Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘If they were happy together,’ Helewise put in, the monologue briefly stopping as Melusine paused for breath, ‘then was it so bad for Florian to have exaggerated his means? For him to have-’

‘But they were not happy,’ Melusine hissed vindictively. Briefly she met Helewise’s eyes, as if to gauge her reaction to the harsh words. ‘I believe in facing facts, my lady,’ she said. ‘I am a realist and I do not fool myself. Oh, to begin with there was the usual ecstatic period when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but that soon came to an end as Primevere realised just what sort of a man she had chosen. He was deeply in debt, having borrowed vast sums in order to maintain his pretence of being a rich man.’ She snorted. ‘And there was the ransom — fool that he is, Florian went to the collectors and put the money right into their very hands!’

‘He had no choice,’ Helewise protested. ‘Everyone had to pay up.’

‘But to go and offer it like that!’ She made a sound that sounded like pouff! , clearly expressive of her disgust. There was a brief pause. ‘Then, of course, he found the bones out in the forest.’ There was, Helewise noticed, a slight exaggeration on found . She stored that interesting little fact away for future reference. ‘And we all know what happened next. Florian comes home with bags and bags of coins and suddenly Primevere can have anything her heart desires in exchange for a mere snap of her fingers.’

‘So they did recover their original happiness before he died,’ Helewise said softly, almost to herself. ‘That is something for which to be very grateful, for Florian’s sake in particular.’

‘Eh? Happy, you say?’ Melusine frowned. ‘You’d have thought so, yes, for Primevere loves pretty garments and new shoes and she was overjoyed that they started on the new building work so quickly. This little bay mare he bought for her and that I’m riding today is a lovely animal, too.’ She broke off, the look of puzzlement intensifying. ‘Yet it was not enough, for I who know my daughter well judged that still she was contemptuous of Florian, that the initial flame of her love and desire for him was not rekindled. Why, I am all but certain that he no longer shared her bed. And that, my lady, is the strangest thing of all, for I believe that-’

She stopped. Just like that, in mid-sentence, she bit back whatever she had been about to say. With a cunning and slightly cruel smile, she said, ‘Enough. Your cellarer keeps a fine wine, my lady Abbess, and the hot sun on my head adds its contribution, so that I am not entirely myself and I speak when I should stay silent.’ She kicked a sharp heel into her mount’s side, making the animal start. Kicking again, she urged the horse into a trot, then a canter.

She is all of a sudden eager to be home, Helewise thought. Very well. We will hasten on to Hadfeld, where I will do my utmost to ensure that I see this enigmatic daughter with my own eyes. This Primevere, who is sick enough to have taken to her bed, undoubtedly — for all that she denies it — out of anxiety over her husband’s absence, yet who, according to her mother, has no love for him despite his sudden generosity.

It was both an exciting and a slightly alarming prospect.

They reached Florian’s Hadfeld house in mid-afternoon. Leaving her horse with Brothers Saul and Augustus, who sensibly found a patch of shade on the side of the road beneath an oak tree under which to wait, Helewise made sure that she was right beside Melusine as the latter went up the steps and into the hall; short of banging the door in Helewise’s face, Melusine had no option but to admit her.

‘I will come with you as you break the news to your daughter,’ Helewise said smoothly, sticking to Melusine’s side like an armed escort. ‘She will be distressed and I may be able to offer comfort.’

Melusine eyed her shrewdly and Helewise had the distinct feeling that she knew exactly what Helewise was up to. But she nodded her agreement. She led the way across the hall and up a couple of steps on the far side, through a deep arched doorway and along a short passage that appeared to lead into an upper chamber. As they approached, Helewise thought she heard the low murmur of voices.

Melusine could not have helped but hear too. She called out something in French, the words rushing out too fast for Helewise to catch; she was, however, almost sure that they were a warning. A warning to Primevere that her mother was not alone but was bringing with her the Abbess of Hawkenlye? That Primevere should therefore prepare a very good excuse for entertaining company when she was supposed to be sick?

Helewise followed Melusine into the room. They entered via a gracefully curved stone arch and, a little way along the same wall, there was another arch, this one covered by a heavy hanging, which possibly led down to the kitchen quarters. Casting quick eyes around, she took in clean rushes thickly strewn on the stone floor and costly wall hangings that gave off the distinct smell of new wool. Tall beeswax candles stood on a chest set back against the wall at the room’s far end. In the middle of the room stood a high bed covered with costly bedclothes and on the bed, propped up on a mountain of snowy-white pillows, lay a young woman.

Other than for her, the room was empty.

Melusine was glaring at her daughter. ‘ Que fais-tu ?’ she demanded. Then, switching to the common tongue: ‘Here is the Abbess Helewise of Hawkenlye, come to visit you.’

Helewise studied the woman on the bed. She was slim and slight, although the swelling breasts that strained against the violet silk of her gown were generous. Her face was pale — very pale; perhaps she was really sick with some wasting disease — and her eyes, slightly slanting, were darkest blue. Her hair was long, loose and black and, belying the pallor, shone with health.

She said, her voice totally composed, ‘ Ma mere , our neighbours sent the old family servant with a little gift for me.’ With a casual nod she indicated a posy of sweet-scented pinks and violets that lay on a small table next to the bed, beside them a glass bottle of some pinkish substance. ‘Rose syrup,’ said Primevere languidly. Then, eyes on Helewise: ‘Ranulf of Crowbergh and his household are both our neighbours and our friends. Do you know them, my lady Abbess?’

‘No,’ Helewise replied.

‘They are worthy people. Sir Ranulf, who is the head of the family, had heard that Florian has not returned from the tomb in the forest for several days and, concerned in case I was anxious, sent word to offer his help.’

Melusine hissed a sharp remark in French — translating, Helewise realised she was demanding why Primevere had not had the sense to get up and receive this servant in the hall, as a lady should — had she no shame? — to which Primevere gave a wan smile and replied, also in French, that she was still feeling too sick to risk rising from her bed. Especially, she added with a yawn, for a servant.

Helewise drew Melusine aside so that she could speak privately to her. ‘We must tell her,’ she murmured.

Melusine nodded.

Primevere watched them, her eyes going first to her mother, then Helewise. ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded. When neither woman answered, slowly her face took on an expression of dread. Then, her lips trembling, her eyes flew back to her mother’s face and she said in a tiny voice, ‘Oh, it’s not true, tell me it’s not true!’

Melusine stepped forward and, perching on the bed, took her daughter’s hands in hers. She muttered something in French: It’s true, yes, he is dead, and his body was taken to Hawkenlye Abbey, where I have just returned from seeing it.