Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

‘How old is he?’

‘Twelve.’

‘And have you other children?’

‘No, lady. His mother, she died when Pip’s little sister was born, and the baby died too.’ He sighed, then tried to smile. ‘Pip and me, we’re all each other has got, if you take my meaning.’

‘I do.’ She went to sit on the opposite side of the boy’s narrow bed, studying his features. ‘He has a look of you,’ she said.

‘D’you think so?’ Catt seemed pleased. ‘Me, I always see his mother in him, but I expect that’s only natural. We see what we want to see, and I miss her.’

‘Yes, I understand, and I’m sure you’re right,’ she agreed. She reached out to touch the boy’s hot forehead. ‘I’ll fetch some cool water and we can bathe him,’ she said, getting to her feet. She hurried to the long table where the lay brothers — and Josse — ensured that there was always a plentiful supply of spring water, clean cloths and freshly washed out containers. She was in luck for someone had just delivered a full jar of lavender oil; its fresh and invigorating fragrance cut clean through the assorted stenches of illness and seemed to bring with it a vision of sunshine, a thread of bright purple light running through the sombre dimness of the Vale ward. She poured water into a bowl, added several drops of lavender oil and, selecting a cloth, returned to the thatcher and his boy.

She squeezed out the cloth and carefully sponged the lad’s brow and cheeks. At first the cold made him frown but quickly his face cleared and he seemed to relax. The thatcher, watching closely, sighed softly.

‘Look at that! You’ve got the touch, Sister,’ he said. ‘But then I expect you’ve been at it a long time.’

‘At what?’

‘Nursing.’ Catt chuckled. ‘There now, you’re that tired, you’ve forgotten your own profession!’

She smiled with him. He was clearly unaware who she was, and it would have been both unnecessary and rather unkind to get on her high horse and tell him. Anyway, she was not at all sure that she knew who she was just then; it was suddenly much more important to be a nurse than an Abbess.

After some time of silent sponging, Helewise removed the cloth to wring it out. The thatcher put his hand on his son’s forehead. ‘It may be my imagination, Sister,’ he said tentatively, ‘but it seems to me he’s not quite so hot.’

She felt the boy’s skin. ‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘Although it is probably just the effect of the cold water.’

‘It’s holy water,’ Catt said knowingly. ‘It works miracles, they do say.’

‘It can do,’ she agreed. Then, for her cautious response had clearly affected him, she said, ‘Shall we see if he’ll take a drink? The water is also effective when drunk, you know.’

‘Aye, I know. You stay there, Sister’ — he pushed her back when she made to get up — ‘I’ll fetch the water.’

The boy managed to drink half a cup of water. Then he turned his face away.

Helewise knew she must leave the pair and get on with her next task, although her instinct was to stay; she was quite sure that the lad was approaching some sort of crisis. But the new system had been her idea and she would undermine others’ obedience to it if she ignored it herself.

She got up quietly. ‘I must go,’ she said to Catt. ‘We change shifts at Vespers and, although I wish I could return, it will be another nun who comes back later.’

He grinned up at her. ‘That Abbess keeps you on your toes, I warrant,’ he said. ‘Bit of a tyrant, is she?’

Helewise smiled. ‘Just a bit.’

Then, with a nod, she turned and left.

She ate a swift supper after Vespers and went to her room to do some work. But she could not concentrate; the image of the boy’s pale face kept getting between her eyes and the parchment. Finally she gave up and, having forced herself to complete the present task and leaving everything neat and tidy (for she had the strong suspicion that she would not be sitting at her table again for some time to come) she left her room and firmly closed the door behind her.

She made her way across the cloister and through the rear gate, hurrying down the path to the Vale. There was considerably more activity down here that there had been up at the Abbey; hardly surprising, since everyone not presently on duty nursing the sick, including herself, was meant to be up there resting quietly ready for the next shift, whereas here in the Vale was where the battle was being fought.

As she approached the door of the Vale infirmary, Josse appeared at her side.

‘You are disobeying your own rules, my lady,’ he said softly. ‘You should be asleep.’

‘So should you,’ she whispered back, but so glad, in that moment of closeness, that he was not.

‘I’m about to go to my bed,’ he admitted, stifling a huge yawn. ‘It’s been a long day.’ He eyed her curiously, as if something about her puzzled him.

‘What is it?’ she demanded.

‘Hm? Oh, nothing. Nothing.’ And with a low bow, he turned and hurried away to the monks’ shelter where she knew he had made his sleeping place.

She stared after him for a moment. She felt that she might understand his perplexity; she was aware that she had been acting oddly towards him, her guilty conscience bothered as it was by the approach to Joanna that she had ordered. Well, that appeared to have come to precisely nothing; for better or for worse, Joanna had refused to have anything to do with the Eye of Jerusalem, with the sick people in the Vale and with Hawkenlye in general. Of course it was a great pity — who could say what might have been achieved with the help of the magic jewel wielded by the rightful hand? — but that was that and there was no use moaning about it.

With that particular weight lifted from her, Helewise felt distinctly lighter. And Josse, bless him, had picked it up. .

No wonder the poor man had looked bemused.

Smiling, shaking her head, Helewise went into the ward.

Head lowered so that her face was hidden by her coif — she did not want the nuns on duty to see her — she made straight for the thatcher and his boy. Catt was dozing, resting his face on his hand as he sat awkwardly on his son’s bed. The boy’s face was scarlet.

She hurried forward, and put her hand on the burning forehead. Her movement woke the thatcher; with a start, he looked up at her. ‘What is it?’

‘He is very hot,’ she said. ‘I will fetch water.’

She repeated her actions of earlier in the day. This time the boy’s brow almost sent steam from the damp cloth, so high was his fever.

Helewise realised that she was on her knees. The thatcher dropped down beside her, eyes closed, hands pressed together; he seemed to think that she was praying, and it occurred to her that this was a very good idea. The lad was on the very precipice of death and only God could save him now.

Helewise began to pray softly, almost under her breath, and she heard Catt murmur the responses. They prayed for some time. Then she got to her feet and stood looking down at the boy.

The thatcher said, his voice cracking with emotion, ‘If you save him, Sister, I’ll make sure that your Abbey has the finest roofs in all the country.’

Helewise was about to tell him that few of the Abbey buildings were thatched but something stopped her. ‘His life is in God’s hands,’ she said gently. ‘We have prayed and done all that we can; now we must wait.’

They waited.

Time passed. Helewise fetched two more bowls of cold water. The boy writhed under the sheet soaked in his own sweat, fighting for air, and it seemed to her that his efforts became a little more difficult with each labouring, gasped intake of breath. Then suddenly he seemed to stiffen as if his muscles had locked and his back arched, lifting his narrow chest up off the bed.