A Mummers' Play by Jo Beverley Page B

punctuated by outright war, had ruled England for all the eighteen years of her life, but that life had been spent in Rosewell Nunnery, so how could she create such scenes? By day she prayed earnestly for peace, so how could she dream of war so vividly by night?
    Every clash of weapons rang in her ears, every squeal of angry horses, every thud of blows. Leather squeaked, metal jangled and the stink of men and horses buffeted her. Hooves cut clods from the ground, and horses breathed like bellows. When these dreams had begun the horses had spewed steam into frosty air and the men had also clouded the air as they howled with pain or roared in triumph. It was summer now, however, and the air swirled with dust and fury.
    Then a chunk of earth whipped past her face and she realized she was much closer to the fighting than ever before.
    Too close!
    She tried to raise her arms to shield her face, tried to stumble back out of danger. It didn’t work. It never did. In these dreams, she was as powerless to move as if paralyzed.
    A horse’s massive backside swung in her direction. She flinched from its flailing tail and the shod hooves that could kill if it chose to kick. She heard screams nearby. She’d scream, too, but she could no more make a sound than she could move.
    Now she was willing to escape.
    Wake up! Wake up!
    She remained frozen in place, her eyes unalterably fixed on one warrior, and could only pray.
    Lord have mercy.
    Christ have mercy. . . .
    It was a dream. It had to be. No one could be killed in a dream.
    Holy Mary, pray for me.
    Saint Michael the archangel, pray for me.
    But then she wondered if this was punishment. Punishment for her sinful attraction to her knight, and for her secret longing to escape, to explore the world beyond Rosewell.
    Saint Gabriel, pray for me.
    Saint—
    A great rattling thump jolted the litany out of her mind.
    A man bellowed.
    Someone had come off his horse. Had that been a death cry?
    Not her knight, at least. Not her knight. He fought on, but now against a huge, grunting man.
    All angels and archangels, pray for him!
    Saint Joseph, pray for him. . . .
    He was being driven closer to where she stood. Despite the danger Gledys’s frightened breathing changed to a pant of excitement. Would she finally see something of his face? Closer, closer, come closer. . . .
    This longing was surely the worst sin of all, but she surrendered to it now, murmuring unholy prayers.
    But even when he was almost on top of her she could tell little. Beneath his helmet, a hood came down on his forehead, a front part rising up on his chin, and the helmet had a piece that extended down over his nose. She could see only lean cheeks and bared teeth. Was she imagining a pleasing countenance? He wheeled his horse so that his back was to her, and she glimpsed missing teeth in the snarling red mouth of his opponent. The bigger man landed a hard blow on her knight’s arm, causing him to stagger to one side.
    Gledys screamed and tried to run to him, but she was still frozen. Her knight fought on, turning his shield into a weapon, slamming his opponent’s sword hand with it and kicking him with a mailed boot. His horse joined in with hooves and teeth, and the din made Gledys want to cover her ears.
    How had that blow to his arm not maimed him?
    How is it that he can fight on so fiercely?
    She realized that she’d closed her eyes, and forced them open, dreading what she’d see. Somehow, her knight’s opponent had been unhorsed, but the big man scrambled to his feet and unhooked a mighty ax from his saddle. An ax! Her knight leapt off his horse to face him, laughing.
    Laughing?
    Yes, laughing!
    Was he mad?
    Mad or not, he was beautiful, even sheathed in gray metal. So tall and broad shouldered, and moving as if burdened by nothing but a shirt, leaping away from another attack on strong, agile legs. It must be a mortal sin to think of a man’s legs, but she’d pay the price in hell.
    Be Saint Michael, she