Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

Josse closed his eyes for a moment and muttered, ‘Amen.’

‘God’s speed, Gervase,’ she said, moving on to the sheriff, who removed his hat and gave her a bow. ‘And to you, Sabin’ — she turned to the fair young woman on the grey — ‘and I congratulate the pair of you on the happy announcement that you are to be wed.’

‘Thank you, my lady,’ Sabin said meekly.

Lastly Helewise turned to Joanna, sitting silent and still on the golden mare. The child sat before her, watching Helewise with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘This little one will be asleep before you’ve gone half a mile,’ Helewise said softly, smiling up at Joanna.

Joanna smiled back, deep, dark eyes seeming to reach right into Helewise’s mind as if seeking briefly to touch on memories that both she and Helewise knew were hidden within. ‘Yes, my lady,’ she replied. ‘Meggie was awake for much of the night.’

‘She’ll soon catch up on her lost sleep,’ Helewise said, grateful to Joanna for speaking of normal things. ‘They are so very adaptable at that age, aren’t they?’ she added.

‘Yes. They tell me the trouble really starts when they’re a little older and start to question everything with why ?’

Helewise laughed. ‘How true,’ she said. ‘I recall it only too well!’

She reached out and touched the child’s springy brown curls. ‘Go safely, little Meggie,’ she said softly. Then, eyes on Joanna’s, she whispered, ‘May I give you a blessing too?’

There was a split-second’s hesitation, then Joanna’s face relaxed and she said, ‘Yes, my lady. I should welcome it.’

Helewise leaned close to Joanna and Meggie and quietly uttered a brief but urgent prayer for their safety. She thought she heard Joanna murmur ‘Amen’, but she could have been mistaken.

Then she stepped back, waved a hand to Josse, now mounted, and watched as the four adults and one child rode out of the gates and off on the road that led to the coast.

The early start, combined with a warm, dry day that was ideal for a journey, meant that the travellers reached the coast in the mid-afternoon. They made for the port of Pevensey, busy now in high summer with the arrival of many small ships from across the narrow seas and beyond. Josse left the others in an inn yard, where they would take care of the horses and then see about ordering a meal, and he set out along the quayside in search of a captain who would take the party over to France; preferably to some port as far to the west as possible.

After several refusals, uttered with varying degrees of civility, Josse found a man from Harwich who was about to set sail. The captain’s itinerary included several ports on the north coast of France, after which he would round the Breton peninsula and, on its southern side, sail up the wide Loire estuary to Nantes, then on southwards, hugging the coast, as far as Bordeaux. He was carrying English wool and Flanders cloth; at the mouth of the Seine he would stop to take on board a cargo of luxuries — tooled leather goods, spices and silks — that had been brought upriver from the market at Troyes, then he would sail on to Barfleur and then-

At this point in the captain’s apparently endless narrative Josse interrupted and enquired very courteously whether or not the man took passengers.

‘Passengers?’ He sniffed, eyeing Josse dubiously. ‘I take those who can pay.’ He jerked his head in the direction of a group of half a dozen men in the simply cut, dark and hooded robes typical of monks, who were sitting in the shade by the wall that ran along at the rear of the quay. One man sat a little apart from the others and he seemed to be watching the comings and goings with avid curiosity; perhaps, Josse thought vaguely, this was his first excursion outside whichever walls usually penned him up. Near to the monks an elderly man sat gazing vacantly into space, his lips moving as if in prayer. Or he might have been talking to himself.

‘Have you space for more?’ Josse asked. ‘Four adults, a child and four horses?’

‘I have room,’ the captain said. He pointed along the quayside to where his ship lay berthed, her deck and the two gangplanks busy with the comings and goings of the crew. ‘My ship is generously sized and adapted for the accommodation of horses. Where do you wish to go?’

‘Two adults of the party are bound for Nantes; the others and the child for’ — Where were he and Joanna bound? He realised that he had only the vaguest idea — ‘er, for Brittany.’

The captain smiled. ‘Nantes is in Brittany.’

‘We wish to go north of Nantes.’ He was pretty sure that was right, anyway.

‘Well, then perhaps I will drop you off at Dinan.’

‘Dinan? Aye, very well, if that is what you advise,’ Josse agreed.

The captain shrugged. ‘There is no need to decide now. I will take your party, sir knight, although it will not be cheap.’

He named a price. Josse gave a dramatic cry of horror, throwing his hands in the air as if he’d just been informed he had missed the Second Coming, and offered half. After some haggling, they agreed at a figure that was roughly three-quarters of the captain’s original sum. They shook on the deal and Josse agreed to hand over the coins (the Abbess had insisted on funding his and Joanna’s travelling expenses from the Abbey’s coffers; Gervase and Sabin also carried money sufficient for their journey) as soon as all of the party were aboard.

Then, satisfied with the arrangements, Josse returned to tell the others that they would be sailing that evening as soon as the tide turned.

The ship was called the Goddess of the Dawn and she was a clinker-built cob whose design showed clear signs of its longboat origins, although she was shorter and rounder in shape. She was some thirty paces long; her planks, set parallel on the widely curving ribs, ran from the high prow to the equally high stern in precise, even lines that drew the eye and spoke aloud the ship’s beauty. A tall mast stood amidships, the square sail at present neatly furled. From the front of the prow extended the bowsprit, to which could be fastened the bowlines attached to the edges of the sail that enabled a canny captain to sail close to the wind. Along the gunwales was a row of holes, for the use of oars when the wind failed and for manoeuvring in estuaries and rivers. The rear quarter of the deck was covered by a wooden construction, on its roof a railed-in aft deck. A door gave access to a dim interior, beneath which a companionway led to the storage area where the horses were also accommodated.

On the ship’s high prow there was a figurehead, skilfully carved in pale oak, depicting a woman with flowing hair and a fierce expression. As befitted a goddess, she was accorded deep respect by her captain and crew.

Watching from the quay some time after sunset as the horses were led aboard, Josse observed his companions as they stared at the ship to which they were about to entrust their safety and their lives. Sabin, noticing the figurehead, gave a small gasp and, furtively making the sign of the cross on her breast, muttered something inaudible. Gervase, as befitted a man deeply in love, turned his attention from staring up at the tiny platform right at the top of the mast and gave Sabin a reassuring hug. Joanna’s expression was unreadable; Meggie, held tight in her mother’s arms, was clamouring to get down and rush off to explore.

‘Come on, then,’ Josse said bracingly. ‘We’ll go aboard and settle ourselves in, then we’ll eat the supper we’ve just purchased as the ship sails.’

Without giving anyone time to protest, he strode up the gangplank; the sound of footsteps behind him indicated that the others were following. But then why would they not? he asked himself; all of the party, with the possible exception of Gervase, had crossed the narrow seas before and the two women had both done so quite recently. They’ll lose any fear that they have once we’re on our way, he told himself.