by Alys Clare
It was possible, Helewise acknowledged, that the Queen would demand the return of her gift so that it might be sold for the ransom. But somehow it did not seem likely.
Wishful thinking, Helewise told herself sternly, returning to her ledger. That’s what that is. And if we are commanded to give up our treasures, then we shall do so willingly for the King’s sake.
Queen Eleanor had visited Hawkenlye in April. The first desperate anxiety over her captive son had abated; she had recently received a letter from him in which he assured her that he was well and content. He also revealed that he had established a friendly and affectionate relationship with the Emperor, and he expressed his deep gratitude to his mother for her endeavours on his behalf. Eleanor, who had previously been beside herself with worry, had been bombarding the frail and elderly Pope Celestine with impassioned letters demanding that he do something to help the great Lionheart. Frustratingly, Celestine had yet to answer; he was, according to the Queen, shaking in his papal shoes at the prospect of performing any action that might offend the Emperor and so, in Eleanor’s own words, he had ‘taken the coward’s way and decided to do nothing’.
The encouraging message from Richard, together with the great comfort of actually being able to do something herself towards his release, had combined to make the Queen feel a great deal more positive, and it was in this mood that Hawkenlye had received her.
‘I shall set up a council,’ she had informed Helewise, striding to and fro across the best guest chamber and ticking off points on her long, elegant, fingers. A huge emerald caught the light and glinted on her forefinger. ‘That is my priority, to ensure the help of good men to collect the money. The Earl of Arundel, the Earl of Sussex, Richard Fitznigel, Bishop of London – oh yes, and that handsome fellow Hubert Walter shall be at their head, which is only his due as our new Archbishop of Canterbury.’
‘They say he is a great man,’ Helewise commented. ‘His diplomacy, his wide experience and his vast intelligence will be needed in this enterprise.’
‘Indeed they will,’ the Queen agreed. She fixed intent eyes on Helewise. ‘But we shall not fail, Helewise.’
‘I know, my lady,’ Helewise murmured. ‘I know.’
The Queen’s restlessness had made that visit a less man restorative one for the old lady, Helewise thought now. Usually when Eleanor came to Hawkenlye, Helewise tried to spoil her a little; give her some much-needed time to herself, provide her with one or two books and make sure that, when the Queen requested it, the great Abbey church was empty for her private prayer. The nuns and monks, too, joined in the cosseting, appearing silently to leave little gifts outside Eleanor’s door. A posy of sweet smelling flowers. A jug of cool wine on a hot day. A phial of the precious holy water from the Vale.
But a woman like Eleanor of Aquitaine did not pause to rest, even for an hour, when her favourite son needed her help.
With a sigh, Helewise went back to her ledger. Picking up her quill, she tried once again to reconcile the revenues from the Abbey’s sheep pastures down on Romney Marsh; she had done the long sum three times and each time arrived at a different result …
There was silence in her room for some time. Then, just as she gave a soft exclamation of pleasure – the sum had at last seemed to come out right – there was a tap on her door.
‘Come in!’ she said cheerfully, putting down her quill.
The door opened a crack and the round-eyed face of Sister Anne peered around it. She looked, Helewise noticed, faintly surprised. As well she might – Helewise smiled to herself – since it was rumoured among the nuns that Helewise disliked working on the accounts books. Sister Anne had probably been expecting a less cordial reception.
‘What can I do for you, Sister Anne?’ Helewise asked kindly.
‘I didn’t want to interrupt you, my lady Abbess,’ Sister Anne said, sidling into the room, ‘not when you’re so busy, but—’
‘I am not busy at this precise moment,’ Helewise remarked. Pleasure at the sum finally done was still making her smile but, nevertheless, there was more work to do and she knew from long experience that her patience would soon begin to wear thin. Dear Sister Anne was an amiable soul but not blessed with either swiftness of thought or any fine judgement of another’s mood.
‘Well, it’s like this, see,’ Sister Anne began. ‘Sister Ursel was called to the gates a while ago and she sent you a message. She said it’s not really urgent but she knows you like to be kept informed, and she did think it a little strange, what with the young lady being so young, if you see what I mean, and well-dressed and that, mounted on a lovely mare with saddle and bridle new-like and—’
‘What was Sister Ursel’s message?’ Helewise felt her jaw begin to clench.
‘Oh, didn’t I say?’
‘No.’ The monosyllable sounded more like a bark than a word and Helewise hastily stitched a wide smile on to her face. ‘I don’t believe you did, Sister.’
Sister Anne squared her shoulders as befitted a courier with tidings to impart, frowned in concentration as she brought to mind the details of her message and declared, ‘There’s a young lady arrived. Says she’s called Galiena and is wife to Ambrose Ryemarsh. She asks to see the nursing nuns and so Sister Ursel’s taken her to the infirmary.’
Trying to follow the porteress’s reasoning – Sister Ursel did not usually feel it necessary to report to the Abbess every new arrival who came seeking help – Helewise said, ‘And this Galiena Ryemarsh is a lady of quality, Sister Anne?’ Perhaps the young woman’s elevated station was the reason for Sister Ursel’s action.
‘Oh, yes, without a doubt. I saw her with my own eyes and I can certainly attest to that.’ Sister Anne nodded violently as if to emphasise her words.
‘Ah, I see. The name is not familiar to me but perhaps I should step across to the infirmary and make the lady’s acquaintance.’ She frowned, not relishing the interruption.
‘Oh, I don’t reckon there’s any call for that, not unless you feel like it, my lady,’ Sister Anne said, giving Helewise an indulgent smile. ‘Don’t you disturb yourself, not when you’ve so much to do!’
Losing patience at last, Helewise said, ‘Then why are you sent to interrupt my concentration in order to inform me of this arrival, Sister Anne?’
Sister Anne’s vapid smile froze on her face. ‘Oh – er – urn – because of how she arrived!’ she stammered.
‘Yes?’ Helewise restrained the impulse to ask sarcastically, and how did she arrive? Walking on her hands? Dragged on a hurdle? On a wicker chariot and driving a team of wolves?
‘She was’ – Sister Anne, undeterred by her superior’s ill-restrained irritation, paused dramatically – ‘alone!’
Helewise made herself work on the ledgers for a little longer, then, since she would soon have to stop in order to attend Vespers, she abandoned her efforts in time to slip across first to the infirmary.
Sister Euphemia came to the door to greet her. ‘You’ll have been informed of our new arrival, then,’ she said quietly, leaning close to her superior. As always, the infirmary was busy and several nuns were hurrying here and there throughout the long room as if keen to finish the present task before the summons to evening prayers.
‘Indeed.’ Helewise looked around her. ‘Is she within?’
‘No.’ The infirmarer gave her a quick glance. ‘She’s not sick so there’s no need for her to take up a bed among those that are.’
‘Then …?’ Helewise paused.
‘Step outside with me, if you will, my lady, and I shall tell you the little that I know.’
Helewise and Sister Euphemia went out through the infirmary’s wide doors and turned into the shady cloister outside; the day was still hot and the deep shade was welcome. When they were safely out of earshot of anyone inside the infirmary, Sister Euphemia said, with a brevity that Sister Anne might have done worse than emulate, ‘She’s called Galiena. She’s eighteen, married to a man a good bit older and she wants to be pregnant.’
‘Oh!’ Momentarily startled, Helewise recovered herself quickly and said, ‘And seeks your help?’
‘Aye. Seems the young lady is something of a herbalist herself. I took her to see Sister Tiphaine, who was clearly impressed by the remedies that Galiena has already used. She’s been treating both herself and her husband, which shows a deal of good sense.’
‘Can you help her?’ Helewise asked. ‘Is there anything you and Sister Tiphaine can suggest that has not already been employed?’
‘Reckon there’s always another remedy or two worth a try,’ the infirmarer replied. ‘The lass has agreed that I talk to her at greater length, which I’ll do in the morning. If I can find the time.’ She gave a short sniff, as if to imply that a rich young woman’s fancies would certainly not be given preference over more pressing demands. ‘Sometimes it’s as simple a matter as a couple not knowing what they’re meant to do, if you understand me,’ she went on. ‘I well recall a pair of youngsters I was called to once where the girl was still a virgin.’
‘I should have thought that unlikely in this case, since the young lady’s husband is older than she and presumably experienced.’
‘Aye, so should I, but you never know. I intend to have a look at her while we have our talk. I’ll try to discover what their habits are, whether there’s any obvious reason why she has failed to conceive.’
‘And she, presumably, is happy to be examined and intimately questioned?’ It seemed important, Helewise thought, for Galiena to realise what she was letting herself in for.
‘I haven’t told her yet exactly what the morning’s session is going to involve.’ Sister Euphemia smiled somewhat grimly. ‘But if she wants my help, that’s the best way I can start to give it.’
‘I see.’ There seemed little more to add. ‘I shall receive the young woman after Vespers, Sister. Please will you send word to her to present herself in my room at that time?’
‘I will, my lady.’ The infirmarer gave her Abbess a low bow, then hurried back to her patients.
Helewise sat quietly in her chair, hearing again in her head the peaceful words of the evening prayers. The office of Vespers was one of her favourites and this evening the Abbey church had been wonderfully cool and dark after the heat of the day.
Presently there was a soft footstep outside her partly opened door and a quiet tap sounded. Calling out ‘Come in!’ Helewise rose to greet her visitor.
Galiena Ryemarsh wore a dove-grey silk gown and was heavily veiled in fine linen, arranged so that the hem fluted prettily but concealingly around her face. A headdress modestly covered her hair. Helewise’s first impression was of a woman of fashion dressing as she believed fit when entering – albeit only temporarily – a convent full of nuns.
Her second impression was that Galiena looked older than eighteen.
‘You are Galiena?’ Helewise asked, although there could hardly be any doubt.
‘I am. Thank you for receiving me, Abbess Helewise,’ the girl replied.
Resuming her seat, Helewise indicated the low stool that she kept for visitors. ‘Please, sit down.’
Galiena did so. She moved, Helewise noticed, gracefully, and the tall, slender body sank down on to the stool in one smooth movement. The long linen veil fell in graceful folds to the floor, pooling with the grey silk of her gown on the worn stones. It was an attractive picture and, had Helewise not realised it was unlikely, she might have thought Galiena had deliberately planned it.
Galiena looked up and Helewise met the bright blue eyes. ‘You know why I am here,’ the girl said.
‘I do. My infirmarer tells me that there are things that she may be able to do to help you and I pray that it will prove so.’
‘I pray, too.’ The girl’s tone was fervent. ‘My husband is much older than I am, my lady, and our years together will probably not be as long as either of us would wish, so you see there is some urgency in this matter.’
‘But such things have a timing of their own,’ Helewise protested mildly. ‘Children are not necessarily begotten at our convenience.’
‘The remedy must work swiftly. It must!’ the girl cried. For a moment a hot pink flush coloured her pale cheeks but then, as if already regretting her hasty words, she said meekly, dropping her head so that her veil hid her face, ‘Of course, it is as you say, my lady. God will send us a child in His own good time.’
Or not, Helewise thought, although she did not say it aloud. ‘We shall make you comfortable while you are with us,’ she said instead. ‘You have already been shown your accommodation, I believe, and I trust you find it satisfactory.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Galiena said. ‘The room is somewhat small, but I shall be adequately comfortable.’
‘I am delighted to hear it,’ Helewise said with slight irony. ‘It will be a pleasure to have you as our guest and we shall do our utmost to help you,’ she added courteously.
Galiena smiled as if to say, naturally!
Fighting to keep a pleasant expression on her face, Helewise said, ‘I am told that you arrived alone? Was it wise to travel without an escort?’
‘I did have an escort,’ Galiena said quickly. ‘My maid and my husband’s stable lad. But it is quite a ride back to Ryemarsh so, as soon as the gates of Hawkenlye were in sight, I dismissed them and sent them on their way.’
‘I see.’ Helewise frowned. The girl’s explanation was perfectly reasonable and, had anyone else given it, Helewise might have been impressed at the selfless motive that had prompted the premature dismissal of the escort. As it was …
I am being foolish, Helewise told herself firmly. I am wasting the Lord’s precious time on silly fancies.
Getting to her feet, she said, ‘I believe that you are to speak with my infirmarer in the morning so, if there is nothing else, I will let you get to your bed.’
Taking the cue, Galiena too rose. ‘No, I think I have all that I want,’ she said, frowning slightly as if checking through a mental list. ‘I will bid you good night, then, my lady.’
She bowed, straightened and turned, then glided out of the room.
Helewise listened to the quiet footsteps receding. For a little while she battled with herself. Then, giving up, she strode over to the open door, closed it rather too forcibly and, safely shut in her room, cried out, ‘Well, really!’
She returned to her chair and flung herself down. The cheek of the girl! I think I have all I want, indeed! As if Helewise had been offering to fetch her a bedtime drink, wash out her personal linen or find her a softer pillow!
She sat fuming for some time. Then, as habits of charity reasserted themselves, she began to regret her outburst. The girl is troubled and upset, she reminded herself. She is clearly quite desperate to give her husband this longed-for child, and why should she not have her wish? The dear Lord knows, enough babies are born to those who do not want them, cannot support them and have little love for them. Is it not something eagerly to be desired, that the healthy young wife of a man of wealth and position conceives and bears a child?
The reasoning was sound enough. Why, then, Helewise asked herself, was she left with the feeling that Galiena Ryemarsh was a determined and ruthless young woman who would stop at nothing to get her own way?
‘I am ashamed of myself,’ Helewise whispered softly. She stood up, then, falling to her knees, began to pray. With sincere contrition she confessed her lack of charity and the unreasonable way that she had jumped to judge another human being, one, moreover, who had come to Hawkenlye for help. Knowing that these were faults she would have to share with her confessor in due course made her guilt lift slightly; Father Gilbert would view them as gravely as she did and the severity of her penance would probably reflect that. Until she could open her soul to him, she resolved that she would go out of her way to be kind to Galiena.
By acting in charity towards another, the nuns said, you could override antipathy and even downright dislike. That was why you sometimes observed a sister silently and unobtrusively
performing small acts of kindness for one of her fellow nuns; it was never easy, at least to begin with, but very often, with God’s grace, it worked.
Helewise sighed. The strength of her reaction against the prospect of doing kind little deeds for Galiena Ryemarsh only went to show how important it was that she start as soon as she could.
4
The next day was as hot as its predecessor. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky and there was no breeze to cool the nuns and monks as they worked through the long hours of toil. To add to the usual daily quota of problems, greater or smaller in nature, a swarm of bees had appeared out of nowhere and settled in the eaves of the stable block. Sister Tiphaine, who knew more about bees than anyone else at Hawkenlye, was trying in vain to keep the nuns calm while she readied a skep for the new swarm, but two of the young postulants had gone too near and one of them had received several stings. From the fuss she was making, Sister Euphemia had been overheard to remark caustically, you would have thought she had been cast into Hell and was being prodded by red-hot pitchforks.
Helewise, making a determined start on her resolve to be kind and generous of heart towards Galiena, offered up a special prayer for the girl at Matins, at Prime and at Tierce. She did not know exactly when Sister Euphemia planned to interview Galiena – the infirmarer had not been specific – and so Helewise sent word to the infirmary asking Sister Euphemia to report to her as soon as there was anything to report.
Sister Euphemia came to see her in the middle of the morning.
Helewise, taking in the expression on Sister Euphemia’s face, realised immediately that things had not gone well. Reaching for the jug that stood on her table, she poured out a mug of barley water and handed it to the infirmarer, who took it with an absent nod and downed it in one.
