Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

Joanna had been awarded the honour of taking the first flame from the Domina’s torch and bearing it back to the clearing where the festivities had been held. She had worked very hard and was word perfect in the long chant that she sang all the way; the moment when she led the people back to the light of the dying fire, and suddenly they all joined in and sang with her, would stay with her for ever.

She had finally crawled on to the sleeping platform in her little hut more than two hours after sunrise, only to be woken by Lora — who had cared for Meggie while Joanna was doing her torch-bearing duty — far too short a time later.

Now, standing as straight and as still as she could outside the Abbey gates, Joanna felt the excitement and exertion of the night catch up with her. Meggie was leaning against her mother’s legs, slumped and almost asleep; it would not have taken much for Joanna to have lain down on the grass and joined her.

But suddenly she heard voices and the sound of horses’ hooves on stone; squaring her shoulders, she moved slightly until she could get a clear view of who was approaching.

Josse was walking along at the side of a fair-haired young woman who was laughing in response to a remark of Josse’s. She looked very happy, as if something very nice had just happened. Josse was leading his big horse — Horace, wasn’t it? — and the woman held the reins of a dainty grey mare whose wide eyes and delicately arched neck suggested good blood.

Pain scorching her, Joanna thought, ah, I see! Josse and his fine lady are to ride and I am to trudge along behind like the hired help! Oh, how could he!

Giving Meggie a nudge to rouse her, Joanna raised her chin and stepped forward to greet him.

Josse saw her standing in the gateway and felt as if some unseen hand had grasped hold of his heart.

She stood tall and proud, her dark hair neatly braided and the two plaits hanging down to her waist. She wore a robe of fine wool, dyed to a shade of green that seemed to mingle the colours of the forest and blend them into a shade that somehow carried something of them all. The gown was fastened at the shoulders with gold clasps. On her feet she wore beautifully sewn leather sandals, substantial enough for a long journey, and a satchel hung from her arm. Protruding from its flap was a short wooden rod into one end of which had been fixed a translucent brown crystal. At her feet was what appeared to be a soft woollen blanket, rolled up neatly and tied with a cord.

Meggie, looking heavy-eyed, stood beside her, her thumb in her mouth. She was tracing shapes in the dust with one foot and did not look up.

Joanna did. Her dark eyes were glaring up at Josse with such ferocity that he stopped dead.

‘Joanna,’ he said huskily; he cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Joanna, it is good to see you. This is Sabin de Retz’ — he touched Sabin’s arm, noticing as he did so that she was rigid with tension and guessing that she too had noticed Joanna’s expression — ‘and she is to ride with us since she too has business in Brittany.’

Joanna said nothing.

‘We — er — we should start as soon as we can,’ he went on. He handed Horace’s reins to Sabin and advanced towards Joanna, feeling the burning power of her eyes fixed on him.

‘Ride on, Josse,’ Joanna hissed caustically. ‘I’ll follow along in your dust.’

He realised all of a sudden the impression that he must have made and simultaneously he understood the false conclusion to which she had leapt. He put a hand on each of her shoulders — touching her sent a shock of terror through him, as if her very flesh could somehow harm him — and said very quietly, for her alone, ‘Joanna, don’t. It is not as you seem to think. Sabin is to marry Gervase de Gifford, who is sheriff here and a good man. He will be with us very soon; he is in the stables fetching his own horse and also your mare Honey, who has been in the nuns’ care.’ He gave her a little shake and, his inexplicable fear of her vanishing as quickly as it had come, leaned closer and whispered, ‘D’you think I’d let you walk when I rode? Silly girl!’

Then, at last, she smiled.

Sabin saw the smile and let out the breath she had been holding. There had been something in the air, something that she did not recognise and that scared her, and it seemed to emanate from the fierce eyes of the dark woman in the beautiful green tunic.

Who was she? If she was the woman Josse had spoken of, and surely she must be, then Josse had referred to her as Joanna. Yesterday Gervase had appeared to recognise the name; Sabin had asked him later later but all he had said was that she was a woman of the forest people who was a friend to Josse and to Hawkenlye Abbey. She was a healer, he’d said, and Sabin had detected admiration in his voice. Wondering if this Joanna might also be good-looking, she had awaited the meeting with excitement.

Joanna was good-looking; she was, Sabin now thought, almost beautiful. She had not expected Joanna to have a child with her, a girl child of about two and a half years, if Sabin were any judge.

Now, still feeling the sweet relief that had flooded her the moment when Joanna smiled, she thought again about what Gervase had said. A woman of the forest; a healer. Add to that, Sabin thought wryly, someone with the power to alter an atmosphere by her very presence and it adds up to a woman of whom to be very, very wary.

She was about to risk a friendly greeting, perhaps address a remark to the sleepy little brown-haired girl, but then she heard the sound of horse and human footsteps and, turning, saw with unexpectedly vast relief that Gervase was approaching, leading his own familiar bay and a smaller, gold-coloured mare who was dancing on her toes with excitement. He met Sabin’s eyes, gave her a smile and a wink that heartened her still further, and then walked on towards the woman in green. Sabin watched him.

He put Honey’s reins into Joanna’s hand. ‘Your mare, my lady,’ he said with a bow.

Joanna took the mare’s reins, gave Gervase a word of thanks and, lifting the child, set her astride in front of the saddle. Both Josse and Gervase stepped forward to help Joanna mount but she swung herself up behind the child without their aid. Sabin suppressed a smile as the two men stood there, their hands still outstretched and their mouths open.

She felt Joanna’s eyes on her.

Nerving herself, she met the frank stare. With a swift glance at the two men, she looked back at Joanna and raised an eyebrow as if to say, sweet, aren’t they? And, unless she was very much mistaken, on Joanna’s stern face as she glared down there appeared a very faint grin.

Sabin had the distinct feeling that Joanna’s senses worked rather more efficiently than other people’s and that the woman of the forest had observed all that there was to observe in the little scene that had just been enacted. Whether or not that was true, for some reason Sabin felt that the woman’s initial animosity had subsided.

Which, considering the long journey in each others’ company on which they were about to embark, was probably just as well.

Helewise heard a soft tap at her door.

‘Come in.’

‘They are ready to leave, my lady Abbess,’ Sister Ursel said. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, but you did say that you wished to see them off and bless their journey.’

‘Indeed I did, Sister Ursel. Thank you.’ Rising, Helewise indicated to the nun that she should go on ahead back to the gate. After taking a couple of steadying breaths, Helewise followed her.

With an appearance of calm serenity that she was far from feeling, she walked up to the quartet at the gates. Josse had yet to mount; she went up to him and said softly, ‘Thank you, Sir Josse, for what you are about to do. Good luck in your endeavours and let us all hope and pray that you meet with success.’ Then, suddenly afraid for him: ‘May God bless you for your willingness always to be a friend of the Abbey, and may he keep you in his care and bring you safely home.’