Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

‘What did they do?’

‘Jerome had a constant companion; another orphan brought up in the same place. He was a splendid youth, by the name of Felix, and he suggested that, to put Alba off the scent, they pretend that he was Jerome and Jerome was Felix. The idea was that Felix would be pointed out to Alba as if he were Jerome, and he would lead her off on a wild goose chase and give Jerome and Meriel a chance to slip away and be married.’

‘But didn’t they realise the risk they were taking?’

Sadly Bastian shook his head. ‘I do not think that anybody believed Alba capable of actual murder,’ he said. ‘She has deteriorated far further into her own private world than any of us suspected.’

‘So, believing this poor Felix to be Jerome, she followed him to the cottage, and-’

‘The cottage was Meriel and Jerome’s trysting place,’ Bastian said.

‘Yes. I see. So she followed Felix there, and presumably believed he was waiting for Meriel. Then-’

‘Alba knew Meriel wouldn’t disturb them.’ Once more, he interrupted. ‘She’d seen Meriel and Berthe set out. Although Alba didn’t know it, they were on their way to meet Jerome, for Meriel to marry him.’

Helewise was picturing the deserted cottage. In her mind’s eye, a young man sat there, alone. Perhaps he was smiling, both at the sheer fun of fooling Alba and because, through his suggestion, he was giving his great friend this precious time to be united with his Meriel.

Then through the underbrush came Alba, some heavy weapon in her hands. . she swung it up high, then brought it crashing down on Felix’s unsuspecting head. And, while he was out cold, she manoeuvred the body until she could tether the hands to that hard, firm stake.

And then. .

No. It was too dreadful to contemplate.

Pushing her fists against her eyes to blot out the images of flame and smoke, Helewise gave a low moan.

From across the room, Bastian spoke.

‘I regret that I have had to burden you with this terrible tale.’ There was deep compassion in his voice. ‘But it was, as I am sure you appreciate, necessary.’ He paused. ‘Necessary,’ he went on quietly, ‘in order that you understand what a danger Alba is. To her sisters, and even more to those who threaten her by taking her sisters from her.’

She thought he had finished. She lifted up her head and looked at him. Meeting her eyes, he gave a brief, almost apologetic glance. ‘Felix was very special to me,’ he said quietly. ‘As is Jerome. Felix was born to my late sister, and Jerome is the son of my younger brother, who died when Jerome was a child.’ For a split second, she saw a flash of fury in his face, but he controlled it.

Then he said neutrally, ‘Alba has murdered one of my nephews. I do not intend to let her have the other.’

The Abbess arrived to see Josse very early the next morning. He was up and dressed, and perched on a bench pulled up at the foot of his bed. Moving along to make room, he beckoned for her to sit down beside him.

He could see immediately that she was deeply troubled; instinctively he put out his hand to her, and she grasped it, giving it a brief and intense squeeze before letting go.

She said, ‘Josse, I don’t know what to do. Meriel and Jerome have vanished — they have abandoned their camp and disappeared without trace. And there is a pilgrim in the Vale who says he has proof that Alba murdered the man we found in the burnt-out cottage. There was a witness. A child.’

Oh, Lord, he thought. Faced with the two calamities, his first thought was to attempt to quieten her very obvious anxiety over Meriel. ‘Do not worry too much for the girl,’ he said. ‘For Meriel, I mean. Abbess, I was very impressed with young Jerome. Truly, I do not believe he would do anything to risk her safety. She is quite clearly far too precious to him for him to do that.’

‘Do you think so?’ Her face was a picture. She looked, Josse thought, as if the very thing she most wanted was to believe him, but she wasn’t quite sure she could let herself.

‘I do,’ he said firmly. ‘He had made a comfortable, well-concealed camp for her, hadn’t he? And when you and I burst in on them, he was all set to defend her with his sword, mother-naked though he was.’

He was relieved to see a swift smile cross her face. ‘Not quite naked,’ she murmured.

‘No,’ he agreed.

‘But by now they may be deep in the Great Forest!’ she said with renewed alarm. ‘And you and I, Sir Josse, know full well what they may find there! Or, rather, what may find them . Oh, and it’s all my fault, because if I hadn’t told them I was about to free Alba, they would still be safe and snug in the charcoal burners’ camp!’

Worried at seeing her usual calm desert her, he said swiftly, ‘Helewise, whatever happens is not your fault! We are all responsible for our own actions. You, as Abbess of Hawkenlye, have every right to decide to send Alba away, whatever the consequences!’

‘But-’

He overrode her. ‘And as to the perils of the forest, I cannot say that I believe Jerome and Meriel to be in danger.’ He hesitated, aware that he was venturing on to delicate ground. ‘Would you not say,’ he went on softly, ‘that such a pair would be more likely to meet with the Forest Folk’s approval than their enmity, given what you and I know of them and their ways?’

‘I-’ she began. And stopped. Slowly she nodded.

With relief, he hurried on to the second part of her news. ‘Now, to your mysterious pilgrim and his accusations. Do you believe him?’

For a moment, she seemed still to be thinking of Meriel and Jerome. Then, bringing herself back with an obvious effort, her eyes met Josse’s.

‘I do believe him, yes,’ she said. ‘He says Alba murdered the young man because she had been duped into believing him to be Jerome.’

‘And she could not bear to have one of her sisters seduced away from her,’ he concluded. ‘Presumably this pilgrim wishes to take Alba away to face the consequences of her action, back in East Anglia, where the crime happened?’

‘I suppose he must do,’ the Abbess whispered. ‘All that he has said so far is that I must not on any account release Alba, since if I do, she will find Meriel and Jerome and she will kill Jerome.’

‘As she well might, in the light of her previous behaviour,’ Josse said. A thought struck him. ‘Did you tell him that Jerome and Meriel had been living in hiding nearby? That they have now fled?’

‘For shame, Sir Josse!’ She managed a weak smile. ‘Mistrusting him as I did — as I still do — of course not!’

‘I apologise, Abbess.’

‘There is no need.’

‘Is he a sheriff, this pilgrim of yours?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think so.’ She frowned. ‘I was so taken up in his tale that I confess I didn’t think to ask him.’ She paused. ‘He was — that is, he gave the air of being a man of quality. For all that he dresses as a pilgrim, he is not a poor man, nor an unimportant man. Of that I am quite certain.’ She met Josse’s eyes with a brief apologetic grimace. ‘I regret that I cannot substantiate my remark, Sir Josse. It is purely an impression.’

‘Your impressions, Abbess, are good enough for me,’ he said gallantly.

She smiled faintly, but it was clear her thoughts were elsewhere than on his little compliment. ‘He said something about his predecessors having made Alba’s father take responsibility for her when her mother died,’ she said. ‘She — Alba — was the child of a village prostitute; the younger girls’ mother was in fact her stepmother.’