Alys Clare - Mist Over the Water

‘You have brought a new remedy for damp-induced pains, I’m told?’ Already, he was hurrying me out of the room and marching off in the direction of a passageway that ran between two low buildings.

Thankful that his professionalism had made him ask straight away about the remedy, where I was on safe ground, rather than my credentials as a nun, where I most certainly was not, I agreed that I had.

Brother Philius fired questions at me as we marched, and I described the different elements that Edild and I had prepared for the remedy. When he got down to the exact proportions of these elements and the details of how they were blended, I had to confess ignorance. Edild had not permitted me to watch, although this was, I was pretty sure, because she had uttered a power spell as she worked and it was dangerous for someone as inexperienced as I to listen.

I certainly wasn’t going to tell Brother Philius about that .

We had reached a small building tucked away behind the clamour of where the men were working on the new cathedral. With a wry smile, Brother Philius opened the door and said, ‘Come in. It’s remarkably peaceful in here, given the present circumstances.’

I preceded him into the room. It was long and narrow, with three simple cots down each side. A fire burned in a hearth at the far end of the room, making the temperature pleasantly warm. Two of cots were occupied by very old monks.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Brother Philius muttered. I thought he sounded furtive, almost guilty. Wondering why, and also wondering what he thought I was thinking, I did not speak but sent him an enquiring look, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s a great luxury to have the fire,’ he said, ‘and in truth there is no need of it for someone like me, blessed as I am with good health and vigour.’ He leaned closer and I caught his smell — of herbs, oils, incense and all things clean, which was so typical of healers. I bent my head to hide a smile; I liked Brother Philius. ‘The warmth is for the old ones,’ he whispered. ‘They are both very poorly. They protest sometimes, for they have spent all the years of their adult lives vowed to poverty, but we tell them that the heat aids them and so releases those who nurse them for other duties.’

Yes, it made sense. It was clever to have manipulated the old men’s instinctive selflessness in such a way. ‘Wet and cold are the true causes of their pain, are they not?’ Brother Philius added, sighing. ‘And here we are on an island in the midst of water.’

I opened my satchel and took out a bottle of the new remedy. I held it up and Brother Philius, his face eager, took it from me. He drew the stopper and, tentatively at first, sniffed at the contents. A slow smile spread over his face. ‘I can almost smell the potency!’ he said softly.

Again, I had to hide a smile. Edild had explained how the energy that the healing spirits bring can be captured in a remedy and that it bursts out, eager to get to work, when the jar or bottle is opened.

Brother Philius was striding over to the patient in the cot to his left. ‘Brother Anselm, we have a treat for you!’ he exclaimed as the old man struggled to sit up. ‘The sister here has kindly brought a new remedy, and I’m going to try it out on your hip!’

Either Brother Philius had forgotten that, although garbed as a nun, I was still a woman, or else he was treating me as a fellow healer used to bare male flesh. Whichever it was, he swiftly unfastened the old man’s robe and pushed it down so that it sagged below his hips. Brother Anselm rolled over on to his side and I had a glimpse of his aged genitals beneath the fringe of white hair. Then the scent of Edild’s new remedy filled the air, and I watched, fascinated, as the hands of a true healer got to work.

You could tell from Brother Anselm’s groans of pain that quickly turned to moans of pleasure that the remedy and the strong hands were doing good. Brother Philius was clearly impressed. After only a short while he turned to me with a huge grin and said, ‘Whoever made this is all but a miracle worker!’ I saved that up to tell Edild. He returned to his work but then, as if the thought had suddenly struck him, he spun round again and said, ‘Have a go at Brother Matthias over there.’ He indicated the monk in the opposite cot. ‘His pain is in his left shoulder,’ he panted — massage is hard work — ‘extending up into his neck and down under the shoulder blade.’

I nodded. I knew that pain; I suffer from it myself when I spend too long hunched over my work. It sometimes feels as if someone is sticking a knife into me.

I reached for another bottle of the remedy and crossed the room. The second old monk was perched on the edge of his cot and had already bared his shoulder. With a smile, I put down my satchel, took off my cloak, rolled back my sleeves and poured oil into the palm of my hand. I rubbed it between my hands to warm it a little and then advanced on my patient.

I worked on my old monk for some time, gently at first and then, as I felt his flesh warm and soften beneath my hands, more vigorously. I was embarrassed by his thanks; I did not really deserve such profound gratitude when I was here on a mission of my own and the healing was only to cover up my true intentions.

Word of my presence must have spread. Several more old monks appeared and, before Brother Philius and I were done, we treated nine men. When we had finally finished, we stood together wiping our hands, both of us red-faced and sweaty.

‘Thank you, Sister Hilde,’ he said. ‘I understand that you cannot reveal the recipe of this wonder remedy, but. .?’ He left the question unspoken, hovering in the air.

I reached for my satchel, extracting a bottle. ‘This is the concentrate,’ I said, giving it to him. ‘Mix it with oil in the following proportions — ’ I described various concentrations for different ailments — ‘and remember it is strong, so don’t be tempted to use more.’

He held up the bottle as if it were the Holy Grail. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘On behalf of my old monks, thank you so much.’

I rolled down my sleeves and reached for my cloak. ‘May I make a request?’ I asked. I felt mean, as if I were taking advantage of his gratitude and choosing the exact moment when he couldn’t refuse me.

‘Of course!’ he exclaimed. ‘Name it.’

I squashed down my guilt, reminding myself firmly why I had needed to get into the abbey in the first place. ‘I have heard tell that St Etheldreda’s church is being demolished to make room for the new cathedral,’ I said. ‘Would it be permitted for me to look?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Brother Philius replied. We were at the door now, and I saw that afternoon had merged into evening. ‘There won’t be many workmen there at this hour, for it’s getting dark.’ He glanced back inside the room. ‘I need to get back to my patients — it’s time I saw to their supper. If I show you the way, may I leave you to look round on your own?’

It was what I’d been praying for. ‘Very well,’ I said meekly.

He led me along a dark passage that abruptly opened into a huge open space. Skeletal walls rose up in the distance and high above our heads a frame of wooden falsework stretched up into the evening sky. The detritus of demolition and the tools of construction were all around but, other than a group of workmen huddled around a brazier and a carpenter planing a length of pale oak, the site was deserted.

‘The little Saxon church stood just there.’ Brother Philius pointed. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I must leave you.’ I bowed my head in acknowledgement. ‘Farewell, sister — it was a good day for my old monks when you came along!’ He grinned, gave me a wave and hurried away.