Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

The tapping came again.

Clearing her throat, which seemed to have gone quite dry and closed up, she said in a low voice, ‘Come in.’

The door opened slowly. Against the dark backdrop of the deserted cloister, she could not see who stood there. But it was a tall figure, broad-set. .

Alarm making her sound shrill, she said, ‘Step forward into the candlelight and show yourself!’

Instantly the figure obeyed.

And, once again, the bearded stranger from the Vale made her that deep, graceful reverence.

‘I regret having alarmed you,’ he said as he straightened up again. ‘I did not mean to. I thought about approaching you just now, when you were outside the gate, but I feared that would scare you even more.’

‘I am not scared!’ she said crossly, swiftly removing her hand from where she had pressed it against her wildly thumping heart. Then, as a worrying thought occurred to her: ‘How did you get in? I barred the gate when I came back inside!’

He gave her a quick grin, momentarily making him look like a boy caught out in a misdemeanour. ‘I know. I heard you do it. But there is a place just along from the gate where a convenient tree branch allows a determined person to climb over the wall.’

‘Is there, indeed,’ she said coolly, making a mental note to tell Brother Saul to make sure all such branches were ruthlessly lopped off. ‘And why, may I ask, were you so determined to get in?’

‘I had to speak to you,’ he replied. There was no mistaking the earnestness that now filled his face. ‘I have been watching out all afternoon and evening, waiting for my chance to catch you alone. But you kept disappearing, Abbess. You are, indeed, a hard woman to follow.’ He smiled briefly. ‘When I saw you step outside the rear gate, I believed that my prayers had been answered, and that you had come to find me .’

‘It’s strange,’ she said musingly, ‘but I did sense a weird and quite unprecedented urge to go and look out over the Vale. .’ Then, hearing what she had just said, mentally she pulled herself together and demanded, ‘Who are you? And what do you want with me?’

‘My name is Bastian.’ There was the briefest hesitation, as though he were usually more forthcoming but, in this instance, had chosen not to be. ‘I have heard tell that you propose to release the former nun known as Alba, and I have come to beg you to reconsider.’

How did he know about Alba? Helewise wondered. Had he overheard Berthe and Augustine discussing her? But that was not the most important thing; waiting for a moment until she was sure she could speak calmly, she said, ‘I have no choice but to let her go. She is not a nun, as you appear to know already, and I cannot contemplate her joining the Hawkenlye community. As either a nun or a lay worker.’ He started to speak, but she did not let him. ‘Rest assured, however, that it is not our way to turn people away without first ascertaining that they have somewhere to go. A place will be found for Alba.’ Whatever business it may be of yours, she wanted to add.

He closed his eyes briefly, and his lips moved silently. It looked as if he were praying. Then he said, ‘Abbess Helewise, I appreciate that this is not how I should be doing this. You do not know who I am, and anything I tell you of my background could, as far as you are concerned, be a pack of lies. All I can do is beg you to put your trust in me.’

His dark eyes seemed to connect with hers, and she found herself staring right into him. It was uncanny but, she discovered, not frightening. After a moment, deliberately breaking the contact, she said, ‘About what do you ask me to trust you?’

A look of relief crossed his face, prompting her to add, ‘Be aware that I have not yet decided if I will trust you,’ eliciting another of his smiles. The contrast of his dark beard against his revealed teeth, she noticed, made the teeth look extremely white. They were very good teeth, evenly sized, with no gaps. .

‘It is to do with Alba.’ His voice interrupted her musings. ‘As no doubt you have guessed, I know her. Or rather, I should say, I know of her; she and I have never met. She is irrational to the point of mania; she was instrumental in the death of Adela, wife of Wilfrid of Medely; and I believe she was personally responsible for the murder of a young man who burned to death in an abandoned cottage.’

Oh, no ! Oh, dear God, Helewise prayed, help me! Here is a stranger putting into words the things that I have been dreading might be true. Am I to believe him? Does he bring the proof that I have been so desperately searching for?

The stranger seemed to understand her inner conflict. He said no more, and gave her the courtesy of turning away, appearing to study the bare wall to his right, while her frantic thoughts chased each other round and round inside her head.

Deliberately, she stilled them.

And waited.

Then she looked at Bastian. Just at that moment, he turned to look at her. Their eyes met. I believe him, she realised. I do believe him! Is that God’s answer, to make me confident that I can trust this man?

She said, ‘We found the body in the cottage. We knew it to be that of a man. I had — without proof I could not be sure, but, ever since then, I have been haunted by the fear that Alba was involved.’

‘More than merely involved,’ Bastian said. ‘She followed him there, to the empty cottage. She crept up behind him, hit him on the back of the head and knocked him unconscious, and tied his wrists to a stake in the floor.’

Helewise knew what was coming next. She did not want to hear. ‘No,’ she whispered.

But he was relentless. ‘I must tell you, Abbess, in order that you recognise Alba for what she is. Having rendered the young man helpless, she fetched the dry fuel she had prepared and set light to it. Then, while the cottage and its human contents burned, she stood and watched.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Because somebody saw her do it.’

‘Why didn’t they intervene?’

‘The witness was a child. Who, God be thanked, thought that Alba had done nothing worse than set her supper on fire. The boy could not tell the smell of burning human flesh from roasting beef or lamb. But he did wonder why she had filled the cottage with bales of hay and put a flame to them.’

‘A child,’ Helewise whispered. Oh dear Lord, what might Alba have been driven to do if she had known a child had seen her perpetrate a murder?

‘The child told his mother — who is known to me — and she told me,’ Bastian went on. ‘But not until some time later. By then, Alba had disappeared, taking Meriel and Berthe with her. The mother refused to allow the child to lead us to the spot — reasonably enough, I suppose.’ He glanced at Helewise, who nodded her understanding. ‘Although we searched for the place, we were unsuccessful. The child’s account was unclear; I did not realise that he spoke of a location which in fact I knew. We decided our prime concern should be to hunt for Alba and her sisters, and-’ He stopped himself, and a brief frown darkened his face, as if at some ill memory. ‘Er — we sent people to track them. And when I discovered that — that is, as soon as I could get away, I followed.’

Only half hearing him, suddenly Helewise had remembered what Jerome had said, when Josse asked if he had managed to pick up the sisters’ trail. Yes. It was not difficult. And I had-

What had he been going to say? ‘And I had help’?

‘Jerome followed them!’ she exclaimed. ‘Jerome and somebody else, somebody more experienced?’

Bastian’s frown lifted; for an instant Helewise thought he appeared relieved. ‘You are perceptive, Abbess,’ he said smoothly. It was only later that she realised he had not actually answered her question. ‘And I see that you have met young Jerome. He is well, I hope?’