Whiter than the Lily

by Alys Clare

  ‘What would you have done?’ Isabella asked. ‘What happened to Nicholas could so easily have happened to you. In the case of an active man, a man who loves to hunt as much as you do, it is all too easy to feign a fatal accident.’ Then, holding one of his hands in both of hers, she said, ‘I did not want to be the cause of the death of another man I loved.’ Then, passionately, ‘I did not want to lose you too!’

  At which Brice put both arms around her and hugged her to him as she wept.

  When, after some moments, she moved a little distance away from Brice and, giving him a grateful smile, wiped her eyes, Josse said, ‘Was that why, Isabella, you tried to dissuade us from going down into the Saltwych settlement to rescue Galiena? Because you feared for Brice?’

  ‘I feared for you too!’ she said. ‘I knew what they are capable of; you did not. And I did not know the identity of the girl in the hut. I was sorry for her, of course I was, but I felt that for your sakes, we should leave well alone.’ She looked at Galiena, then back at Josse. ‘I am so glad,’ she added, ‘that you ignored me.’

  ‘Just how long,’ Helewise asked cautiously, ‘had you been watching the Saltwych settlement, Isabella? Days? Or was it weeks?’

  Again, Isabella turned her remarkable eyes on to her. ‘You guess accurately, my lady,’ she said.

  ‘The Abbess does not guess, she reasons,’ Josse interrupted pontifically, and his tone broke the tension in the hall, allowing them all a moment of laughter.

  ‘It was a guess, really,’ Helewise admitted. ‘You gave the impression last night, Isabella, that you knew the place much better than Josse or Brice, which, of course, you have just explained to us by saying that you were born and brought up there. So it follows that you would have known of a good place to hide while you watched and listened to all that went on.’

  ‘Yes, I have been going there on and off since Nicholas died,’ Isabella said. ‘My family all know that I love to hunt alone which, as well as allowing secret meetings with Brice, also meant I could slip away and see what was happening at Saltwych. Try to hear, for example, if any plans were being laid for me.’ Looking across at Galiena, she said, ‘I am only sorry that I did not learn of the threat to you, dearest. Aebba must have slipped away from Ryemarsh the very night after you had announced your visit to Hawkenlye, in order to tell Aelle that the perfect opportunity had arisen to snatch you and substitute a woman who looked like you. Had I seen Aebba in the settlement then, I might have been suspicious. But I did not.’

  There was a silence as they all considered the implications of that. Then Ambrose said, and from his tone Helewise thought he was giving a final summing-up of the discussion, ‘Well, that cannot be helped. Galiena is safe now, back where she belongs, and, with Aelle’s death, it appears that there is no longer a threat to Brice if he becomes Isabella’s husband. You do not think that his successor will carry on his policy of marrying selected girls of the kinfolk to important outsiders, Isabella?’

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There is not another like Aelle. He has no child of his own and his successor is his cousin’s son, a weak-minded fool who wishes nothing more than to hunt fowl in the marshes by day and whittle wood in the evening.’

  ‘I pray,’ Ambrose said gravely, ‘that you are right.’

  ‘I am,’ Isabella said firmly. ‘The Saltwych community has had its time and will degenerate to nothing.’ Then, as if surprised at her own prophetic words, she said ‘Oh!’

  Ambrose got up and embraced both her and Brice. ‘I will send word of this happy news to your kin at Readingbrooke,’ he said, with a warm smile for Isabella. Then, delight flooding his face, ‘And, indeed, we must also impart the miraculous tidings that Galiena is returned to us. But for now we will drink the health of the newly betrothed couple!’ Turning towards the door that led to the kitchens, he shouted, ‘Julian! Bring us the best wine!’

  As the day reached and passed noon, Helewise felt that she should set out back to Hawkenlye. The revelries at Ryemarsh were clearly going to continue for quite a time and, she thought, why not? Both couples had something to celebrate; a betrothal in one case and a joyous and unexpected reunion in the other. She hoped that Josse might offer to ride with her but, failing that, that Ambrose would supply an escort from his household.

  She had spoken quietly to Ambrose and he had asked that the Hawkenlye community say masses for the soul of his groom, Dickon. To her surprise, he had added, ‘And, for all that she was a pagan and set out to do me great harm, please also pray for the woman who impersonated my wife.’ He paused, then whispered, ‘Now let her be buried under her own name.’

  Guessing that he probably felt a superstitious dread at the thought of the Hawkenlye grave that was marked with his wife’s name, Helewise nodded.

  Josse must have guessed that she wanted to be on the road for, as soon as they had finished the midday meal – which took a long time – he approached her and said, ‘I am ready to leave as soon as you give the word, my lady. We can be back at the Abbey by nightfall.’

  Ambrose, Galiena, Brice and Isabella all came out to the courtyard to see them off. Helewise was helped on to the golden mare, Honey, and Josse swung up into Horace’s saddle; both horses looked sleek and well fed from their brief stay in the Ryemarsh stables and Josse muttered to Helewise that they had a lively ride ahead of them.

  ‘I will visit Hawkenlye soon, if I may,’ Galiena called out.

  And Helewise, understanding, called back, ‘You will be welcome, you and your lord.’

  But Josse, looking down at the radiant girl and her dignified husband, his lined face filled with a luminous joy that took years from him, muttered, ‘Perhaps it will not prove necessary.’

  They did indeed have an exciting ride. Sensing the mare’s impatience, Helewise held her in; there was one more thing she wanted to ask. ‘Sir Josse,’ she said when they were out of sight of Ryemarsh, ‘why did you question Isabella so closely concerning the murder of her husband?’

  ‘It seemed cruel to you, my lady, that I pressed her hard?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I am sure you had your reasons.’

  He said, after thinking for a few moments, ‘I saw her deliberately fly her hawk at Aelle. He was chasing us and he would doubtless have harmed some or all of us had he caught up with us; he had already given poor Brice that alarming bruise on his face. Isabella’s intention was clearly to defend us. But still, it was a calculated act and it is certain that the hawk’s attack probably blinded Aelle and caused him to fall to his death.’

  She understood. ‘And you wished to reassure yourself that she acted out of what she saw as necessity,’ she commented. ‘She was, in short, not only protecting her friends but also, and perhaps more crucially, avenging her late husband.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Josse replied.

  And, despite her own misgivings, Helewise decided from his set expression that it was probably best to say no more about it.

  The lively horses were eager to run and at first Josse – who, as always, had been displaying his usual uneasiness in the company of the golden mare – seemed anxious in case Helewise could not stand a full gallop. But now she was impatient to be home. I’ll show him, she thought gleefully, I’ll prove that, although I’m a nun, I haven’t forgotten how to ride!

  With a cry of delight, she kicked her heels into Honey’s sides and felt the mare leap off. Flying, feeling the wind of their fast passage tear at her veil, she heard Horace’s thundering hooves beat against the hard ground as Josse came after her. And she found herself laughing from sheer happiness.

  She had been back at Hawkenlye for a day when Isabella came to speak to her. Helewise had spent some time thinking back over the impostor’s time at Hawkenlye and several things that had puzzled her about the woman whom she had believed to be Galiena Ryemarsh were now clarified. Why she had been so heavily veiled all the time, for example. Why she had refused to pray in the Abbey church but instead spent her time crouched in the corner o
f the shrine down in the Vale. Why she had shouted at poor Saul when he went in to clean the steps. Why, too, the serving woman, Aebba, had slipped away to the forest; she must have been looking for her accomplice, desperate to speak to Fritha so that the two of them might find a way to deal with the unexpected arrival of Ambrose.

  And now that poor young woman – that pregnant young woman – was dead. It was, thought Helewise, all very sad.

  It was a relief when Isabella was announced. She had brought her two children with her and Brice had escorted them all to the Abbey. She wished, however, to speak to Helewise alone and so Brice was going to take the children off down to the Vale to see Josse. Josse was about to return to New Winnowlands and now, Helewise thought, feeling pleased for him, he would have company on the road home because Isabella’s party had only come for a brief visit and would ride away with him.

  The children had been brought in to be presented to Helewise. The handsome young son had nice manners, she thought, and she noticed in passing that Isabella’s daughter had her mother’s wide eyes, although their colour was different …

  When the others had left the two women alone in the privacy of Helewise’s room, she turned to her guest and said, ‘Now, Isabella. What can I do for you?’

  ‘It is a question of what I can do for you, my lady Abbess,’ Isabella replied.

  ‘Indeed? Please, go on.’

  ‘I have been speaking to Ambrose about the woman who pretended to be Galiena,’ Isabella said. ‘I knew her. Fritha was also a child of the Saltwych community, as no doubt you realised, and she was closely related to Galiena. She was her half-sister, born to the same mother but by a different father.’

  ‘She resembled Galiena quite closely,’ Helewise said. ‘As you do too.’

  Isabella smiled. ‘I am related by blood to Galiena but it is not such a close tie. She is my second cousin. There are few families at Saltwych and most of the people are distantly related. But, if I may return to the reason for my visit, it is to ask you whether you and your nuns have resolved the question of how Fritha died.’

  ‘I regret to say that we have not,’ Helewise admitted. Watching Isabella’s calm face, she decided not to mention the fact that the dead woman had been pregnant. If Isabella did not know – and it was difficult to see how she could have done – then there did not seem any need to tell her. ‘Poison was administered,’ she said, ‘of that my infirmarer is reasonably certain, for there seems no other way to explain Fritha’s terrible, fatal symptoms.’

  ‘There is another way,’ Isabella said quietly. ‘According to Ambrose, Fritha included in her impersonation of Galiena a session of massaging Galiena’s special cream into his hands?’

  ‘Yes, indeed she did.’

  ‘The ointment had a base made of hazelnut oil,’ Isabella said. ‘I know the recipe. It is one that I was taught as a girl and I showed Galiena how to make it.’

  ‘I see,’ Helewise said, although she was still mystified as to why Isabella had ridden over to tell her all this.

  ‘Only a very small number of us were taught to be healers,’ Isabella went on, ‘because our people believed that such skills are precious and not for the many. But those of us with the knowledge learned caution with the fruit of the hazel because, for a few people, the oil of the nut can act as if it were a poison.’

  ‘A hazelnut can kill?’ Helewise was incredulous.

  ‘Oh, indeed it can, my lady. The sensitivity appears to run in families.’

  ‘And you know of somebody related to Fritha who has this sensitivity?’

  ‘Yes. Her elder sister – her full sister, not a half-sister like Galiena – went gathering nuts when she was a young girl and, disobeying the instructions to bring her basket home without eating any of her harvest, she returned to Saltwych in a dreadful state. Her face was grossly swollen and the swelling seemed to extend down her throat, for she could hardly breathe.’

  ‘Did she die?’

  ‘No. The wise man has a small silver tube that he uses to blow the ritual incense into life on his brazier. He snatched it up, forced it down the child’s throat and it allowed her to take in breath until the swelling went down again.’

  Helewise realised, to her shame, that she was surprised. She had dismissed these strange marshland people as backward and barbaric yet their healer – if that was what Isabella meant by wise man – had managed to save a life when all the skill and devotion of the Hawkenlye nursing nuns had failed.

  It does not do, she thought sombrely, to be proud.

  ‘Thank you for telling me this,’ she said to Isabella after a moment. ‘It seems that you have solved for us the mystery of how she died. And, since it was by pure mischance, there is no necessity to search for her killer.’ Something occurred to her. ‘But surely this cream for Ambrose’s painful hands would not be something that Fritha would have eaten?’

  Isabella smiled sadly. ‘It smells delicious, my lady. Appetising. Did you not remark on it?’

  ‘Oh – yes, I suppose I did.’

  Still with the same smile, Isabella said, ‘Fritha would not be the first person to lick the residue off her fingers.’

  Helewise told Josse later, when he came to take his leave of her. With a whistle of surprise, he said, ‘It would be wise, my lady, to mention this business of the nuts to Sister Euphemia and Sister Tiphaine.’

  ‘I have already done so,’ she said. ‘Sister Euphemia said she would bear it in mind. Sister Tiphaine said, oh, of course, and why hadn’t she thought of it?’

  ‘She already knew?’ he said.

  ‘So it seems. But then nothing surprises me any more about our herbalist.’

  She went with him to the gate, where Isabella, Brice and the two children were patiently waiting for him. The children were laughing at something Brice had said and already, she thought, the four of them looked like a real family. She went up to them and said her farewells.

  Then she went over to Josse. ‘Goodbye, my friend,’ she said to him. Then, on an impulse, ‘Be careful.’

  As he swung up on to Horace’s broad back, he too was laughing.

  She stood in their dust as the five of them rode away and out of sight. Then, smiling, she went back to her duties.

  Postscript

  September 1193

  Deep in the great forest, a solitary traveller had made a temporary camp. He had been living there for a little over two months and, although he knew he would have to move on soon, he was as yet undecided where to go.

  Perhaps he would make his way north-west to Mona’s Isle.

  His old life was finished and he could never go back. For one thing, there was no future in that place, not for him, not for any of them, or at least not for long. For another, he had given away too much of himself there and did not want the constant reminder of what was lost and could not be reclaimed.

  As evening came down, he did as he often did and prepared a small fire. In its soft light, he poured water into a black iron pot and stared into its inky depths.

  After a while, the pictures began to form.

  He saw a young woman, tall, slim and very fair, walking in a garden. She was happy; she sang as she walked. She had placed a jug of water on a small pile of rocks and beside it there were flowers and a tallow lamp. She lit the wick and the lamp’s light shone out into the twilight. As the moon rose in the deep blue sky, softly the woman began to chant.

  There was a bump in her belly, below the waistline of her closely fitting gown, and her breasts were swollen with early pregnancy.

  Ah, she might have been raised in the ways and the beliefs of the new religion that came from the east, the man thought, but the blood of her people runs true in her veins. She remembers. She knows who has granted her this, her heart’s desire.

  With a sigh of pleasure, he watched as Galiena gave thanks to the spirits whom she still honoured for their gift of new life.

  Time passed.

  There was another whom he yearned to watch over but he knew he
had forfeited the right. He would try to resist the temptation. Getting up, he went to the branch and bracken shelter that he had made and selected food for his evening meal. Having something to do with his hands might act as a distraction.

  He ate his simple food and thought about the place he had left. They had been numbed by Aelle’s dreadful death and finding themselves suddenly leaderless had unhinged them. It was Aelle’s fault; he should have made better provision for his succession. There was only the witless son of his cousin and, in truth, the lad was not much of an heir. But, had he been given the proper schooling and training that was his right, the youth would have done. He would have been no Aelle but then, despite his charisma and his undoubted strength, Aella had been far from perfect. As it was, the youth had reacted badly to his suddenly elevated status and he had wept and pleaded for pity, support, for another’s shoulders to help him to bear the heavy burden of leadership.

  It was my shoulders he wanted, the man thought. And, by the gods, I have had enough!

  The silver eyes glittered in the firelight and, against his will, he saw again in his mind the scenes he had despaired over when he had first sat watching them flitting to and fro in the black scrying water. The Saltwych community was doomed, of that he was sure. They would live on there in their isolation and their increasing squalor for another generation, perhaps more, but already others were encroaching on the marshland. The incomers were beginning to live there all the year round now that the land was drying out. They were planting trees and hedges, these new marshmen, building their churches, turning the salt wilderness into a pattern of small, neat fields, careful cultivation and tidy little dwellings. The Saltwych people would face strong and resolute competition for the marsh that they regarded as their own. It would be a case of adapt or die and, because the Saltwych folk had for so long looked inward and kept themselves to themselves, they did not know how to adapt.

  They would die.