Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

There was a new extension under construction and the half-built walls were keeping a team of men busy. She could hear them talking; occasionally someone would call out a request for some tool or item of building material, to which there would be a cheerful response. A happy work force, she thought, doing a skilful job in fine weather for good wages.

She crossed the courtyard to the steps leading up to the main building, sensing Augustus and Caliste falling in behind her. Mounting the steps while her companions waited at their foot, she knocked on the stout door. After quite a long wait — she was just about to knock again — the door opened.

The woman who stood on the step staring out at Helewise with hostile eyes and an arrogant tilt to her chin was dressed entirely in black. Her hair was drawn off her face and covered with a little close-fitting black silk cap, over which was pinned a long, dark, semi-translucent veil which fell forward over her forehead almost as far as her eyes. In a voice that had the harsh timbre of a cawing crow, she said in heavily accented English, ‘Yes? Who are you?’

Helewise announced herself. Then, feeling her way cautiously, she said, ‘I wish to speak to the wife of Florian of Southfrith, whom I understand to be master here.’

The woman made a sound that sounded as if she did not think much of this understanding. ‘He’s — not here,’ she said.

‘As I say, it is his wife to whom I wish to speak,’ Helewise repeated politely.

The woman studied her, dark eyebrows drawn down. Then: ‘You can’t. She has taken to her bed.’

‘Is she sick?’

‘She is. .’ The formidable woman hesitated. ‘Sick, oui .’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Helewise said. ‘Perhaps we can help? Sister Caliste here is a nursing nun and skilled in the healing arts.’

‘My daughter can see nobody,’ the woman said firmly. ‘She is. .’ Again, she seemed to be searching for the right words. It could be, Helewise thought, because she was unaccustomed to speaking English. Alternatively, it could be because she was weighing what she said extremely carefully so as not to give too much away. .

I am not going to stand here on the doorstep like some pedlar trying to sell his wares, she decided. She drew in a breath and then said quietly, ‘The body of a young man has been brought to Hawkenlye Abbey. I have just come from Merlin’s Tomb, where I was told that Florian of Southfrith has not been seen for four days. The description that I gave to the guard there at the tomb appears to match that of your son-in-law and so I am very reluctantly forced to inform you that I believe the young man lying in our infirmary awaiting burial is indeed Florian.’

The woman’s face might have been carved from marble for all the reaction the features displayed to this terrible news. After a moment, the thin mouth opened and, lapsing into her mother tongue, she said, ‘It is as I feared, then. Primevere keeps saying that I am foolish to worry, that it is merely that he stays for more days out at the tomb in the forest — he is in the habit of remaining there for several days at a time, so eager is he to ensure that everything runs well — but me, I say we should send men to look for him. Now, alas, it seems I was right to be concerned.’

Helewise, trying to follow the rapid French — a language that nowadays she spoke infrequently — silently gave her brain a sharp nudge and replied in the same tongue. ‘Perhaps it would be wise for someone from your household to view the body to make quite sure it is that of Florian,’ she suggested. ‘If your daughter is already sick, then it would be unkind to risk upsetting her for nothing if the dead man proves to be someone else.’

The woman in black considered this for some time and then gave a curt nod. ‘It is sensible,’ she conceded. She thought further, frowning. Then: ‘I shall come myself. Wait here.’ Then she closed the door.

Helewise turned and slowly descended the steps. ‘That is Florian’s mother-in-law,’ she muttered to Augustus and Caliste. ‘She is going to return to Hawkenlye with us to view the body. She seems certain it’s Florian but we will wait for proof before she breaks the news to his wife.’ Dropping her voice still lower, she added, ‘The girl’s name is Primevere.’

‘Primrose,’ Sister Caliste breathed. ‘How pretty.’ Her face fell into dismay. ‘Oh, the poor girl! It’s dreadful for her, isn’t it, my lady? And she doesn’t even know yet that he’s dead!’

‘Indeed not,’ Helewise agreed, ‘for the mother says her daughter is still making herself believe that nothing is amiss; that Florian is merely staying on for a few more days at the tomb in the forest. And already Primevere lies sick in her bed, although what ails her I do not know. Perhaps it is anxiety about her husband. That would be readily understandable, for all that she may profess not to be concerned.’

‘Did you ask about the horse, my lady?’ Augustus asked softly.

‘No, Gus, I didn’t. Do you think I should?’

‘Oh!’ The young man seemed surprised and embarrassed to have his opinion sought. Then, sensibly, he put the reaction aside and answered the question. ‘Well, seems to me as if the horse can’t have turned up, else the alarm would have been raised.’

‘Quite so,’ she said.

‘If on the other hand the horse came home alone and nobody thought to wonder what had become of the rider,’ Augustus went on, ‘then that might very well be something we ought to investigate. Why, I mean, did nobody go out looking for him?’

‘How would we know if the horse did come home?’ whispered Helewise.

Augustus glanced around him. ‘Stable block’s over there, I reckon.’ He pointed to a long building that went away at right angles from the far side of the house. ‘While we’re waiting, I might just go and stretch my legs before we set off for the Abbey. A fast bay gelding, didn’t the guard say?’

Helewise found herself smiling. ‘Yes, Gussie. I believe he did.’

She watched as, with a convincing air of nonchalance, Augustus strolled off in the direction of the stables. He stretched, gazed around him, even plucked at the rear of his habit to pull it away from where the perspiration of the ride had made it stick to his buttocks. He’s very good, she thought.

Presently he disappeared around the corner of the stable block. As Helewise waited to hear what he would find out, she discovered that her hands were sweating.

Augustus came sauntering back from his little walk, still wearing the same expression of vaguely disinterested nonchalance, shortly before the door to the house reopened and the woman in black emerged. She descended the steps, looking across towards the stables with a deep frown creasing the pale skin of her forehead. Presently a groom appeared leading a bay.

Augustus, standing very close to Helewise, murmured in her ear, ‘That horse is a mare. There are two more bays in the stables and both are geldings.’

‘Oh.’ Florian and his household, it appeared, had a fancy to possess matching horses. ‘Not very informative, is it, Gussie?’

‘Not at all, my lady.’

Observing his look of concentration, as if in the midst of puzzling out a problem, it occurred to Helewise to wonder why they should even harbour the faintest suspicions about the death of Florian. Strange, though, how they did. .

The woman in black was saying something to the groom, who helped her to mount. Helewise nodded to Augustus and Sister Caliste, and the three of them crossed over to where they had tethered their horses and also mounted up. The woman in black kicked her mare and rode up close to Helewise: ‘I am Melusine,’ she said grandly. ‘As such you may address me.’