Empty of stomach but full of emotion, Lydia lay in a crumpled heap on a pallet against the wall. James had slung his cloak over a chair and placed the chamber pot behind it to offer her some privacy for necessities. With a body devoid of food and liquid, she doubted she would need the chamber pot tonight. Sleep was what she needed but it would not come. Across the room, against the opposite wall, Antone sat on his pallet in a pool of candle light. His long fingers ran up and down the holes on the wooden flute he silently played. From time to time he would stop and jot down something in a little book like the one Sister Timothy had given her. Was he writing a song? Laid in a neat row at the foot of his pallet were his shawm, several small pipes, his transverse flute. a rebec and a viol he had made. Though Lydia knew almost nothing about music, she could recognize good craftsmanship when she saw it.

In the space between them was a hay mattress were the still bodies of James and Brother Matthew lay. Poor Brother Matthew drooled in his sleep. She could not tell if James was asleep. With her eyes half closed incase he was not, she watched Antone. She could not help but watch Antone. Every inch of her seemed strung tight. His very presence in the room tugged at her in the most alarming way. He was a temptation, a temptation she feared she would not, could not resist. Always she had scorned the Nobles at Romsey Abbey for their preoccupation with males, but then she had not known one could make her feel like this. It was a very strange sensation, wonderful and terrible at the same time.

Antone's candle guttered out. Darkness obliterated him. Softly he swore, "Damn." Lydia heard him snuggle down under his blanket. Soon his breathing slowed. For a long while she listened to the intake and outtake of his breath.

*

At first light Brother Matthew announced, "Dame Paston wants us to visit Saint Rachel's. It has some slivers of wood from Saint Peter's cross. I hear the memento is a cross made from the Cedars of Lebanon."

Lydia put on her pilgrim's robe as did James and Brother Matthew. To her surprise, Antone put on his own shabby coat. He was going with them! Excitement raced in her viens. He smiled at her and she had to look away lest he see her blush.

Outside they made their way to the church. Above them the gulls soared and mewed in the clear sky over Calais. Their wings sliced through the cold blue. Brother Matthew lead them to a small church made of gray granite with a slate roof. It reminded Lydia very much of Father Peter's church. Once inside the church the resemblance was even greater. This too was a plain church without fancy paintings or colored glass. It was also dark. When Lydia took her seat on the pew, she sniffed the air. The candles on the altar were wax, but not just any wax, they smelled like Aunt Rachel's bees' wax. The perfect tapers looked like Fader's work. Often Fader made trips to sell his candles. From Southampton, to London to Paris, to Troyes and Dijon he traveled. Were the altar candles his work or possibly her own? She knew one thing for sure, they definitely were not Jacob's.

Mass proceeded. The church, the candles, the soft voice of the old priest brought those she loved both living and dead very close, Father Peter, Old Kate, her half sisters, Aunt Rachel and especially her Moder. Had Moder sat in this church when she traveled from Paris to Southampton? Poor Moder, younger than Lydia, she had been when she had married Fader. By God's grace, Lydia had made it to her 14th year without being bound to a man. If she were were fortunate she would make it to her 15th as well. She glanced at Antone on the other side of James. His eyes were fixed straight ahead. Her body grew warmer and restlessness filled her. What was this sensation? Was this love? Did love make one feel sick and breathless and gloriously happy all at once?

When Lydia went forward to receive Eucharist she opened her mouth. The priest lay the Host upon her tongue. The Host did not go down well, nor did it sit well on her upset stomach.

After the service, Brother Matthew crossed number five off Dame Paston's list. At the door he bought them cedar cross mementos. He breathed in the scent of the tiny cross and frowned. "Smells the same as the pine trees back home." He pinned Lydia's cross on her robe. She now had five mementos, only 27 to go. The last would be the one she received at Saint Peter's in Rome. They stepped out onto the street.

An older woman came out of the church. On her arm was the flaxen young woman from the night before. The instant Antone saw her, he lit up like a hearth fire. His smile traveled slowly and sensuously across his lips. The wench returned his smile. He said, "May I escort Madame and Madamoiselle back to the Inn?"

So, this was why he had come to Mass. Angry though she was with him, Lydia could not take her eyes off of him. His gaze was so focused it seemed that flaxen haired bitch was the only person in the world. How did he do that? She felt James nudge her elbow. Blast it all, he had seen her gaping again! With head down, she walked back to the Inn.

*

Antone did not join them for breakfast. He and the bitch and the older woman dined together. With expert grace he charmed the women. It took everything Lydia had not to stare. Unable to eat, she excused herself. Before she could leave the table, James asked, "Are you not hungry?"

"Nay."

"You really should eat."

She grabbed a roll off the table, acted as if she intended to eat it and left. Upstairs in their room Antone's pallet was made. His instruments were in his pack. His shawm and transverse flute stuck out of it. Against her will, she went to his pack. Her hand of its own accord, or so it seemed, touched the mouth peice of the shawm. A strange and sickening thrill went through her. His lips... She withdrew her hand. This was stupid and she was not thinking clearly. Upset with herself, Lydia bolted from the room. She ran down the servant stairs. Swiftly, she made her way across the yard to the stable. Once inside her eyes darted from stall to stall looking for Moses Aaron. From a far stall he nickered at her. She ran to him. He nodded at her and pulled a wisp of hay from his manger. Mangers held hay and Baby Jesus, according to scripture. Lydia slipped into the stall and flung her arms around his neck. She pressed her forehead against sleek coat. The tears she had been holding back since yesterday began fall.

Moses Aaron turned his head toward her. Softly, he nickered softly. The sound was comforting. He gazed at her with his great liquid eyes. Kindness radiated from him. Lydia did not understand why Brother Matthew hated him so. She pulled the roll out of her cloak and fed it to him.

The stable door banged open. Brother Matthew's voice called out, "Luke, are you in here?"

"I am with Moses Aaron."

"Fine company he makes."

"Indeed he does." Gently, Lydia ran her hand along the mule's neck and whispered, "Thank you."

Brother Matthew climbed up on the stall door. He frowned at Moses Aaron. "So do you have Luke thinkin' you are a sweetie, you old sod? Soon Moses Aaron will reveal his true self just as we all do."

Lydia remained silent. What would Brother Matthew do when her true self was revealed?

*

The morning passed slowly. The wind was not too bad. Moses Aaron was going at a slow trot. James tried to urge him on, but but the mule ignored him. Irritated James growled, "Go at your own pace then, you old sod!"

"He always does," said Brother Matthew.

For the better part of the afternoon, Moses Aaron maintained his speed. Then, for reason's known only to the mule, he came to an abrupt stop. No amount of pleading from James or cursing from Antone could get the mule to budge.

Angrily, Brother Matthew jumped off the cart. "I have a letter for Monsieur Seton. And I am sure he would give us lodging for the night. According to Dame Paston, he has the best cook in all of Flanders. Thrash this old beggar so we can be off."

James shook his head. "Nay, thrashing never did no good with this one. Sometimes he knows a thing. Perhaps there is danger on the road."

Brother Matthew rolled his eyes.

Lydia volunteered to take Moses Aaron to a creek she could hear running near by. While he drank, Lydia relieved herself. She did not tip over or dampen her clothes. It was a small victory. While she was gone a group of four friars had joined James, Antone and Brother Matthew. There was not a single female in the group for Antone to flirt with. At least she would be spared that spectacle. Lydia tethered Moses Aaron to a tree, pulled out her own comb and began to comb through his mane. He seemed to like it.

James built a small fire. He passed bread and drink around. After everyone was served, he broke away from the group and came to her. "Have you eaten anything today?"

He was worse than a mother hen! She smiled brightly and said, "The Host," hoping to discourage further questions.

"That is all?" James eyes narrowed.

"It is enough."

"No it is not." His voice became gentle, "If you do not eat, you will get sick. Please." He held out a hunk of bread and a cup. His eyes pled with her. Though she did not want to eat or drink, she took what was offered. The bread was soft and the cup held apple cider. When James did not leave, she took a sip of the cider hoping it would make him go. It did not. She took a small bite of bread. He remained rooted. Damn! He meant to watch her until she finished. It took all her resolve to drink, eat, swallow and not have her eyes stray to Antone. After she swallowed the last bite, James said, "Come, sit by the fire. You need to warm yourself."

"I would rather stay here," she said quietly. "At least until my food settles."

"All right, but do not stay long."

Lydia nodded. As James back to the men, she saw Antone take his rebec out of his pack. He placed it against his chest and pulled the bow across its strings. A perfect strain of music peirced the silence and then he began to sing. His voice was uncommonly sweet. His music wove into the night. It reached out to Lydia and wrapped around her. A terrible ache and longing tore through her. Again tears came to her eyes. She pressed her hot face against Moses Aaron's neck. This was torture. Glorious torture. James' words from the previous evening echoed in her brain, "... he seems to be able to locate a pretty girl, no matter how cleverly she is disguised. If he does detect you, please do not be taken in by his charms. He will play with you and then forget you."

Would he play her as sweetly as he played the rebec? Did he play all women the same? Would that she did not feel this. Deep down she knew James was right in his assessment of his nephew. And yet, and yet, she could not help but wonder...and hope.