The Joys of My Life h-12

by Alys Clare

  ‘And so you-’ she began, but then she stopped. She thought she understood now. Many things that had deeply troubled her all at once began to clarify, and the heavy burden she had been carrying for the past two days no longer weighed her down. ‘Sir Piers?’ She spoke very gently, for she thought he had slipped into sleep.

  His eyelids fluttered open. ‘My lady abbess!’ He seemed surprised to see her. ‘Did you wish to speak to me?’ His expression clouded. ‘Oh, but I have to speak to Sir Josse,’ he whispered anxiously. ‘Is he here?’

  And, aching for him — he seemed to have totally forgotten their intense, disturbing conversation — she repeated what she had said a few minutes ago. ‘He is not here, I’m afraid. I will ask him to come and see you when he returns,’ she added. ‘Sleep now, Sir Piers.’ Then she got up and tiptoed out of the recess.

  Helewise’s footsteps led her automatically to the church but, as its shadow fell over her, unnaturally long in the light of the setting sun, she realized that it was not where she needed to be. She muttered a quick prayer to the loving spirit whom she knew kept it in his protection. Nothing, she thought fiercely, nothing could change her love for he who gave up his life to save the world, but another voice was calling to her and it was not to be found within the abbey’s walls.

  She walked out through the gates and up the grassy slope until she reached the edge of the forest. Then, taking a deep breath, she went in under the trees. She glided slowly, as if in a dream, and, as she moved beneath the leafy branches, dapples of rosy sunset light patterned her black habit.

  Sunshine, shadow. Light, dark.

  The play of light was hypnotic and soon she felt that she had entered a trance-like state. Her mind, which was always so busy, overflowing with all that each day demanded of her, gradually grew calm. It was, she thought, stopping to give it her full attention, like a child’s bouncing ball, which, as the initial impetus dies, bounces lower and lower until it is still.

  Alone out in the quiet of the forest, Helewise stood with her eyes closed and she thought she understood. That strange moment of epiphany when she had speculated about the black statue had penetrated deep within her. Now she knew what it meant and, as realization flowered, it was as if she had always known, as if all her life there had been two Helewises. There was the one who loved the Lord and had for most of her adult life served Him within Hawkenlye Abbey — for the past fifteen years as its abbess — but there was also the Helewise in whom ran an understanding and a full acceptance that other ways also led to the divine.

  With the realization came so much more and, as the tumult of thoughts exploded, she understood that the effort of suppressing them had been enormous, and that she had been making it for some time.

  She sank down on to the short grass beside the track, her mind leaping back. There had been the business of the heretics and that sweet-natured woman whom Helewise ought to have denounced; she vividly recalled the night when she had kneeled before the altar, to see after hours of anguish the tender face of Christ. Aurelia — yes, the woman’s name had been Aurelia. Helewise had let her go. Then there was the abiding presence of the forest people and, indeed, dear old Sister Tiphaine, at least still half pagan. There was Joanna, whom Josse loved…

  She turned her mind from that. This, she told herself firmly, is not about Josse.

  She was a nun — an abbess — and it was exactly what she wanted to be, for her love of and faith in the Lord was profound and sincere. But her role meant that she must serve another master, whose nature was no longer what she had believed it to be. She was bound by that great, powerful, impersonal and increasingly furtive body, the Church, and sometimes she barely recognized this master at all.

  She drew up her knees, rested her folded arms on top of them and put her head down on her crossed wrists. She closed her eyes. She sat there for a long time.

  Then slowly she came back to herself, got up, stretched her stiff limbs and set out in the twilight to find Martin and tell him he could start building the chapel in the morning.

  Very early the next day, Josse left Meggie in the care of Sister Tiphaine and set off for Tonbridge. He might not be able to persuade Ninian to accept a more secure lodging but at least he could make the place where the lad was a little safer. Philippe de Loup was after him and Piers — or, as Ninian had said, after the statue; well, Josse would do all that he could to stop Philippe in his tracks. Ninian had wounded him, perhaps gravely. He had not come to Hawkenlye for aid, but it was possible he had gone to the canons at Tonbridge. Josse would go and see and, before he did so, visit Gervase de Gifford and alert him to the danger in their midst.

  He rode into the sheriff’s courtyard while the family were still at breakfast. Gervase ushered him inside and offered him food and drink; both were very welcome, for Josse had ridden out from Hawkenlye with no more than a cup of water and a hard heel of bread inside him. As he wolfed down the food — it was delicious but he was in a hurry — he did his best to answer Sabin de Gifford’s cheerful remarks. She sat beside her two-year-old son, Simond, and the child quickly overcame his awe at having Josse at the breakfast table and threw a lump of soggy rusk, which scored a hit on Josse’s hand. For a few precious moments, Josse relaxed; Sabin and Gervase’s home was welcoming and always had been and, now that Sabin was over her grief for her old grandfather, who had died the previous Christmas, it was once more a happy place.

  Josse finished his food and Gervase, drawing his chair closer, said, ‘Now, Josse, to what do we owe this very early visit?’

  ‘Aye, I’m sorry to disturb you at breakfast, but my errand could not wait.’ Briefly he told Gervase and Sabin about Philippe de Loup. Only when he had finished his tale did he add quietly, ‘The young squire is Joanna’s son.’

  Sabin gasped. ‘The one who-’ She stopped. Then in a whisper, ‘Joanna told me about him when we all stayed in the inn at Dinan.’

  Josse stared at her. ‘Did she tell you all about him?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sabin’s eyes were wide. ‘But I have told nobody, not even Gervase. I promised, you see,’ she said, turning to look at her husband.

  ‘There is some secret concerning this boy?’ Gervase demanded.

  ‘Aye,’ Josse admitted, ‘but it is Joanna’s secret, Gervase.’

  The sheriff frowned but then shrugged and said, ‘Very well. So, Josse, Ninian prefers to hide out in the house in the woods and will not accept the shelter of Hawkenlye, and you wish me to help him by hunting down the man who tried to murder his master. Have I got it right?’

  ‘You make him sound like a petulant child,’ Josse protested. ‘He has very good reasons for staying out in the forest. One, he is of the forest people’s blood and they will guard him. Two, he has what he sees as a sacred mission to guard this statue that Piers has brought to England and keep it from de Loup’s hands. Three — ’ three was more difficult; it was something that had occurred to him in the small hours and he was not sure if he could speak of it in a level voice — ‘three is that Ninian fears some harm has come to his mother and he prefers to remain out there in her territory.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He is staying in the house, as I told you, but my guess is that he visits her hut regularly.’

  There was silence. He could sense Sabin’s huge sympathy and even Gervase seemed affected. After a moment, the sheriff said gently, ‘And you, Josse? Do you too fear for Joanna’s safety?’

  Abruptly Josse stood up, pushing his chair back so violently that it fell with a loud crash on to the stone floor. The little boy gave a cry of distress and hastily Sabin took him in her arms, soothing him. Josse barely noticed. I have to get out, he thought wildly. I cannot bear to think about my fears.

  ‘Josse?’ Gervase hurried along beside him as he strode out. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  Josse spun round to face him and saw in the sheriff’s face nothing but kindness and concern. He brushed a hand over his face. ‘I do not know, Gervase. I never do with her!’ he added, his grief and anger spi
lling over. ‘But I am told that… I believe she may not come back.’

  ‘Oh, Josse,’ Gervase said very quietly. Then, briefly patting Josse on the back, he added, ‘Keep us informed. You know you are always welcome here. And I will put word around of your Philippe de Loup. A knight from Aquitaine wearing a unique device on his breast is unlikely to go unnoticed. If he passes this way, my men will find him.’

  As Josse nodded his thanks and hurried away to his horse, Gervase turned and went back inside the house.

  Josse got his emotions under control during the short ride from the de Gifford house to the priory down on the marshy land close to the river. As he approached, he looked at the guest wing, rebuilt since the fatal fire two and a half years ago and now the scene of busy activity. He rode over to the stables, left Horace to be watered and went in search of Canon Mark.

  The round-faced, bustling monk greeted him warmly and, after asking about Josse’s health and the Hawkenlye community — Josse’s allegiances were well known — said, ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m looking for a wounded man,’ Josse said. ‘He was hit hard over the head about — ’ how long ago? Ninian had left Piers at Hawkenlye four days ago, and that was presumably soon after the attack — ‘about four days ago. I understand that he was able to crawl away following the injury but it is likely he needed medical care. He is not at Hawkenlye and I wondered if he might have made his way here.’

  Already Canon Mark was shaking his head. ‘Sir Josse, everyone hereabouts knows that Hawkenlye Abbey is the place to go if you have need of a healer,’ he said. ‘We have our Sabin de Gifford, whose skills as an apothecary are excellent and who treats all and sundry, both those who can pay and those who can’t, but a hurt such as you describe would surely take a man to the abbey.’ He was frowning and, as he finished speaking, his eyes seemed to focus on something in the distance. ‘Unless…’ His glance flicking back to Josse, he said, ‘Was this man a knight?’

  ‘Aye. I have not seen him, but I would judge that he would be well mounted and richly dressed. He probably wears an insignia on his breast depicting a horned woman standing in a boat like the crescent moon.’

  ‘He’s a foreigner?’ Canon Mark demanded.

  ‘Aye, from an island off the west coast of France.’

  Canon Mark was nodding vigorously. ‘He was here! He slept in our guest wing for a night, a day and another night, and we judged that he had ridden far and needed sleep. Other than leaving food and drink for him, we left him alone. Oh, Sir Josse, why did he not tell us he was injured? We would have sent for a healer to tend him! Sabin lives close by and she-’

  ‘I believe he had his reasons for keeping his wound to himself,’ Josse interrupted. ‘I am sorry, Canon Mark, that I cannot tell you more, but for now I must know where he is. You said he was here; when did he leave?’

  ‘But-’

  ‘Please.’

  Picking up Josse’s urgency, Canon Mark put aside his curiosity and his distress at having unwittingly failed a guest who was in need and said, ‘He left us yesterday evening. He set off up the road that climbs the hill to the south.’

  The road that led to Hawkenlye. And to the forest.

  Hastily thanking the canon, Josse ran for the stables, dragged Horace’s nose out of the water trough and, swinging up into the saddle, rode furiously away.

  He wanted more than anything to find Ninian, but of the two of them he was the safer, for his hiding place was deep in the forest and he was under its protection. Piers, on the other hand, was known to be wounded and lay helpless in a place where anyone who asked a couple of questions could find him.

  Josse handed the blowing, sweating Horace to Sister Martha and raced to the infirmary. He knew even before he had the chance to ask, for the curtains around Piers’s recess were drawn back and the bed was empty.

  Sister Caliste and a young nun in the white veil of a novice had stripped the sheets and were wiping down the straw mattress. Both looked deeply upset, and the younger nun had tears on her face. Seeing Josse, Sister Caliste spoke a quiet word to her companion and then came over to Josse, taking his arm and guiding him out of the infirmary.

  ‘He’s dead, then,’ Josse said.

  She nodded. ‘We found him this morning.’

  It was callous in the face of her distress, but he had to ask. ‘His injury overcame him at last?’

  ‘No, Sir Josse.’ She spoke very quietly. ‘He was much improved, for the infection in the wound was retreating and his fever was down.’ She met his eyes. ‘Sister Euphemia found tiny feathers in his nostrils. She thinks someone put his pillow over his face and held it there until he died.’

  Thirteen

  There was nothing more that Josse could do for Piers, but Ninian was out in the forest and Josse certainly could — must — help him. First he had to speak to the abbess.

  ‘Where is Abbess Helewise?’ he demanded of Sister Caliste.

  ‘Oh, she and Sister Euphemia have gone to the church with Piers’s body. They’ll be in the crypt.’

  He hurried away, slowing to a decorous walk as he crossed the floor of the church but then descending the stone steps into the crypt so quickly that he slipped and almost fell. Bursting into the low chamber with the huge pillars holding up the vaulted roof, he saw the two black-clad figures standing either side of the dead man.

  He approached the abbess. ‘Sister Caliste tells me that he was smothered,’ he said, keeping his voice low.

  ‘He was,’ Sister Euphemia said grimly. Then, tears welling in her eyes, she muttered, ‘And he was on the mend! We’d have had him on his feet inside a week.’

  The abbess looked at him. ‘You will no doubt be able to identify the hand of his murderer, Sir Josse?’

  ‘Aye. Philippe de Loup.’

  ‘Why should anyone want to kill a man like Piers?’ the infirmarer asked sadly. ‘There was no harm in him — he bore his suffering bravely and we all liked him so much.’

  ‘Aye, he was a good man and he is dead because of it,’ Josse said slowly, the realization firming in his mind as he spoke. ‘Sister,’ he said to the infirmarer, ‘he was invited to join in an activity that was both a crime and a sin, and he refused. He took away something that was precious from the hands of men who were no longer worthy of it, and for that he had to die.’

  The infirmarer was staring at him. ‘He was a hero, then?’

  Josse hesitated briefly and then said, ‘Aye. He was.’

  And Sister Euphemia said, with the ghost of a smile, ‘I knew it all the time.’

  He nodded to the abbess and, picking up his signal, they left the infirmarer praying over the body of Sir Piers of Essendon. Once outside the church, he turned to the abbess and said, ‘My lady, now I must-’

  ‘Go and find the boy. Yes, Sir Josse, I know. You fear that… You believe de Loup will now hunt for him?’

  ‘I know it.’

  He turned to leave her but she called him back. ‘Oh, Sir Josse?’ She must have read the impatience in his expression for, with an apologetic smile, she said, ‘I won’t keep you long. Two things: first, I have given orders to my master mason that he may begin work on the chapel.’

  Despite his urgency, her momentous announcement stopped him dead. ‘Where is it to be?’

  It seemed to him that there was an instant of perfect stillness. Then, with a broad smile, she said, ‘On the forest fringe.’

  ‘That is the right place,’ he said.

  Her eyes were suddenly glistening with tears. ‘I know,’ she said softly.

  ‘The — ’ he cleared his throat — ‘the other thing?’

  ‘Oh… Yes. I think young Ninian has been in my room again, for the statue is gone. No doubt you’ll find her returned to her tree. Would you bring her back, please? Until she has a secure and fitting place in the new chapel, I really think she is safer in my cupboard.’

  ‘I agree, my lady.’ He did not entirely understand Ninian’s insistence that the figure must be in the oa
k tree. If, indeed, it was the lad who kept putting her there. It was the only explanation although, Josse realized now, Ninian hadn’t actually admitted that he was responsible. ‘I’ll have a word with him,’ he said, deliberately turning his mind from that worrying thought. Then, as he hurried off, he looked back at her and said, ‘Good luck with your chapel.’

  He thought he heard her gentle protest — ‘It is not my chapel!’ — and, smiling, he headed out through the gates and off towards the forest.

  He had arranged to meet Ninian today, although the lad had not said when. As Josse hurried up the slope to the forest, he prayed silently that Ninian would be waiting for him. It was still early and the boy might not expect Josse to be there yet. He stopped to stand for a moment on the apron of flat ground projecting out from the trees where, soon now, a chapel would stand. Slowly he turned in a circle, envisaging the walls of the little building stretching and extending up into a roof that soared over his head. A plain altar, he thought, a beautiful cloth and a simple wooden cross. Aye, it ought to be simple, for although he had been a king, St Edmund was no cosseted weakling but a fighting man who had died leading his troops against the invading Danes. He would not have wanted luxury and pomp any more than King Richard. Well, both of them, saint and sinner, would have their wish.

  Sinner.

  Amid all his other concerns, Josse remembered his mission for Queen Eleanor. When he had found his answers, he would seek her out and tell her in person. Standing there on the site of the new chapel, silently he made a vow that he would not call this matter closed until he had summoned the courage to tell her to her face the truth about her son and the March night in the tower at World’s End.

  He crossed the space that would soon be the chapel’s nave and ducked down beneath the branches of the oak tree. Recalling his undertaking to the abbess, he looked up, fully expecting to see the statue back in her usual place.

  There was nothing there.