Alys Clare - Girl In A Red Tunic

But the voice disappeared in the deep dark of profound and dreamless sleep and she forgot all about it.

She was awake before the summons to Prime and was already praying in the cold, dark Abbey church when the rest of the community quietly filed in. As the office began, she gave her heart, mind and soul into God’s hands and promised to do her best, humbly asking His forgiveness if her concentration wavered but begging Him to understand that the circumstances were a little unusual.

Then, determined to complete a session of hard work before anyone else popped up with a claim on her time, she hurried away to her little room and firmly shut herself in.

Josse woke up a long time after the Abbess. He had slept soundly and was relieved to discover that yesterday’s headache had quite gone. His fever had not returned the previous evening and he was very much hoping that he would be allowed to get up today.

Sister Caliste brought him porridge and a hot drink, then the infirmarer came for her customary check. She pronounced him well but warned him not to overdo it and to return for a nap in the afternoon. Then a young nun in the white veil of the novice brought him his clothes — someone had kindly washed out his linen — and, with relief, he dressed and set off to see what had been happening in the outside world while he lay abed.

He went to see Horace and found that as usual Sister Martha had been spoiling this guest in her stables. Horace looked half asleep and very well-fed and Josse, thanking Sister Martha for her care, made a mental note to make sure he found the time to take the big horse out for a ride to remind him that he had been put on this Earth to bear Josse and not to stuff himself in a warm, sweet-smelling stable.

At the back of his mind since waking had been the Abbess’s son and his family. He had formed a vague plan of offering to talk to Leofgar and perhaps also Rohaise in an informal sort of a way to see if they unwittingly revealed rather more of what was going on than Leofgar as yet had told his mother. But he did not feel he could do this until he had talked it over with the Abbess; accordingly, soon after the community had emerged from the Abbey church after Sext, he went to find her.

His tentative tap on the door elicited an unusually curt response: she barked, ‘Yes? Who is it?’

Surprised that she had not heard the jingle of his spurs and guessed who it was, he said, ‘It’s me.’

Her voice warming by several degrees, she called out, ‘Please, come in, Sir Josse.’

He did so, closing the heavy door behind him with exaggerated care as if she now suffered his headache and he did not wish to cause her the pain of a loud noise. When he looked at her, he wondered if he might by chance be right, for she was pale and had greyish circles under her eyes, as if exhausted.

He said without thinking, ‘Try not to worry. I’m sure that between us all we can help them.’

She gave him a wry smile. ‘Thank you, Sir Josse. I was not actually thinking of Leofgar at that moment. I had just managed to turn my mind fully to these reports from our outlying properties out in the Medway valley and I was at last making progress.’

Until you brought my son and his problems right back to my attention, hung unsaid in the air.

‘I’m sorry, my lady.’ Josse was contrite. ‘Er — can I help?’

It was a foolish question and he knew it before it was confirmed by her ironically raised eyebrow. ‘With the reports? I think not, and indeed I would not wish such a task upon a friend since the writing is all but illegible and the content, once deciphered, deadly dull.’

‘I did not really mean help you with your work.’

‘I know, Sir Josse,’ she said gently. ‘I was teasing you.’

Teasing was a good sign, he decided. Teasing meant she wasn’t as bowed down by her anxiety as he suspected. ‘I thought maybe I’d have a talk with your son and his wife,’ he said as casually as he could, which didn’t sound very casual at all. ‘I have yet to meet the lady and, if she’s awake and feels adequately restored, perhaps she would appreciate a visitor.’

The Abbess had put her stylus down and was looking at him with affection. ‘Forgive me, Sir Josse, I quite forgot to ask after your own health, but if you are up and about, I would guess that you are recovered.’

‘Aye, my lady, thank you, but the infirmarer has summoned me back for an afternoon sleep.’

‘You must have it,’ urged the Abbess. ‘It is rare for Sister Euphemia to be so indulgent, so make the most of it.’

He grinned. ‘Very well.’

‘And as to your proposal to speak with Leofgar and Rohaise, I think it is an excellent idea. I have been to see Rohaise this morning and she is well rested. Sister Euphemia has suggested another undemanding day — she is still concerned at Rohaise’s pallor — but I am sure that a visit from you would brighten her up. You may find Leofgar with her but I believe he intended to take Timus out for some fresh air.’

‘It might be a happy chance to catch her on her own,’ he mused. ‘Do you not think, my lady?’

She gave him a conspiratorial smile. ‘I do, Sir Josse. Indeed I do.’

He found Rohaise sitting in the little curtained recess that was a copy of the one in which he had been cared for at the other end of the infirmary. She was dressed in a warm woollen gown in a russet shade, over which she wore a sleeveless tunic edged in fur; her dark hair was neatly braided and partially concealed by a small, stiff white veil held in place by a plaited cord of silk. She sat on a low stool at the foot of the bed and she was sewing a hem in what appeared to be a very long length of white linen.

Standing with his head through the gap between the curtains, he said, ‘Lady Rohaise, may I come to talk to you? I am Josse d’Acquin.’

She had raised a startled, wide-eyed face to him at his first words, as if her thoughts had been far away and he had made her jump. But, as he identified himself, her expression relaxed and, putting her sewing aside, she stood up.

‘Please come in, Sir Josse.’ Her voice was low-pitched and attractive. He stepped between the curtains and into the recess. She pulled another stool forward from where it had been set back out of the way beside the wall and invited him to sit. As she resumed her seat, he did so.

‘You are the very exceptional man,’ said Rohaise, ‘who not only is a good friend of the Abbess, my mother-in-law, but also performed the miracle of making my little boy laugh and speak.’

Overcome by her praise, he muttered, ‘Hardy speak , my lady. It was but the one word.’

‘You cannot know what that one word means to me,’ she said urgently. ‘I wish with all my heart that I had been there to witness the moment, but I was sleeping. They gave me some drug that rendered me senseless,’ she added tonelessly.

He wanted to go on talking about the child but her words seemed to imply criticism, and he leapt to Hawkenlye’s defence. As kindly as he could, he said, ‘They are skilled healers here, Lady Rohaise. Put yourself in their hands, I do urge you, and they will do their very best for you.’

Her dark eyes met his and his kind heart shuddered at the misery he saw in their depths. ‘I am not sure that I can be helped,’ she said. She sighed. ‘There has been too much …’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Too much?’ he prompted.

She did not respond, instead reaching out her hand for the sewing. ‘I asked for something to do,’ she explained, ‘for when my son is not by my side I worry about him. I worry even when he is with me, now, and I fear that it will take more than hemming sheets to stop me.’

‘Why do you worry so?’ Josse asked gently. ‘Your boy is healthy, is he not? Some parents would say that, offered the choice, they would prefer a quiet child to a boisterous one.’