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in their way? No, it lay far from any route they might take to the capital. And Edith Hart, freshly widowed, her sons too young to protect her? What would she find? Eleanor chewed her lip. We must hold firm, she told herself. We must be rocks in the flood.
    Eleanor looked at Friar Bungay. His long, kind face was tense, the tip of his nose cherry-red from the cold.
    “Was I wrong to believe we shouldn’t take sides?” she asked. “I even had the nerve to lecture the Countess of Warwick.”
    The friar gave her a sharp look. “My lady, it’s human nature to take sides – which means it’s probably a vice to be resisted. Both sides claim that the Creator favours them. However, He has not revealed His will to me.”
    He spoke sardonically. Eleanor gave a hard smile. “Judging by his past record, he’s as likely to confide in a humble friar as in anyone.”
    “Henry should have been a monk, not a king,” said Thomas Copper in disgust. “It’s a weak king that brought us all this trouble.”
    Eleanor thought of Edith’s son Raphael, proud and grief-stricken in the snow, lecturing her about loyalty. “How can I give support to either? I can never pay lip-service to Lancaster, who unleash hoards of savages upon us.”
    “And think how popular it will make them,” put in Friar Bungay.
    “Still, to bind myself to York, just when Marguerite is victorious, would be utter folly.”
    “I wouldn’t dare suggest that you abide by your husband’s counsel,” said the friar. He spoke lightly, but she gave him a glance hot enough to blast the flesh from his bones.
    “I would, gladly, if it were not my husband’s counsel that brought us to this sorry state. Since we have no money, no arms and few men, we’re of no consequence to either faction. All I want is to hold what is ours! John’s devotion to York has all but ruined us. Yet I don’t blame him, I understand… Yesterday I believed the Motherlodge should stay aloof. Now, I don’t know. I was annoyed with Anne, who wants to turn our sacred meetings to political ends, even knowing full well that is not our purpose. And that we’re forbidden to practise magic. Yet is she wrong?”
    Kate stirred. “Why are we forbidden to practise magic, Mama?” Her blue eyes were bright within the fur hood.
    “Because certain ignorant people believe us to be dangerous. Unfortunately, those people make the laws. Perhaps they’re right to fear us. Some would like to ban the Motherlodge entirely, but they can’t have things all their own way. We’re still here.”
    “And we do practise magic,” said Kate.
    “Only for healing.” Eleanor put a finger to her lips. “Kate, never say such things in front of a priest.”
    The girl glanced at the friar, confused. “Sorry, Mama, I thought…”
    “It’s all right. I know just two who are safe; one our village priest, the other Friar Bungay. Creator knows how he manages it, but he walks in both worlds.”
    “And one day I’ll get my tail burned in both, no doubt,” said Bungay. “I see no reason why different ways can’t coexist, as they used to.” He tended to mumble. Eleanor strained to hear him above hoofbeats and the moaning wind. “Mine is not a popular view with the church hierarchy, however.”
    “Do they know you live a dual life?”
    “It’s not discussed. I’m tolerated as long as I do nothing blatant.”
    “Such as sorcery to aid one side in battle?” said Eleanor. “That’s what Anne Beauchamp would like.”
    They all looked at her, their eyes thirsty… not for revenge, Eleanor thought, but for survival.
    “If she got her way, it would change the nature of the Motherlodge,” said Martha.
    Eleanor thought of their goddess, Great Mother Auset, the Serpent of Wisdom whose body was the earth. The night sky was her cloak, the moon and sun her crown. No god stood above her. Auset was life and death, mercy and vengeance; everything. Why would she care about the petty politics of humans? Yet a little of her