Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

What? But I swear I’m not enjoying it?

He grinned into the darkness. Well, perhaps he was, just a little.

Putting his arm round her waist and drawing her towards him, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. Even if he couldn’t sleep, at least he could rest, try to build up some reserves of strength.

Whatever happened, he was probably going to need them.

* * *

Helewise was dreaming.

She was young again, dressed in a flowing silk gown of sunshine yellow, and someone had put a garland of flowers on her hair. It was too tight, biting into her forehead and making her head ache. But there was singing and dancing, and she was sitting on a grassy bank beneath a vast, spreading willow tree, and her sons, both babies together, were at her breast. She was plump with milk, breasts running with it, abundant, earthy. Then Ivo was there, smiling his joy, kissing her, calling her his Flora, his Queen of the May, and she was laughing too, telling him that she could only be Queen of the May for a day, for then she must return to the Abbey.

And, in the instant way of dreams, she was back in Hawkenlye Abbey, kneeling at the altar in the Abbey church, eyes closed, hands folded as she prayed, and Sister Euphemia was plucking at her sleeve and saying, Abbess, Abbess, what has become of your habit? Looking down at herself, she saw she was still wearing the yellow silk. And the garland of flowers, heavy on her brow, was making her headache worse …

Helewise opened her eyes.

She lay quite still, trying to work out where she was. It was dark, and, judging from the smell — of earth and greenery — and from the cold, she guessed she was out of doors. In front of her were the remains of a small fire, little more than glowing embers now, although there was a neat pile of branches beside the fire. It could be rekindled quite easily, she thought dreamily.

Her head gave a throb, and she put up her hand to ease the pain. There seemed to be something tied around her brow.

And where was her veil? Her headband? Her wimple?

Her movement had disturbed Ivo, who gave a grunt and wriggled himself into a more comfortable position. He was lovely and warm; she pressed her buttocks into the crook of his body and revelled in the comfort of him, dear old Ivo, and-

Hurled into shocked wakefulness, she remembered. Ivo was dead, dead and buried years ago! Oh, dear God, then who was she cuddling up to?

And, equally important, where was she?

She made herself stop panicking, and thought back.

And, soon, saw again that incredible scene in the clearing. Remembered running, running, as fast as she could, and remembered being sick. Feeling so ill, so dizzy.

Remembered Josse.

I must have hurt myself, she decided. And Josse, bless him, has looked after me. Tended me — she fingered the pad pressed to what seemed to be the source of the pain on her forehead — and lit a fire. Wrapped me up, Lain down beside me to keep me warm.

It was, she knew, exactly the right thing, in cases of injury. Keep the patient warm.

Well, he’d done that, all right. And the sudden hot blood she could feel rushing to her face was merely a side-effect of how warm the rest of her was. Wasn’t it?

She let her eyes roam across the scene before her. The greyish light was growing — it must be a little after dawn — and she could make out the big clearing with the two fallen oak trees. She and Josse appeared to be lying on a bed of bracken, in a little hollow in the undergrowth.

Oh, dear.

She must have moved again, for she knew suddenly that she had woken him up. His body against hers had been relaxed in sleep, and now there was a tension in him.

What on earth, she wondered, do we say to one another?

It was he who broke the awkward silence. In a surprisingly normal tone, he said, ‘Good morning, Abbess. How do you feel?’

‘My head hurts,’ she confessed.

‘I’m not surprised. You ran full tilt into an oak tree.’

‘Oh.’

He was, she noticed, lying absolutely still, as if any movement would make an embarrassing situation even worse. Despite herself, she had to suppress a smile.

‘I needed to keep you warm,’ he said in a rush. ‘I’m sorry, but it — this — lying behind you like this — was the best I could think of.’

‘I understand.’

She felt him raise himself on an elbow, and then he was looking down at her, anxious face looming above hers. ‘You’re still pale,’ he said.

‘Mm.’ There was something slightly odd about him, too. She studied him for a few moments, then said gravely, ‘Your eyes are funny.’

‘Funny?’

‘The black bits — what do you call them?’ She couldn’t for the life of her think of the word.

‘Pupils?’

‘Pupils. Thank you. Your pupils are huge. So big that there’s hardly any brown round the edges.’

He leaned closer to her, eyes fixed to hers. ‘So are yours,’ he said.

Then, as if the discovery had exhausted him, he lay down again.

After quite some time she said, ‘I think we’ve been drugged.’

‘I think so, too. I was just putting it all together, the dizziness, the sickness, and I don’t know about you but I’ve been having the most incredibly vivid-’

‘Dreams?’

‘Dreams.’ She could hear that he was smiling.

‘What was it, do you think?’ she asked. ‘The drug. Something in the smoke?’

‘I imagine so. That — that ceremony which we saw seemed to employ some fairly sophisticated potions and herbal concoctions.’

‘Mm.’ She hadn’t wanted to be reminded of the ceremony.

He gave a great yawn, then said, ‘Sorry. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.’

She, too, was sleepy. ‘Nor I.’

He said tentatively, ‘Shall we try to sleep again? For an hour or two, at least, until the sun rises and begins to warm the air?’

‘Yes.’ Absently she snuggled her hips against him, cradling her cheek on her hand. ‘Good night,’ she said, already dozy.

He muttered something. She heard the word ‘chastity’.

‘What was that?’ she said sharply.

‘Oh. Er — nothing.’

‘Josse?’

‘I said, whatever happened to the nun’s vow of chastity?’ he said.

She should have been angry, affronted, but for some reason she actually wanted to laugh. Controlling the urge, she said crushingly, ‘And who, may I ask, said anything about being unchaste?’ He began to make an apology, but she cut him off. ‘Sir Knight, do not presume!’

‘Abbess, please, do not take offence, I merely-’

But she was laughing now, and he, pressed so close to her, must realise it. She said, ‘It’s all right. I was teasing.’

‘So was I,’ he murmured.

She closed her eyes. ‘I was a wife before ever I was a nun,’ she said drowsily.

‘Were you?’

‘Yes.’ She yawned, so widely that it made her eyes water. ‘What I remember with the most fondness is not the passion of the marriage bed, but the comfort.’ She wriggled again, settling into sleep. ‘And,’ she added in a murmur, ‘the companionship.’

He said something, but she didn’t hear. She was already asleep.

When Josse next woke, the Abbess no longer lay in front of him. The sun was shining brightly down into the grove, and, a few paces away, a figure in a nun’s habit knelt in prayer.

She was, he thought, watching her, probably saying the Office. Prime, would it be? Or Tierce? It depended on how long they’d been asleep.

She was wearing wimple, headdress and veil. The garments sat a little awkwardly over the bandage round her brow, but she looked herself again. The laughing, curly-haired woman with whom he had shared his forest bed had gone.

With a faint sigh, he bade her a fond farewell.