It took a good part of another day, sailing east and then a little north, before land came into view again. There were cliffs and breakers, and beyond them a rolling, rising, green hill dotted with groves of oak and beech. There was a long, low building set high, and a tower with a cross. It seemed we were to shelter there overnight before going on.

It was a house of women; holy sisters, dedicated like Father Brien to the Christian faith, but living together communally, unlike my solitary friend. What they thought of our sudden appearance on their doorstep was hard to tell. It seemed they knew Lord Hugh, whom they treated with some respect, almost deference. Quite soon, I was bundled off inside and the men retired to some other area to await refreshment. John had carried me up from the landing; the good sisters took one look at me and ordered him to hand me into their care. As they took me away, I looked around wildly for my bag; it had been on the boat, I knew that, but in my sickness I had forgotten it. There must be no neglect of my task from now on, the Fair Folk had made this plain. Where were my three shirts of starwort? They must be kept safe, that was the only thing that really mattered. Swans could die so easily; the huntsman’s arrow, the jaws of the wolf, the bite of winter. How could I have left this so long? As the sisters led me away, I strained to look back over my shoulder. The men were just leaving the building. As he went out the door, Red turned back for a moment. He met my rather wild look, and gestured to where he had my small pack tucked into the top of his own. Then he was gone. Within the cloisters, only women could come. We would see the men later, the sister informed me, at the evening meal. Now I must come with her, for, the twitch of her nose told me, I was in serious need of cleaning up.

I was sick and exhausted. I let them pour warm water over me, and wash me from head to toe, exclaiming at the way my bones stuck through the flesh, at my damaged hands, noting with tight lips my other injuries, not yet fully healed, questioning me kindly but shrewdly about who I was and where I came from. They washed my hair with rosemary oil and rinsed it with lavender. They found me a homespun gown and a girdle, and they fed me bread and milk while a young novice with a fresh, rosy complexion undertook the long and thankless task of combing out my hair. They were careful not to let me eat too much; I myself knew well the effect this might have on one long starved of proper nourishment. After this I rested, with my newly braided hair down my back, and my clean clothes harsh and uncomfortable against my skin. Gradually the world stopped wheeling and turning around me, and my stomach settled. For a while a tranquil-browed sister sat by me, but when she thought I slept, she left me alone in the tiny whitewashed cell, with a plain cross of ash wood its only ornament. I could not sleep but lay there thinking; and later I got up and went out into the garden which now lay dim and peaceful in twilight. It was well tended, with culinary herbs in neat hedges, with flowers for drying and vegetables for the table keeping harmonious company in its narrow space. I was happier sitting there on the earth among the cabbages, my hands around my knees. It had been a long time since I had slept inside.