by Alys Clare
‘Joanna,’ he said huskily; he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Joanna, it is good to see you. This is Sabin de Retz’ – he touched Sabin’s arm, noticing as he did so that she was rigid with tension and guessing that she too had noticed Joanna’s expression – ‘and she is to ride with us since she too has business in Brittany.’
Joanna said nothing.
‘We – er – we should start as soon as we can,’ he went on. He handed Horace’s reins to Sabin and advanced towards Joanna, feeling the burning power of her eyes fixed on him.
‘Ride on, Josse,’ Joanna hissed caustically. ‘I’ll follow along in your dust.’
He realised all of a sudden the impression that he must have made and simultaneously he understood the false conclusion to which she had leapt. He put a hand on each of her shoulders – touching her sent a shock of terror through him, as if her very flesh could somehow harm him – and said very quietly, for her alone, ‘Joanna, don’t. It is not as you seem to think. Sabin is to marry Gervase de Gifford, who is sheriff here and a good man. He will be with us very soon; he is in the stables fetching his own horse and also your mare Honey, who has been in the nuns’ care.’ He gave her a little shake and, his inexplicable fear of her vanishing as quickly as it had come, leaned closer and whispered, ‘D’you think I’d let you walk when I rode? Silly girl!’
Then, at last, she smiled.
Sabin saw the smile and let out the breath she had been holding. There had been something in the air, something that she did not recognise and that scared her, and it seemed to emanate from the fierce eyes of the dark woman in the beautiful green tunic.
Who was she? If she was the woman Josse had spoken of, and surely she must be, then Josse had referred to her as Joanna. Yesterday Gervase had appeared to recognise the name; Sabin had asked him later later but all he had said was that she was a woman of the forest people who was a friend to Josse and to Hawkenlye Abbey. She was a healer, he’d said, and Sabin had detected admiration in his voice. Wondering if this Joanna might also be good-looking, she had awaited the meeting with excitement.
Joanna was good-looking; she was, Sabin now thought, almost beautiful. She had not expected Joanna to have a child with her, a girl child of about two and a half years, if Sabin were any judge.
Now, still feeling the sweet relief that had flooded her the moment when Joanna smiled, she thought again about what Gervase had said. A woman of the forest; a healer. Add to that, Sabin thought wryly, someone with the power to alter an atmosphere by her very presence and it adds up to a woman of whom to be very, very wary.
She was about to risk a friendly greeting, perhaps address a remark to the sleepy little brown-haired girl, but then she heard the sound of horse and human footsteps and, turning, saw with unexpectedly vast relief that Gervase was approaching, leading his own familiar bay and a smaller, gold-coloured mare who was dancing on her toes with excitement. He met Sabin’s eyes, gave her a smile and a wink that heartened her still further, and then walked on towards the woman in green. Sabin watched him.
He put Honey’s reins into Joanna’s hand. ‘Your mare, my lady,’ he said with a bow.
Joanna took the mare’s reins, gave Gervase a word of thanks and, lifting the child, set her astride in front of the saddle. Both Josse and Gervase stepped forward to help Joanna mount but she swung herself up behind the child without their aid. Sabin suppressed a smile as the two men stood there, their hands still outstretched and their mouths open.
She felt Joanna’s eyes on her.
Nerving herself, she met the frank stare. With a swift glance at the two men, she looked back at Joanna and raised an eyebrow as if to say, sweet, aren’t they? And, unless she was very much mistaken, on Joanna’s stern face as she glared down there appeared a very faint grin.
Sabin had the distinct feeling that Joanna’s senses worked rather more efficiently than other people’s and that the woman of the forest had observed all that there was to observe in the little scene that had just been enacted. Whether or not that was true, for some reason Sabin felt that the woman’s initial animosity had subsided.
Which, considering the long journey in each others’ company on which they were about to embark, was probably just as well.
Helewise heard a soft tap at her door.
‘Come in.’
‘They are ready to leave, my lady Abbess,’ Sister Ursel said. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, but you did say that you wished to see them off and bless their journey.’
‘Indeed I did, Sister Ursel. Thank you.’ Rising, Helewise indicated to the nun that she should go on ahead back to the gate. After taking a couple of steadying breaths, Helewise followed her.
With an appearance of calm serenity that she was far from feeling, she walked up to the quartet at the gates. Josse had yet to mount; she went up to him and said softly, ‘Thank you, Sir Josse, for what you are about to do. Good luck in your endeavours and let us all hope and pray that you meet with success.’ Then, suddenly afraid for him: ‘May God bless you for your willingness always to be a friend of the Abbey, and may he keep you in his care and bring you safely home.’
Josse closed his eyes for a moment and muttered, ‘Amen.’
‘God’s speed, Gervase,’ she said, moving on to the sheriff, who removed his hat and gave her a bow. ‘And to you, Sabin’ – she turned to the fair young woman on the grey – ‘and I congratulate the pair of you on the happy announcement that you are to be wed.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Sabin said meekly.
Lastly Helewise turned to Joanna, sitting silent and still on the golden mare. The child sat before her, watching Helewise with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘This little one will be asleep before you’ve gone half a mile,’ Helewise said softly, smiling up at Joanna.
Joanna smiled back, deep, dark eyes seeming to reach right into Helewise’s mind as if seeking briefly to touch on memories that both she and Helewise knew were hidden within. ‘Yes, my lady,’ she replied. ‘Meggie was awake for much of the night.’
‘She’ll soon catch up on her lost sleep,’ Helewise said, grateful to Joanna for speaking of normal things. ‘They are so very adaptable at that age, aren’t they?’ she added.
‘Yes. They tell me the trouble really starts when they’re a little older and start to question everything with why?’
Helewise laughed. ‘How true,’ she said. ‘I recall it only too well!’
She reached out and touched the child’s springy brown curls. ‘Go safely, little Meggie,’ she said softly. Then, eyes on Joanna’s, she whispered, ‘May I give you a blessing too?’
There was a split-second’s hesitation, then Joanna’s face relaxed and she said, ‘Yes, my lady. I should welcome it.’
Helewise leaned close to Joanna and Meggie and quietly uttered a brief but urgent prayer for their safety. She thought she heard Joanna murmur ‘Amen’, but she could have been mistaken.
Then she stepped back, waved a hand to Josse, now mounted, and watched as the four adults and one child rode out of the gates and off on the road that led to the coast.
Chapter 6
The early start, combined with a warm, dry day that was ideal for a journey, meant that the travellers reached the coast in the mid-afternoon. They made for the port of Pevensey, busy now in high summer with the arrival of many small ships from across the narrow seas and beyond. Josse left the others in an inn yard, where they would take care of the horses and then see about ordering a meal, and he set out along the quayside in search of a captain who would take the party over to France; preferably to some port as far to the west as possible.
After several refusals, uttered with varying degrees of civility, Josse found a man from Harwich who was about to set sail. The captain’s itinerary included several ports on the north coast of France, after which he would round the Breton peninsula and, on its southern side, sail up the wide Loire estuary to Nantes, then on southwards, hugging the coast, as far as Bordeaux. He was carrying English wool and Flanders cloth
; at the mouth of the Seine he would stop to take on board a cargo of luxuries – tooled leather goods, spices and silks – that had been brought upriver from the market at Troyes, then he would sail on to Barfleur and then—
At this point in the captain’s apparently endless narrative Josse interrupted and enquired very courteously whether or not the man took passengers.
‘Passengers?’ He sniffed, eyeing Josse dubiously. ‘I take those who can pay.’ He jerked his head in the direction of a group of half a dozen men in the simply cut, dark and hooded robes typical of monks, who were sitting in the shade by the wall that ran along at the rear of the quay. One man sat a little apart from the others and he seemed to be watching the comings and goings with avid curiosity; perhaps, Josse thought vaguely, this was his first excursion outside whichever walls usually penned him up. Near to the monks an elderly man sat gazing vacantly into space, his lips moving as if in prayer. Or he might have been talking to himself.
‘Have you space for more?’ Josse asked. ‘Four adults, a child and four horses?’
‘I have room,’ the captain said. He pointed along the quayside to where his ship lay berthed, her deck and the two gangplanks busy with the comings and goings of the crew. ‘My ship is generously sized and adapted for the accommodation of horses. Where do you wish to go?’
‘Two adults of the party are bound for Nantes; the others and the child for’ – Where were he and Joanna bound? He realised that he had only the vaguest idea – ‘er, for Brittany.’
The captain smiled. ‘Nantes is in Brittany.’
‘We wish to go north of Nantes.’ He was pretty sure that was right, anyway.
‘Well, then perhaps I will drop you off at Dinan.’
‘Dinan? Aye, very well, if that is what you advise,’ Josse agreed.
The captain shrugged. ‘There is no need to decide now. I will take your party, sir knight, although it will not be cheap.’
He named a price. Josse gave a dramatic cry of horror, throwing his hands in the air as if he’d just been informed he had missed the Second Coming, and offered half. After some haggling, they agreed at a figure that was roughly three-quarters of the captain’s original sum. They shook on the deal and Josse agreed to hand over the coins (the Abbess had insisted on funding his and Joanna’s travelling expenses from the Abbey’s coffers; Gervase and Sabin also carried money sufficient for their journey) as soon as all of the party were aboard.
Then, satisfied with the arrangements, Josse returned to tell the others that they would be sailing that evening as soon as the tide turned.
The ship was called the Goddess of the Dawn and she was a clinker-built cob whose design showed clear signs of its longboat origins, although she was shorter and rounder in shape. She was some thirty paces long; her planks, set parallel on the widely curving ribs, ran from the high prow to the equally high stern in precise, even lines that drew the eye and spoke aloud the ship’s beauty. A tall mast stood amidships, the square sail at present neatly furled. From the front of the prow extended the bowsprit, to which could be fastened the bowlines attached to the edges of the sail that enabled a canny captain to sail close to the wind. Along the gunwales was a row of holes, for the use of oars when the wind failed and for manoeuvring in estuaries and rivers. The rear quarter of the deck was covered by a wooden construction, on its roof a railed-in aft deck. A door gave access to a dim interior, beneath which a companionway led to the storage area where the horses were also accommodated.
On the ship’s high prow there was a figurehead, skilfully carved in pale oak, depicting a woman with flowing hair and a fierce expression. As befitted a goddess, she was accorded deep respect by her captain and crew.
Watching from the quay some time after sunset as the horses were led aboard, Josse observed his companions as they stared at the ship to which they were about to entrust their safety and their lives. Sabin, noticing the figurehead, gave a small gasp and, furtively making the sign of the cross on her breast, muttered something inaudible. Gervase, as befitted a man deeply in love, turned his attention from staring up at the tiny platform right at the top of the mast and gave Sabin a reassuring hug. Joanna’s expression was unreadable; Meggie, held tight in her mother’s arms, was clamouring to get down and rush off to explore.
‘Come on, then,’ Josse said bracingly. ‘We’ll go aboard and settle ourselves in, then we’ll eat the supper we’ve just purchased as the ship sails.’
Without giving anyone time to protest, he strode up the gangplank; the sound of footsteps behind him indicated that the others were following. But then why would they not? he asked himself; all of the party, with the possible exception of Gervase, had crossed the narrow seas before and the two women had both done so quite recently. They’ll lose any fear that they have once we’re on our way, he told himself.
The captain, who introduced himself as Harald, offered to show the women to their cabin; the men would have to make themselves comfortable on deck, he told them, since the second cabin was his and anyway far too small for more than one person. But the weather seemed to be set fair and Josse thought privately that he would much prefer to bed down out in the fresh air beneath the stars than in some fusty cabin. He and Gervase found a place immediately behind the main mast, where the fresh water barrel stood protected by a small roof, and, setting down their bags and bedrolls, laid claim to it.
‘Should we not have a better view up in the prow?’ Gervase said.
‘Aye, maybe, although there will not be much to see once night falls out in the middle of the Channel,’ Josse replied. ‘But my reason for selecting this spot is because if it’s rough out there, the middle of the ship will have less motion than the ends.’ He made a seesaw movement with his hand, the centre of his palm remaining relatively still; he was aware that he had not used the correct seaman’s words but Gervase understood.
‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Josse, I am glad that you and your experience are with us.’
The women rejoined them quite soon. Joanna did not speak but Josse heard Sabin mutter to Gervase that the cabin smelt of stale sweat and she was sure she had seen a rat run away as they entered. With a private smile – he was quite glad not to be the recipient of her complaints – he announced he was going below to make sure the horses were being adequately cared for.
As he came back up on deck, having satisfied himself that the horses were all right, he felt the planks beneath his feet give a sort of a lurch; looking down on to the quay, he saw that they had untied and were under way.
Taking a bracing breath – despite the experience to which Gervase had referred, Josse still hated the sea – he went to rejoin the others.
The wind was from the west and the captain utilised it and ran before it almost due east to Boulogne. Although its force lessened as the night went on, still it was sufficient to fill the sails and drive the Goddess of the Dawn on at a fair speed. Opening his eyes at first light – despite the padded bedroll, a wooden deck was not a place conducive to prolonged, deep sleep – Josse saw straight ahead the line of the French coast. He got up quietly so as not to disturb Gervase and walked soft-footed back along the deck on the starboard side, where the captain stood talking quietly to the steersman.
‘Good morning,’ Josse murmured.
The steersman nodded a greeting. The captain said, ‘Sleep well, did you?’
Josse shrugged. ‘Not bad.’
Harald laughed softly. ‘Not like our holy brethren up there.’ He nodded in the direction of the half-deck above the cabins. ‘One of them – maybe more than one – is snoring fit to wake the dead.’
Josse listened; aye, the captain was right. The sound of steady, rhythmic and loud snoring could be heard above the rushing of the sea and the various creaks and groans of a wooden ship under canvas moving at speed. ‘Sounds like a chorus to me,’ he observed.
Harald grinned. ‘Maybe it’s a version of plainsong and they throw the sound back and forth between them.’
‘Where ar
e they bound?’ Josse asked.
‘Mont Saint Michel. D’you know it?’
‘I’ve heard of the place. Set in a bay where the sea rushes in like a galloping horse, they say.’
‘Aye, it’s a wild and bleak place all right. Cut off by the sea except at low tide, shrouded in mist more often than not and home to nobody but the monks.’ The captain shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t do for me.’
Josse agreed. Then: ‘How soon do you expect to dock in Boulogne?’
‘Hour or more yet. We’ll have to take in sail as we near the coast – there’s some shallows there where the sand banks up and we’ll take it carefully.’
Thanking him, Josse made his way forward and stood up in the high prow, his elbows resting on the rail beside the Goddess’s large wooden head. He would wake the others presently but, for now, he took pleasure in some time alone to stare out at the reassuring sight of the coastline ahead. It was irrational, he knew, for a man could drown as readily three paces from the shore as three miles, but somehow he always felt much safer once he was in sight of land. He glanced at the stern profile of the Goddess beside him then, after a quick check to see if anyone was watching, stretched out his hand and patted her firm, rounded shoulder. ‘Look after us, Lady,’ he muttered.
The Goddess, naturally, did not reply.
The party spent another five days and nights aboard the Goddess of the Dawn, during which time the ship came to feel almost like home. The winds remained predominantly from the west or the south-west and, since this was the overall direction in which the ship was sailing, progress was often frustratingly slow. But Harald was a skilful sailor and, although often sailing almost straight into the wind, he usually managed to find a tack that ensured forward movement.
Joanna abandoned the cabin after the first night; Sabin followed her after the second. For the remainder of the voyage the two women spread blankets on the deck beneath the mast beside Josse and Gervase where, at night, Meggie would be securely placed between them. The weather stayed fine and the ship kept quite close to the shore. The sea was for the most part calm and when rough waters were encountered, such as at the wide mouth of the Seine, the ship’s motion proved to be no worse than a steady rocking and the spray was no more than a refreshing mist on the face.
