed of the roll. She jumped up, regained balance, and propped into defensive stance. When they came at her once more, she realised she knew these thugs and she was in a dangerous situation. She began to be scared. They had kicked her like they meant it. There was no way she could beat them, and thinking fast without much strategy, before they were close enough to strike, she attempted communication, ‘Why aren’t you working like everyone else in the village? Is this a holiday?’

‘You could say that.’ One of them had her sword and he held it up in front of her face. ‘Our special day for breaking little toys.’

The other pushed her in the chest and said, ‘Stay away from here.’

The first bent her sword over his knee until it broke in two and then he threw the pieces at her. ‘We hate orphans.’

The other added, ‘‘We kill them.’

She believed their menace and knew she’d have to move first. And quickly.

They stood and watched while she continued to face them. Slowly she bent to pick up the sword pieces, never letting the boys out of her sight. She didn’t want to turn her back on them. She’d need more lessons before she could physically retaliate effectively against bigger and stronger opponents but she was furious. She struggled to control herself because she didn’t want these brutes to find the owlet.

She had to get around the boys to attempt a rescue and she didn’t want them to see the baby before she had a chance of scooping it up. When she thought she was close enough she threw the wooden shards of sword hard in their direction. Without waiting to see the effect, she dashed forward, gathered up the baby, and turned away to run.

She dodged and wove through trees, close though they were, and leapt over fallen logs, roots, and stones in her way. She tucked the bird down the front of her shirt and held the hem tight to her belly. She tried not to squash the little creature. It weighed nothing but those claws were sharp. She thought she heard one of her pursuers fall heavily and swear but she didn’t stop to enquire.

She kept running and running and, with no thought of aim, found herself running through the door of Maynard’s workshop. She knew Maynard was away collecting oak, but she soon found herself inside a large barn where logs of freshly hewn trees were stacked at the entrance. Past those there were smoother logs, without their bark, up on stands, some had flat sides, one had notches all down one side.

She followed sounds of regular scraping around the corner of the barn to find a man standing at a machine. He wore his grey hair tied back from his face. His attention was focussed on a wooden dish forming in front of him. One of his feet regularly pressed down on an angled wishbone of wood attached to a cord. The half-finished bowl was pinched between two other pieces of wood. He was holding the handle of a large, sharpened metal tool with which he scraped the inside of the bowl. The cord was strung from a pliable staff leaning over him. The cord curled and uncurled round the long arm of one of the pincers which turned the bowl. The springy stick above him was rooted into the ground so that it could not move apart from the curling top.

Anne stood and watched, finding relaxation in the repetitive grinding. She loosened the hold she had on the little bird and caught her own breath. She didn’t hear anyone follow her into the barn. Would they wait for her outside?

She noted that the man only leaned into the bowl when his foot went down, as the pole above him pulled the cord tight when his foot was raised, and the bowl turned the other way. On the downward stroke he leaned in and then shaved more of the interior of the bowl. His work remained at the same steady pace.

Then a loud barking overtook the rhythm. A wild creature leapt out of a basket and rushed towards Anne’s knees. Seeing the ferocious teeth, she took a step backwards and held the bird high. The scraping stopped. The man shouted ‘Houtachtig! Stop, you naughty dog! Come to meet our visitor nicely.’

Called to his master he obediently calmed and came to Anne with an optimistic prance. But Anne was nervous and thought only of her little ward.

‘What have you there?’

She held the creature out to show him.

He immediately turned, found a small basket on the shelf, tipped out the reels and bobbins stored therein, and held it so she could deposit the owl inside. He looked the bird over and then reached into the basket with his left hand to gently stroke the fluffy front. ‘Seems healthy. Where did you find it?’

‘By the hollow tree.’

‘The parents will be worried.’

‘I looked!’

‘That’s not to say they’re not there.’

‘But she may die!’

‘God’s will. Are you coming?’ The man picked up the basket and turned to go. ‘Houtachtig!’

Anne followed outside, taking care to look around the building for signs of ambush. Where were the two louts? She couldn’t see them. The man walked back towards the woodlands. ‘You must be Anne?’

‘How did you know?’

‘Maynard told us of your adventures.’

‘You must be his father?’

‘How did you know?’ He echoed her, but when she looked up to check, he was smiling at her in such a friendly way she relaxed at once. ‘My name is Jan. You’ve already met Houtachtig.’

Now that Jan was carrying the owlet, Anne bent to greet the little dog properly, ‘Not much of a guard-dog, is he?’ Anne was entranced. ‘He didn’t know I was there!’ He was black and white, with black ears and two shiny black eyes and a shiny black button nose. His tail was like a giant white feather, and he wagged it enthusiastically. He bounded to examine various leaves, trees, and sticks, returning to check on his master and then back to explore, covering three times as much land as man and girl.

The four of them marched back to the tree. Anne showed Jan where she’d found the owl and Jan put the basket back on the ground as she directed.

‘Don’t you want the basket?’

‘Another day. We mustn’t disturb it.’

They stepped back but the little dog thought he might like to meet the owl too and brought his shiny nose to the basket in greeting.

Jan picked up Houtachtig to avoid him going too close and the humans moved away. When he thought it safe, Jan put the dog down. Just nearby lay one of the pieces of the sword after she had thrown it at her attackers. Anne noticed Jan did not use his left hand much. It seemed to be an extension of his arm rather than a finger-thumb pincer. He looked for the other piece and picked up both, confirming her suspicions. She wondered what had happened to his hand but before she could ask, he asked her about the sword, ‘I take it you did not do this?’

‘No.’ She laughed when Houtachtig licked her nose.

He looked at her critically, ‘Are you hurt?’

She fingered the lump on the back of her head. ‘Not much.’

‘Is that why you decided to save the bird? We might place it off the ground in case they return.’ He looked up and saw that there was a flat part to one of the branches not far from the ground. He asked Anne, ‘Do you climb?’

‘’Course.’ She followed his line of sight and saw what he meant. She took off her shoes, found easy toe holds in the knotty wood of the tree, and used some of the twists given by the hollow at the front. When she reached the spot, he handed her up the basket containing the little owl. ‘Are you able to secure it?’

‘Think so.’ Anne wedged the basket in the fork of the tree and returned to the ground. She looked up, worried.

Jan said, ‘The parents’ll come back to feed it.’

‘She looks sad.’

‘Owls are always sad. Unless they have a mouse to eat. What about you? Do you need food?’

‘Thank you, Mijnheer Lauryn—'

‘Jan.’

‘—Jan, I must get back.’

She reached up to scratch her knotty hair and found, to her surprise, the striped feather still there. She pulled it out and presented it to him.

Jan bowed with a sense of ceremony that Anne appreciated as he took it, ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Anne. Come again.’ He placed the feather into his doublet buttonhole like a medal.

‘Don’t worry, I will.’ And she meant it.

Anne made good time and arrived back to the laundry to change into her girl outfit for Sext. She arrived in her place in the queue of orphans just in time for prayers. She saw Hendrika and her companions nod to her. The noblewoman was gliding into the church like a slender black, silver, and white cone balanced on the top of another reversed cone, much wider at the base.

Anne, worried she had mistaken the salutation, checked along the line of orphans but it was indeed her, Anne de Breuil, they were smiling at. Silently, they mimed, she’ll visit as planned. That elegant lady, together with her waiting women smiled graciously at her. A pleasant sense of anticipation acknowledged between all four of them although Anne still had no idea why she might have been singled out. Mystified, she made her way to the refectory where food called loudly to her hunger.

After their orphan’s lunch was over, Anne watched Jeanette. She noticed the slim novice wiping tears from her eyes as she rose to leave the table. Anne jumped up and, dodging Sister Agnes’s restraining arm, ran to hug her sister. Anne hooked her arm into Jeanette’s and the two girls walked to the door where Mother Prioress was waiting. She reached out and touched Jeanette on the sleeve as she passed, ‘Jeanette, my daughter. May I help?’

Shaking her head, Jeanette brushed past, releasing Anne’s arm, with a quick, ‘Thank you, Mother.’

Anne was too slow and small and Mother Prioress was able to hold her back. Anne thought Mother Prioress was being kind to her and her sister. ‘Anne. Is something amiss with Jeanette? ’

‘I’m not sure, Mother.’

‘Let me know everything, my little daughter.’

Anne said, ‘Of course, Mother.’ She ran after her sister down the dark wooden corridor. ‘Jeanette!’ Anne called, ‘There’s much to tell you! When can I see you?’

‘After supper. We can talk then.’

Anne went to the laundry and found a better skirt. It was creased but had a smear on the side. She tried to dab it off with a damp cloth, smoothed it down and tied her caul more neatly under her chin. There was a shiny metal part of the door handle and, if she bent down, Anne could just about see her whole face. That might be a smudge on her chin, and she tried to wipe it with the edge of a piece of fabric wet by the water bucket. There was no hiding when Anne heard the footsteps come down into the stone-flagged room.

Marie Therese entered with a bloodied apron and put the messed fabric into a wooden tub to soak. She looked surprised to find Anne there. ‘You seem tidy. Where do you go?’

‘To visit Mijnheer de Tailly.’

‘What for?’

‘She asked me.’

‘Why?’

Anne shrugged, saw no need to debate this further, and bowed as she left the room. She found scissors and went to the garden to cut roses. She found three fat ones, two pink and one white. She cleaned off the thorns, returned the scissors to Sister Matildé, and proceeded to the private apartments above the Prioress’s office.

Hendrika and her ladies were still at lunch at the big table in the centre of their communal room before the fire. A girl, not much older than Anne, showed her into the room and called her name by way of introduction, ‘Anne de Breuil.’

‘Oh,’ said the ladies, apparently delighted to see her. ‘Anne’s here! Come in, come in and get warm … ’

Anne was mystified. It was not even cold.

Hendrika stood and one of the ladies brought her to her side. Hendrika bent to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘Delighted! Delighted to see you here, my dear, can’t say how delighted, and you look so fresh. And young. And pretty. And are those for me? Why! Clara! Come here and put these in water with those other flowers, now, will you, my darling? Perhaps we’ll try to paint them later. We’ve been studying drawing with a marvellous artist who insists we only draw what we see. He’s a stickler for it, even if his lines are wobbly, he minds not, he says it’s more important to find the life of the object. How he can see the inner life of an object with his outer eyes, I know not. Come, come, sit here by me, sit, and enjoy some wine, do, and tell me all about yourself. Since I first saw you, I’ve been drawn to you, so pretty, my dear, no, what do you say, girls? Is she not more than pretty?’

‘Oh, yes, Hendrika, far more.’

‘Does she remind you of anyone?’

‘Why, of whom can you be thinking, Hendrika?’

‘Well, to be honest, what do you say, do you not think she looks a teeny tiny bit like me? When I was her age? Come now! Do you not see it?’

‘Now that you say so … ’

‘She is quite unearthly.’

‘That is right! Quite right! Unearthly, you have it in one, she is heavenly! What a glow in her cheeks! Have you been running? No, no, do not tell me, have some wine, you will have wine?’ She splashed the red liquor into a fine goblet and thrust it forward to Anne. ‘What do you think, darling? Do you like it?’

Anne, used to weak beer, sipped, and made a face. Too sweet for her. ‘No? You don’t have to drink it, you know, perhaps you’ll like it better when you’re older.’

‘Do you know, I’d like to see her in a pretty dress, do you agree?’ Hendrika looked to her ladies. ‘What have we here? You can find her something? Some pretty blue to match her glorious eyes? An outfit to show her what it’s like not to be a nun? Just for a moment? She needs to see her future need not be nun. Have we something small enough? Some stays? A nice skirt? We did not bring farthingales, did we, but we don’t need those? They’d be too big for you, you tiny creature, come now, come now, lay the things out here, on this day bed … ’

Hendrika bustled around the apartment, from room to room, opening trunks and chests, ordering her ladies about hither and thither, and they found twinkling jewels and feathers and fabrics and fancy containers of pins and brought them all to her.

‘Yes, come, come, ladies, get your things together and we’ll try to make a little Bruges lady. What do you say, Anne? Would you like to be a lady of Bruges? Anne de Bruges? How does that sound?’

Anne looked up at this giant above her, sparkling with ornaments, and tried to speak but she just could not. It all sounded fantastic and exactly as she’d dreamed or wanted without even knowing she had dreamed or wanted such a dream. She would love to go to Bruges. Anne de Bruges? She’d go anywhere with this iridescent creature. Why not a place called Bruges? It would be as good as any other. Better. But it couldn’t really happen. Could it?