Godiva by Nicole Galland Page B

was proud of her, she could tell, although he would not say so. “If mass felt more like that, I would be far more enthusiastic about going every morning. Easter Sunday shall be such a come-down after a dawn like this!”
    Leofric allowed himself a small smile. “I think Lyfing would be quite delighted to hear he has such an apt pupil. Although let us not mention it to any other bishop. I was surprised how much of that litany you knew.”
    â€œSo was I,” she said. “Although I am grateful I was not expected to know the priest’s parts; I have forgotten much of my Latin. Leofric, do let’s write Lyfing and tell him. Perhaps if he is well enough he could join us here for Easter. Think what that would do for the spirit of the villagers and farmers! And we could talk to him about Edgiva’s—”
    â€œLyfing is not a young man, Godiva, and his health is diminishing. Let us not burden him with extra duties when he can hardly carry out the ones he has now.”
    Godiva gave him a look. “You should at least speak to him, of all men, about the heregeld, how to best resist it. Let us see if he can come to Easter, or perhaps we can join him in Worcester if he is not well enough to travel. Let’s write to him tomorrow so we may sort it out in time.”
    â€œAs the lady of the fields wishes,” said Leofric, with a troubled smile.
    Now he would have nightmares about the razing of Worcester, she knew. She should not have mentioned it. “When the king gives an order, you must obey it,” she said.
    â€œDo not make that argument,” he said warningly. “That is no excuse for what happened. It has not always been that way. The Great Council had been very powerful under Harold and Canute. Harthacnut’s rule was tyranny and we should have resisted him. All three of us. If we had all three refused to attack the town—”
    â€œHe would have had all three of you assassinated, Leofric; he was that kind of man. Edward is no saint, but thank heavens, he is not the despot that his brother was.”
    â€œAmen,” said Leofric. He gave her a tired smile and rested a hand on her swaddled leg. “Yes, let us write to Lyfing tomorrow. It would do my heart good to have an actual friend in residence. Write Alfgar, too, and see if you can make him change his mind about his Easter plans.”
    â€œOf course I shan’t. Let him try his hand with this lady-friend, Leofric. I like the look in his eye when he speaks of her. A pity Edgiva is too far away to send for in time, though,” said Godiva.
    â€œPerhaps she can go to Hereford and celebrate with Sweyn,” Leofric suggested drily.
    Leominster
    S he had celebrated Matins for as long as she had memory, and loved how it seemed authentically to sanctify the start of the day. Yet now, in the aftermath of her great sin, it felt an alien artifice, and she seemed to view herself as from a great distance, sleepwalking through her duties and responsibilities as she herself hovered, waiting for a response from Bishop Lyfing to her plea for audience. Somehow she forced herself to rise to consciousness, and remain there, when at each Matins bells, Audry would enter her room with a candle, tap her feet, and reverentially chant, “Lord, ope my lips.” Without any expression Edgiva would fling down her blanket, climb out of bed in her long-sleeved shift, her stockings, and her undecorated girdle; fasten on her scapular, her cowl, her dark wimple and veil, pulling the veil down to meet her eyebrows; tie on her crucifix.
    Some Edgiva-looking stranger gave each morning’s circator a lantern to wave in the face of those weak-willed nuns whose attention drifted dreamward during Lauds and Prime; some other creature, whom the sisters all called Mother, led the meeting in the chapter house after morning mass, read aloud in her deep mellifluous voice the day’s chapter of the Rule, prayed for the dead,