by Alys Clare
She drank her fill and then said, ‘Thank you.’
He gave her a grave bow and returned to his seat.
‘Well?’ Aelle’s tone was curt.
Sipping at the drink had given her precious thinking time. Now she said, ‘I know that I am the daughter of the last chieftain and that you, Aelle, are my brother. I know that our father wished to end our long isolation but that you, as soon as he was dead, took our people straight back to the old ways. You sent me away because you feared I would take after our father and, as I grew up, would persuade the people that our father was right and you were wrong.’
Aelle said, ‘You have been well schooled in your own history.’
‘She taught me well,’ Galiena flashed back. Aelle knew whom she meant by ‘she’.
‘And she also told you of the obligations that you owe to your blood kin? How, in return for our having placed you in a position of wealth and influence, you must support us and advance our status via your son?’
‘I have no son!’ she shouted, using anger to disguise the torment. ‘And the wealth that my husband owns is his to disperse as he sees fit!’
‘He disperses it now to bring back the king they call Lionheart!’ Aelle said with icy fury. ‘His wealth that should be yours and your kin’s to share will instead fill the coffers of some foreign duke while we slowly starve!’
‘Ah, now I see!’ She gave a harsh laugh as she understood. ‘I see why you had to do all this, why I have been brought here now to face your threats and insults. Because Ambrose chooses to answer the King’s appeal and you don’t like it! Well, it has all been for nothing because I will not help you!’
There was a short silence; she could almost hear the collective intake of breath of the people nervously listening all around them.
‘Yes, yes,’ murmured Aelle, ‘it is true what Aebba told me. You have strayed too far from your kin, Iduna, and you forget where your true allegiance lies. But you will not leave here until you have not only been reminded of what you owe to us, but you have also managed to convince us that you will mend your ways.’
‘I will not. I will never do as you command me!’
‘Brave words,’ Aelle said, ‘but mere bombast. You know, Iduna, how we treat those who disappoint us.’
She hung her head at that, for it recalled to her another’s pain and the memory hurt. But then she stiffened in horror for suddenly she understood exactly what it was that Aelle was threatening.
Her eyes met his and she breathed, ‘No. You would not.’ Tears running down her cheeks, she whispered, ‘Not Ambrose.’
‘Why not?’ Aelle said silkily. ‘Think on that, Iduna, in your confinement!’
He beckoned to the guards and they advanced on her, one of them still holding her gag in his hands. She cried ‘NO!’, kicking, screaming, trying to bite the hands that came at her. Then someone had hold of her head in a grip that felt like iron and her mouth was forced open. A mug was crushed against her lips and liquid poured into her mouth. But this time it was not pure, refreshing water; Galiena was a herbalist and she knew what it was for she recognised the taste.
It was the poppy solution that brings deep sleep and oblivion. As, against her will and choking, she was forced to swallow, she realised that it was strong; very strong. Then her legs buckled and the world went black.
When she woke she was lying in a round hut and the man with the silver eyes was sitting beside her. Her hands were free but there was an iron shackle round her ankle, and a long chain led from it to a bolt set high in the wooden planking of the wall. She was naked but for a loose garment of sacking. Her skin felt foul and itchy where mud from the beaten earth floor had stuck to her drying sweat.
She urgently needed to pass water. He must have realised, for he pointed to a wooden bucket beside the wall and he stepped outside whilst she used it.
He came back inside, closing the door. ‘This is kept barred on the outside,’ he remarked. ‘You will not escape, Iduna, even if by some miracle you manage to remove the shackle.’
‘I will be missed!’ she cried. ‘I am expected at Hawkenlye Abbey and they will look for me when I do not arrive!’
‘But you have arrived,’ he said smoothly. ‘A woman of your family who strongly resembles you has gone to the Abbey in your place.’ And, horrified, Galiena remembered the woman dressed in stolen clothes; stolen, no doubt, by Aebba from Galiena’s room. ‘She will tell the good nuns that she dismissed her groom and her serving woman as she reached the gates and, to everyone there, she will be Galiena Ryemarsh, come to seek the help of the nuns because she wishes to conceive. Nobody there knows what you look like, child, but, as I say, in any event your replacement resembles you sufficiently to convince the casual observer.’
She will not convince Ambrose, Galiena thought, with a stab of optimism. And they do not seem to know that he also is bound for Hawkenlye and will arrive there soon. And I, she resolved, shall not tell them; it is my only hope that my dear lord will instantly see that this woman who passes herself off as his wife is no such thing.
She wondered for a moment why they should have bothered with the deception; why was it necessary to send an impostor to Hawkenlye? She could see no reason why she should not ask the silver-eyed man, so she did.
‘Ah, because your friends Josse d’Acquin and Brice of Rotherbridge both know that you are going there,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Word may spread that you are expected. If by mischance they too arrive at the Abbey, then your replacement will have to be very careful that she does not let them approach too closely until she has modestly covered her face with her veil.’
Then he gave her water, then another draught of the poppy potion. She slept once more.
The next time she woke it was Aelle who stood before her. He was furious.
Crouching before her, he said, ‘Aebba has returned. She has told us something that has surprised us and that you, little sister, knew all along.’ He pushed her shoulder with some force and she fell back on to the floor. ‘You knew full well that Ambrose was going to follow you to Hawkenlye!’ Aelle shouted.
‘And just why should I have told you?’ she shouted back, as furious as he. ‘It was my one hope that Ambrose would recognise the impostor and raise the alarm!’
Aelle gave a cruel laugh. ‘Well, you hope in vain, Iduna. Aebba is cleverer than you think and, predicting that your replacement’s disguise would readily be penetrated by your husband, she took steps to prevent the unmasking of the deception.’
Cold suddenly, Galiena whispered, ‘How? What did she do?’
‘She drugged him,’ Aelle said, an unpleasant smile on his face. ‘She has been caring for her lord in the absence of his wife and she managed to slip a certain potion into his drink. His bad eyesight combined with a sudden severe mental confusion meant that he would have been persuaded that almost any fair-haired young woman was you. But Aebba, cunning Aebba, took an extra precaution. Do you want to know what it was?’
Slowly Galiena nodded. She could not help herself.
Leaning confidingly towards her – she could smell his rank sweat – Aelle said, ‘She told your replacement to visit the doddering old fool. She instructed her to take some of the special ointment that you had just made for the pains in his joints and told her to sit at his side and lovingly rub it into his hands. Had he entertained any doubts that it was his own beloved wife who crouched there, then he certainly forgot them then. It was your very own potion that she used – Aebba gave it to her – and very few others know the recipe.’ He touched Galiena’s hand, rubbing the skin as if he too were massaging sore joints. ‘It has a very distinctive smell, I believe?’
It did. Oh, dear God, he was right. Even if Ambrose had entertained any doubts – which seemed very unlikely, since they had drugged him – then the arrival of a woman who looked like her and bearing her own secret remedy would surely have driven them away entirely.
Aelle was looking at her and then he said softly, ‘No one will look for you
here.’
I am lost, she thought.
The next time they came to force the poppy sedative down her, she did not resist.
22
It was pleasantly cool in the garden and Helewise, who had been sitting on a wooden bench as she went in her mind through Galiena’s tale, got up and began to walk up and down across the short grass. It was a clear night and she could see the quick flit of bats. Somewhere owls were hunting, calling to each other.
The poor girl must have thought there was no hope left, she thought. Which was exactly what Aelle wanted because, had he wished to, he could have told her just why it was that Aebba had come running back to Saltwych in such a fluster. He had kept that knowledge from his sister, though. The moment of despair in the little hut had been the last part of the story to be told by Galiena, for, giving in to the strong sedative, she had known no more until she came to her senses sitting in front of Josse astride Horace.
It had been Brice and Josse, but primarily Isabella who had provided the rest of the tale.
It appeared that Isabella had been a skilful and adept spy, for she had managed to work out the detailed lie of the land around Saltwych and she had hidden herself away where she could watch the comings and goings in the settlement. Helewise was still not sure what Isabella had been doing at Saltwych. Brice and Josse appeared to think that she had joined them there only after their visit to Readingbrooke. Helewise, however, had a suspicion that Isabella knew more about the place and its inhabitants than had been revealed and she wondered if it was possible that Isabella had been there before either Josse or Brice had discovered it. Before Galiena had been imprisoned there. But why? What lay at the root of her interest in the place? That, she decided, was something to be discussed in the morning.
The fact remained – she went back to her recall of the story – that Isabella had witnessed the fury that whatever it was Aebba told him had aroused in Aelle. Although Isabella had not been close enough to overhear what had been said, it was possible now to surmise that Aebba must have come straight from Hawkenlye to tell her chieftain what had just happened there. She must have reported a death: not that of Galiena, as everyone had believed, but of Galiena’s replacement. Perhaps, too, she had told Aelle of the discovery of the groom Dickon’s poor murdered body. As Helewise had been able to verify, Aebba had done her best to keep out of everyone’s way at the Abbey but she had seen the body in the infirmary. Her instinctive reaction – Helewise could still picture Josse’s surprised expression as he had watched the woman – had been fury because all the careful planning had gone so badly wrong.
Helewise took several more turns around Galiena’s sweet-scented garden. That was the end of the story, as Galiena and Isabella had told it.
Isabella had mentioned that the name of the woman who had replaced Galiena was Fritha. Helewise wondered now if Fritha had known she was pregnant. Helewise almost hoped that she had not, for it surely would have been worse to suffer that agonising death in the knowledge that her unborn child was dying with her.
Who poisoned Fritha? Helewise asked herself the question for the twentieth time. And why?
I am too tired to puzzle over it any more now, she thought, turning at last back towards the house. I shall sleep, as I trust everyone else is doing. In the morning, perhaps our refreshed minds will manage to find some answers.
It appeared that others had also appreciated the need for answers. As they convened for the morning meal – Isabella was now dressed in women’s clothes and Helewise noticed in passing both that she was a remarkably handsome woman and also that she bore a resemblance to Galiena – Ambrose announced that Brice had something that he wished to tell them all.
‘Brice,’ Ambrose said commandingly, ‘please, enlighten us as to what it is you would have us know.’
With a quick glance at Isabella, standing by his side, Brice took hold of her hand and said, ‘Isabella has consented to become my wife. It is something I have prayed for since I met her and, at last, my prayers have been answered.’
There was a sudden babble of excited congratulations and delighted exclamations; Galiena went to hug her friend and whispered something in her ear that made Isabella smile broadly.
Then Josse said something which Helewise did not understand: looking both pleased and slightly perplexed, he asked, ‘But Isabella, what of the matter we spoke of? What of the – er – the impediment?’ His voice dropped to a whisper for the last word but, since Josse had never been very good at whispering, Helewise heard it clearly, although she did not think that anyone else had done.
With an affectionate look at him, Isabella replied quietly, ‘Wait, Josse, and I shall explain.’
Ambrose, once again master in his hall, said loudly across the noise, ‘There is another tale to tell here, unless I am mistaken. We would hear it, Brice, if you please.’
‘It is Isabella’s tale primarily,’ Brice replied. ‘I will speak when asked but, for the main, let us listen to her.’
Isabella paused for a few moments, looking down at the floor. Then, raising her head and staring out through the open door towards the bright sunshine beyond, she began to speak. ‘I was married, as all of you except the Abbess know, to a fine man, Nicholas de Burghay. When our second child was but a baby, my husband was killed. Galiena’s family, by which I mean her adoptive family at Readingbrooke, took me in because Audra de Readingbrooke is my sister-in-law; Nicholas was her brother. Then Galiena met and married Ambrose, and here in his hall I first met Brice. We fell in love but there was a powerful reason why I could not agree to follow my heart and marry him.’
‘Roger,’ Brice interrupted. ‘Isabella’s boy,’ he explained to Helewise, who nodded.
But Isabella put her hand to his face and said gently, ‘No, my love. Roger was not the reason and my heart has pained me every time I have had to endure your sad puzzlement, for you believed me when I said he disliked you. In fact he does like you, very much.’
Brice’s face was a study. He looked, Helewise thought, hurt, bemused and, not very far beneath the surface, angry.
Isabella must have perceived the rising anger too for she hurried on. ‘Hear what I have to say, Brice, before you judge me. My refusal to wed you was out of fear for your safety, for I believe – no, I know – that Nicholas was murdered and I was terrified that, if my love for you were to be made public by our marriage, you would suffer the same fate.’
‘No, I cannot believe this!’ Brice, deeply disturbed, shook his head. ‘Nicholas was murdered? By whom?’
Again Isabella paused. Then she said, ‘You may have wondered how it was that I came to know so much about the community at Saltwych.’ She glanced at Brice, who shrugged and muttered something about having supposed that Galiena had told her.
Helewise, who had been wondering that very thing, waited for an answer.
‘But I knew little of the place until quite recently!’ Galiena protested. ‘It was Isabella who told me much of what I know!’
There was a tense silence. Then Ambrose said commandingly, ‘Isabella, if you please. Go on.’
She gave him an anguished look and then said, ‘Like Galiena, I too am a child of the clan at Saltwych. My mother was Aelle’s second cousin and she died giving birth to me. I do not know who my father was – there was some mystery about it and I was half-afraid to know the truth, even had it been offered to me.’ She tried to laugh, but it was a feeble attempt. ‘It has been known for close kin to marry and bear children, and I did not—’ She made herself stop. ‘I was raised in the community until I was almost seventeen and then they found a husband for me. They thought they had selected a man who was close to the powerful circles that rule our land, but they were wrong. I do not know how they came to make such a fundamental error – perhaps the source of their information was mistaken over the name. Anyway, as far as my people were concerned, I was married to the wrong man. It was never explained to me.’
‘And they were not pleased when the man whom they had cho
sen proved not to be the influential person they had believed him to be?’ Helewise put in softly.
Isabella spun round to look at her, wide blue-green eyes taking on a bright shine in the light streaming through the open door. ‘No, my lady. They were not.’ She hesitated, then, swallowing, voice cracking on the words, said, ‘Aelle killed him. They made it look like an accident – we were out hawking and, as we rode through a stretch of woodland, a heavy branch came crashing down out of a tree and knocked Nicholas from his horse. He suffered a grave wound to his head and it became inflamed and he died in torment.’
Josse said, after a short respectful pause, ‘Isabella, are you certain Aelle was responsible?’
She looked at him, tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, yes. I saw him, and he had other men from the settlement with him. He pretended to be there to help me but there was no reason, other than an attack on Nicholas, for him to be in that vicinity; normally he rarely leaves the marsh.’
‘But it could have been coincidence,’ Josse persisted. Helewise, watching him, wondered why he was pursuing the point.
‘No,’ Isabella said firmly. ‘There is something else: later, when Nicholas was buried and I was about to move in with the family at Readingbrooke, Aelle visited me. And he said they would find another husband for me who would better advance the cause of our blood kin.’
Josse sat back with a smile, increasing Helewise’s puzzlement. But Isabella, who had also noticed, gave a quick laugh and said, ‘Are you happy now, Josse? Now that you understand that I truly had a reason?’
And he said, ‘More than happy, Isabella. Thank you.’
There is a small mystery there, Helewise thought to herself, that I will pursue another time …
Brice, who no longer looked angry, said, ‘Isabella, my love, you should have told me this long ago! I would have done something, I could have—’ He stopped.
