Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

‘I thought I should come to see you,’ he said without preamble, ‘being as how you’ve been kind enough to let me ride your horse.’

‘Good of you,’ Josse muttered.

The boy noticed the irony — Josse could tell by the swift response in the dark eyes — but instead of taking offence, he said, ‘I know how you feel. You set a store by the Abbess, and you would give anything to be riding off instead of me. But you can’t, because nobody here will risk you opening up that cut again. They nearly lost you last time. I just wanted to tell you, Sir Josse d’Acquin, that I know exactly what I’m being entrusted with, and I understand the honour and the responsibility of being asked to go in your place.’ The dark eyes were fixed to Josse’s, and Josse found the boy’s gaze oddly compelling. The boy added softly, ‘I would die before I let any harm come to her.’

Strangely, Josse was convinced by the quiet intensity with which the melodramatic words were spoken; he found that he entirely believed the boy’s sincerity.

‘I hope and pray that it will not come to that,’ he said, careful to make his own words sound equally sincere. ‘And thank you for coming to see me. I appreciate it.’

‘Do you feel better now?’ Brother Augustine asked.

Josse knew he was not referring to his physical state. He thought about it. Did he?

‘Aye,’ he said eventually. He gave the boy a grin; it was the first time he had felt like smiling for some time. ‘I already knew that she — the Abbess — had a good and faithful companion in Brother Saul. Now that I have met you, Brother Augustine, I know that she will have two men with her with whom she’ll be as safe as if I myself were going with her to Ely.’ One of the boy’s dark eyebrows went up in faint enquiry. ‘Well, almost.’

The boy smiled. His teeth, Josse noticed, were white and strong looking; combined with the boy’s tall, well-muscled frame, it seemed to suggest that his childhood on the road had been a healthy one. ‘We shall look after her,’ he said.

Josse nodded. ‘Aye.’ He sensed that the boy wanted to be off, but he could not resist a final enquiry. ‘Now you do know the way? You’re quite sure? Because I can’t imagine that either the Abbess or Brother Saul could even guide themselves as far as London, or, even if once they could, they’ll have forgotten, and-’

‘I know the way,’ the boy interrupted. He did not offer anything to back up his statement, but, watching him, Josse didn’t think he needed to. The lad gave off an air of quiet confidence that was more impressive than a wealth of breathless assurances.

‘Then it remains only for me to wish you God’s speed, and a safe return,’ Josse said.

‘Thank you. We are to attend a special service in the Abbey church, then we set out.’ A flash of excitement lit the young face. ‘Abbess Helewise says to tell you she will come and say goodbye before we go.’

Josse watched him walk away, long legs covering the ground in smooth strides. The he closed his eyes to add his own plea to the Lord to take care of the little party and bring them safely home again.

For the first few miles on the road, Helewise’s pleasure in the sunny morning and the smooth gait of the chestnut mare were overshadowed by her memory of Josse as he said goodbye.

She had almost cried out, ‘Oh, very well, we’ll postpone the trip for a fortnight, a month, however long it takes you to be fit again! Anything, but don’t look at me like that!’

Of course, she had kept her peace. But it had cost her a lot.

Brother Augustine was riding ahead, turning round from time to time to make sure that Horace’s sprightly pace was not too fast for the mare and the cob and their riders. Helewise could hear Brother Saul behind her, keeping up a constant flow of softly spoken chatter to the old cob. Both men, she realised with relief, were showing the tact to leave her to her thoughts.

She decided to adopt Saul’s tactics, and began talking to the mare; even more important for me to do so than for Saul, she thought, since he and Baldwin are old friends, whereas this lovely mare and I are new to one another.

She began, tentatively and self-consciously at first, to introduce herself to her mount. Honey’s ears twitched interestedly. Pleased to have a response, Helewise found it easier to find the words to say and, by the time they were descending the long slope down to Tonbridge and the river Medway crossing, she was chatting to Honey as if they had known one another for years.

According to Brother Augustine’s reckoning, they covered not far short of twenty miles the first day. But then, he added, the horses were fresh and well rested, the weather was fine and warm, and the road good and firm under their feet. When he proposed that it was time to think about where they were going to stop for the night, Helewise almost urged him to go a little further; however, when she slid off Honey’s back to stretch her legs for the final mile or so, she was very glad she hadn’t.

It was many years since she had ridden any distance. And, although the mare’s saddle was expensively made and comfortable, Helewise’s legs and thighs had stiffened up badly. Muscles she had forgotten she had seemed to squeal their protest, and she longed for the chance to rub on some of Sister Euphemia’s special mixture. Yes, it would burn like fury, but it worked. .

‘All right, Abbess?’ Brother Augustine called back to her.

‘Fine!’ she said, gritting her teeth and forcing a smile.

‘Not far now,’ the boy went on. ‘There’s a small convent I know of, up the road a way. They’re generous to travellers, and they know me. They’ll be honoured to receive the Abbess of Hawkenlye,’ he added gravely.

Oh, dear, Helewise thought. Yes, I must present a suitably dignified demeanour. They have every right to expect that, from an Abbess.

But it wasn’t going to be easy to be dignified, when the only way that she could walk was with her legs bowed out wide enough to circle a beer barrel.

The journey from Hawkenlye to Ely took a week.

It had been, Helewise thought as, on the morning of the seventh day, they set out from Barnwell Priory northwards into the Fens, an illuminating experience. There had been moments of fear-tinged excitement, such as crossing the river Thames between Dartford and the Essex shore on what had seemed far too small a boat. And, one night, they had been delayed in finding the tiny priory where they were to put up and, on the dark fringes of Epping Forest, Helewise had convinced herself she had heard the lonely, spine-chilling howl of a wolf.

She had noticed quickly that, each night, Brother Augustine chose a religious house for their accommodation. Sometimes this was a wise choice — the Benedictine nuns at Barking treated Helewise and her party as grandly as if they had been visiting royalty, and Helewise had been offered the extraordinary luxury of a bath to soothe her aching muscles. On the other hand, there was Latton; tiny, dark, very well hidden away — it was Latton which they were searching for when they had almost become lost in Epping Forest — the prior and his two canons had been able only to offer their guests a share of their own meagre soup and dry bread for the evening meal. Helewise had slept on a damp straw mattress in a corner of the chapter house, and the two lay brothers had slept in the tumbledown stable with the horses.

She had asked Brother Augustine the next morning if there were any option other than staying with monks or nuns. Looking slightly abashed, he replied, ‘Well, not really, Abbess.’

‘Where used you to put up, when you travelled with your family?’ she persisted.

Brother Augustine’s tanned face flushed slightly. ‘We knew of — places we were welcome.’