Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘ Nobody? No pilgrims at all?’ He was amazed that the rival attraction should have had such a devastating effect so soon.

‘Not a one. Here we all sit, ready and eager to fulfil our purpose in life by giving aid to all who come seeking it, yet nobody comes. And oh, Sir Josse, I am so afraid that when word gets round that the people now go elsewhere for succour, as no doubt it already has, then all those who support us so generously will think again.’ Lowering her voice to a whisper, as if she could not bear the thought of anyone else hearing the humiliating words, she said, ‘We need the funds, you see. We cannot charge for the care that we give; that would be unthinkable, for we do the Lord’s work. Yet we must have money to survive and one of our main sources of income is the gifts that the wealthy bestow in exchange for Hawkenlye’s prayers and its beneficial, healing presence within the wider community. If our benefactors choose to support a rival foundation, then with a huge and unfillable hole in our income and, far more crucially, without the needy, the lost, the sick and the desperate to care for, we shall no longer have a reason to exist and we are lost.’ She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap, and her coif cut off his view of her face. Leaning forward, he saw that she had her eyes tightly shut, as if trying to blot out the dismal prospect before her.

‘What shall we do?’ he said. ‘What can we do?’

She turned to him, a smile spreading over her face. ‘Dear Josse. Thank you for the we .’

He waved away her gratitude, embarrassed, as he always was, when she accredited him with altruistic motives when what he was really doing was to ensure that, for the foreseeable future anyway, he would be near- No. He made himself arrest that thought. ‘I know the name of the man behind this tawdry scheme,’ he said gruffly.

‘ Do you?’ She seemed amazed. ‘Sir Josse, you are well-informed — I have asked whomsoever I can for details of this dreadful business but they appear to be scant. Who is he?’

‘He’s a young man named Florian of Southfrith.’

‘Southfrith. He is a local man, then, for the Southfrith lands are close by. Yet he made his discovery on the far side of the forest, where the woodland peters out and the heathland begins.’

‘So I’m told. Giant bones, apparently, and this Florian seems to have sufficient evidence to prove that they belong to Merlin. My lady,’ he turned to her with a frown, ‘what puzzles me is how it is that all the people who now divert like brainless sheep after the bellwether to this new shrine know the name of Merlin!’

She looked surprised. ‘But Sir Josse, everyone has heard of Merlin. I would warrant a small wager that if we assembled my nuns and monks and asked for a show of hands, all but those with their heads permanently in the clouds — and I own that we do have a few of those — would raise their arms and say, Merlin? Oh, yes, I know of Merlin. He was King Arthur’s magician.’

Greatly taken aback — was he in truth the only person in England not to be fascinated by this Arthur and his companions? — Josse shook his head wonderingly. ‘I see.’ His voice sounded dejected, even to himself. Then: ‘My lady, I do not believe for one moment that these vast bones belong to Merlin. Do you?’

She hesitated. ‘I would like to be as sure as you, Sir Josse, but I do not think that I can. For one thing, it seems that miracles have already been reported and attributed directly to Merlin’s intervention.’

‘But-’ He had been on the point of saying that miracles always happened at shrines; in his own view, he had a vague and barely formed notion that when people genuinely believed they were going to become well again, quite often they did. The healing water, or the saint’s finger bone, or the splinter of the True Cross, or the phial of the Blessed Virgin’s milk, might be the impetus that brought about that belief, but the cure itself was merely the body doing what it was best at.

However, recognising that his own ideas were quite irrational and probably blasphemous as well, Josse firmly closed his mouth on his objection.

‘But?’ the Abbess prompted.

He shook his head. ‘Nothing, my lady.’

After a while, she spoke again. ‘Brother Firmin said something comforting,’ she said slowly.

‘Aye? And what was that?’

‘He is remarkably sanguine about the whole thing. I was relieved — I had thought that he would be deeply distressed at this apparent shunning of the precious Holy Water that has become almost his life’s blood. And he is still weak, you know, after the sickness last year.’

‘Aye.’ Privately Josse was amazed that the old monk was still alive.

‘I asked him why he seemed so unconcerned,’ the Abbess went on, ‘and he replied that as soon as the pilgrims realise that the new shrine doesn’t work, they’ll be back.

‘But it does work,’ Josse protested. ‘You have just been telling me of the recent miracles.’

‘Brother Firmin maintains that they are false. He was very apologetic about what he saw as wishing disappointment on those who think they’ve been cured, but he says that what appear to be miracles are just the excitement of the new attraction.’

‘Does he, now?’ Good for Firmin, Josse thought, quite surprised that the old boy should demonstrate such clear-eyed objectivity. ‘Well, my lady, that is an encouraging thought. But since we can have no idea of how long it will be before people discover their mistake, and since the Abbey which you and I both love is suffering in the meantime-’

‘ And people are being seduced away from the true source of help,’ she put in. ‘If it is true that these are the bones of Merlin, then I am a little surprised that they should have brought about healing, for Merlin was a sage and a magician but not specifically a man who was renowned for the working of miracle cures. Whereas our Holy Water spring was discovered via the direct intercession of the Blessed Virgin herself who, as you will recall, Sir Josse, appeared to a party of French merchants dying of fever and told them that the water would cure them, as indeed it did.’

‘Aye, I remember, and indeed there’s that too. . Where was I? Oh, yes. We can’t just sit back and wait. We must do something.’

‘Yes,’ she cried, as fervent as he. Then: ‘What?’

He thought for a moment. Then he said slowly, ‘My lady, you keep in your mind room for doubt, I think; you will not say definitely that these bones are not what they are claimed to be.’

‘No-o,’ she agreed tentatively.

‘I am less charitable and I am all but certain that this is nothing but a scheme cooked up by a clever man to rob the credulous of their money.’

‘But you can’t be sure!’ she protested. ‘What if the bones are genuine and are really capable of doing good and helping those in need?’

Thinking that he’d eat his cap if they were, Josse said, ‘I will try to keep an open mind, my lady. What I propose to do is to present myself at Merlin’s Tomb as a pilgrim. That way I shall experience exactly what the ordinary man or woman experiences. I shall listen when I am spoken to, kneel before whatever sort of display has been set up, express my awe at being in the presence of such a wonder and proclaim myself cured of whatever I have stated ails me.’

‘What good will that do?’ she demanded. From her faintly aggrieved tone, he guessed she was reluctant to dismiss Merlin’s bones as a total sham. He made a mental note to bear this attitude of hers in mind; he did not want to risk hurting her feelings by speaking too bluntly.

Yet.

‘Well, for one thing I’m not in fact suffering from any ailment, God be thanked’ — the exclamation was in response to the swift glance she shot him, as if warning him against taking his sound health for granted and not giving credit where it was due — ‘and so I will not have the sense of desperation that may blind other visitors to what is really going on.’