Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘Such an action would be only fair,’ the Domina agreed, ‘although success would, I fear, be unlikely.’

‘Quite.’ The Abbess frowned. ‘It might, however, be a matter for the Tonbridge sheriff if it could be proved that Florian was taking money fraudulently.’

The Domina gazed at her. Whatever profound thought was running through her head, Tiphaine, watching the two powerful women with close attention, could not guess. ‘The bones are not those of Merlin,’ the Domina said. ‘Be quite sure of that, Abbess Helewise.’

‘You. .’ The Abbess hesitated, as if reluctant to ask for further assurance. Then, squaring her shoulders — she was slightly taller than the Domina, Tiphaine noticed — she said, ‘I am sorry if I appear to doubt you, but I must ask how you can be so certain. If we are to press ahead with our plans to discredit Florian’s scheme, I have to be absolutely sure that we are acting fairly and honestly. Otherwise — if, that is, there is a possibility that the skeleton is that of Merlin and that the bones are therefore capable of working miracles — then it would be wrong to close down a source of comfort and relief when our people so badly need all the help they can get.’

For some time the Domina did not reply. Tiphaine, who knew rather more about what lay behind the affair than she had revealed to her Abbess, waited.

Eventually the Domina said, ‘They are not the bones of Merlin. If miracles have happened, then this may be because of people’s expectations.’ Tiphaine could detect the care with which she was choosing her words. The Domina continued, ‘For one such as Florian of Southfrith to make money out of the exposure of bones that he falsely claims are those of Merlin is not only cruelly dishonest; it is also dangerous, for there is a force in that place that has been desecrated with which it is folly to meddle. For both reasons he must be stopped.’

‘Dangerous?’ the Abbess echoed, and Tiphaine saw her eyes widen in alarm.

‘Be assured, Abbess Helewise,’ the Domina continued implacably, ‘that the entity known commonly as Merlin has nothing whatsoever to do with either the bones or the miracles.’

And with that, it appeared from the Domina’s demeanour, the Abbess was going to have to be content.

After some time the Abbess spoke. ‘How do we prove it?’

‘I believe,’ said the Domina, ‘that, as far as the people are concerned, it is a matter of proving that Merlin is in truth entombed elsewhere.’

‘ Is he?’ demanded the Abbess.

‘They say so,’ replied the Domina enigmatically.

‘And his tomb is there for all to see?’ the Abbess pressed.

‘Oh, yes. I have seen the spot where they say Merlin lies entombed with my own eyes. There is a spring that bubbles out of the ground whose water is ever cool and sweet. Above it is a great slab of granite, shadowed by a thorn tree. It is told, is it not’ — she had fixed the Abbess with a penetrating stare — ‘that Nimu penned the enchanter up beneath a hawthorn tree?’ Before the Abbess could speak, the Domina pressed on, her voice now low, hypnotic. ‘There is a long white banner tied to the thorn bush and it floats and dances in the breeze. They come to worship and they scare themselves, daring one another to stamp on the great granite slab and then running wild in horror when the power is unleashed.’ There was a pause as the echoes of her dramatic voice faded and died. ‘But,’ she concluded in her normal tone, ‘they come to no lasting harm.’

‘And this — this place of which you speak, it is in truth the burial place of Merlin, magician to King Arthur?’ The Abbess pressed the point.

‘So they say, lady.’

‘Is it nearby?’

‘No.’

‘But it is possible to visit there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then — then I should go and see for myself,’ the Abbess said decisively.

The Domina eyed her and Tiphaine thought she saw a certain admiration in the look. ‘It is far away and to go there necessitates a voyage over the sea,’ she warned. ‘You would be absent from your Abbey for considerably more than a matter of a few days, Helewise.’

‘Oh. I see.’ The Abbess’s face fell. ‘Then I shall ask another.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘One who I know will agree to accept the mission.’

‘You speak of Josse,’ the Domina commented.

‘Yes.’

The Domina nodded. ‘I believe that he is a wise choice,’ she agreed, ‘and I in my turn will propose a guide who will ensure that he reaches his destination safely.’ She was watching the Abbess closely; Tiphaine, who had a shrewd idea what was coming, thought she could guess why.

‘Who is this guide?’ the Abbess asked. ‘Josse will not be in any danger, will he?’

The Domina shrugged. ‘There is always a certain peril in travel but he will be at no greater risk than anyone else. As to his guide, the person whom I have in mind has visited the place where they say Merlin lies buried and will not have any difficulty in recalling the way. Moreover, the presence of this guide will ensure Josse’s safety in realms where it could be perilous for outsiders to tread. He will be taken to the spot, shown the granite slab and the spring that they call Merlin’s Fountain. He may then bring the account of his visit back here to you and you may do with the information as you see fit.’

The Abbess was nodding her enthusiasm. ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said eagerly. ‘The word of Sir Josse that Merlin lies buried elsewhere, and that he therefore cannot possibly be the skeleton on the far side of the forest, will suffice to raise doubts as to Florian’s claims. People are less credulous than men such as Florian believe; Sir Josse’s word added to the fact that Florian has been making so much money from the supposed tomb will surely convince all but the most unintelligent that the whole arrangement is nothing more than a fake.’

‘So it is to be hoped,’ the Domina said.

‘You said that this place lies over the seas.’ The Abbess returned to the practicalities. ‘Where is it? In Ireland, perhaps?’

‘Not Ireland,’ the Domina replied. ‘It is in Armorica.’

‘Armorica?’ The Abbess frowned.

‘You may know the land as Brittany,’ Tiphaine supplied.

‘Brittany!’ exclaimed the Abbess. ‘Merlin lies buried in Brittany?’

But the Domina did not answer.

The Abbess was looking doubtful now, as if she were entertaining second thoughts about the wisdom of sending Josse off on such a trip to a place so far away.

Perhaps reading the thought, the Domina said softly, ‘Remember, he will have a sound guide with him.’

‘Yes, of course, so you assured me.’ The Abbess sounded relieved. ‘Who is this man? One of your own people?’

‘One of our people, yes. But not a man.’ The Domina’s face was expressionless. ‘I speak of a woman. She has been to Armorica and has stood beside the great granite slab. She of all people will ensure that your Josse achieves the journey there and back again as safely as it is in her power to make it. And she is powerful: be in no doubt of that.’

‘It’s Joanna,’ the Abbess breathed. ‘Isn’t it? You mean to send Joanna to be his guide.’

And the Domina said, ‘Of course.’

Unaware of what was being planned for him by the two powerful women out in the forest, Josse had dressed himself in his habitual tunic and hat and set off on Horace for the heathlands to the south and east of the Great Wealden Forest where he understood that Florian of Southfrith had his home. He lives with his beautiful wife in a modest but very fine manor house near Hadfeld , Brice had said. Well, the man’s name and the place where he had his abode ought to be enough for Josse to locate him.