Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

‘What do we know of the place?’ Josse demanded eagerly.

Augustus had a think and then said, ‘It’s run by the White Monks and they’re farmers and foresters. The Abbey’s tucked away in the forest, like all Cistercian houses, because the monks aren’t allowed near towns.’

‘Would they accommodate a young woman like Sabin de Retz?’

Augustus shrugged. ‘I can’t say for certain, but the Cistercians are known for their charity and their care of the poor.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if Sabin is poor,’ Josse said, half to himself, thinking of the grey mare and the fur-lined gloves.

‘Maybe the old White Monks wouldn’t be above letting her stay anyway but rattling the poor box under her nose,’ Augustus said shrewdly.

Josse grinned. ‘Very possibly,’ he agreed. ‘Is it a good road to Robertsbridge, Gus?’

‘Reckon so, Sir Josse. It’s the Hastings road nearly all the way.’ Returning Josse’s smile, he said, ‘Want me to ask leave to go with you?’

‘Aye, do that, lad. I’ll go and tap on the Abbess Helewise’s door and explain where we’re going.’

He found the Abbess sitting behind her table. She seemed to have plenty to do, judging by the rolls of parchment spread out in front of her and the stylus in its horn of ink, but Josse had the distinct impression that, immediately before he went in, she had been staring into space. The look of anxiety on her face barely diminished as she greeted him.

‘Sister Beata is dead,’ she said.

It had been expected, Josse well knew, but nevertheless the news hit him like a fist in the stomach. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘She was a loving and a lovable woman.’

‘She was,’ the Abbess agreed. Raising dull eyes briefly to meet his before she looked away again, she said, ‘What is it, Sir Josse? As you see, I am busy.’

What is the matter with her? he wondered yet again. The death of Sister Beata was hard to accept, aye, but normally under such circumstances the Abbess would surely have derived comfort from talking over her grief and pain with Josse. And here she was, hinting that the sooner he said what he had to say and got himself out of her presence, the better she would like it.

Coolly he said, ‘Brother Augustus has come up with the bright suggestion that Sabin de Retz is probably lodging in a religious house. He and I are off down to Robertsbridge, it being the nearest one to us, to see if we can find her.’

‘I see,’ the Abbess said neutrally.

He waited, but it did not appear that she was going to say any more. ‘I’ll come and find you when we return.’ He realised he had sounded curt but just at that moment he didn’t care.

He spun round and strode out of the room, closing the door rather forcefully behind him. He thought he heard her cry out his name but when he paused to see if she would call again, there was nothing but silence.

He hurried on to the stables, where he found that Augustus had prepared the horses and, wrapped warmly in his cloak, was already mounted on the Abbey cob. Trying to put the Abbess out of his mind, Josse got up on to Horace’s broad back and led the way out through the gate and away south-eastwards.

Helewise sat, miserable and alone, in her room. She knew she must get up and set about the preparations for Sister Beata’s interment but she had no heart for the task. She knew too how the death of one of their own was going to affect an Abbey full of people already stretched beyond the limit and that somehow she must find the words to rally the community, remind them that God’s purpose is often unclear and exhort them to go on giving of their very best without expecting any immediate reward.

She had little heart for that, either.

Sickness, misery, death and grief. Am I, she cried in silent agony, expected to be immune from distress? Sister Beata is dead, Sister Judith is very ill and Brother Firmin is at death’s door, and there is no time for me to lament, to weep, to ask God why this pestilence has come to us.

And above all that — as if it were not enough — she was expecting at any moment to receive word that Sister Tiphaine had returned. Trying to control her turbulent, panicky thoughts, Helewise realised that she did not know which of the two possible outcomes she was hoping for: that Tiphaine would return without Joanna, thereby losing any chance the Abbey nursing nuns might have had of employing the Eye of Jerusalem; or that the herbalist would bring Joanna back with her and that Helewise would have to find a way of breaking the news to Josse, when he got back, that the woman he had loved and lost was within the Abbey precincts.

Neither outcome, Helewise’s miserable thoughts concluded, would happen if Tiphaine were lost or hurt within the mighty forest. .

Not expecting any great measure of success, she pulled a parchment towards her, picked up her stylus and listlessly set herself to work.

Josse and Brother Augustus made swift time on the journey down to Robertsbridge. The road was indeed good and there were relatively few places where potholes and cracks meant slowing down to pick a careful path.

Augustus must have asked directions — perhaps he already knew the way, for before coming to Hawkenlye his young life had been spent travelling on England’s roads — and as they approached the place he was able to lead Josse along increasingly narrow paths and tracks until, deep in the forest and with the gentle slope of a hill behind it, they came to Robertsbridge Abbey.

Josse was not sure what he had been expecting; in the back of his mind he had had a vague picture of a smaller and more isolated Hawkenlye. As soon as the settlement known as Robertsbridge Abbey came into view, however, he realised that his mental image was quite wrong: Robertsbridge was nothing like Hawkenlye and, had it not been for the rough wooden cross affixed to one of the larger buildings, it could, from a distance, have been mistaken for a primitive peasant hamlet.

As they rode closer, Josse could make out a plan. The monks had hacked away trees, shrubs and undergrowth from the edges of what appeared to have been a pre-existing open space in deep woodland. Judging from the position of the sun, the monks had utilised the low hill for protection from the easterly winds, for the settlement was built to the west of it. Their foundation consisted of a wide central cloister surrounded by cells on the west side and gardens on the east, the latter tucked under the lee of the hill and exposed to the south to gain maximum sunshine. The communal buildings were small and built of roughly shaped wooden planks infilled with wattle and daub. A stream winding round the base of the hill had been diverted so that little channels ran through the vegetable and herb gardens; presumably the site had been selected because of proximity to the stream.

To the right of the monks’ buildings and some two hundred paces along a track leading into the forest, Josse could just make out the outlines of another small group of dwellings; probably stables, farm buildings and workshops. They would be invisible from the abbey, he realised, once the trees and bushes were in leaf.

Perhaps that was the idea.

A low wooden fence with a gate, at present standing open, surrounded the monks’ buildings; the fence would not have deterred a determined intruder and Josse guessed that it was probably intended to keep out livestock or the wild animals of the forest.

He led the way through the open gate. All was still and quiet — the monks must either be at prayer or out somewhere supervising the work on their lands — but nevertheless he felt quite sure that he was being watched.

He and Augustus drew rein just inside the gate and Josse called out, ‘Halloa the Abbey! We have come from Hawkenlye and would have speech with you!’