Page 61 of Wolfehound
“You remember when she came here,” he said. “You said she was brought by someone bearing a de Wolfe standard.”
The mother prioress nodded. “Indeed,” she said. “I remember it well.”
“You said she spoke when she came here,” he said. “How old do you think she was?”
The mother prioress and Wentliane looked at one another as if they could help each other remember. “She was speaking words, so she had seen at least two years,” the mother prioress said. “She could say words like ‘milk’ and ‘mama.’”
Tyrus looked at the young nun. “Do you remember your mama?”
For the first time since sitting down, Wentliane didn’t look so frightened. Having the mother prioress next to her helped, but Tyrus’s question had her thinking, going back in the mists of her memory to her very earliest recollections.
“I think so,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I remember an apron. A woman with an apron. When you are small, things like aprons are right in front of your face because you are short, so aprons and knees… they are right in front of your eyes. I also remember other children. Many other children.”
“Who were they?” Tyrus asked.
Wentliane shook her head. “I do not know,” she said. “In truth, I do not know if I dreamed them or if I remember them. It was so long ago. I think they were brothers and sisters.”
“What else do you remember about them?”
Wentliane shrugged. “I am not certain,” she said. “A big table. Many people around it. I remember sitting in dirt and I think I was pulling on carrots. As I said, I do not know if I dreamed the memories or if they are actual recollections. But I feel as if my mother loved me. And then I came here. I have memories of a fishpond here, and I liked to watch the fish.”
The mother prioress smiled, displaying her yellowed teeth. “We do have a fishpond and I fished you out of it many times,” she said, watching Wentliane grin. “You liked to get into the pond with the fish.”
As the two of them shared a humorous memory, Tyrus found himself fixing on what the young woman had said.I feel as if my mother loved me.According to Canterbury, Gwenllian of Wales never knew her mother. The woman had died in childbirth. So many things weren’t making sense. Tyrus had come to investigate whether or not Gwenllian was actually at Sempringham Priory, and he could now say, with a strong degree of certainty, that the woman before him wasn’t the Welsh princess. Too many things were off.
“One more question,” he said, looking at the mother prioress. “This may sound like an odd question, but I am serious when I ask it. When Wentliane came to Sempringham, did she have black hair?”
The mother prioress immediately shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “It was dark brown, but it lightened over the years. It has red in it now also.”
“You can confirm that it was never black.”
“Nay, never. Why?”
Tyrus shook his head. “No particular reason,” he said. “Something I’d heard once, but I must have been mistaken. I will not take up any more of your time. I am satisfied that the princess is healthy and content.”
“She is,” the mother prioress said. “You will report back to the archbishop?”
Tyrus stood up from the table, nodding his head. “I will,” he said. “I believe he will want to send more money to help support Wentliane, but I will tell him that you have done a fine job of it.”
The mother prioress stood up, Wentliane next to her. “I am grateful,” she said. “May I send Wentliane back to her duties now?”
“Aye.”
The young woman fled, out into the garden where the vegetables weren’t nearly as frightening as a big knight. When she was gone and Tyrus was turning for the door, the mother prioress caught up with him.
“Is something amiss?” she said seriously. “You asked her many questions about her early memories. Has something happened?”
Tyrus shook his head. “Nay,” he said. “It was conversation and nothing more. And also to confirm that she was the child brought here by the de Wolfe men.”
“She is,” the mother prioress confirmed. “I assure you, she is.”
“And I shall inform the archbishop,” Tyrus said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
The mother prioress simply nodded. She walked with him in silence back into the church, pausing at the door as he continued on, heading outside to collect his horse. The last vision Tyrus had of the old woman was of her lifting a hand to him in farewell.
He lifted a hand in return.
But, as sure as he knew that he was alive and breathing, he knew she’d been duped. The entire priory had been duped, and the king included, into thinking the woman known as Wentliane was, in fact, Gwenllian of Wales. Tyrus was willing to stake his life on the fact that she was not. That meant his next stop was Folkingham Castle.
