by Alys Clare
It was time for a change of subject. Slipping her arm through his, she walked him round the small clearing beside the hut, showing him what she was doing, and telling him what she was planning.
He nodded. ‘You’ll want to live here, when Jehan comes to join you?’ he asked.
‘Some of the time, yes.’ That was not strictly honest. ‘Well, most of the time, I expect.’ Quickly, before he should be hurt, she went on, ‘Jehan will need to work, and I told him about the spot beyond the old charcoal burners’ camp, where once there was a forge. There’s water there, where the stream runs down a short fall, and, of course, endless wood.’
‘It’s Hawkenlye Abbey land,’ Josse remarked.
‘Yes, it is. I’m going to see Abbess Caliste, to ask her what she thinks about having her own blacksmith on the doorstep.’
‘We could do with a forge here,’ he said.
She smiled to herself. She’d been rather hoping he’d see it that way. ‘So, if the idea is acceptable to the abbey, then Jehan will need to live close by, and I – we thought maybe we’d repair the old smithy’s cottage, and sort of divide our time between there and here. Oh, and of course we’d come often to see you all, at the House in the Woods.’
He was silent for quite a long time. Then he said, ‘I keep forgetting you’re not a girl any more.’
She guessed that was acceptance, in a way, of her right and her need to make her own life in her own home. She reached out for his hand, clasping it in both of hers. ‘I’m still your girl,’ she said softly. ‘Always will be.’
He was frowning, and she wasn’t sure if he had heard. ‘I still don’t like it that your Jehan let you come all the way back here from wherever it was you landed in England!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘It’s not safe on the roads nowadays for a woman on her own. He should have brought you back, before he set off on this – this – whatever it is.’
She felt the anger surge up inside her. She drew a breath, then another. She thought she heard a quiet voice in her head say: He is your father. It is his right to be concerned for you.
She said calmly, ‘Jehan doesn’t let me do anything, Father. I have made him no promise of obedience, and he respects my ability to make my own decisions.’ Before he could reply, she hurried on. ‘As for not being safe on the roads, I totally agree, which is why I didn’t travel on the roads.’ His sudden intake of breath suggested he understood, but she explained anyway. ‘The route by which I travelled home, from the little port where our boat dropped us, passes largely through woodland and forest. For those who know the hidden ways, it’s easy. And I met friends along the route – so, you see, I was perfectly safe,’ she finished.
He grunted, and she decided to take it for assent.
They walked together back to where he had tethered Alfred. She sensed he was still not entirely happy, and wondered which of the things they had discussed was on his mind. It hurts me when he’s sad, she thought.
Acting instantly on the idea that had just popped into her head, she hurried over to her hut, checked briefly that all was in order inside, and grabbed her cloak. It was a present from Jehan, made of fine, soft wool, deep silvery-grey in colour, and the hood was lined with reddish-grey fur. Jehan had told her the fur was vair, and came from the squirrel’s thick winter coat. He also confessed that the garment wasn’t actually new, but had once belonged to his grandmother, who had missed the warmth of her native land. New or not, Meggie loved it.
She ran back to Josse. He looked at her enquiringly.
‘The sky’s clear, so it’ll be cold tonight,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got very much firewood till I have the chance to collect more. May I come back to the House in the Woods with you?’
His grin seemed to split his face.
Sabin had arrived at Josse d’Acquin’s house to be met with the distressing news that everyone was out. The glum-looking man who had given the information stood in the yard looking up at her, as if waiting for her to make the next move.
‘It’s really important!’ she said.
He seemed to consider the matter for quite a long time. ‘You’re the sheriff of Tonbridge’s wife?’
‘Yes.’ She had already told him, and surely he knew anyway?
‘You can wait within,’ he said eventually. Having made the momentous decision, he seemed to soften a little. ‘I’ll tend to your horse, Mistress. Go you on in, and I’ll get Ella to mend the fire.’
Quite soon, she was sitting in Josse’s hall, in a big carved chair that she guessed was his, with her feet in front of a blazing fire that was really too hot for the mild day and a mug of very good ale in her hand. Now, all she could do was wait.
They were good people, Josse’s household, she realized some time later. The servants had made her welcome – a woman who said to call her Tilly had brought her some cakes, and a man called Gus, whom Sabin was sure she recognized, appeared from time to time to make sure she was all right. Then the family began to return: Josse’s son, Geoffroi; Ninian and Eloise; Helewise. Each of them greeted her warmly.
None of them was the person she was so desperate to see.
When at last Josse came into the hall, he was speaking over his shoulder to someone following him in. Forgetting her manners in her huge relief, Sabin leapt up, gathered up her skirts and rushed over. Virtually ignoring Josse’s courteous welcome, she took Meggie’s hands in hers and hissed, ‘I’ve got to talk to you! I think I’ve done something terrible.’
‘What do you think she’s doing here?’ Josse said.
The rest of the household had retired for the night. He and Helewise were sitting beside the hearth, sharing the last of Tilly’s jug of spiced wine.
‘I have no idea,’ Helewise replied calmly. ‘To be honest, I’m not really much concerned.’
‘Not like you,’ he observed. ‘Usually you want to know every last thing about everyone’s comings and goings.’
She smiled. ‘Perhaps I’m learning to be less nosy.’
He considered that. ‘I wouldn’t say you’d ever been nosy.’ He glanced across at her. ‘Bossy and inclined to believe you knew best, maybe.’
‘Ah, when I used to be an abbess, yes. Now that I’m not, I no longer have to be omnipotent.’
A companionable silence fell. A log settled in the huge hearth, sending up a glitter of little sparks. ‘You did right to get Gus to ride down to Tonbridge when you discovered Sabin had turned up,’ Helewise said after a while. ‘I don’t know why,’ she went on, lowering her voice, ‘but I have the distinct feeling that, until he got your message, Gervase wouldn’t have known where his wife was.’
‘I thought that, too,’ Josse murmured back.
‘It was Meggie she was so keen to see,’ Helewise mused. ‘You weren’t here, but, without being actually rude, Sabin managed to make it perfectly clear that the rest of us were of no more use to her than the flags of the floor.’
Josse thought about that. ‘They both follow the same calling,’ he said. ‘In all likelihood, Sabin wants Meggie’s advice as a fellow healer.’
‘If so,’ Helewise said slowly, ‘then it must surely be a difficult or an important case – perhaps both – for Sabin to have come hurrying up here to seek out Meggie, without being sure she would even be here.’
‘You’re right,’ Josse said, frowning. ‘In fact, had I not decided, on a whim, to call and see Meggie, and had it not promised to be a cold night, Sabin’s mission would have been in vain, because Meggie would have been at the hut.’ He paused, then said, very quietly, ‘I wouldn’t dare tell even a friend such as Sabin de Gifford where Meggie’s hut is, unless Meggie told me I could.’
‘Oh, neither would I!’ Helewise agreed. ‘Goodness, I’m not even going to imagine her reaction if we did!’
They sat for a while, happily silent. Then, remembering his conversation with Abbess Caliste, Josse said, ‘A name cropped up today that is not often spoken: Lord Robert Wimarc of Wealdsend. You know of him, I believe?’
Slowly Hel
ewise nodded. ‘Indeed. Many years ago, I even met him briefly. One of his kinsmen was treated in Hawkenlye’s infirmary – by Sister Euphemia herself – and the man must have been important to the old lord, for he rode down to the abbey to thank the nuns for their good care.’ She smiled. ‘He gave a generous donation, too.’
‘What did you think of him?’
‘Oh, Josse, we only exchanged a handful of words, and it was, as I said, a long time ago. He was stern, unsmiling, with little joy about him, yet I had the impression that he was a man of strong morality. A …’ She paused, frowning. ‘A straight man, if that makes sense?’
‘Aye, it does,’ Josse said. ‘How did he come by his manor?’
‘They say his forefather fought with the Conqueror, and, like so many, was rewarded with a house and estate that had formerly belonged to one of the conquered. There had long been a stronghold at Wealdsend,’ she went on, more fluently now as memory returned, ‘right back into the ancient past, for it is well placed, on the northern edge of the High Weald. The prudent men who originally built a dwelling place there sited it wisely, for, whilst it is itself sheltered in a fold of the hills, its tower commands a view right over the valley.’
‘You speak as if you had seen it for yourself,’ Josse remarked.
She glanced at him. ‘I did visit, yes, but that was even further back in time, when I was wed to Ivo. Lord Robert was still in his prime then.’ She sighed. ‘As was I,’ she murmured.
Josse picked up the jug, leaning across to her. ‘Oh, you’re not so bad, even now.’ She gave a quiet chuckle. ‘Help me with the last drops,’ he said, sharing them out between their two mugs. ‘Then I reckon it’s time for bed.’
Sabin, offered a comfortable cot set close alongside Meggie’s, waited until the house appeared to have settled. Then she hissed into the darkness, ‘Are you still awake?’
She heard Meggie sigh and roll over. ‘Yes.’
‘Will you help me?’
‘You haven’t told me yet what you want me to do.’
Quietly, muttering so fast that she wasn’t entirely sure she was making sense, Sabin explained.
When she had finished, Meggie gave a low whistle. ‘Dear God, Sabin!’
‘Oh, I know it’s nothing to do with you, and I’ve no right to involve you,’ Sabin said, her panic rising again, ‘but I don’t know where else to turn. I thought you might be willing to give me the benefit of your experience, but if not, tell me, and I’ll—’
‘Stop,’ Meggie interrupted gently. ‘I will help you, Sabin.’
Sabin breathed a quiet prayer of thanks.
‘So, what do you suggest we do?’ Meggie asked.
Now that the moment had arrived, Sabin faltered. It was such a lot to ask, and, after all, she didn’t know Meggie that well. They were certainly not what could be called close friends. But she’d been over and over it, and had come to the conclusion that this was the only sure way.
She took a deep breath and told Meggie exactly what sort of help she wanted from her.
FOUR
As darkness fell at Hawkenlye Abbey, Abbess Caliste sat in her great chair with her head in her hands, overwhelmed with troubles. Apart from the endless problem of how to run an abbey meant to help people when there was no money, she was deeply anxious at the frightening, unnerving rumours, which, just then, were all anyone seemed to want to talk about.
A soft tap on the door halted the long trail of her depressing thoughts. Relieved at the interruption, she called out, ‘Come in!’
Sister Liese stepped into the little room, closing the door quietly behind her. She did everything quietly, Caliste reflected absently, as if she was perpetually considering the comfort of a sleeping patient. ‘What can I do for you, Sister?’ she asked, smiling. ‘It’s late, and you should surely be abed.’
‘The same observation might be made of you, my lady abbess,’ Sister Liese replied, returning the smile.
Caliste sighed. ‘Yes. I will retire soon.’ She raised her eyebrows enquiringly.
Taking the hint, the infirmarer came a step closer. ‘There’s a new patient who I’m very worried about,’ she began. ‘I need your advice, my lady.’
‘My advice?’
‘Oh, not concerning the treatment, although, in the dear Lord’s name, I hardly know how best to help …’ She stopped and, with a brisk shake of her head, resumed. ‘The truth is, I am very afraid that this patient brings grave danger with her. If I may, I will tell you all about her, and why her presence here worries me so much.’
Concerned, for it was rare for Sister Liese to seek her out to discuss a patient’s care, Caliste indicated the visitors’ chair and, when the infirmarer had settled, said, ‘Now, please explain.’
Sister Liese paused, presumably arranging her words, then said, ‘Her name’s Lilas, she’s old and quite frail, and she comes from a village called Hamhurst that’s on one of the main roads leading up from the coast. Apparently she had some sort of a vision – or maybe a visitation, I don’t know exactly – and she stood on the village green shouting something about a Winter King who was doomed to early death, and how the evils in the land wouldn’t come right till he was gone, and that all the omens we keep hearing about are God’s way of telling us that we’re all cursed for generations to come.’ She paused, shaking her head again as if in dismissal. ‘I’m not sure of the details, but whatever old Lilas was saying, it was dangerous talk. The headmen of the village were apparently on the point of stopping her when she collapsed in a swoon.’
‘It sounds as if that was just as well,’ Caliste said. The thought of someone saying such things aloud, with witnesses, was highly alarming.
‘Indeed, my lady. Anyway, it seems Lilas wasn’t quite right when she came out of her faint. Sometimes she spoke sense, but there were times when she apparently went back into her trance, and the villagers became frightened. They …’ Again, she broke off. ‘To cut a long story short – and, believe me, my lady, it is a very long story; probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened in Hamhurst since Noah was a lad, and they’re all making the most of it – in short, the village elders decided Lilas needed help, and they’ve brought her to us.’ She smiled grimly. ‘It’s a long way to come from Hamhurst, but, even in the state to which these times have reduced us, apparently folk in grave need still follow their instincts and turn to Hawkenlye.’
‘Can you help her?’ Caliste asked.
‘We can feed her, clean her, tuck her up in a bed and keep her safe while she raves and rambles, but if you mean can we heal her, the answer’s no, my lady.’
Caliste, aware of her infirmarer’s generous heart and strong instinct to care for all those brought into her care, was surprised at her tone. ‘You sound … If I did not know better, Sister Liese, I would say you sound almost out of patience with this woman.’
Sister Liese sighed deeply. ‘I am sorry, my lady. The truth is, I cannot for the life of me decide whether or not these wild words come from a true trance, or whether old Lilas is playing a clever game.’
‘A dangerous game, surely?’ Caliste said. ‘To voice such harsh criticism of – of the current situation, without the excuse of being deeply disturbed in one’s mind, is tantamount to inviting arrest and imprisonment.’ At the very least, she added silently.
‘Yes, I know,’ Sister Liese said, her face wrung with anxiety. ‘I keep telling myself that Lilas’s visions must be genuine. Then, when I’m with her, sitting holding her hand while the poor soul speaks all those dreadful words, her eyes wild with passion, sometimes I have the strange idea that she’s watching me – watching us all – and trying to gauge the effect she’s having.’
Caliste frowned. ‘I bow to your experience, Sister,’ she said, ‘and if you have doubts about this woman’s veracity, I will take them seriously.’ She stood up, and the infirmarer instantly did the same.
‘My lady?’ Sister Liese said. ‘Are you going to bed, at last?’
Caliste looked at her in su
rprise. ‘No, Sister! I’m coming with you to see your patient.’
The long infirmary was dark and quiet as the two nuns slipped inside. A nun sat at the far end, a single candle illuminating the area immediately around her. She stood up as Caliste and Sister Liese walked towards her, and the infirmarer motioned her to sit down again. Sister Liese led the way to a curtained recess at the far end of the room.
Caliste stood looking down at Lilas of Hamhurst. The old woman was awake, lying quite still with her eyes fixed on some point on the wall to her left. Caliste sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘What do you see?’ she asked softly. ‘Do your visions disturb you, Lilas?’
Lilas turned her head. ‘Who are you?’ she whispered. There was fear in her eyes.
‘My name is Caliste, and I am abbess here,’ Caliste said.
Lilas shot out a hand and grasped Caliste’s wrist. ‘I’ve been bad, my lady,’ she whispered. ‘I did have a vision – as God’s my witness, I did, I saw … I saw …’ Her face crumpled, and she whimpered in terror. ‘I saw terrible things, and the voices, they went on and on at me, telling me what would happen, saying the land was gone to the bad because we were all sinners, and the greatest of us were the worst sinners of all, and then – oh, I’m sorry, my lady!’ She pulled Caliste’s hand up to her face, kissing it over and over again.
I would send for a priest, if I could, Caliste thought. Here is a soul in torment, yet the solace of confession is not available to ease her suffering.
She would just have to do her best.
‘What have you done, Lilas?’ she asked quietly.
The old woman shot her a look. ‘I may have exaggerated a bit,’ she muttered. ‘I liked the attention, see. My neighbours, they all fussed round me, making me feel I was something special, and I thought, why not? I’d had one vision – I swear before God, I did! – and I reckoned that if I just repeated what I’d seen, and made as if I was under the spell again, the rest of the village would be impressed like my neighbours. Only … only …’ A sob broke out of her, shaking the narrow frame.
