The Marsh King's Daughter by Elizabeth Chadwick Page A

his forelock to her in passing, and limped back towards the shore and the illusion of royal gold.
     

    Stifling a yawn, Miriel shifted her buttocks on the hard wood of the choir stall and repeated the words of the service after the priest. She knew them by rote. Even if her mind was unwilling, her memory had absorbed the chants with ease. Each phrase intoned was a step closer to the end of the night's prayer in the chapel and the first of two welcome visits to the rectory. Even though breakfast was only barley porridge made with water, and ale to drink, her stomach growled ravenously. There was never enough to eat.
    he glanced towards the east window above the altar, but jewelled tints of the glass were dark, as yet unlit by the dawn. The prospect of her first winter at St Catherine's filled with dread. Already the threat of chilblains prickled toes and her voice rose toward the rafters on clouds misty breath.
    Beside her, one of the other novices, Sister Adela, had fallen asleep, her head lolling sideways. Before Miriel could nudge her, the girl was noticed by Sister Euphemia. Instead of a dig in the ribs, Sister Adela received a stinging rap across the knuckles from Euphemia's willow switch. The young novice jerked upright, stifling a cry between her teeth. Tears brimmed in her eyes.
    Miriel felt a surge of anger and sympathy. On numerous occasions she had been the victim of that switch. The smallest misdemeanour was cause enough for Euphemia to bring it whistling down. Now that the nun no longer had Miriel for a scapegoat, she was testing out the other novices to find a fresh victim.
    Euphemia met Miriel's disgusted stare with one of malice and challenge. The wand twitched in her hand, but she did not lean over to use it. As of two days ago, the Abbess's intervention had given Miriel a certain immunity.
    A reluctant dawn brightened the window above the high altar and St Catherine was martyred on her wheel in the gemstone colours of the glass stainer's art. Less than exalted, but feeling sympathy for the saint's plight, Miriel raised her voice and joined the chants. As the service ended, the priest exhorted the nuns to pray for the souls of the wayfarers lost on the estuary and for the recovery of the young man lying sick with fever in their infirmary.
    Miriel bowed her head, clasped her hands and prayed. The previous evening, after vespers, she had tried to speak with Nicholas, but there had been no opportunity. Sister Margaret had kept her busy with errands and other patients, and when finally there had been a brief moment, he had been lost in feverish sleep, his brow as hot as a coal to her touch.
    'Please, by Your great mercy, let him live,' she entreated, but was answered by nothing more than the hollow voice of the priest echoing against the painted stone columns.
    The service completed, the nuns departed the choir stalls and walked in procession to the lavatorium to wash before they breakfasted.
    'I'll get you some salve for your knuckles from the infirmary cupboard,' Miriel murmured to Adela as they stood side by side at the long stone trough.
    Adela steeped her hands in the icy water and shook her head. 'It was my own fault; I sinned in falling asleep. Sister Euphemia was right to chastise me.'
    Miriel rolled her eyes. 'She was just looking for an opportunity. She can't keep that stick to herself. One day I'm going to snatch it out of her hands and shove it—' Miriel broke off as Sister Euphemia herself bore down on the two young women like a large black crow.
    'No unnecessary talk,' she hissed. The stick jerked in her grasp.
    'No, sister.' Adela hung her head and swished the water with trembling hands.
    Miriel said nothing, knowing that her reply would likely result in a sharp rap across her own knuckles and yet another bitter confrontation.
    With chewing jaw, Euphemia moved on. Adela's breath escaped on a furtive gasp of relief.
    'Shove it up her fat backside,' Miriel concluded, watching the nun waddle down the