by Alys Clare
When they had finished, she asked, ‘Seth, do you wish me to send a priest to you?’
‘Priest?’
‘To hear your confession,’ she said gently.
‘Confession?’ The light dawned. ‘I didn’t kill him, Abbess, he were dead when I reached him! That’s God’s honest truth, I swear!’
‘I see.’ Was he telling the truth? He sounded earnest enough, but then a man who stood to hang for murder was bound to deny the crime, as convincingly as he could. ‘But, Seth, what of your thieving?’ she went on. ‘You, Hamm and Ewen were all involved in digging beneath the fallen oak in the forest, weren’t you? And you cut down a healthy tree, too, to help you in your treasure seeking. That’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Aye, aye,’ Seth muttered. ‘I wish to God I’d told Hamm what to do with his coins, I do that! Begging your pardon, lady,’ he added.
‘It was Hamm who found the hoard?’
‘Aye. Setting traps, he were, for game and that. He dug down under the fallen tree because he saw something glinting. It were a coin, and, soon as he started digging a bit harder, he saw that there was more, much more. He got me and Ewen involved because it were too much for one man to do alone – it were the three of us cut down the second tree, which stood right in the way, and no easy job it were. I’m his cousin – Hamm’s cousin – see, we’ve always worked together.’
‘No, Seth, you’ve always stolen together,’ she corrected him.
He looked at her, his face pitiful. ‘Aye,’ he sighed. ‘And now they’ve got me for something I never did, and I’m going to hang.’ A sob escaped him. ‘Aren’t I?’
She wished she could say otherwise, but she had to agree; it certainly looked like it. Slowly she nodded.
Seth sank to the floor again, leaning his hopeless, filthy face against the wall. ‘Then I reckon I’d better have that priest.’
* * *
When almost a month had gone by, and, once more, the moon was waxing towards the full, Helewise was woken from deep sleep.
She sat up in her narrow bed, wondering why she had awakened. All around came the sounds of women asleep: faint murmurs, regular breathing, a few snores.
All sounds to which she was well accustomed.
What, then, had disturbed her?
She got up and crept through the hangings around her cubicle. All was still, there was nobody creeping about and—
Yes. There was.
Someone was standing by the door to the dormitory, and, as Helewise watched, the slim figure descended the first two steps.
Helewise, barefoot, hurried across the floor, stopping in the doorway and holding on to the door post. The figure was now on the third step down, slim hands clutching at the guard rail, her body leaning forward, tense, as if she yearned with her whole being towards the object of her fierce attention.
Towards the forest.
And, as Helewise watched, Caliste again began her weird, unearthly humming.
It was not, Helewise thought, any the less affecting the second time; in fact, it was possibly more so. The eerie sight of bright moonlight over the sinister darkness of the trees, combined with the still-vivid memory of recent events, created in the Abbess a profound dread.
But, dread or not, it was quite a chilly night, and it would do neither her nor Caliste any good to stand out there on the steps.
Her fanciful thoughts dispersed by common sense, Helewise took a firm grip on herself and went on down the steps until she could take a gentle hold on Caliste’s arm. ‘Come, child,’ she said softly, ‘back to your bed. It’s too cold to be out here in nothing but your chemise.’
Caliste’s humming faltered, then ceased. Turning wide eyes to Helewise, she seemed to stare straight through her.
‘Are you awake, Sister Caliste?’ Helewise whispered. There was no reply. Pulling steadily at the girl’s arm, Helewise led her back into the dormitory and along the room to her bed. There, like an obedient child, the novice lay down and shut her eyes. Helewise arranged the covers over her, then, drawing the hangings across the opening, left the girl to sleep.
Helewise noticed that she had left the dormitory door open; with a mild tut of annoyance at her own carelessness, she went back to close it.
As she did so, she heard the humming again.
Now it was fainter, and, if anything, even more unsettling.
Because, although it was the same wandering tune that Caliste had hummed, in the same unearthly key, it came from the forest.
Somewhere out there in that vast darkness, someone had heard Caliste’s strange song. And they were sending back a reply.
* * *
The Abbess’s ability to concentrate on her devotions and her duties the following day was, she soon discovered, severely impaired. For one thing, she had resolved to keep a watchful eye on Sister Caliste, which in itself was disturbing since the girl had a vacant look about her; wide-eyed and anxious, she was far from being her usual serene and smiling self.
When Helewise asked her gently if she felt all right – and, more relevant, if she had slept well – the girl gave her a puzzled frown and replied, ‘I am quite well, thank you, Abbess. And, yes, I slept deeply. Why?’
‘Oh – I thought you looked a little pale,’ Helewise improvised.
Caliste gave her a sweet smile. ‘How well you care for us,’ she said softly.
Helewise couldn’t answer. Just then, she felt she was failing at least one of her little community quite badly. Leaving Caliste to carry on with her work – she was washing out soiled bandages and hanging them to dry in the strong sunshine, which, according to Sister Euphemia, was the best thing for making them wholesome and fit for re-use – Helewise went back to her room. It appeared, she reflected as she paced across the courtyard, that Caliste had no recollection of her sleepwalking.
Which somehow made it all the more strange.
Helewise’s preoccupation with Caliste meant that, try as she might, she had not been able to rid her mind of memories of the chilling scene she had witnessed last night. At times, she even thought she could still hear echoes of that inhuman humming …
And, as if all that were not enough to worry about, in addition there was Esyllt. A very different Esyllt since the murder in the forest, and Helewise’s conscience nagged her continuously to find out why.
Paying another visit to her in the old people’s home, Helewise realised that Esyllt had lost weight. She was still a fine, strong young woman, but her face was thinner. And there was something else … Yes. Helewise, watching Esyllt walk to greet her, nodded faintly.
Esyllt had lost the proud carriage which had thrown back her shoulders and displayed her fine figure. Now, she moved as if a yoke lay across her back. A yoke, moreover, that bore a heavy load.
‘Abbess?’ Esyllt said, having made her reverence. ‘Did you wish to speak to Sister Emanuel? Only she’s just gone outside with old Brother Josiah, and—’
Helewise held up her hand. ‘No, Esyllt. It is you I wished to see.’
‘Oh.’
It was amazing, Helewise reflected briefly, how so much feeling could be put into that small response. ‘I wondered if you might want to talk about—’ she began.
Then she stopped. She had tried that approach before, and it had failed. Why should she expect it to work now? Instead, stepping closer to the girl, Helewise opened her arms and enfolded her in a hug.
For a moment, Esyllt seemed to respond. Sagging against Helewise, she emitted a sob.
‘There, child,’ Helewise murmured. ‘There, now.’ She reached up a hand and smoothed the girl’s hair. ‘Let me help you,’ she went on, keeping her voice low, ‘I do hate to see you suffer so, and—’
But Esyllt’s brief collapse was over.
Straightening up and pulling herself away from Helewise, she wiped her hand across her eyes and said, ‘I thank you, Abbess, but there is nothing you can do.’ Turning away, she added under her breath, ‘Nothing anybody can do.’
Helewise watche
d her walk away.
Then she went outside to look for Sister Emanuel.
The nun was sitting on a bench next to a very old man in monk’s habit. She was holding his hand, and occasionally reaching up to wipe tears from his cheeks with a spotless piece of linen.
Seeing the Abbess, Sister Emanuel began to detach herself and get up. Helewise motioned for her to stay where she was; the old monk, she observed, didn’t appear to have noticed her.
She went to sit down on Sister Emanuel’s free side. ‘What is the matter with him?’ she asked quietly.
Sister Emanuel gave the old man an affectionate glance. ‘Nothing, really,’ she replied in her normal voice. ‘It’s all right,’ she added, ‘Brother Josiah doesn’t hear very well. Nor, indeed, does he see very well.’ She sighed. ‘His eyes run in the bright light, Abbess, that is all.’
Helewise nodded. She could, for the moment, think of nothing to say.
‘He likes to feel the sunshine on his face,’ Sister Emanuel remarked. ‘That, really, is his one remaining pleasure, so I like him to enjoy it as often as is practical.’
There was a short silence. Then Sister Emanuel said, ‘Were you looking for me, Abbess?’
Helewise, too, had been enjoying the sun on her face. With an effort, she brought herself back to the matter in hand.
‘Yes, Sister. I am concerned about Esyllt.’
‘As am I,’ Sister Emanuel said. ‘She is —’ She frowned, as if not sure how to proceed. After a few moments, she went on, ‘It is as if she were pining. She does not eat, does not, I think, sleep well. I have no complaint about the quantity of her work; indeed, she is almost working herself too hard. However, the quality of it has changed.’ Sister Emanuel gave a small sigh. ‘It is not charitable of me to criticise someone whom, I am sure, is in deep distress, but, Abbess, I feel that I must report to you any observations I have made.’
‘Yes, please do,’ Helewise urged. ‘Go on.’
‘Esyllt has lost her touch,’ Sister Emanuel said sadly. ‘There used to be such a sense of joy about her that it communicated itself even to people such as he, who can barely see nor hear.’ She indicated Brother Josiah, sitting mumbling to himself by her side. ‘But now…’ She did not finish her sentence.
‘As if she were pining,’ Helewise repeated.
‘Abbess?’
‘That’s what you said. But pining for what, Sister Emanuel?’
Sister Emanuel shot her a sad look. ‘Abbess, I really could not say.’
* * *
At Sext, after a morning in which she felt she had accomplished absolutely nothing except to give herself a headache, the Abbess took a firm hold on her emotions. Praying for fortitude and wisdom, she forced her own problems out of her mind and opened herself up to the Lord. With the result that, as she left the Abbey church, at last she knew what she must do.
There might still be time …
* * *
Josse, disturbed in the middle of a warm and lazy afternoon, was surprised to see Brother Saul ride into the courtyard of New Winnowlands. Even more surprised when Saul delivered his message.
‘Now?’ Josse exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ Brother Saul said. ‘Well, if it is not an inconvenience.’
‘Why the hurry?’
Brother Saul shrugged. ‘She did not say.’
‘Hmm.’ Strange, Josse thought as, sending Saul on ahead to say that Josse was on his way, he packed up the few belongings he would need for a night or two away from home. Still puzzling – and not a little intrigued – he yelled out to Will to prepare his horse, and, not long after Saul had gone, he was on the road behind him.
* * *
Josse was no more nor less interested in the phases of the moon than the next person. He had noticed, a couple of nights ago, that it had not been far off the full, but, since his observation had been fleeting, he could not have said whether the moon was waxing or waning.
As he rode towards Hawkenlye, catching up with Brother Saul so that they rode the last few miles in companionable conversation, Josse did not give the lunar cycle even a single thought.
But, whether Josse was aware of it or not, tonight the moon would be full.
And, even if Josse didn’t know, others did.
Chapter Fourteen
‘You propose we do what?’
Josse could hardly believe it. Was the Abbess Helewise sick? Had she suffered some strange aberration? He stared at her, trying to detect any sign of it, but she looked pretty much as usual. A slight frown seemed to have settled between the wide grey eyes, but, other than that, she appeared calm and in control.
‘I intend to go into the forest tonight,’ she said, ‘and, as I just suggested, I think it would be a good idea for you to accompany me.’ Her eyes rested on his and, briefly, she gave the shadow of a smile. ‘If, that is, you are prepared to, Sir Josse, given its recent violent history. I should, of course, quite understand if you refuse, and I—’
‘I haven’t refused!’ He thumped his fist against the wall of her room with suppressed anger. Great God, but she was leaping ahead of herself here! ‘Of course I won’t let you go alone, Abbess, but—’
‘Oh, good,’ she said mildly.
‘What’s good?’
She turned an innocent face up to his. ‘That you’ve agreed to come with me, of course!’
‘Abbess, just wait a moment!’ He tried to think rapidly, tried to work out how best to put his huge disapproval into words that might have a chance of stopping her in this folly.
Moving across the room and standing with his hands resting on her table, he said, ‘Abbess Helewise, there is great peril in the forest. Two men have been killed there, and, for all that Sheriff Pelham believes he has one murderer safely under lock and key, there is still the matter of the first death!’
‘I am aware of that,’ she said, with a new coolness in her voice. ‘However, I—’
‘And yet you’re telling me that, despite all that, the two of us are going to sally out into the forest tonight!’ he exploded. ‘For what purpose, pray? To have a good nose around and see how long it takes for us to get a spear in our backs?’
‘You did not listen when I used that same argument to try to prevent you from going into the forest a few weeks ago,’ she observed. ‘You said, if I recall, that, since you would be armed and on the look out, you would be perfectly safe.’
‘And I was!’ he replied heatedly.
‘So why will you not be as safe now?’ she demanded.
‘Because—’
He stopped. Yes, of course. This was the crux of it. And, having realised it already, this was, naturally, why she was being so belligerent.
‘I would be as safe,’ he said, after a pause. ‘But I am not prepared to risk your wellbeing.’
‘It is not up to you to make that decision,’ she said coolly. ‘As Abbess of Hawkenlye, I am in charge of my nuns and my lay servants. Two of my women are suffering, and suffering deeply, and it is my duty to do all that I can to alleviate their distress.’
‘By making some ill-prepared and reckless venture into the forest by night?’ he shouted.
‘Yes!’ she shouted back. ‘Do you not see, the forest holds the key to all this?’
He wasn’t at all sure that it did. And, even if she was right, he had to stop her in this wild idea. Good Lord, it was impossible! ‘It will not help your young women for you to be killed!’ he cried.
‘I have absolutely no intention of being killed,’ she said. ‘Why should anyone kill me, in any case?’
‘They killed Hamm Robinson.’ He could not help the righteousness in his voice.
She gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘Hamm Robinson was different!’
‘Why, pray?’
‘He—’ She stopped. Then, in a more placatory tone, ‘Come with me tonight, Sir Josse, and I will show you!’
Come with me! Dear God, but she was determined! If he wasn’t careful, he’d find himself left in the safety of Hawkenlye Abbey
tonight while she went off by herself into the forest.
‘Is there nothing I can say that will dissuade you?’ he asked quietly.
‘Nothing.’
He ran his hands over his face. ‘Very well, then.’
‘You will come with me?’ She sounded as if she could hardly believe it.
He removed his hands and looked at her. ‘Aye.’
He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he saw her relax briefly in her relief.
* * *
Helewise had thought he would not give up without one last attempt to dissuade her, and she was right. He kept his peace as they ate the evening meal – her conscience hadn’t troubled her over ordering good portions of the braised hare with vegetables for Josse and herself, bearing in mind the night’s work that lay ahead for them – and, as they drank a fortifying cup of wine back in the privacy of her room, he had managed to restrict himself to the sort of remarks habitually made to one another by courteous strangers meeting on the road.
She excused herself and went across to the Abbey church for Compline, making a great effort to empty her mind of all thoughts of the forthcoming adventure. In the powerful atmosphere of the church in the late evening, she felt a sudden flow of courage come coursing through her; had she not already firmly made up her mind that what she was doing was the right thing, this sign of almighty approval would surely have convinced her.
‘In Thy wisdom, Thou hast put these troubled women in my care, oh, Lord,’ she prayed softly. ‘Dear Lord, let me not fail them now.’ After a moment’s pause, she added, ‘Let me not fail Thee.’
Returning to Josse some time later, she found he had come out into the cloister to wait for her. And, as she approached, he was already saying the words he must have been rehearsing: ‘Abbess, won’t you please reconsider?’
She let him make a brave start, then gently put up a hand to silence him. ‘Sir Josse,’ she said quietly, ‘this is pointless.’
‘But—’
He was glaring down at her, face close to hers. As if, at long last, he read her determination in her eyes, he gave a faint shrug. ‘Very well,’ he said with a sigh. ‘I wash my hands of you.’
