Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

‘Good evening, friend,’ she said softly, not sure if the almost-closed eyelids meant he was asleep and not wanting to wake him if he were.

But the old man opened his eyes and, seeing her beside him, gave her a very calm smile.

‘You’ll be the Abbess Helewise,’ he said. ‘The old feller said as how you’d come to see me.’

‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘Are my monks making you comfortable?’

‘Aye, they are that.’ He paused to take a couple of breaths then went on, ‘I’m not long for this world, my lady Abbess.’

Sometimes when a sick pilgrim said those words, the very last thing that they wanted, Helewise reflected, was for you to agree with them. Even if it were true, some folk did not have the courage to accept that they were dying and that had to be respected. But this old man, she thought, gazing down at him, was not one of those.

‘Have you prepared your soul to meet God?’ she asked quietly. ‘Do you wish me to send a priest to you?’

The old man smiled his serene smile again. ‘I’m ready, my lady. Ready as I’ll ever be, that is. I’ve confessed my sins to the good Father and that old monk has prayed over me. If that’s not enough for the dear Lord, then there’s no more I can do about it.’

Helewise suppressed a smile of her own; it was unusual to hear someone speak quite in that way of their approaching death. ‘And what of your family?’ she asked. ‘Is there anyone you wish us to contact?’

‘No. I’m alone now. Me and my wife were only blessed with the one child and she died when she were five. And my old girl’s gone on ahead of me too. I reckon that she’ll have my little nook waiting for me when I get to Paradise.’ He said it with such conviction that Helewise was moved and, for a moment, could not reply.

Then she said, ‘We shall pray for you, that your time in Purgatory is brief and she will not have to wait for too long.’

‘Thankee, lady, but it won’t make any difference. She’ll be ready for me and then we shall be together again.’ Tired from the effort of speech, his eyes closed and he let out a faint snore.

Helewise said a brief, silent prayer over his dozing old body and then she straightened up and tiptoed away.

In need of comfort — the old man’s simple faith and patient acceptance of his lot had affected her more than she had realised — Helewise made her way to the little shrine that stood over the holy water spring. She opened the door quietly, holding the bunch of keys that hung from her belt close to her skirts to keep it from jangling. She knew only too well from her own experience how irritating it could be to be deep in prayer or meditation only to have some newcomer barge noisily in and disturb the peace.

As she went carefully down the stone steps, she thought at first that the chapel was empty. But then she noticed a figure crouched on the ground before the statue of the Virgin on her plinth. The figure — Helewise could not tell if it were male or female, young or old — had squeezed into the furthest corner where the light was very dim and seemed to have some sort of covering over the head.

Helewise said a brief apologetic prayer to the Virgin: I came to seek your comfort, Holy Lady, but in doing so it seems I would be intruding on another’s need for privacy, so I will look for you instead in the fields and the clean evening air as I return to the Abbey . Then, without a further glance at the crouching figure, she left the chapel as quietly as she had entered.

Brother Saul was coming down the path from the Abbey as she ascended it. Ah well, thought Helewise resignedly, if anyone had to interrupt my prayer, I’m glad it’s Saul.

She greeted him, smiling at his bent head as he made a low reverence. ‘All goes well with you, I trust, Brother Saul?’

‘It does, my lady, it does.’ He returned her smile. Then, the warm expression fading, he said, ‘She’s a devout soul, that new visitor, isn’t she?’

‘The new visitor?’ Could he mean Galiena? Surely not, Helewise thought; of all the adjectives that might be employed to describe the lady of Ryemarsh, devout was not the first that sprang to mind.

‘Aye.’ Saul leaned closer, dropping his voice as if avid gossips lurked in the long grass waiting on his every word. ‘That pretty lass as wants to have a baby.’

Ah. So he did mean Galiena. Wondering yet again at the mysterious way in which information seeped through the Abbey like water through a sodden sandal, Helewise said softly, ‘It is the lady’s business, Saul. Hers and her lord’s.’

‘Aye, that it is, my lady, and I’m sorry I spoke as I did. Only-’ Saul’s kind, honest face struggled with competing emotions.

‘Only what, Saul?’ she prompted.

But Saul shook his head and, bidding her good evening, hurried away.

It was not until the next day that Helewise discovered what lay behind that little scene. She went to seek out Galiena — it was, she told herself, high time she spared a moment to see how the young lady had settled in, even if she was very busy and didn’t really want to. Especially because I don’t really want to, she reproved herself.

But Galiena was not to be found. The infirmarer shrugged her shoulders and said she hadn’t seen her since the early morning when, according to Sister Euphemia, Galiena had informed her that as soon as her preparations were ready, she would take them and be on her way back home. Helewise went next to enquire of Sister Tiphaine, who had all but forgotten who Galiena was. Nobody else seemed to have noticed her about the Abbey. Then Brother Firmin, coming up to inform Helewise that his elderly pilgrim had died in the night, mentioned that the Lady Ryemarsh was in the chapel again and Saul still couldn’t get in to brush down the steps and it was all very worrying because, as everyone knew, the steps became very slippery if not regularly cleaned and it would be frightful if anyone fell and-

Stopping the old monk in mid-sentence — Brother Firmin had been known to go on for ages if not interrupted — Helewise said, ‘You said she is there again, Brother Firmin. She was in the chapel yesterday?’

‘Aye, my lady, almost all day! Down on her knees huddled in the darkest corner, veil over her head and face, praying for hours on end! And, although I know I should not speak ill of another when the dear Lord alone knows what goes on in her poor troubled heart to make her shout out so, there was really no call to speak to Saul so unkindly.’

‘I see.’ It all began to fall into place. ‘What happened, Brother Firmin?’

‘Well, like I said, Saul was aware that the steps needed a good clean but when he went into the chapel early in the day, there she was a-praying and he didn’t like to disturb her with his mop and his bucket. He went back twice more but each time mere she was, looking, Saul said, as if she hadn’t so much as moved a hair. So finally Saul comes along to find me and he says, Brother Firmin, I can’t let it wait any longer, the condition of those steps is on my mind every minute. So I had a bit of a think as to how best to advise him.’ Nodding his head, he stared at Helewise as if seeking her approbation.

‘You did right, Brother Firmin,’ she said encouragingly, wishing that it were not taking quite so long for the old monk to get to the end of his tale. ‘It’s always best to give a matter proper consideration.’ He would not, she was certain, detect the very faint irony. ‘And what did you finally suggest?’

‘I said, you’ve got your duties to attend to, Brother Saul, just like the rest of us, and cleaning down those steps is one of them and must not be put off any longer, so just you go in, apologise nicely to the lady for the interruption, roll up your sleeves and get on with it.’