Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

‘So have I,’ she agreed. ‘I shall ask Brother Firmin in such a way that he has no choice but to say yes.’

‘You should take one other,’ Josse said. ‘Another lay brother. It might be best to get Saul to propose someone.’ A thought struck him. ‘Has the Abbey mounts for three?’

She frowned. ‘We have the cob, the pony and the mule,’ she said. ‘Although the mule is very old and weary. Brother Saul can ride the cob — he often does — and I suppose I could ride the pony.’

‘He’s only a small pony,’ Josse said.

‘Yes, but very strong.’ She gave him a sidelong glance. ‘I hope, Sir Josse, that you are not implying I would be too heavy a burden.’

She was a tall woman, and well built, and that was exactly what he had been implying. ‘Er — I — well, of course not, Abbess, it’s just that you have a long road to travel, and-’

Her face alight, she interrupted him. ‘Oh, what a fool I am! I had forgotten, but we do have another horse. A pale chestnut mare, a most beautiful animal, given into our care by-’ Her hand flew to her mouth and she stopped.

But she hadn’t needed to say. Josse knew as well as she did who had ridden a pale chestnut mare. Someone whose new life must surely make caring for an elegant, well-bred mare almost impossible. .

‘You have Joanna’s mare,’ he said tonelessly.

‘Yes,’ the Abbess said quietly. ‘She left her with us. We promised to take care of her — she is called Honey, by the way — and we are allowed to ride her in exchange for her keep.’

‘I see,’ Josse murmured. But he was hardly listening. He was thinking of Joanna. With an effort, he made himself attend once more to the Abbess.

‘. . can’t think of a lay brother small enough to ride the pony, which means we shall still be a mount short, unless we take the mule,’ she was saying.

‘Take Horace,’ he said. ‘He’s at New Winnowlands, but someone can be sent to fetch him. I’m not using him,’ he added bitterly.

‘Horace,’ the Abbess breathed. ‘Oh, Sir Josse, are you sure? Such a valuable horse, and so big !’

‘Get Saul to find a man who’s a good rider,’ Josse said. Suddenly he was weary of talking. Weary of being in pain, weary of being a prisoner in his bed when he wanted to be out in the fresh air, busy with myriad things that would take his mind off his memories.

The Abbess must have understood, for she leaned over him, put a gentle hand on his forehead and said softly, ‘We will speak again before I depart; I cannot go until I have sought and obtained permission from the Archbishop. But for now, dear Sir Josse, rest. Sleep, if you can.’ She hesitated as if not quite sure whether she should go on. Then, deciding, she whispered, ‘You will get better. That I know.’

Then she was gone, leaving him wondering sleepily whether she had referred to his wounded arm or his sore heart.

Probably both.

He woke later from a fretful dream. Something was worrying him, some connection he should have made and hadn’t. . Something important, to do with the Abbess and her quest. .

No. It had gone. He went back to sleep, and this time slept so deeply that, when next he woke, whatever it was that had been troubling him had disappeared without trace.

Brother Firmin was very reluctant to spare Saul, one of his hardest workers, to accompany the Abbess to Ely, so she had to turn a polite request into an order. The old monk made one or two comments under his breath, which Helewise pretended not to hear. Then, when she was back in her room fuming silently about silly old men who had forgotten there was any other world save the cloister, he confounded her by tapping softly on her door and presenting her, with the sweetest of smiles, with a small phial of the holy water ‘to keep Our Lady with you on your travels’.

Brother Saul, on being informed of his unusual mission, was filled with a very obvious delight. His normally sombre face split into a wide grin, over which he appeared to have little control; he wore the same expression constantly for the next few hours, until the first delight wore off.

Helewise went to find him in the stables; he had rounded up the cob — who, for some long-forgotten reason, answered to the name of Baldwin — and was grooming him within an inch of his life.

‘Brother Saul, may I interrupt you?’ she asked, coming up behind him.

Instantly he stopped what he was doing and gave her a bow. ‘I am at your disposal, Abbess. What can I do for you?’

Touched at the devotion in his face, she said, ‘Saul, Sir Josse advises me to take two of the brothers with me. Now, this raises a couple of questions; one, who do you think would be suitable, and two, would this suitable man be up to riding Sir Josse’s horse? That is,’ she added, fearing that she had not been very diplomatic, ‘unless you would like to ride it?’

Brother Saul was shaking his head emphatically at the very thought. ‘Not me, Abbess, thank you all the same. Great hairy thing,’ he muttered. Helewise thought, suppressing a smile, that it was just as well she knew he was referring to the horse. ‘No, I like old Baldwin here,’ he said, giving the cob a friendly slap. His face took on a frown of concentration. Then, clearing again, he exclaimed, ‘Brother Augustine! He’s the boy we want, Abbess!’

‘Brother Augustine?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t believe I know the name. .’ What an admission, she berated herself. I am Abbess here; I should know everyone in my community!

Brother Saul must have read her consternation. ‘You might not know the name, Abbess, but I’ll warrant you know the boy. Dark hair, dark eyes, foreign look about him, legs from his feet to his armpits, natural touch with animals and crotchety children?’

‘ That is Brother Augustine?’ Of course she knew him! Why, she had remarked to Brother Firmin only last week what a help the lad must be when there were babies and toddlers needing to be watched while their parents were at prayer! ‘But I thought he was called something else. . Gus, that was it.’

Saul grinned. ‘Aye, we mostly call him Gus. He seems to prefer it.’

She said, ‘Tell me about Brother Augustine, Saul, if you will.’

Brother Saul leaned an arm over the cob’s back, and, in that relaxed position, began. ‘He’s been with us six months or thereabouts. Family are tinkers — fairground entertainers, that sort of thing — and Gus, he’d been hearing Our Lord’s call for a year or more when they fetched up here. His mother took sick — had a baby that died, and it took it out of her — and they came to the Vale to take the healing waters. Now young Gus loves his mother, anyone with eyes can see that, and he was that thankful when she recovered and began to smile again that he reckoned this was the moment to answer God’s call.’

‘If he’s been here six months,’ Helewise said doubtfully, ‘then doesn’t that mean his novitiate is over, and he’s about to take the first of his vows?’ It was not a moment to take a novice monk away from the Abbey, she thought.

‘He’s not a novice,’ Saul said. ‘Not yet, anyway. He’s a lay brother.’

‘But-’ Helewise began. If the boy had heard God’s call so clearly, then why had he not asked to join the professed monks? It is not for me to ask, she told herself sternly. It is between God and Brother Augustine. Instead, turning her mind to practicalities, she said, ‘He rides well, this Gus? Well enough to get Sir Josse’s horse safely to Ely and back?’

‘Aye, God willing,’ Saul replied. ‘See, he’s got no fear, Abbess. He’ll be happy enough sitting up there on old Horace’s back, even though the animal’s as high as a house. Been in the saddle since he were a little tacker, I’ll warrant. Travelling folks, you see.’