Alys Clare: The Tavern in the Morning

‘She’s-’ he began. ‘She’s a woman who-’

But he was attempting to explain Helewise to Joanna. And that, he realised, was something he would find difficult, even were he not suffering from a grievous wound.

‘It’s all right,’ Joanna said soothingly. ‘I understand.’

And, light-headed as he was, possibly seeing with a greater clarity than when he was fully himself, he knew that she did.

* * *

It was only when he woke the next morning that he remembered Brother Saul was also under his roof. Also under the care of Joanna.

He said, as soon as she appeared with a drink and a light breakfast of a bowl of thin gruel, ‘How is Brother Saul?’

She smiled. ‘Brother Saul is quite well. So well, in fact, that he left us soon after first light and is even now riding back to Hawkenlye to put his Abbess’s mind at rest.’

‘What’s he going to tell her?’ Josse struggled to sit up.

‘Don’t worry!’ She put out a restraining hand. ‘He will tell her the truth, but the truth as he has been told it.’

‘Which is?’

Her eyes widened into an expression of innocence. ‘Don’t you remember? Oh, dear, it must be because you’re still not yourself! Listen well, then, and I will tell you. There was a fight, between you and Denys, and you drew your dagger to defend yourself, and he fell against it when he tripped.’

He held her eyes. ‘That’s the truth?’

‘It is,’ she said firmly.

‘Can you live with that?’ he whispered.

And, raising her chin, she replied, ‘I can.’

* * *

It was two days before she would let him ride, and, even then, she told him crossly that he was daft even to think of it, and he ought to be abed still, building up his strength. By the time he was a third of the way to Hawkenlye, he was beginning to agree with her.

He had resisted her attempts to persuade him to let her go too. If he were going to have to lie to Abbess Helewise — which he knew he was — then it would be marginally better not to have a witness. Particularly if that witness were Joanna.

He made himself ignore his weakness. He urged Horace on, infected now with a sense of urgency. Even though he knew Brother Saul would have told the Abbess what had happened — the version he had been given, that was — still Josse longed to reassure her himself.

Clinging on as Horace increased his pace to a sprightly canter, Josse gritted his teeth and tried to work out what he was going to say.

* * *

Helewise had spent an awful few days.

Brother Saul’s return mid-way through the morning two days ago had given her the blessed relief of knowing he was alive and well, and apparently none the worse for his ordeal.

‘But you were attacked!’ she had protested after listening to his tale. ‘Saul, you must let Sister Euphemia attend to your hurts!’

‘What hurts I received were mild,’ he reassured her. ‘And Joanna looked after me — she has a gentle hand and a sound knowledge of remedies.’

Helewise had observed, with interest, the distinct softening of Brother Saul’s features as he spoke of Joanna.

‘Well, it’s wonderful to have you safely home, Saul,’ she said, ‘an answer to my prayers.’

His face clouded. ‘Abbess, you may not be so glad when I relay to you the news I bring.’

He had then told her about Denys de Courtenay’s attack on Josse, the fight between the two men and de Courtenay’s death.

‘And they buried him out there at New Winnowlands?’ she repeated, astounded. ‘But why-’

She made herself stop. Brother Saul was not the person to whom she should address that question.

Thanking him, telling him again how grateful she was for his safe return, she dismissed him. And began her long wait for the arrival of Josse.

* * *

He came into her room two days later. She could see at once that he had been hurt; his face was deathly pale and he held his right wrist supported in his left hand. There were small cuts on his throat, neck and left cheek.

‘Sir Josse!’ she cried. ‘Oh, but you’ve been wounded!’

‘I’m all right,’ he said instantly and unconvincingly; he was, she could see, swaying on his feet. She rushed round from behind her table, took him by the left arm and guided him to her chair, carefully sitting him down and hovering anxiously over him.

‘Do you feel faint?’

‘I’m all right !’

She tutted under her breath, then went outside into the cloister and summoned a passing nun to go and find Sister Euphemia. ‘Ask her, please, Sister Beata, to prepare a heartening draught, and bring it back with you for our visitor. Quick as you can, please!’

Then she returned to Josse.

‘I’m honoured,’ he said, looking up at her with a faint smile, ‘to be allowed to sit in your seat.’

‘I shall not make a habit of permitting it,’ she replied, trying to match his attempt at levity. ‘But today you look as if you need it.’

‘Aye, I do.’ He moved his arm a little, wincing as he did so.

‘A relic of your fight with Denys de Courtenay?’ she asked softly.

‘Aye.’

‘And he tripped and fell on to your dagger, and suffered a fatal wound, Brother Saul tells me.’

‘Aye.’

She noticed that he did not meet her eye. She knew straight away that he was lying; the perplexing question was, why?

She walked slowly back to the door, opening it to see if there were any sign of Sister Beata. If Josse killed Denys de Courtenay during a fight in which Denys was the instigator, she reasoned to herself, then that was surely self-defence and no crime has been committed. And there are witnesses to swear that Denys was indeed the instigator of the fight.

Why, then, would Josse …

Her thoughts trailed to a stop.

Yes. Of course.

Sister Beata was hurrying across the cloister, bearing a stoppered flask and a mug. ‘Sister Euphemia says he can have as much of this as he wants, it’s quite mild, and that if you need her, say so, except that could it wait a while as she’s just setting a broken wrist and can’t come right away unless it’s terribly urgent,’ she said, all in one breath. Helewise had the impression that Sister Beata was repeating the infirmarer’s exact words, and wanted to say them quickly before she forgot any of them.

She took the flask and mug from Sister Beata. ‘Thank you, Sister. Please tell Sister Euphemia that, for the present, there is no need for her to come. I will let her know if the situation changes.’

Sister Beata, knowing herself to be dismissed, made a bow and walked slowly away.

Helewise gave Josse a long drink of the infirmarer’s restorative. A little colour returned to his face. With a deep sigh, he put the mug down on the table.

He said, without any preliminaries, ‘Ninian is the child of Henry of England.’

Helewise felt her mouth drop open. ‘The late King?’

‘Himself.’

‘This was one of the unfortunate things you referred to, when you spoke of Joanna’s past?’ she asked gently.

‘Er — aye.’ He leaned towards her, his face intent. ‘That rat of a cousin took her to court one Christmas, paraded her before the King and, when the King took a fancy to her, made quite certain he got her. De Courtenay himself led her to the King’s bed, held her down while the King took her. He-’

‘Sir Josse, I don’t need to hear any more,’ she interrupted, laying her hand briefly on his shoulder. ‘I had surmised, from what little you told me before, that something of this nature had occurred. I had not, however, imagined a seducer of such exalted rank.’ She paused, biting her lip as she thought deeply. ‘And de Courtenay wanted to make a bid to put the boy on the throne?’