The Paths of the Air

by Alys Clare

  She lay drowsily in her bed, on the point of falling asleep again – it was, after all, only thunder – when suddenly she was filled with a stab of such horrified fear that it shot her up into a sitting position. It was as if something quite terrible was going to happen and she knew it without any doubt. The sense of foreboding was so undeniable that she got up, dressed swiftly and hurried outside.

  Others had also heard the strange sounds and ventured out into the chill pre-dawn air. Sister Martha and Sister Ursel had unfastened the little spyhole in the gates and were peering out. From the rear gate down to the Vale came a party of monks and lay brothers led by Brother Saul and Brother Urse the carpenter, carrying an axe.

  ‘I can see two men approaching over there in the distance –’ Sister Ursel pointed – ‘but there were lights out there, my lady!’ she gasped. ‘Brilliant, flashing lights! The dear Lord alone knows what devilry is going on, but—’

  ‘Sir Josse and the young man are missing from their beds,’ said Sister Euphemia’s clear voice. She strode up to Helewise’s side. ‘My lady, the nun on duty in the infirmary felt a draft and noticed that the small door at the far end of the ward was ajar. She checked on her patients and found the two beds empty.’

  I knew, Helewise thought. I knew there was danger. But somehow something did not seem quite right . . .

  ‘Open the gates, Sister Ursel,’ she said calmly. ‘We shall go out and help them.’

  ‘It might be dangerous, my lady,’ protested Sister Martha. ‘Should you not let the rest of us go while you stay here where it’s safe? They could be battling with vicious enemies!’ She was clutching her pitchfork in her strong hands as if she just could not wait to plunge it into whoever had the effrontery to threaten Josse.

  ‘Then all the more reason for us to make haste,’ Helewise replied. ‘Come along!’

  Sister Ursel drew back the heavy bars and opened the gates. Helewise led her party outside.

  She saw Josse coming towards her. Beside him was the slighter figure of another man who must be John Damianos. The infirmarer had reported that he was running a slight fever, which would not have been helped by this excursion out into the cold night . . .

  John Damianos. Brother Ralf.

  She frowned. Her eyes were on the young man beside Josse. His face was in the deep shadow cast by the hood of his cloak. She experienced an odd feeling, as if – as if— She gave up.

  ‘Sir Josse,’ she said as the two men stopped in front of their rescue party, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘Neither of us has received further injury, my lady,’ he said. Then, meeting her eyes, he added quietly, ‘It is over now.’

  She nodded her understanding.

  ‘Go back to the infirmary, both of you,’ she said, addressing the two men, ‘for you are wounded and one of you at least has a fever. We will—’

  ‘My lady, I am sorry to contradict,’ came a low voice, ‘but I must speak privately with you.’

  Josse, she noticed, gave the younger man a quick, sympathetic glance before turning to her. ‘It is important, my lady,’ he said. ‘And –’ he eyed the gathered monks and nuns behind her – ‘it’s rather a delicate matter.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said, controlling her surprise. ‘Go along to my room, Sir Josse, and take your companion with you. Paradisa is sleeping in there but I expect the commotion will have woken her up already. I will join you shortly.’ She watched the two men set off. Josse, she noticed, seemed to be clutching the wound in his arm.

  Then she turned back to her monks and her nuns. Filled suddenly with gratitude, for there they all were, ready and eager to fight for the community and to defend its Abbess to the very best of their ability, she smiled lovingly at them.

  ‘Thank you, all of you,’ she said simply. ‘The Abbey is very lucky that such courageous and devoted men and women live within its walls. Now, go back to your beds. Soon it will be morning.’

  They parted into two ranks and she walked between them. There were one or two mutterings of, ‘God bless you, my lady.’ Reining in her impulse to run after Josse – run after the strange, disturbing man who strode beside him – she walked sedately back into the Abbey.

  She entered her room and firmly closed the door. The young man and Paradisa were locked tightly in each other’s arms and Josse was looking on with an indulgent smile. The brazier had been poked into life and several candles were burning.

  ‘So, what is this important matter that demands my attention before it is even light?’ she demanded, seating herself in her chair. John Damianos, she noticed – or was he really called Ralf? – had buried his face in Paradisa’s hair, but both Paradisa and Josse were staring at Helewise.

  It was Paradisa who spoke.

  ‘I told you, my lady, that Thibault of Margat has followed Brother Ralf all this way not because of who he is but what he carries.’

  ‘You did, yes.’

  ‘In that satchel is a secret formula. It was Hisham’s great treasure. He has discovered the secret of how to make a deadly black powder that bursts into life when it is set on fire and which has a magical force to it, a special sort of energy that—’

  ‘There is nothing magical about it,’ Brother Ralf interrupted, his face still averted.

  ‘Well, it looks magic to me,’ Paradisa said. Holding the young man’s face in her hands, she looked into his eyes and said softly, ‘It’s evil, too. Don’t try to deny it. You could have been killed that time it blew up in your face and then I should have had to contemplate the awful prospect of life without you.’

  It was a moment of deep intimacy. Helewise felt almost guilty for observing it.

  ‘So, the Hospitallers wished to relieve you of this formula and utilize it for their own purposes,’ she said briskly, ‘and the two Saracens were sent by their master to recover it and take it back to it to him. And the last of your pursuers simply wanted to return Paradisa to her betrothed husband. Is that right?’

  ‘Quite right, my lady,’ Paradisa said politely.

  ‘None of them is a threat any more,’ Josse said. ‘All except the two Hospitallers are dead.’

  ‘Dead,’ Helewise repeated. Then: ‘I understand the importance of this . . . thing. Those flashes and bangs just now were, I presume, a demonstration of what it can do?’

  ‘Aye.’ It was Josse who spoke.

  ‘But what I cannot understand,’ she went on, ‘is just why, Brother Ralf – John – you should have brought it here to England?’

  Paradisa stepped a little apart from the young man. It was, Helewise thought vaguely, as if she knew that he must explain this alone . . .

  His face still covered, he said, ‘I had to take it to a place of safety.’

  ‘Why not just destroy it?’ she demanded.

  She sensed that he was smiling as he replied. ‘That is a good question, my lady. Because it is possible that if, against all my hope, Hisham manages to recreate the formula, he may give his secret to the Saracens. If that unthinkable event comes to pass, I would wish also to provide our side with this weapon.’

  She nodded. It was a frightful thought. It was bad enough to think of one side having this awful thing, let alone both, but in a ghastly way it made a sort of sense. And, she thought, what do I or any woman truly know of warfare? A sudden image flashed through her mind of women . . . of one woman, a deity figure, loving, caring, nurturing . . . but then as swiftly it was gone.

  She felt strangely disturbed and it was only with an effort that she remembered where and who she was and what had just happened.

  ‘But why bring this thing here?’ she asked again. ‘Surely there were other safe havens on the long road from Outremer?’

  ‘None that I could think of that was safer than Hawkenlye Abbey,’ the young man said.

  It was an extraordinary answer. ‘You – you know about Hawkenlye?’ she asked faintly.

  He threw back his hood and at last she saw his face. He was smiling. ‘I do,’ he said softly. ‘I also know its
Abbess. There is no woman on earth that I trust more.’

  She was up and out of her chair, brushing both Paradisa and Josse out of her way, although she registered a fleeting impression that both were smiling and neither seemed to mind. Then the young man was in her arms and she was clutching him to her as if she would never let him go. She felt his strong arms go around her to return the hard embrace. She reached up to kiss his wounded throat and, as he bent his head, put her lips to his cheek. Pulling away slightly, she stared at him. He was tanned by the sun and there were lines of maturity on his handsome face; its bones and its shape were those of a grown man now.

  But she would have known him anywhere.

  ‘Dominic,’ she whispered, ‘oh, my Dominic!’

  Then, turning to Josse, she said, ‘Dear, dear Josse; this is my son.’

  Postscript

  21 December 1196

  It was not the traditional season for a wedding, but the young bride and bridegroom had waited quite long enough and it was high time that their union was formalized.

  Dominic had asked his mother, and she had asked the priest, and Father Gilbert had said that little would give him greater pleasure than to perform, at Hawkenlye Abbey, the ceremony that would unite the Abbess’s younger son in matrimony with his radiant bride.

  The wedding would take place on the shortest day of the year. To honour their beloved Abbess and show off the Abbey to the very best of their abilities, the nuns, the monks and the lay brothers threw themselves into the preparations. The news spread swiftly that Abbess Helewise’s son was home again after countless decades bravely fighting the Infidel in Outremer – it was only eleven years, but wild exaggeration spiced up a tale – and many people made up their minds to go to the Abbey and show their respect for its Abbess by cheering the young couple and wishing them well.

  It was just as well that the Abbey could accommodate a crowd.

  Helewise had ordered Dominic to face Thibault of Margat with the truth. Together mother and son went to see the Hospitaller, who, although slowly recovering, was still very unwell, and Dominic explained that he was going to entrust the formula to the safest place on earth. Thibault might have guessed where that was. He made a desultory attempt to question Dominic but soon gave up.

  Looking at him with deep compassion, Helewise realized that the fight had leaked out of him. The single-minded, fierce and powerful man had gone, perhaps burned away in the fire that almost killed him and forced upon him this agonizing convalescence. He had been dosed and dosed again with Sister Tiphaine’s potions, wielded with a determined hand by Sister Euphemia. Their strength might be diminishing but the quantity that Thibault had consumed must now be considerable. And, as both the herbalist and the infirmarer often pointed out, you just did not know what else a powerful remedy did besides relieve pain.

  Helewise studied Thibault as he looked up at the young man whose footsteps he had dogged so far and for so long. With a faint smile he said, ‘This thing . . . It is too powerful. I have seen what the lust for it will make men do and I’ve had enough of it all.’ He sighed. ‘I will not see Outremer again, for I shall never now voyage so far. When Brother Otto and I are able to travel, we shall go to Clerkenwell. I shall request a private meeting with the Grand Master and I shall report that the formula is gone.’

  Dominic studied him for several moments, and it seemed to Helewise that he was thinking hard. Then he said very softly, ‘It could be retrieved, you know, were there to be incontestable need.’

  The Hospitaller gave a small gasp. Then he nodded. He understood.

  Josse went out to the forest to keep his tryst with Joanna. When he revealed the true identity of the young man whom she had known as John Damianos, he had the clear impression that it was not in fact news at all.

  ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Remember when Abbess Helewise was so sick and we thought she might die?’

  ‘Aye. You called her back to life.’

  ‘I – well yes, sort of. But in the place where she was, she could see things that were going to happen, although I don’t think she realized it then or recalls it now. And one of the things she – we – saw was Dominic’s return. So when you brought him here to my hut, I recognized him.’

  He shook his head in wonder. I ought to be used to her and her weird powers by now, he thought, but I’m not. I’m not sure if any normal, human man ever could be. The thought that swiftly followed – if a human couldn’t hope to understand Joanna, then what did that make her? – slipped in and out of his consciousness so swiftly that he barely noticed it. It was dark, Meggie was fast asleep and Joanna was lying in his arms.

  He had other things on his mind.

  The dead had to be accounted for.

  Gervase de Gifford was satisfied that in several cases the murderer was dead: Kathnir killed the Turk Touros and died at the hands of William and Tancred, who were also responsible for the death of Brother Jeremiah and the fire in Tonbridge Priory’s guest wing. Tancred died fighting Josse and John Damianos, and William was slain by Josse to save John’s life.

  ‘Except that he’s not really called John Damianos, is he?’ Gervase said with an ironic lift of his eyebrows. He and Josse were riding out to the old manor house in the forest, Dominic and Paradisa behind them.

  ‘No,’ Josse agreed.

  Gervase looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘I must get used to calling him Dominic Warin, I suppose,’ he said. Then, bitingly: ‘And I only have his and your word, Josse, as to how these two Franks were slain.’ Pretending surprise, he added, ‘Both killed by you, as it happens, fighting for your life, you say, alongside this son of your extremely good friend Abbess Helewise.’

  Josse waited until he had his anger under control. Then he said, not for the first time, ‘Tancred would have killed me had I not struck the fatal blow before he did. And William virtually had his knife in Dominic’s throat and was about to kill him.’ He added stiffly, ‘I will swear to it if you wish.’

  There was quite a long pause. Then Gervase said, ‘Your word is enough.’

  The mood between them was definitely chilly. Gervase had been intensely curious about that strange, round indentation in William’s forehead and Josse’s explanation – that William fell on his face and the stone must have embedded itself, only to fall out and roll away into the grass – sounded feeble, even to Josse’s ears. He was tempted to say more but it was not his secret to tell.

  They rode on in silence until at last – and it was not nearly soon enough for Josse – the old manor came into view.

  Paradisa told her story and again Josse noticed the scepticism in Gervase’s eyes. It was as if the sheriff was thinking, ah, but it is too easy! These people all swear that the killings were justified, done in self-defence or in defence of the innocent, but since they all bear witness for each other, how am I to decide if they speak the truth?

  Paradisa led them to the place in the trees where she had buried the body of Akhbir. Gervase stared down in silence and then observed that it was a long way for a woman to carry the body of a grown man.

  Paradisa said tonelessly, ‘I did not carry him. I tied a rope around him and fastened the other end to my horse’s saddle. I dragged him to his grave, and I bitterly regret both the treatment and the fact that I was not able to dig the grave deep enough. I have had dreams of his body being dug up and eaten by wild creatures.’ A sob escaped her, hastily suppressed, and she put her hands up to hide her face. Dominic put his arm around her. Gervase went on staring down at the man-shaped mound of earth. Then abruptly he turned away.

  He and Josse rode back towards Hawkenlye without a word being spoken. When they reached the place where Gervase’s road down to Tonbridge branched off, he drew rein. He looked Josse in the eye and, nodding in the direction of the young couple, said, ‘You can tell them I’m satisfied.’

  ‘I will,’ Josse said. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘
But, Josse, next time—’ Gervase bit off whatever he had been about to say. Then: ‘Just remember who’s sheriff around here.’

  He touched his cap, put spurs to his horse and cantered away.

  Perhaps Sabin de Gifford had sufficient tact and understanding to reason the sheriff out of his bad mood at what he clearly saw as a challenge to his authority, if not worse. Either that or he came to his senses by himself. Sabin sent word that she and Gervase would come to the Abbey on Dominic and Paradisa’s wedding day to add their congratulations and good wishes.

  Josse learned of this with relief. Gervase was just too good a friend to lose.

  The day of the wedding began misty and dank and there was a soft, chilly rain in the air. The nuns and the monks, eyeing the weather and trying to smile, endlessly repeated the old saying rain at dawn, sun by mid-morn, and at least some of them believed it. The sceptics were proved wrong. As the church emptied after sext, the congregation looked up to see that the clouds had cleared. By the time Dominic and Paradisa stood side by side at the church door, the sun was shining brightly down from a pale winter sky.

  Dominic was the first to make his vow, saying in a strong voice that carried right to the back of the crowd, ‘I do take you, Paradisa, as my wife,’ and straight away she echoed the words. Rings were handed to Father Gilbert to be blessed, and then he returned them to the young couple and they placed them on each other’s hands. The priest led them into the church and up to the altar, where they knelt while he prayed. Then he blessed them and the entire congregation broke into joyous song.

  After the ceremony came the celebration.

  Josse moved among the crowds spilling out into the cloister, the stable yard and every other available space. He had a pewter mug of excellent French wine in his hand. He was grabbed and greeted by many people: the Abbess’s elder son, Leofgar, was there with his wife Rohaise, four-year-old Timus and his two-year-old sister, Little Helewise, the children dressed in their best and bubbling with excitement. Leofgar looked pale and Rohaise confided to Josse that her husband and his brother had been up most of the previous night catching up on the years of Dominic’s absence, ‘and talking is such thirsty work, is it not, Josse?’ she added with a lovely smile.