Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

Brice had summed up the position with his usual incisiveness. The nearest place where he could be sure of help was at Readingbrooke; somebody of that household must surely be about and willing to give assistance, even if it was only one of the servants. On consideration, one of the servants might be the best to be hoped for since Raelf did not employ ineffectual wastrels but efficient, hard-working men and women.

Leading Horace — in fact Brice realised that there was no need for this since Horace was such a well-mannered horse that, in the absence of contrary commands from his master, he would have followed along behind Brice anyway — Brice carefully rode back along the ridge and then down the slope that led to Readingbrooke.

In the courtyard at Readingbrooke, Raelf himself came out to meet them. He had, in fact, been standing out there anyway, having just seen his wife, his sister-in-law and his three eldest daughters off to hear mass for Galiena’s soul.

Raelf was not yet ready for the comfort of prayer.

Stepping forward to meet the visitors and staring curiously at the still-slumped Josse, he called out, ‘Brice! What is the matter?’

‘I met Sir Josse riding towards me on the road,’ Brice said, dismounting. He did not see any reason for a fuller explanation; for one thing, he did not want to share his business with anyone else and for another, the most urgent thing was to help Josse. ‘I think he must have been caught out in last night’s storm, for his cloak is soaked and he seems feverish.’

Instantly Raelf called out for help and, as two strong-looking lads emerged into the courtyard, he issued orders and very soon the horses were being led away into the stables and Josse was being helped into the house.

There was no fire lit in the great hall — the day was warm and close — and so they put him in a chair in front of the fire in the kitchen, spreading out his wet outer garments in the warmth to dry. One of the kitchen women made him a hot drink that smelled spicy and another wrapped him in a blanket. After quite a short time, Josse shot up his head and, over-bright eyes staring around him suspiciously, demanded, ‘Where am I?’, the question instantly followed by ‘ Where’s my sword? ’

‘Your sword is by the wall there, Josse, you are at Readingbrooke and we’re looking after you,’ Brice said soothingly. ‘I found you up on the high ridge and as you were clearly unwell, I brought you here for help, it being the nearest house where I knew the inhabitants.’

Josse was glaring up at him as if this reasonable explanation were somehow highly suspicious. ‘Readingbrooke?’ he repeated doubtfully. ‘But I was at-’ He broke off. ‘Aye,’ he murmured, ‘aye, I remember.’ A shudder went through him. Then, mastering himself with an obvious effort, he managed a weak smile and said, ‘I was caught in the rain. I got a good soaking and it seems to have made me shivery.’

‘The good blaze here will soon remedy that,’ Raelf said from behind Josse’s chair.

Turning round, Josse said, in something much closer to his normal tone, ‘I thank you for taking me in, Sir Raelf, and for your care. But I will not trouble you long — there is an urgent errand that I must fulfil.’

‘Dry yourself and your cloak thoroughly first,’ urged Raelf, ‘and take some nourishment. Surely your business is not so pressing that you must set off again before you are fully recovered?’

‘It-’ Again, Josse seemed to be battling with the pressure of whatever emergency had possessed him and Brice suddenly realised that he did not want to reveal his mission.

‘I will ride with Josse, as soon as he is ready to leave,’ he said smoothly. He met Josse’s eyes and tried to make his own expression reassuring. ‘Entrust yourself to me, Josse, and I’ll go with you, wherever you wish to go, if you will have me.’

Josse stared at him. Whatever mental calculations he was making, soon he had made up his mind. ‘Aye, that I will,’ he said. ‘It is a gallant offer and one that I readily accept.’

‘Where are you bound?’ asked Raelf. ‘Is it far?’

After the briefest of pauses, Josse said, ‘To Hawkenlye Abbey. It is some half a day’s ride.’

There was no need of the swift glance that he gave Brice for Brice to know that he was lying; Brice had already guessed where Josse wanted to go in such a hurry and it was in the opposite direction from Hawkenlye.

Josse endured the fussing and the enquiries as to whether he was feeling any better yet for as long as he could; Raelf and his household were kindly and they meant well. Also, the warmth of the fire was very welcome and the drink that the serving woman had given him wonderfully restoring. She had followed it up with bread and a thick slice of ham, and he had surprised himself by a sudden appetite that had made him wolf down the good food as if he had not eaten for a week. He had stopped shivering and now felt reasonably confident that he could stand up without that dreadful spinning sensation in his head that made the very earth beneath him appear treacherous and uncertain.

He watched the people around him. The household servants, now that the small drama seemed to be over, had melted away to resume whatever duties they normally carried out in the late afternoon. Raelf was talking quietly to Brice.

Am I right to trust the man? Josse wondered, eyes on Brice. I suspect him of having been very close to Galiena — indeed, such is his familiarity with her family here in their home that my suspicions grow. He and she were lovers, of that I am certain.

But a man succumbing to the temptation of making love to another man’s wife did not make him an unwelcome ally, Josse thought, especially when no other ally offered himself.

And Josse needed an ally. There was no doubt of that.

He unwrapped the soft enfolding blankets — he was now far too hot — and tentatively got to his feet. So far, so good. The clothes he was wearing — his shirt and hose — were dry and, feeling the wool of his tunic and his cloak, he found that they were almost dry too. Swiftly he put them on then, stepping quietly over to the wall and picking up his sword on its heavy belt, he fastened it around his hips.

Brice and Raelf were watching him.

‘You are sure that you feel well enough to get up?’ Raelf asked.

‘Aye, thank you,’ Josse replied. Then, raising his eyebrows in enquiry at Brice, he said, ‘Shall we be on our way?’

‘You are leaving now?’ Raelf’s tone was incredulous. ‘But it will soon be evening — will you not eat with us? There are beds in plenty for guests, I have but to give the word and-’

‘You are kind, Sir Raelf, but my mission cannot wait,’ Josse said, trying to be firm and polite at the same time.

‘But my wife will be back soon and she-’

Then it is even more important that I leave now, Josse thought, for the well-meant but time-consuming enquiries of a group of women are to be avoided at all costs.

‘I must go, Sir Raelf,’ he said gently. ‘Brice?’

‘I am ready,’ Brice said.

Josse, watching closely, saw him go as if to speak to Raelf but, whatever he had in mind, he decided not to say it. Instead he put a hand briefly on the older man’s arm and muttered something that Josse thought was, I will come again soon .

Josse was sure that Brice had wanted to make some comment about Galiena. To give his condolences to her father, perhaps, to ask to be of the company when next the family heard mass for her.

Then he suddenly thought: but maybe Brice does not know that she is dead!

He stared at Brice. Had he the air of a man who had just lost his beloved mistress? Josse could not say. Brice seemed edgy and he was surreptitiously peering around as if he expected someone’s arrival. Was it Galiena? Was he hoping to meet his lover in her father’s household? Had the two of them met here before?