The Joys of My Life h-12

by Alys Clare

  A reddish chestnut appeared first, its rider holding the leading rein of a grey. The rider — it was a boy of about fourteen — saw them and, with a shout, kicked the chestnut into a canter, the grey following behind. Then round the corner appeared another, larger horse on which sat the familiar, broad-shouldered figure of Josse.

  As he approached he was partially hidden from Helewise’s view by Ninian, but he was not hurt, she could tell that much at least. Not physically hurt, anyway, though he had lost Joanna, so the pain would be deep inside. And he would bear it for ever…

  Her eyes were fixed on the bundle that he was holding so carefully, so tenderly, before him, cradled in the crook of his left arm. It could not be the black figure, for it moved. It wriggled, stretched, and then it let out a small cry that quickly escalated to a full-scale yell.

  Josse was level with her now. Meggie hurled herself at her father and, pulling up the big horse, he let the reins go slack and reached down with his free hand, hauling Meggie up in front of him. She twisted round to gaze at the baby, eyes round with wonder.

  Josse sat staring down into Helewise’s eyes. She could not read his expression. In it there was pride, deep happiness and also a sort of guilt. Then she knew for sure that what she had begun, incredibly, to suspect was true.

  Josse, detecting perhaps some slight relaxation in her face, smiled and said, ‘My lady, may we proceed straight away into the abbey? I really hope that among your patients and visitors there’s a recently delivered woman, for my son is hungry.’

  She swallowed the threatening tears. In a voice surprisingly like her normal tone, she said, ‘I am sure such a woman can be found, Sir Josse. If not, then the nursing nuns will come up with something. Come along!’

  With her heart singing and a spring in her step, she led her small procession back to the abbey.

  As soon as the little party arrived, news began to sweep through the abbey that Sir Josse was back and had his baby son with him. Sister Clare, who ran Hawkenlye’s home for fallen women, approached Helewise and very shyly said that one of her regulars had just given birth to a healthy little girl and had more than enough milk for two. If the abbess thought Sir Josse would not mind his son sharing the breasts of a Tonbridge prostitute, then Jehane had said she’d be pleased to oblige.

  ‘It is a very kind offer, Sister Clare,’ Helewise said. ‘I will speak to Sir Josse.’

  Sister Caliste had taken Josse and the baby into the infirmary, where, in the absence of any lactating women, Sister Euphemia was trying to get the increasingly desperate Geoffroi to accept warm water with a tiny spoonful of honey melted in it. Helewise noticed as she approached that Sister Caliste, three nursing nuns and two elderly patients long acquainted with Josse were all standing around the infirmarer as she held the screaming baby, looking down adoringly and muttering helpful comments.

  Helewise beckoned to Josse and, out of earshot of the others, said, ‘There is a young mother in the fallen women’s refuge. She has offered to share her milk with your son, although if you would prefer-’

  He did not wait to hear her out. A huge smile creased his tired face and he said, ‘My lady, I could kiss you! Oh, I apologize, I did not mean to be rude. I’ll fetch Geoffroi and we’ll go over straight away.’

  Helewise escorted him to the fallen women’s home, where Sister Clare presented a young woman with an oval face, a sensuous mouth and hazel eyes; she would have been lovely, Helewise thought with compassion, but for the scars and the world-weary, dejected expression that her way of life had forced on to her.

  She was about to make some diplomatic comment to ease Josse out of letting his son feed off this poor wreck of a woman but, to her amazement, Josse had hurried forward and taken her hand in his. ‘Jehane!’ he exclaimed. ‘I did not think you would be our saviour! How are you? It’s… what, six years since we met, in this very place? You have a new baby, they tell me?’

  ‘I do all right, Sir Josse,’ Jehane replied, a smile sweetening her face. ‘And, yes, I’ve had another girl. She’s sleeping.’ Jehane looked back over her shoulder to where a baby lay in a cradle.

  ‘Will you feed my son?’ Josse asked. ‘He is in sore need of milk, as you’ll have noticed.’ The child was crying ceaselessly now.

  Jehane looked down into the tiny scarlet face. ‘Of course,’ she said softly. ‘Give him here.’

  Quite unabashed, Jehane took Geoffroi, sat down on the end of the nearest cot and, unfastening her gown, put him to her breast. He was desperate with hunger now and, for a few moments, too far gone in panicky fear to realize what was on offer. With a practised hand Jehane squeezed out a few drops of her milk and spread them on Geoffroi’s lips. Scenting and tasting what he so desperately needed, the infant suddenly latched on to the nipple and, an expression of bliss on his face, closed his eyes and began to suckle.

  Helewise stood beside Josse and Sister Clare. Josse’s face, she noticed, was fixed in an absurd grin; Sister Clare looked almost as happy. Jehane looked up, her face alight. ‘He’ll do all right now,’ she said. ‘Took him a while because I smell different from whoever fed him afore, but he’ll know me next time.’

  That, then, was that, Helewise thought with a private smile. A hungry baby had found comfort; an anxious father had his problem solved; and, knowing Josse as she did, undoubtedly he would wish to employ Jehane as wet nurse for as long as his son needed her. So, Jehane would keep away from the back alleys of Tonbridge for a few precious months. Who knows, she mused, a time of living a different, better life might just persuade Jehane that there were alternatives to earning her bread on her back.

  But perhaps that was asking for too much.

  For the next two weeks, Josse and his family remained at the abbey. There were all at once many things clamouring for his attention. Helewise, watching and eagerly helping whenever she was asked, thought that perhaps he had made up his mind to keep busy in order to stop himself grieving for Joanna. He had told her, briefly and in a manner that suggested he did not want to be faced with any questions, no matter how sympathetically asked, that Joanna would not be returning. ‘I have a task now,’ he added, with a tentative pride that touched her deeply. ‘I have my daughter and my little son to raise, and Ninian has expressed a wish to join my household.’

  One of Josse’s priorities, then, was to find out how he went about becoming Ninian’s legal guardian. Watching the two of them together — Ninian actually made Josse laugh, something Helewise recognized as a minor miracle just then — she thought in a flash of illumination, the boy has treated Josse like a father ever since they met! The poor lad never knew his real father and he loathed his stepfather. Then, when he and his mother were on the run, along came Josse, a man to depend upon, admire and love.

  Something occurred to her. Josse had told her that Ninian had been in the forest looking for his mother. Helewise thought that was not the whole truth, for she was certain that the person Ninian had been waiting for as he lurked on the forest fringes was Josse. Well, now they had found each other. Soon Ninian would be Josse’s son in the law’s eyes as well.

  Josse had told her of the plan to set up home in the house in the woods. At first she had been greatly surprised; she had associated him with New Winnowlands for all the long years of their friendship and it was hard to envisage him anywhere else. As she grew accustomed to the idea, however, she realized that Josse had never truly been at home in his manor. It is too far away, she thought. He wants — needs — to be near both the forest and the abbey, and he would not have been so generous as to share New Winnowlands with my son and his family if the house had taken up a place in his heart.

  As if to underline that his decision was final, Josse had a document drawn up that passed the estate of New Winnowlands unconditionally to Dominic Warin and his descendants. Then, as July ended and August began, he set out with Ninian, Meggie, the baby and his wet nurse, Brother Augustus and Brother Erse the carpenter to begin turning the house in the woods into a family home.


  It was not far away — under an hour on foot and considerably less than that if you went through the forest instead of following the track around its perimeter. One morning, burning with curiosity to find out how Josse was getting on, Helewise set out to see for herself. She took Sister Tiphaine with her, and the herbalist, a frequent visitor to the forest, unhesitatingly set off on the shorter route.

  ‘Joanna’s hut is just over there.’ Tiphaine jerked her head to indicate a faint path through the undergrowth.

  ‘What will become of it now?’ Helewise found she was whispering.

  ‘The forest folk will look after it. They’ll keep it safe as long as they’re here to do so.’

  ‘As long as… You mean they’re going away?’

  Sister Tiphaine looked at her, sorrow in the deep eyes. ‘The world’s changing,’ she said. ‘Soon there will be no more wild places. The coming men will not have your tolerance, my lady, for people who kneel before a different deity.’

  Helewise fell silent. They strode on and, deep in thought, it came as a mild surprise to find they were already at their destination. Josse and his companions had been busy. All the windows and doors of the old house stood open to the sunshine — someone had been felling and pruning, cutting back the surrounding trees and bushes so that there was now a clearing of perhaps ten paces all around the buildings — and as Helewise went up into the hall, she was greeted by sweet smells and a shiningly clean stone floor.

  Josse came hurrying to greet her and took her on a tour of his new domain. His man Will had come over from New Winnowlands to lend a hand; Josse confided that he had asked if the move could become permanent, being too long in the tooth, as he had said, to get used to a new master. He and his woman, Ella, were going to join Josse’s household as soon as Dominic had found replacements.

  There was another addition to the household; with a smile and a firm hand on the young woman’s sleeve preventing her from turning tail and fleeing as she was brought before Helewise, Josse presented his new housekeeper. ‘This is Tilly,’ he said.

  Helewise stared at her. Tilly was perhaps twenty years old, lean and thin-faced with brown hair drawn severely back under a white cap. Her pale eyes looked frightened. Helewise, wanting to reassure her, said kindly, ‘Hello, Tilly. Have you come to answer Sir Josse’s prayers?’

  ‘Don’t know about that,’ Tilly whispered. Then, raising her head and, with a visible effort, summoning her courage, she added in a rush, ‘Jehane sent word that ’e needed a maid and Goody Anne, she says ’e’d done ’er enough favours over the years and it were high time she did ’im one back, so ’ere I am.’ Flushed at her own boldness, she hung her head again.

  ‘Thank you, Tilly,’ Josse said.

  Sensing herself dismissed, Tilly dropped a bob curtsy and scurried away.

  ‘She comes from the inn at Tonbridge?’ Helewise asked.

  ‘Aye.’ Josse smiled. ‘She loves it here. I did wonder if she would settle out in the woods so far from everything she’s ever known, but it seems she’s a countrywoman at heart. She’s doing wonders with my hens.’

  ‘Hens?’

  ‘Aye.’ The smile broadened. ‘Ninian’s made a fox-proof run and we have fresh eggs every morning. He’s also got a pair of hounds and a cat with kittens. He and Meggie apparently share a passion for every sort of living creature the good Lord ever made. Meggie’s rescued a dove with a damaged wing, and most nights we have badgers feeding on the bank beyond the house.’

  ‘And Geoffroi is thriving?’

  Josse’s expression softened. ‘Aye. Jehane too; without her paint and dressed in a less spectacular fashion, she’s already looking more like the woman she was before… er… when…’

  ‘I understand,’ Helewise said. Another prayer answered, she thought.

  ‘Come and see them!’ Josse grabbed her arm. ‘She’s set up a nursery in a room behind the hall, although I really would like to build a solar. We do need the extra space.’

  ‘I know a fine team of masons,’ she said. ‘They just happen to be finishing their present job. Would you like me to ask them to pay you a visit?’

  He laughed. ‘I would indeed.’ He met her eyes. ‘I have gold, my lady,’ he said very quietly. ‘Queen Eleanor was extremely generous.’

  ‘I see.’ She was glad for him. ‘Lead on, Sir Josse — I want to see this son of yours!’

  Geoffroi d’Acquin was baptized at Hawkenlye Abbey at the end of August. Helewise stood godmother, and Brother Augustus was godfather. The young man had asked Brother Firmin, who in turn had asked Helewise, if anybody thought it would be a terrible thing if he abandoned the life of a lay brother at Hawkenlye Abbey — where, he had said earnestly, he had been very happy, don’t let anyone think otherwise! — and went to work for Josse. Helewise summoned him and told him very gently that there was nothing terrible about discovering that his calling was no longer where he had believed it to be. She undertook to set about the necessary steps that would release him from the abbey.

  Josse told her in private that Gussie had fallen in love with Tilly. The young man believed nobody but he knew of his sweet anguish — until he was released from his lay-brother status, he had not admitted his feelings to anyone, least of all Tilly — but Josse had been reliably informed that, when the time for revelation finally came, Tilly would not turn him down. According to Josse, she had put on some much-needed weight and was blossoming into a rather lovely young woman.

  Josse’s new household, Helewise reflected, was proving to be a healing place for more than just its master.

  St Edmund’s Chapel was completed as September drew to a close and the mists of autumn began to appear. It lay empty over the winter months, for Queen Eleanor had asked the new king, her son, to attend the service of consecration and he was fully occupied over in France, where he had inherited his elder brother’s enemy, King Philip. But then, early in the new year of 1200, King John paid a lightning visit to England — rumour had it that he was only coming to raise some much-needed cash — and word was sent to Hawkenlye announcing that he would fulfil his mother’s request.

  The chapel looked beautiful. The plain white walls threw the glorious glass into prominence. Sun shone through the jewel-bright colours of the window and danced on the stone flags of the floor; the pale oak of the rood screen glowed like gold. Helewise, performing a solitary final inspection the night before the king was due to arrive, tried to see the chapel as it would appear to someone new to it, someone who had not been witness to its long birth. It will impress, she decided; it cannot fail to do so.

  The king was unlikely to notice that one of the flagstones was in fact a trapdoor leading down to the crypt, where the black goddess sat in her niche down in the darkness. Helewise visited her regularly, as, she well knew, did various others. The king would not be told about her; neither would the vast party of clergy summoned to the ceremony. What they did not know could not hurt them. She left the chapel, carefully closing and locking the door. In time, there would be no need for a lock.

  She walked over to the little habitation, now also complete. Martin’s men had built it to her exact specification. Its new inhabitant would not take up residence yet — not this year and perhaps not the next — and Helewise would look after the simple dwelling until the time came.

  She went outside into the evening air. It was growing cold — there would be a hard frost tonight — and she wrapped her cloak more tightly around her. She stared down at the lights of the abbey, shining out into the night like a beacon of hope. It is a good place, she thought. It will be one of the last places to succumb, but succumb it will. She sighed, for the thought made her sad. But the future was not entirely bleak — far from it.

  Her eyes roved on and she stared at the distant vale. Josse was down there, with Ninian, his adopted son, and Meggie and Geoffroi, the children of his blood. They were staying in the monks’ quarters and, like everyone else, were excited at the prospect of tomorrow’s ceremony. It was not every day,
after all, that a chapel right on your doorstep was dedicated to a warrior king. Josse’s entire household had accompanied him, although Will, Ella, Gussie and Tilly had only just arrived and would have to go back to the house in the woods immediately after the ceremony to see to their duties.

  For now, though, they were all here at Hawkenlye and Helewise revelled in their company. She was now a regular visitor in Josse’s house, welcomed by everyone with such warmth that it always moved her. Sometimes she would meet other loved ones there; Josse’s building programme had been forced to halt back in the autumn, but he had plans to expand as soon as the new season started. For now, guests such as her elder son Leofgar and his wife Rohaise, and Dominic and Paradisa, seemed perfectly happy to muck in with everyone else. From living a lonely life at New Winnowlands, Josse was now the treasured head of a diverse household who were united, if by nothing else, by their love for him.

  She sensed that he was happy. She hoped and prayed that he was, that the pain of the deep wound left by the loss of Joanna was, if not healed, then at least assuaged by the company of everyone else who loved him.

  She set off down the path to the abbey. One of these days, she thought, I must ask him.

  Twenty

  Ten Years Later, June 1210

  The abbess sat in her little room staring down at the thick cream parchment unrolled on the table before her. She held it down and read through every word that was written on it, absently running her fingers over the outline of the heavy wax seal at the bottom of the page. She had no need to study it in such detail, for she knew what the wording said and she had long been expecting it. Nevertheless, to see this vital document before her eyes was still a shock, for its import was momentous; for her, for Hawkenlye Abbey and, most important, for the person to whom the document referred. Despite all the reassurances, she knew very well that from now on, nothing was going to be the same.