Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

Eventually he said, ‘My lady Abbess, my wife came here on the recommendation of Sir Josse d’Acquin to ask your help in her efforts to conceive my child. Now she is dead, it seems by poison. What have you to say?’

Helewise had not expected such thinly disguised animosity. She took a steadying breath and then said, ‘Galiena asked for our help, as you say. She saw my infirmarer, Sister Euphemia, who offered both to talk to her and to examine her to see if any physical problem could be detected. This Galiena utterly refused. Sister Euphemia then consulted my herbalist, Sister Tiphaine, and they decided that the only thing they could do, not knowing of any specific problem, was to prepare a couple of general remedies that are believed to aid conception. I cannot tell you the details of these, but-’

‘Galiena took these herbals?’ he demanded.

‘I think not,’ she replied calmly, trying to ignore her racing heart. ‘One was not quite ready and the other, which had already been given to her, seems not to have been drunk from.’

But his expression suggested that he did not believe her. ‘My wife was most eager to conceive,’ he said coldly. ‘I think that, given a remedy that promised to help her in that desire, she could not have resisted the urge to take a dose of it immediately.’ There was a pause then: ‘I will see it,’ he announced.

Bowing her head, Helewise said, ‘It is back in Sister Tiphaine’s room. Please, come with me.’

They stood up and walked the short distance to the herbalist’s hut. Opening the door, Helewise pointed to the workbench, which was empty except for two small bottles.

‘This one’ — she pointed — ‘was not given to Galiena. This one’ — she picked up the other bottle and handed it to Ambrose — ‘was briefly in her possession.’

Aware of movement behind her, she half-turned. Sister Tiphaine stood in the doorway. Behind her was Sister Euphemia and, at the rear, the tall, broad figure of Josse. Wondering how they had known she was there but, at the same time, hugely grateful for their presence, she turned back to Ambrose.

Intent on the moment, he gave no indication that he had noticed the trio standing behind her. He was holding the first remedy in one hand, staring intently at the stopper. ‘Has this been opened?’ he demanded.

‘I do not know,’ Helewise replied. ‘Sister Tiphaine? Can you tell?’

Sister Tiphaine took the bottle from Ambrose. Looking at the top, she said, ‘I can’t say that it has or has not been opened. It might have been.’ Then she held the bottle up to the light; the glass was dim and cloudy but by holding it so that the sun shone on it she was able to see the level of the contents. ‘Nothing’s been taken out of it. Or, if it has, only the smallest amount.’

‘Enough to poison my wife,’ Ambrose said.

There was a cry of protest, quickly stifled; Helewise thought it came from Sister Euphemia, since Sister Tiphaine, expressionless beside her Abbess, appeared to have been turned to stone.

‘The remedy is not poisonous,’ Helewise said gently. ‘My lord, I understand your need to discover the cause of your wife’s tragic death but I would beg you not to make hasty or false accusations.’

‘You agree she died of poison?’ he demanded, turning pain-filled eyes on her.

‘I — it seems likely,’ Helewise said.

‘Then what else, pray tell me, can it have been?’ he shouted.

‘I do not know.’ She was fighting to keep calm. ‘Galiena said she was going to have a walk in the forest so it is possible she picked and ate something — a mushroom, some berries, perhaps — that proved lethal.’

‘Hm.’ He glared at her and she knew that he did not accept her explanation. She was not sure she blamed him. Then, holding up the bottle, he said, ‘Let the herbalist prove that her work is not the source of the poison. She made it, let her drink it.’

Sister Tiphaine held out her hand to take the bottle.

But Helewise stopped her.

Taking the bottle from Ambrose, she said quietly, ‘It is one thing for the remedy’s maker to have confidence in her work but I think you will agree, my lord, that for another to believe in its innocence is a greater test.’ Taking out the stopper as she spoke, she added, ‘I will drink it myself.’

Again, she sensed that someone behind her was protesting; this time she was sure it was Josse. He did more than make a verbal protest, however; she felt movement and then he was beside her and had taken a tight grip on the hand holding the bottle.

‘My lady, is this wise?’ he muttered. ‘I know what faith you have in your herbalist but could it not be just this once that she has — that there has been-’ He broke off.

She turned to him. She could see the anguish in his eyes and she wished she could say something to alleviate it. But in that moment she was Abbess of Hawkenlye and friendships — if friendship described what she and Josse shared — had to be put aside. ‘Sir Josse, please let go of my hand,’ she ordered.

He gave her one last despairing look that tore at her heart. Then he released her.

Before she had time to change her mind she put the bottle to her lips and took a large sip. She heard Sister Tiphaine gasp and mutter something — it sounded like, ‘Go easy! It is strong!’ — and then the very powerful taste of whatever it was with which she had just filled her mouth struck her so violently that every other sense temporarily shut down.

She swallowed hastily, feeling the burning sensation that had begun on her tongue and the inside of her mouth now spread down her gullet. As the first heat subsided, she began to detect some of the elements making up the taste … garlic, clearly, and was it onion? Also caraway, wormwood, perhaps — anyway, something very spicy and bitter — and a fruity taste that she thought could be apple …

Swallowing again, she emptied her mouth. She was starting to salivate — with a flicker of dread she remembered the clear fluid that had poured from Galiena’s mouth — but perhaps it was only the result of having drunk something so strongly and hotly flavoured.

She hoped so. Dear God, she hoped so.

She glanced round at the circle of people watching her. Josse’s expression was too hard to bear and quickly she moved on to Sister Tiphaine, whose calm face seemed to say, Do not worry. All is well . Sister Euphemia, Helewise noted with an urge to giggle, had put out both arms as if preparing to catch her Abbess as she fell.

Lastly she turned her eyes to Ambrose. To her surprise, he no longer looked either angry or accusing; the expression on his lined old face looked like admiration.

Time passed. Then Sister Euphemia said tentatively, ‘How do you feel, my lady?’

‘I feel quite well, thank you,’ Helewise replied. She felt a burp rise and tried to suppress it. Clearing her throat, she said, ‘How long, Sister Tiphaine, would you estimate that a poison would take to work?’

‘Hard to say,’ Sister Tiphaine said gruffly. ‘Depends what it is. Some take a while, some kill immediately. In most cases, there will be symptoms that develop straight away.’

‘As I say,’ Helewise remarked sweetly, ‘I feel quite well.’

‘No burning of the lips and mouth?’ Josse asked anxiously.

‘None.’ She smiled at him.

‘No nausea?’ Sister Euphemia demanded. ‘You don’t feel as how you want to be sick?’

‘Not at all.’

They waited some more.

Helewise, whose relief was making her feel quite silly, wanted to laugh. They’re all waiting to see if I collapse and die, she thought. They can’t do anything until either I do or I don’t.

Well, I’m not going to. I knew it would be safe and it was.

Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, she turned to Ambrose. ‘It is possible that I may suffer some reaction later,’ she said somewhat frostily, ‘and if that is the case, I shall certainly tell you.’ No — that was absurd. ‘You will be informed,’ she amended. ‘But for now I think that we must begin to look elsewhere for the source of whatever it was that poisoned Galiena.’