Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

It was Sister Tiphaine’s fault, if indeed there was a fault. Careful to the point of obsession over her remedies, she had insisted that the last ingredient could not be picked until the planets were in the correct alignment and this had not happened until just before dawn of that day. Then, even having picked, prepared and added the final herb, the mixture had to steep for a certain time. Helewise, sensing Galiena’s impatience like an itch on her skin, had sent word to the herbalist suggesting that the remedy might steep even as Galiena bore it back to Ryemarsh. No, my lady Abbess, came the polite but firm reply. The potion will lose its power if not allowed perfect stillness whilst it matures.

It appeared that the earliest Galiena might set out — assuming either that her woman-servant had arrived or that she would accept Brother Augustus as escort — was midway through the afternoon.

And with that Helewise knew she — and Galiena — must be satisfied. Sister Tiphaine knew what she was doing and it was useless to argue.

Helewise was left with the distinct impression that she herself had received the unwelcome tidings rather better than Galiena. The girl had apparently taken herself off for a walk in the woods. Warned by the well-meaning Sister Anne not to venture off the track that led around the skirts of the Great Forest, Galiena had, according to witnesses, given a flounce of her wide skirts, twitched her veil into place, muttered something that fortunately nobody could make out and marched off.

It is understandable, Helewise kept telling herself. The girl is distraught, homesick, lonely. We — by which she actually meant I — shall just have be patient and kind for a few more hours, then we shall all have our wishes granted and she will be on her way home.

In the late morning, Sister Ursel came hurrying to tell Helewise that there were travellers on the road approaching the Abbey gates.

‘Is it Galiena’s maidservant?’ Helewise asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

‘I cannot say, my lady. It is a party of three and, as far as I can tell, consists of a man, well-dressed and well-mounted, a woman and a manservant.’

Oh. It did not sound like a lone woman coming to fetch Galiena. ‘Find out who they are and what they wish of us,’ she said calmly to the porteress. ‘Then report back immediately to me, please.’

Sister Ursel nodded a brief reverence and left.

In the brief period of her absence Helewise did not even try to return to her books. Instead she sat staring at the wall and trying to think kind thoughts.

Sister Ursel reappeared. ‘My lord of Ryemarsh is here, my lady,’ she said, and the avid curiosity in her eyes belied her deliberately bland tone. ‘He says he has come to meet his wife, as they arranged, and that he wishes to take the holy healing waters and pray with her here for a few days.’

Helewise rose slowly to her feet. As they arranged? Why, then, had Galiena not mentioned that Ambrose would be joining her at Hawkenlye? And Galiena wanted to go home, didn’t she? It was surely not in her plans to remain at the Abbey, praying and partaking of the waters. Thinking swiftly, she said, ‘See to it that the lord Ryemarsh is escorted down to the Vale and ask Brother Firmin to look after him. I will find Galiena and bring her to him there.’

The porteress nodded her understanding and hurried away. Helewise, moving with more deliberation, wondered just how she was going to accomplish her self-appointed mission. The forest was vast and if Galiena had not heeded the warning not to venture within its dark reaches, it was going to be no quick or easy task to locate her …

Well, the sooner I start, the sooner I shall succeed, Helewise told herself firmly. Quickening her pace, she set off towards the gate and out along the path to the forest.

Down in the Vale, Ambrose Ryemarsh was still asking for his wife. ‘We wish to pray together for the child we both want so much,’ he kept saying. ‘Also we must both take the waters for they tell me that miracles have happened to those who do so.’ He was becoming increasingly breathless and agitated and Brother Firmin, kind-hearted soul that he was, was worried. Urging Ambrose to sit and rest in the shade and take a few sips of the precious water, he caught the eye of young Brother Augustus.

‘Gus, I am concerned about our guest,’ he whispered. ‘Nip up and fetch Sister Euphemia, there’s a good lad. I think she ought to have a look at him.’

Gus did as he was ordered, showing a considerable amount of tanned and well-muscled leg as he hitched up his robe and ran off up the path to the Abbey. It was not long before he was back, walking now at the infirmarer’s pace and a respectful two paces behind her.

‘Where is he?’ Sister Euphemia asked Brother Firmin, who had hurried out from the pilgrims’ shelter to meet her.

‘Over there in the shade.’ Brother Firmin pointed to where Ambrose sat with his back to one of the Vale’s fine chestnut trees. A small group of monks stood a few paces off, watching the old man with concern; Ambrose’s servant had been left up at the Abbey tending the horses.

Of the woman, there was no sign.

‘What ails him?’ the infirmarer asked.

‘He cannot see, his breath is shallow and he complains of pains in his joints,’ Brother Firmin replied. ‘But, worse than that, he is troubled in his mind. He is greatly confused and sometimes he does not seem to know where he is — at one moment he was quite lucid, sipping the holy water and asking about the history of the Vale, then suddenly he opened his eyes wide, told me that his groom had run away and then-’ Brother Firmin broke off in distress. ‘Oh, then, Sister, the poor soul began to weep piteously and cry out aloud for his wife!’

Sister Euphemia nodded, giving the old monk’s arm a reassuring pat. ‘You were right to send for me, Brother Firmin,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him. And the Abbess herself has gone in search of his wife, so I’m quite sure that the lord Ambrose will soon have his wish.’

Then, turning all of her formidable concentration on to her patient, she approached Ambrose, sat down on the grass beside him and, taking one of his fretful hands in hers, gently held the cup of water to his lips and encouraged him to drink. Then, her practised and observant eyes studying him, she began quietly to question him.

* * *

Helewise’s search of the paths up to and around the forest had met with no success. Galiena was nowhere to be found.

Hurrying back to the Abbey, she was coming to the reluctant conclusion that quite a lot of her nuns and monks would have to be taken away from their duties and organised into a search party for the wretched girl. She had a swift look around the Abbey to see if Galiena had found herself a quiet corner within its walls in which to sit out the time until she could depart but, again, there was no sign of her.

Reluctantly Helewise turned for the Vale. She would have to find Brother Saul and instruct him to set about organising the search party. In addition, she realised, she ought to seek out Ambrose Ryemarsh and welcome him with a few well-chosen and reassuring words, which was going to be difficult given that she hadn’t been able to locate his wife.

Frowning, she set off down the path that led to the Vale.

She had only gone a few paces when Brother Saul came running after her. Hearing his footsteps, she stopped and waited for him to catch her up.

‘Brother Saul?’ she greeted him.

‘I was looking for you, my lady,’ he panted. ‘Brother Firmin’s got Sister Euphemia to look after the old man — the lord Ryemarsh, I should say — and it seems he’s not at all well. Sister Euphemia sent me to inform you that she wants to have him moved up to the infirmary — she says he needs to rest in the cool darkness for a while to see if that’ll help him recover his senses.’