Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

‘I cannot say,’ Josse admitted. ‘I did not study him sufficiently well to judge.’

‘A fair answer.’ The man gave him a nod of approval. ‘Aelle is wise, and also worldly, for all that he lives isolated out here on the marsh and has little contact with the world. But he understands power, you see. He wants power, as it is understood in the wide world. Therefore he placed his baby sister in a place where he believed power was to be found.’

‘But Raelf of Readingbrooke is but a country lord!’ Josse protested. Smoke from the newly stoked brazier was floating through the chamber and prickling his eyes. It had quite a strong smell; somehow it caught at the back of the throat. He coughed, then said, ‘He lives comfortably, aye, but his prime concern is for his family!’

‘Yes,’ the silver-eyed man said patiently. ‘But I do not speak of Raelf de Readingbrooke. I speak of Ambrose Ryemarsh. Wealthy, indeed, very wealthy, would you not agree? And of a certain influence with those who rule over us?’

‘Aye,’ Josse agreed, remembering Ambrose’s swift and generous response to Queen Eleanor’s ransom appeal and the implied closeness to Plantagenet power circles, ‘but-’ He was struggling with what he was being told. ‘But she was not placed with Ambrose, she was adopted by the family at Readingbrooke!’

‘Yes, but she was married to Ambrose Ryemarsh.’

Again, Josse felt incredulity. ‘You are telling me that Aelle knew she would marry Ambrose if she were to be adopted by Raelf?’

‘Aelle did not know. But I did. I saw it.’

Josse slowly shook his head. ‘I can scarce believe it.’ It was more than that; he actively dis believed it, but it did not seem prudent to say so.

‘She married him, did she not?’ the man enquired. ‘You will have to take my word for it, Josse d’Acquin.’

Abruptly Josse stood up and began to pace up and down in the small space. His head was swimming and he was finding it hard to concentrate. The other man watched him, and his unusual light eyes following the restless movement held a hint of amusement.

‘I don’t know for sure that Ambrose has influence, not with the King,’ Josse said after a time.

‘He has already given a very large sum towards the Lionheart’s ransom,’ the man said. ‘He plans to give a great deal more. He is a stout supporter of the King and when Richard returns, those who gave most generously to his cause will not be forgotten.’

‘So King Richard will return?’ Josse demanded.

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose you’ve seen that , too?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the man with silver eyes.

Josse threw up his arms in exasperated confusion. ‘I believe I must be dreaming!’ he cried. ‘I see nothing but confusion!’

‘It is quite simple,’ the man said. ‘Aelle wanted rid of a sister who might grow up to encourage the people in the old chieftain’s ways, with which Aelle strongly disagrees. But if he had to give her away, why not ensure that she found a place where she could influence the tides of men? If she bore Ambrose a child, what might not be that child’s future as the son of a man who stood high in a king’s favour?’

‘But in giving her away, surely all her ties with her people here were severed!’ Josse argued.

‘You forget one thing: she carries our blood, and so would her son. You overlook the bloodline.’

The bloodline. Stunned, Josse sank down once more on to the stool.

Was the man telling the truth, or was it all an elaborate story told by a master whose words convinced even as he spoke them? Josse could not decide. There was a certain logic to it, he had to admit, assuming that Galiena would have been open to an appeal by her blood kin for assistance of some sort in this future time when she and Ambrose — and their son — were to ride high in Plantagenet favour. Ambrose had indeed given generously towards the ransom, or so he had told Josse, and apparently intended to go on doing so. Was he close to the King? If he were, Josse was not aware of it, which was not to say that it was untrue …

But Galiena is dead, he thought suddenly. So all this careful planning, all this miraculously accurate foresight, has been for nothing.

He was about to say as much to the silver-eyed man when the man spoke. Very softly, he said, ‘It will not help to make you believe what I tell you, Josse, but Iduna was not the first child to be given away. The same thing was attempted before, when Aelle gave away his dead sister’s daughter.’

‘And what became of her?’

‘She married … unwisely. Her husband turned out to be a man who did not care much for those circles of power which rule our destinies, preferring the quiet life of the country.’

‘So you failed there, too.’ It was a provocative comment and, as Josse had expected, it was met with a shaft of anger.

‘Failure is not a term I like to use,’ the man said, the cool tone denying the sudden heat in his eyes. ‘The matter was dealt with.’

Dealt with. There was a sinister quality to that. ‘There is a girl chained in one of your outbuildings,’ Josse said. ‘Is she too to be given to a powerful husband?’

‘She?’ The anger was gone and the man was smiling. ‘Oh, no.’

‘Will you let me see her? She has been drugged, I believe.’

‘Yes, she has. No, I will not let you see her.’

The man was staring at Josse. His fascination for the tale that had been woven for his benefit wavered for an instant and for the first time Josse felt fear.

He put a hand down to his sword but with a snort of laughter the silver-eyed man raised his arms. Josse’s sword hand suddenly felt as heavy as if it were tied to a solid block of iron and it fell uselessly to his side.

Still holding Josse’s eyes with his, the man said, ‘The smoke that you have been inhaling has, I believe you will find, robbed you of your resistance. It used to have the same effect upon me, but long usage has inured me to its powers.’ Gripping Josse’s wrist with a firm hand, he added, ‘Come with me.’

And, hypnotised, unable to stop himself, Josse followed him out of the hut.

In Hawkenlye Abbey, the sunny day was nearing its end.

As Helewise emerged from the Abbey church after the penultimate office of the day, she set out on the first of the two missions she knew she must complete by the end of the day. It concerned Galiena’s serving woman, Aebba, and they had told Helewise three days ago that she was missing. Nobody had reported whether or not she had turned up and Helewise, preoccupied by so many other matters, had forgotten to ask.

She asked now. Aebba was still missing.

The only person who seemed the least concerned was the young lad who had arrived at Hawkenlye with Ambrose and Aebba. When Helewise ran him to ground — behind the stables, where apparently he spent most of his time — he said Aebba hadn’t even said goodbye and he was worried about her, even more worried that nobody had given him any orders for ages and perhaps it meant he had been dismissed from the lord Ambrose’s service and so didn’t have a home any more.

‘What is your name?’ Helewise asked him gently; he seemed a pathetic boy and none too bright.

‘Arthus,’ the boy replied.

‘Well, Arthus, I will remind your master that you are still here and I will ask him if he would care for you to attend him. Would you like that?’

Slowly the boy nodded. ‘But Master don’t know ’oo I am, not really,’ he said, looking at Helewise with childlike eyes.

‘He will remember that you rode here with him,’ she said.

‘Don’t reckon ’e will,’ Arthus said. ‘’E’s normally pretty sharp, if you take my meaning, specially for one as don’t see too well. Ain’t comfortable, sometimes, and that’s the truth. But ’e were proper poorly when we came ’ere.’