by Alys Clare
Melania nodded briefly. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. Then, her face creasing in distress, ‘I don’t think I could have borne it if—’ She did not finish.
‘I know, lass,’ Tiphaine replied. ‘A child of that foul trio would have reminded you for the rest of your life. Best to have sent it on its way.’
‘It’s a sin,’ Melania said. ‘A priest would tell me I had taken life.’
‘A priest wouldn’t have had to deal with the consequence of a brutal rape every day,’ Tiphaine said shortly. ‘Easy enough for a man to stand up there on his high horse and talk about sinning.’
Melania smiled; it was a thin smile, soon gone, but the first Tiphaine had seen since the catastrophe that had ruined her life. ‘To think,’ Melania said, ‘you used to be a nun.’
Tiphaine snorted. There really was no answer to that. She stood up and went to look at the older woman, still sleeping. Returning to Melania, she sat down again and said, ‘While Marta’s asleep, we must talk about her and what you’re going to do.’
Melania sighed. ‘What can I do? She’s lost her mind, but she’s my mother, so I’ll look after her.’
Tiphaine studied her. Melania was strong – or she had been before the rape – and, to the best of Tiphaine’s knowledge, had always been a good and dutiful daughter. But now she was facing an unknowable length of time in which she would have to care for a mother turned into a feeble, querulous and totally dependent child.
Tiphaine did not think that Marta would live very long, although she would not say so to Melania. The old woman’s steep decline was yet another crime to lay at the feet of the men now buried at Hawkenlye; whoever had killed them, Tiphaine reflected, had rid the world of three people it would not miss. Nevertheless, help was needed, no matter how long or short a time remained to Marta. Tiphaine looked towards the door. If her plan was going to work, help might even now be on its way.
They came after dark, their arrival announced by a soft tap on the door of the lonely house. Marta lay on her bed with her eyes open, gazing out at visions none but she could see. From time to time, she gave a shudder that shook her thin body like an ague. Melania was sitting cross-legged by the fire, arms folded tight against her belly, staring into the flames. Tiphaine, who had been expecting the visitors, got to her feet and went to the door, removing the chest that she and Melania had propped against it to hold it closed.
Nobody had repaired it after Wat had broken it down.
Tiphaine studied the newcomers. There were two of them: one was a boy in early adolescence, the childish plumpness of his face just beginning to harden into its adult shape; he carried a large bag that clanked as he moved. The other was an older man: short, lean, clad in soft brown and green shades, and with watchful hazel eyes. Tiphaine nodded her satisfaction. Of all men, she would have selected him had she had a choice.
He was called Luis, named for the rowan tree. Tiphaine bowed to him, for it was said he knew high magic. She was glad to see him for less elevated reasons, for he was also a healer, especially of those whose minds were disturbed. He had trained with the elders of the people, over in Brittany, and he was both respected and loved.
‘Come in,’ Tiphaine said, stepping back so that the man and the boy could enter. They did so, standing just inside the entrance while Tiphaine pushed the door shut and replaced the chest. Luis, watching, spoke some quiet words to the boy, who nodded eagerly and murmured a question. Luis turned to Tiphaine. ‘He says, is there any good, seasoned wood? If so, he will repair the door.’
Tiphaine told him where to find what he needed and the boy pushed aside the chest and slipped outside again. ‘There are tools in the outhouse,’ she said.
Luis smiled. ‘He has brought tools.’ Then, advancing into the room, he crouched down beside Marta. Tiphaine watched, ready to offer an explanation, but Luis did not appear to need one. He put his hands either side of Marta’s head, softly stroking the wild grey hair, and it seemed to Tiphaine that the agitation in her eyes was stilled. Luis spoke some quiet words, and a smile spread over Marta’s lined, haggard face. Presently, her eyelids drooped and then closed. She turned on her side, and Luis covered her with a soft blanket.
‘She will have no further need of your herbal sedatives tonight, Tiphaine,’ he said. Then, moving to the hearth, he sat down beside Melania, who, ever since he had come into the house, had been watching him with wary eyes. He looked at her, not speaking.
After a long pause, she said tentatively, ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
‘No, Melania. But I know of you. I know that you and your parents have always been friends of the forest people, offering an open door and a hot meal when times have been hard for us. Living out here on the edge of the forest as you do, you have always been aware of us, knowing when we are in the area and leaving out small gifts for us.’ He twisted round so that he could look into her face, for she sat with bent head. ‘Is that not so?’ he prompted.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
Tiphaine watched, fascinated, as Luis’s hand edged towards Melania’s, slowly, so slowly, until it was finally close enough for him to touch his little finger against hers. She flinched, but did not pull away.
‘We knew you and your parents were vulnerable out here,’ he went on, still in the same soft, hypnotic voice, ‘and we should have watched over you. We had heard that bandits were abroad in the wild places, and we tried to protect those whom we knew to be at risk. But we are few,’ he said with a sigh, ‘and, on the night when they came here, we were far away.’ He waited, and Tiphaine wondered if he was giving Melania the chance to speak of her ordeal.
She will not tell you, she said silently to Luis. It had taken Tiphaine days to persuade Melania to say anything about that terrible night, and, even now, she had only revealed the broadest outline.
But then, to Tiphaine’s surprise, Melania began to speak. ‘They broke down the door,’ she whispered. ‘Father took up his knife, but they just laughed at him. Poor Father, he tried so hard, and then when those two men were – were raping me, and Father was dying, I begged and begged them to allow me to get up off the floor and fetch him his medicine, but they wouldn’t.’ Luis’s hand now encircled hers. She cried, ‘I heard him dying, and I couldn’t save him!’
She wrenched her hand away and covered her face, her hands muffling the sobbing.
Gently, Luis took hold of her wrists. ‘Weep, Melania,’ he said. ‘Grieve for your father, for he was a good man and deserves your tears. Weep for your poor mother, and between us we shall try to ease her broken mind.’
Melania stared at him, and Tiphaine felt she was torn between wanting to pull away – for he was a man, was he not, and her recent memories of men were frightful – and wanting to lean against him and accept the comfort and the strength he was offering.
The room stayed perfectly still on the point of balance for some moments. Then, with a wracking sob, Melania collapsed against Luis’s broad chest.
Later, when Melania was deep in as peaceful sleep as her mother, Luis and Tiphaine sat together beside the hearth. The repaired door was back on its hinges, and two stout planks sat in brackets set into the wall on either side, barring it securely. Tiphaine had served up her stew – most of it was still in the pot, since neither of her patients had been persuaded to eat more than a few mouthfuls – and the two visitors had gulped it down as fast as she had been able to ladle it into their bowls. Now the boy was curled up like a puppy in the far corner of the room, sleeping.
‘You are rightly revered as a healer of minds, Luis,’ Tiphaine remarked.
He sighed. ‘Neither woman is healed,’ he replied, ‘for tonight has been just the first step in a long journey.’ He glanced at Marta. ‘For the old woman, I fear it will not be many weeks before the deep peace of death claims her, although I hope to restore her to herself before she dies.’ He turned to where Melania lay, and Tiphaine thought his expression softened. ‘The young woman has been very badly damaged, and her soul is tormented
by her memories. She shuts them away, and they grow and grow until they threaten to annihilate her.’
‘But you can help her?’ Tiphaine prompted.
He smiled at her. ‘Yes, Tiphaine.’
Still she was not satisfied. ‘I can stay here and help them. I must return to Hawkenlye for more supplies, but I can come straight back. I could watch over them, and—’
He put his hand on hers. She felt the power in him, radiating out of his flesh and into hers like the welcome heat of flames on a cold night. ‘You have been a true friend,’ he said, ‘and without your herbs, Melania would now be forced to face carrying and bearing her rapist’s child. You—’
‘I did not provide the herbs; Meggie did.’
‘Meggie,’ Luis said softly. ‘Yes. Her mother would have done the same, as would her grandmother. We still remember Mag Hobson, and it is good to know that her blood still runs in one who dwells in the forest.’ He was silent for some time, and then, coming out of his reverie, he murmured, ‘Please thank her when you see her.’ Then, recalling the earlier conversation, he said, ‘You offered to stay here, but there is no need.’ He jerked his head towards the sleeping boy. ‘He and I will look after them now, although you will always be welcome here. Come as often as you can, and bring others, for it will do the women good to feel part of the wider world again.’ He paused, his face intent. ‘We will make them better, Tiphaine.’
Studying him, she knew he spoke the truth.
There was something else she wanted to ask him. It was a matter that had been on her mind for some time; a worry that she had not been able to assuage.
She guessed he shared her anxiety. She said very quietly, ‘Is there any news?’
He sighed. ‘No.’
FOURTEEN
Early the next morning, Josse left the warmth of his hall and went outside to the stables to fetch his horse. He had asked Will to prepare Alfred, announcing to the household his intention of riding down to Tonbridge to seek out Gervase de Gifford. His optimism of the previous day seemed, however, to have deserted him, and now he was pretty sure that going to ask the sheriff about some weird and highly unlikely means of passing a message from England to the Midi was going to be a complete waste of time.
He was, however, stuck for any other ideas.
As he entered the stables he heard voices and thought at first it was Will passing the time of day with Alfred and the other horses. One of the voices was indeed Will’s, but the other was a woman’s. Rounding the partition between two stalls, he saw Helewise.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, realizing straight away that, as a greeting, it was neither polite nor cordial.
‘Looking for you,’ she replied calmly. ‘I thought I’d ride with you, if you do not object.’ She inclined her head, and he saw that Daisy, her grey mare, was also saddled and bridled.
‘Why?’ he asked.
She took the mare’s reins from Will with a murmured thank you, leading her outside to mount up. Josse followed, swinging up on to Alfred’s back. Together they rode out of the yard and off down the track.
‘Why?’ she repeated. ‘Because I thought it was high time Daisy had some exercise.’
‘Aye,’ he said impatiently, ‘and what’s the real reason?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Dear Josse, isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me.’
‘To the best of our knowledge, Ninian is still far away, and there has been no word from him. Now Meggie, too, has left, racing off on this mission of hers with a man we know nothing about.’
His heart gave a twist. ‘I know,’ he managed. ‘There is no need to remind me.’ Bracing himself, he added, ‘I still don’t know what you’re doing here.’
Her expression very tender, she said, ‘I’ve no idea where you’re off to and what you plan to do, but it doesn’t really matter.’ She hesitated, then went on in a less certain tone: ‘Little Helewise can manage perfectly well on her own at the chapel for one day. I – I just thought you might be glad of some company.’
Amid the pain and the worry, briefly he felt very happy. She had been thinking about him and, perceiving his need, had come to offer the help he would have asked for had he known it was available. Not sure if he could speak without the emotion showing, he merely nodded.
Her smile suggested that she understood.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked presently. He told her; to his relief, the moment of weakness was past and he sounded just as he usually did. Her eyebrows went up in surprise. ‘Do you really think we might get a message to Ninian in this way? Oh, Josse, I do hope you are right, although—’ She did not finish.
‘Aye, it seems unlikely to me, too,’ he admitted. ‘But I have to do something. I can’t just sit in the house waiting for—’ He, too, found he could not complete the sentence. Just then, he didn’t want to contemplate receiving news of his daughter or adopted son, because, in his present low state, he could only think it would be bad.
‘We shall try, anyway,’ she said stoutly. ‘And then, if Gervase either cannot or will not help, you and I will put our heads together, as so often we have done before, and think of something else.’
The thick fog of Josse’s gloom shifted, just a little, and it seemed to him that the thinnest ray of sunshine glowed down on him.
They were nearing the place where the road turned down to the right, towards Tonbridge, when there came the sound of clattering, hurrying hooves and shouting from behind them. Josse and Helewise drew rein, moving to the side of the road to allow the group past.
There were perhaps eight or ten of them: burly, rough-looking men, some mounted on inelegant but serviceable horses, some on foot. All were armed, with knives, clubs, stout sticks and, in one case, a crossbow. With a sinking heart, Josse thought he recognized who they were.
‘Get off the road and let us pass!’ yelled the man riding in front, waving an arm holding a club. He was clad in a worn leather tunic and, despite the cold, his brawny arms were bare. ‘Move!’
Josse thought that, since he and Helewise had already positioned their horses one behind the other beneath the low bank on the left of the road, the man was being unreasonable. ‘We can hardly get further out of your way, unless you’re suggesting we climb the bank,’ he protested.
The man in the leather tunic reacted as if Josse had just insulted him, letting out a stream of insults and kicking his horse so that it raced towards Josse, foaming at the bit, its eyes wild.
Josse held his ground. ‘Watch your foul tongue,’ he said coolly. ‘There is a lady here.’
The man glared at Helewise. He opened his mouth as if to add another crudity, then thought better of it. ‘You’re obstructing an officer of the law in the fulfilment of his duty,’ he said grandly.
Josse wondered where he’d picked up the phrase. Although he thought he already knew, he said, ‘What officer are you, and what duty are you carrying out?’
The man’s chest swelled under the dirty leather tunic. ‘Tomas is my name,’ he pronounced, ‘and Lord Benedict gives me my orders.’ It was as Josse feared. ‘As to my duty, if it’s any of your business, we’re taking this here violent criminal to that there abbey, which is the nearest place as is likely to have a secure prison. We’re going to put him safely under lock and key till Lord Benedict can come to collect him.’ He grinned, revealing a few stained teeth in otherwise bare jaws.
He raised his arm, the hand in a fist, and made a gesture to his men, who were gathered behind him. With a mocking bow, he turned to the figure now revealed in their midst.
He was dressed in the colours of the earth, predominantly brown, and the coarse cloth of his garment was stained as if from living rough. He was tall and slim, standing proudly with his shoulders held stiffly. There was a dignity about him, Josse thought, despite the sacking hood that had been thrown over his head, tied around his throat with a length of rope and completely concealing his face. His hands were bound behind his back.
‘W
hy is he hooded?’ Josse demanded.
Tomas shot him a sly look, his eyes full of malice. ‘My men don’t like the way he stares at them.’
Horrified, Josse was trying to think. Oh, dear God, if this was who he thought it was, then where was Meggie? Had she managed to escape when Tomas and his men had encircled and taken this Brown Man? Had she abandoned him to his captors – surely not! – or was she even now close by, awaiting the chance to try to help him?
She must not do that, Josse thought desperately, terrified for his beloved daughter. There was nothing she could do against so many, even with Josse and Helewise there to help, and if she showed herself now, it was highly likely they would take and imprison her too . . .
He must do something.
‘Why have you taken him prisoner?’ he demanded. ‘What evidence is there against him, that you should treat him like this?’
Tomas glared at him. ‘Evidence enough for us,’ he growled. ‘A witness saw him fleeing like the cesspit rat he is after he drowned our poor Rufus, and she described him to us. Good friend she’s been to us, and she’ll have her reward.’ He gave a twisted grin. ‘It’s him, all right, and she’ll swear to it.’
‘Whatever you believe this man to have done,’ Josse said, speaking loudly so that Meggie might hear, ‘he is entitled to a fair trial, and I will not stand by to see him roughly treated.’ There was a snigger from one of the men; another grabbed the bound man’s arm, turning him so that his back was towards Josse. The brown robe was torn, and there were the raw, bleeding marks of a whip across his shoulders.
‘Oh, you won’t?’ taunted Tomas. ‘Well, whoever you are up there on your fine horse, this bastard’s responsible for at least four deaths, including that Rufus from down Tonbridge way, and he flogged our poor old Matthew.’ He put on an expression of mock regret. ‘I’m not at all sure as how I can stop my men taking a bit of revenge, them being a tad cross on old Matthew’s behalf, not to mention Rufus’s, only he’s not here any more to appreciate it.’ There were mutterings from behind him and sounds of feet scuffling in the dust.
