‘I was to have been married to Julian this morning. How strange it seems to think of it now, as if it happened long ago, to someone else. This gown was the Countess’s made over for me.’ She lifted one of her hanging sleeves, and laughed, holding it up to her face to look through a great rent at him. ‘See, the wedding garment is turned into armour! One of the soldiers rode at me, and as he lifted his sword I flung up my arm, so! And the sleeve must have caught and turned his blade, for I felt it not.’
Amory took hold of the lower part of the sleeve, and pulled it down, so that it lay between them, she grasping one edge, and he the other. It seemed necessary to both that something should link them together. And thus they were sitting, close but not touching, looking at each other, when a boy ran in to say that a priest and a soldier were coming down from the castle.
‘Father Hilarion,’ said Amory, jumping to his feet, and wincing at the pain in his wounded leg. ‘If he should see Father Ambrose … we must get the friar away now, with the next batch of men.’ And he called for the architect.
‘Lean on me,’ said Joanna, pulling his arm over her shoulders, and firming her body against his. ‘Like this.’
‘It is not necessary. I can stand alone.’
‘I know it is not necessary,’ said Joanna, smiling up at him. ‘But since it is what we both want. …’
‘A hermit should not. …’
‘You do not look much like a hermit at the moment, my brave knight.’
‘I am a bad hermit, it is true, but I am under a vow to. …’
‘Not to be chaste!’ And here Joanna laughed, for she could read the desire in his eyes, and the struggle he was waging with himself not to pull her within his arms. She hung back on his arm, and half-closed her eyes, looking up at him. And he, delighting to feel her weight against the pull of his arm, compared her to Mariana, who had never offered herself to him like this. And his left arm managed to find its way properly around her waist, while he strove to deny the fact with his lips.
He bowed his head, and said, low down, that it must not be. Yet his arm stayed where it was. She put her hands one on either side of his face, and standing on tiptoe, kissed his forehead, once between the damp curls that clustered there, and once on that tell-tale lock of white hair.
‘I came here this morning to bring Elena money that you might leave. That was why I left the castle. Midge thought I was running away, to you. So let us do so, now, before the priest comes.’
‘No.’ With a sigh he straightened himself, and put her from him. ‘No, I am bound to obey him, until the church is finished … and indeed, I think my vow will only be redeemed with my death.’
It was at that moment that the priest entered, with Herkom at his heels. Both priest and soldier recoiled at the stench from the sick men within, but they did not withdraw. Amory called Kate to attend to her mistress, and made his slow way to where the priest stood by the door. The architect now came hurrying up, as did the master carpenter, Midge, Rob and Alice.
‘What now? Is the castle open to us?’ The priest shook his head.
‘Master,’ thus the architect to Amory. ‘Some fifty of our men are ready to go up the hill now, carrying twenty of the sick with them. They understand that they are to place themselves under John Blackbeard’s command, and remain at the old tower until further notice.’
‘Let them start off,’ said Amory. ‘And Father Ambrose must go with you, to tend the sick. I will give him directions as to their treatment.’
‘Stay,’ said Father Hilarion. ‘The sick men may go whither they will, but the able-bodied workmen must stay. The church and convent cannot be left defenceless.’
‘And are we then to stay and be slaughtered?’ inquired the much-tried architect. A growl of agreement followed from his men, crowding behind.
‘Not so,’ said the priest. ‘The hand of God will be over you. And you may, of course, defend yourselves, if the soldiers attack – though that is most unlikely.’
‘I suppose they were waving palm branches at us this morning!’ remarked a voice from the rear, and two or three of the men laughed. Several of them had bandaged limbs, and all showed signs of having been through an ordeal.
‘This place is not defensible,’ said Amory to Father Hilarion. ‘There are too many thatched roofs, no decent water, and no food. If we had access to the spring in the meadow at all times, and sufficient armed men on horseback, then we could possibly defend the convent against attack. I do not think we could keep firebrands out of the unfinished church, for the buildings around it, the workshops, kitchens and the like, are made of timber, and littered with timber, and would burn too easily.’
Herkom nodded. ‘That is quite true. Unless the Count will agree to let me bring our men out, this place cannot be held against attack. Tomorrow or the next day Sir Bevil will ride out again. …’
‘Say tonight or tomorrow at dawn,’ said Amory. ‘I have received word that he has been reinforced at the quarry. We must complete the evacuation of these buildings by dusk, and if the castle is not open to us, then we must needs retire to the old tower in the hills. It will be close quarters for so many, but we can make the place impregnable against attack. The bramble brakes shall act as our herb garden, to check the dysentery, and we have game from the forest, and sheep on the hillside, so that we may eat. Go on,’ he said to the architect. ‘I will follow later, with the last batch of men.’
‘You are not leaving,’ said Father Hilarion.
‘Am I not?’ There was a curl to Amory’s lip, almost of scorn.
‘He comes with us,’ said the architect, as one explaining matters to a child. ‘He alone has the skill to organize our defence.’
‘He is a hermit, and under a vow of silence till the church he is building on the Travellers’ Way shall be complete. He breaks his vow with every word he speaks.’
Joanna, leaning on Kate, lifted her voice. ‘And does he not save a life every time he speaks? How many of us would be alive now, if he had not broken his vow of silence to bring us help? I, for one, would be dead by now.’
‘If you had not left the castle in so foolish a fashion, you would not have been in any danger at all,’ retorted the priest. ‘They await your return.’ He stood aside, making it clear that she should precede him.
Joanna hesitated, looking at Amory. ‘Yes, you must go,’ he said. ‘I shall worry less if you are safe in the castle.’
Her eyes filled with tears. She was very tired. She leaned on Kate. ‘Come, Kate,’ she said. ‘And Midge. Come, my dears.’
‘Not so fast,’ said Herkom. ‘My orders are to let the Lady Joanna pass, and the fool. Those two only.’
Kate cried out and clutched at her mistress, but Midge cut a caper. ‘Only see how folly is treasured above solid worth. What says my old comrade to that?’
‘That I am bound to serve, even as my lord Amory … even as Keren is bound to serve. And I will faithfully observe the terms of my service until Lady Day, even though it sticks in my craw to obey the orders of poltroons.’
‘Peace, Herkom,’ said Amory, smiling, but shaking his head. ‘As you say, we who obey do not have to argue whether we do right or wrong, for these decisions are taken by those placed in authority above us. Take the Lady Joanna to safety, with the Count’s most precious fool, and I will send Kate to the hills.’
‘Not so,’ said Joanna, sitting down on the floor. ‘If Kate goes not with me, then I go not to the castle.’
‘My lady, it is because of the infection,’ said Herkom. ‘The Count dares not risk it.’
‘It seems to me,’ said Joanna, petulance in the turn of her shoulder, ‘that the infection must already have been carried into the castle, for have not the nuns drunk of this same polluted water, and are they not even now safe within the castle?’
The breath came whistling through Father Hilarion’s open mouth. Everyone else smiled, enjoying the jest.
‘All or none,’ said Joanna. ‘If you insist that Amory stays, and refuse
admission to the rest of us, then I remain with them.’ She turned to Amory. ‘Let me explain the value of the pawn you hold in my person. I am to be sold in marriage to the Lord Julian, that my estates may pass into the hands of the abbot. The abbot will then send the Count sufficient money in payment for my lands, with which he may buy off Sir Bevil and his men. If there is no Lady Joanna, there is no wedding; and if there is no wedding, the abbot cannot buy my lands; and if there is no money forthcoming for my lands, then Sir Bevil cannot be bought off; and the Count must look to other means to drive his enemy from the valley.’
Herkom drew his sword, and kissed the blade. ‘Please God the Count lets me at them.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE sun was sinking through an angry sky. Dusk was settling into the folds of the hills to the east of the castle, but still the peasants sought in the ruins of their homes for salvage. Twice had Amory sent to warn them of the danger, but they were too distracted to heed his warning.
The last of the sick workmen had by now been carried up the meadow and disappeared into the scrub. Five elderly women had declared they were too ill to be moved; one was obviously near death already. These had been made as comfortable as possible in the crypt below the chapel in the convent. Ten stout workmen had volunteered to stay behind in the convent with the architect, but the master carpenter had taken all the rest of the men up to the tower. Twice had Col and Elena run down the hill with messages for Amory. A system of signals had been worked out for use by day or night.
The drawbridge of the castle remained obstinately pointing to the sky, but as the back of the castle fell further into shadow, a little-used postern on the north side opened, and a cowled figure slipped out. The gate was at once shut and barred behind him. The priest hesitated, looking up at the sky, and then strode off down the hill. The meadow was now deserted, but there were lights in the convent, and the sound of laughter rose from the unfinished church. The priest winced. He had not heard Amory laugh before, but he knew without being told that it was his wit that had aroused the laughter, and that now led it.
Timbers had been levered into place around the church, to form barricades. The scaffolding had either been hewn down, or hauled inside the unfinished nave, so that nothing of wood might be left near the walls to endanger them in the event of fire. Only there was still plenty of wooden coffering in place up above, where the arches soared into the sky. …
In the centre of what would one day be the chancel, a knot of men had gathered around a brazier. They were engaged in sharpening weapons, or arming themselves. Amory was seated with his leg up on a carpenter’s trestle; he was wearing a fine tunic of wool – the priest wondered where he had acquired it – and was shaving himself while he talked. His voice sank to the denouement of his tale, and a gust of laughter covered Father Hilarion’s footsteps. Yet even so, it seemed that Amory had been given warning of the priest’s coming, for no one seemed surprised at his appearing so suddenly among them.
‘I have come for the Lady Joanna,’ announced the priest. ‘Where is she?’
‘Resting,’ said Amory, continuing to shave himself. ‘Is the postern gate well hidden?’
‘What? Oh, yes. It is in a gully, overlooked by the ramparts. I must ask you, formally, to obey me in sending the Lady Joanna back to the castle.’
‘I will answer for myself,’ said Joanna, moving into the circle. Two women stood at her shoulders, Alice and Kate. Although Kate was pale and her lips moved in snatches of prayer, yet it would be a hardy soul who dared lay a hand on Joanna, with Alice for bodyguard.
‘Joanna,’ said Amory, in conversational tone, ‘I am ordered to bid you return to the castle.’
‘Well, and now you have done your duty, will you tell me whether these are the right leaves to lay on your wound? Dickon has just sent them down.’
‘Sainfoin. Yes. I’m glad he saved my herbs. Little did I think I’d have need of them myself.’
Father Hilarion’s voice shook with anger. ‘I must speak with you alone, hermit.’
Amory shrugged, felt his chin, put his knife away, and got to his feet. Joanna was there to hand him a staff, upon which he leaned as he limped through the soaring, incomplete arches, and out into the vastness of the nave.
‘Well?’ he asked the priest.
‘You will pay for this.’ Amory smiled. The priest raised his voice. ‘I can still that tongue of yours for ever, in consequence of your breaking your vow so often, and with so little reason. What say you to that?’
‘That I may die tonight, or tomorrow. That I must continue to do what must be done. That I could have escaped, but did not. That I will submit my body to your authority again, so soon as I may return to the building of the chapel.’
‘You should have stayed with your task unto death.’
‘I did. My grave is dug up there already. No doubt you will see that I fill it, some day.’
‘What of your vow of silence and poverty? Must I remind you again. …’
‘No. I understand that I will have to undergo penance for breaking that part of my vow. But until the Lady Joanna and these poor people are safe, it seems to me that an indulgence – a temporary remission – might be granted? I must speak in order to lead them, for they have no other leader. Without me, many of them would die.’
‘Their lives are in God’s hands. Your life is in God’s hands. Do you question God’s right to dispose of you as He thinks best?’
‘Am I not doing His work in protecting the weak?’
‘And in failing to protect His Holy Church?’
‘It is a beautiful church and I would be sorry to see it burn, but I think God has more regard for man’s life than for the life of a mere building.’
‘You must allow me to be the judge of that. Are you not placed under my authority in all matters?’ Amory frowned, but did not reply. The priest pressed home his advantage. ‘You must order the Lady Joanna to return to the castle.’
‘I have already done so.’
‘Yes, but in such fashion that she knew you did not mean it. Either you persuade her to return by such arguments as I feel sure you know will affect her, or you resume your vow of silence as from this minute.’
Amory looked long at the priest, and then at the church. He looked up at the hill, at the dark outline of tree and shrub that crowned its ridge. Then he looked at the castle.
‘Could you take all of us into the castle, via the postern gate?’
‘No. I only managed to get permission to use it myself, on the strict understanding that no one but myself and the Lady Joanna return that way.’
Amory sighed. ‘A pity. Although it would be hard to leave our sick behind … we might perhaps have carried them to the castle, but … the crypt is stone-built, and may survive the firing of the convent.’
‘You talk of protecting the weak. Why are you not down there with them?’
‘My wound broke out when I carried one of the women down. Father Ambrose is with them, and Midge. And they are making merry.’
‘A hedge-priest, and a fool!’
‘They know how to comfort the sick, perhaps better than you or I. May I ask you something? If I read you aright, you are an ambitious man. Yet you serve in a household which is losing ground politically every day. I would have expected a man of your talents to have been made abbot by now.’
‘I was sent here, even as you were.’
‘I can understand that to oversee the building of the convent and abbey church would be a matter of pride to you, but is there not more to it than that? One of the look-outs – a sharp-eyed lad called Col – tells me he has seen homing pigeons leave the castle every day at sunset since the two monks arrived. Are they reporting on your progress in obtaining the Lady Joanna’s lands for the abbey? Or are you yourself reporting progress?’
‘What is that to you?’
‘So they are reporting on you, are they? Then you have as much to gain by preserving the Lady Joanna’s life as has the abbot.’
&nbs
p; ‘You think overmuch on her. You know she can never be yours.’
Amory laughed. There was bitterness in his laughter, but he checked himself from further speech. The two men looked each other in the eye. ‘I had thought,’ said Amory at last, ‘that if we two could talk together, we might discover some common ground, bound together as we are to complete certain tasks for the glory of God. They say you are a hard man, but just. I do not believe I murdered my wife. I do not know how she died, and I accept that I may by accident have struck her, although I cannot imagine how or why. I believe I was myself struck down by a blow on the back of the head as I entered her room. I cannot account for that, either. The blow made by my sword could not of itself have killed her. Yet if I had struck at her to kill, I would surely have done so.’
‘Time has added to your recollection of events, it seems. It would have been more to the point to have made these pleas before. I did not think you were the man to invent such hollow-sounding excuses.’
‘Nevertheless, these things are true. My memory seems to be gradually clearing. I appeal to you – was my sentence just?’
‘You undertook penance for causing your wife’s death, and there is no doubt that you did so. I see no reason to question a verdict which was arrived at by better heads than mine.’
‘So you will grant me no remission of my vow of silence?’
‘None.’
‘Have you no compassion for these poor people?’
‘Yes, I have much. You have led them astray and they will no doubt suffer for it. My only consolation is that they will see you punished for your transgressions in due course.’
‘If I live.’ Amory bowed his head over his staff. ‘So be it.’ He straightened his shoulders and gestured that they should return to the others. He did not speak again as they made their way back.
Father Hilarion found Joanna waiting for them. He said, speaking sharply, that the hermit agreed she must return to the castle at once. She gave him a cool stare, and told Amory to sit down, that she might attend to his wound. Though not deep, the wound was wide, and even the little walking he had done had caused the bandage to redden. Calmly Amory directed that she soak off the bandages, clean the wound with what wine or vinegar they could find, stitch it with linen thread, and bind a poultice of sainfoin leaves over all.
My Lord, the Hermit Page 21
