Alys Clare: The Tavern in the Morning

She followed him.

‘Poor Josse,’ she said, gently stroking the thick hair off his forehead, ‘so much to put up with. I will fetch food and drink for us in a little while, I promise — Ella has prepared what she says is your favourite meal — but first, there is one more thing I must ask of you.’

He looked up at her, managing a half-smile. ‘Why stop at one?’

She answered his smile. ‘I know, I’m sorry. But this isn’t for me, it’s for Ninian.’

‘Ask away.’

She crouched beside him. ‘The life I outlined is perfect, for me. It is exactly what I want. But it’s not right for him — I can’t take the decision to remove him from the mainstream of life and turn him into a wise woman’s son, condemned for ever to live on the fringes of life. Not when I know who he really is. Can I?’

‘No,’ he acknowledged. ‘I do see what you mean.’

‘Had Thorald lived,’ she went on, ‘which I thank God he didn’t — since we’re to trust each other with all our secrets, Josse, I ought to tell you that it was I who put the stone in his horse’s shoe that morning, in the fervent hope that it would result in a fatal trip, which happily it did — where was I? Oh, yes. Had Thorald lived, then Ninian would have been sent as page to join some other knightly household, and, in time, he would have become a squire. What I’m asking-’ She paused, and he saw tears in her eyes again. Blinking them back, she said, ‘Will you arrange that for Ninian? Put him into a good house somewhere, make sure he grows up as he should?’

Josse reached out and took her hands. ‘You will lose him,’ he said gently. ‘You do realise, don’t you?’

She nodded, the tears falling unchecked down her face.

‘Once he’s a squire, the next step will be to win his spurs,’ Josse went on. ‘He’ll be caught up in his own life, Joanna. A good life — and I ought to know — but one so different from yours that I doubt he’ll be able to bridge the gap.’

‘I know,’ she sobbed. ‘But it’s what he was born to. It would be a great sin for me to rob him of it, just to keep him with me.’ She raised her wet eyes to his. ‘Wouldn’t it?’

His heart breaking for her, slowly he nodded.

‘Will you do it?’ she persisted. ‘Will you give me your word to do your best for him?’

Reaching down, he lifted her up until she was kneeling before him. Then he wrapped his arms round her, and, pulling her face down against the bare skin of his neck so that he felt the moisture of her tears, he said, ‘Aye, Joanna. I promise.’

* * *

Later, when she was calm again, she did as she had said, and fetched the meal which Ella had prepared for them. But neither had much appetite.

She said anxiously, ‘Is your arm paining you? Is that why you don’t eat?’

‘No, the arm’s all right. I’m sorry, Joanna. The food is good, but I’m not hungry.’

She pushed a chicken leg around her plate, holding it delicately between finger and thumb. ‘Neither am I.’

‘We have come to grave decisions today, Joanna,’ he said. ‘Decisions which will affect both of us, for the rest of our lives.’

‘Yes,’ she murmured.

He watched her. Slowly, as if aware of his scrutiny, she raised her eyes and met his. Wordlessly he opened his arms, and she got up and hurried over to him. He sat her down on his lap, cradling her to him.

‘That’s nice,’ she murmured, as he began to stroke her back. ‘I had wondered if, having decided we are not to stay together, that might mean we could not bed one another again. But-’

He smiled. ‘But what?’

‘Do you have an opinion on the matter, Sir Josse?’ The teasing note was back. It was a shadow of its former self, but it was there.

‘I see no reason to suspend our relations,’ he said gravely. ‘We are, after all, both over the age of consent, and-’

‘Some of us further over than others,’ she put in.

‘- and there seems, on the face of it, no reason to abandon something which gives us both such pleasure.’ He held her face in his hands, meeting her eyes. ‘Shall we retire to bed, Joanna my sweet?’

She said, ‘Yes.’

But now, knowing he was to lose her, lovemaking was bitter-sweet. At one point, feeling tears on her face, he wanted to cry with her. Controlling himself, he hugged her close to him.

She said out of the darkness, ‘When God gave us the infinite gift of tears, Josse, I don’t think He said anything about their being used solely to bring comfort to women.’

And so he wept with her. It brought relief, of a sort.

* * *

In the early morning light, she got out of bed and dressed. He watched as she collected her few belongings together, stowing them into her pack. Her black-handled knife, he noticed, was once more in its sheath on her belt. Had it been she who removed it from Denys de Courtenay’s body? He imagined it had. Somehow he couldn’t see her allowing Will — allowing anybody — to touch her own personal weapon.

‘You are going,’ he said. It was not a question.

‘I am.’ She looked up. ‘I shall go first to Hawkenlye Abbey. If you think your Abbess will see me, I shall tell her what is planned for Ninian. Then I shall see him. I must explain to him why we-’ She stopped. Recovering herself, she said, ‘He needs to hear, from me, why I have arranged his future as I have.’

Wanting so desperately to console her, he said, ‘It need not be for ever, Joanna. He will always know where to find you, and he’ll be able to come to see you sometimes. Perhaps.’

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for that, Josse. It is, as I know you intended it to be, a comfort. But I don’t think either of us truly believes it.’

He lay back. Just at that moment, he felt utterly exhausted.

She was ready to leave. Crossing to the bed, she bent over him and kissed him hard on the mouth. Then she said, ‘Will you be all right?’

‘Aye.’

‘I meant your arm,’ she said gently. ‘Will you get someone at the Abbey to look after it for you?’

‘Aye,’ he repeated.

She had crossed to the door, and was standing there looking back at him. ‘It wouldn’t have worked between us, you know,’ she said.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because you’ve already given your-’ She stopped. ‘Never mind. I just know. Goodbye, Josse.’

She was already out of the door as he echoed, ‘Goodbye.’

‘… and, with a last look over her shoulder, she was gone,’ Helewise said.

Josse, she noticed, seemed to be more his old self. It was now almost a fortnight since Joanna de Lehon — once more calling herself Joanna de Courtenay — had arrived at Hawkenlye, asked to see the Abbess, announced what she intended to do and sought out her son to say goodbye.

It had taken Helewise that fortnight to get over the experience.

‘She’s a most forceful young woman, isn’t she?’ Helewise went on. ‘She appears to know her own mind.’

‘Aye, she does that, all right,’ Josse agreed.

‘And strong,’ Helewise said. ‘I had the powerful impression that she is a born survivor.’

Josse sighed. ‘Aye.’ Then, with an obvious effort: ‘You spent some time in conversation with her, then, Abbess?’

‘No, indeed not.’ Their meeting, Helewise recollected, had been all too brief. ‘It was apparent that Joanna was steeling herself to do what she must do. I did not think it either right or kind to detain her by chattering away to her.’

He said, ‘How did she — how was she, having bid her adieu to her boy?’

Helewise had been trying not to think about that. Not very successfully. ‘As you would expect, Sir Josse. But, in Ninian’s presence, she maintained a cheerful expression. She even managed to laugh when he told her about being dressed up as a nun, when Denys de Courtenay came here searching for him. Of course, we all thought then that it was Joanna he wanted, but-