Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

It was a splendid gift. Josse was thrilled with his new property, and thought it a more than fair exchange for swearing fealty to the new King; Josse was already a king’s man anyway. He had inspected the house with a builder, who came highly recommended by Josse’s neighbour, Brice of Rotherbridge. The builder, after sucking his teeth for most of the morning and gloomily shaking his head in the general manner of builders, finally announced that there was a great deal of work to be done, but that, yes, he agreed with Josse that the house was fundamentally sound. And that it would, in the fullness of time, make a fine dwelling.

Back then, almost eighteen months ago, Josse hadn’t quite realised just how full that time was going to be.

Over the months that the builder and his men had worked on the house and its outbuildings, Josse had made several visits to check on progress. It had been interesting to note how the character of the house had slowly changed; in the beginning, when there were gaping holes in the roof and spiteful draughts under ill-fitting — or totally missing — doors, the spirit of the miserable and moaning old woman for whom the house had been built seemed still to be hovering around. The very house had an air of dejection, as if it stood with slumped shoulders feeling sorry for itself. The place had been, Josse had to admit, quite depressing.

But, as the repairs and renovations progressed, it appeared to Josse that the house began to stand up tall. To hold its head up with a new pride, to say, as its original beauty was slowly — very slowly — restored, See! See what a fine place I am, fit for the knight who is to live here!

Those were not, however, the sort of thoughts a man mentioned to his builder. And, indeed, when Josse remarked to Brice of Rotherbridge that the house was beginning to welcome its new master when he visited, Brice had shouted with laughter and told Josse not to bring those weird and fanciful foreign ideas over here, thank you very much!

As well as taking over a part of the late Alard of Winnowlands’s estates, Josse also found himself taking over the man’s servant. Will, who had served and, latterly, nursed Sir Alard with quiet and efficient devotion as the old man slowly and painfully succumbed to the lung rot, had presented himself at the new house one morning when Josse was arguing with the builder about whether or not to turn the western tower into a small solar (an argument which, even though Josse wasn’t entirely sure what he would do with a solar, he won).

Waiting patiently until the matter was settled, Will then stepped forward, swept off his hood and said, ‘Sir Josse d’Acquin? You won’t remember me, sir, but-’

‘I do remember you, Will.’ Josse hurried forward to greet him. ‘How are you?’

Will gave a faint shrug. He looked thinner than Josse remembered. ‘I do all right.’

Josse doubted that. The man’s master was dead, after all. With Sir Alard had gone Will’s livelihood. ‘I see.’

Without preamble, Will said, ‘You’ll likely be needing serving folk for this here house, sir. I know the area, I know the people. I’d take care of you, and your property, if you’ll have me. Watch over your interests, like, when you were from home.’

Josse stared into the deep eyes for some moments. It was not that he did not trust Will; quite the opposite. What held him back from instantly engaging the man was a certain concern about Will’s temperament. Josse, in the main a light-hearted, optimistic soul, was not sure he could cope with someone as dour of mien as Will.

‘I-’ Josse began. Then, after an awkward pause, ‘Will, I — er — I mean, are you over your grieving for Sir Alard? I know that his death hit you hard, and-’

To Josse’s surprise, Will smiled. The smile broadened, quite altering the severe expression, and Will began to laugh.

‘Why not come right out with it, Sir Josse?’ Will said. ‘A cheerful fellow such as yourself doesn’t welcome the idea of having a miserable bugger like me tending to his needs. Isn’t that it?’

‘No! Not at all! I-’ But Josse, too, was laughing. ‘Very well. Yes, that’s it. Exactly.’

Will’s face straightened. ‘Sir, I’ll tell you straight, I thought a deal of Sir Alard, God rest his soul.’

‘Amen,’ Josse muttered.

‘But he’s gone. I did my best for him, and I’ve nothing on my conscience regarding his death. No nor his life, come to that — we had our ups and downs, did Sir Alard and me, but we understood each other. He knew I was his loyal man. Reckon that’s why he left me a tidy bit, when at last he left us what remains on this earth.’

‘Ah.’

‘But all that’s in the past,’ Will resumed, ‘and life must go on, like. So, Sir Josse, will you take me on?’

‘I will,’ Josse said, ‘right gladly.’

‘Hah!’ Will looked pleased. ‘Oh, and there’s my woman, sir, my Ella. Would you have need of her, too? She’s a good, clean soul, hard-working, can turn her hand to most work of a domestic nature, whether it’s making the butter come quick, turning out a room, milking a cow, sewing a fine seam or cooking a tasty stew.’

Josse grinned, slapping Will on the back. ‘Such a paragon of talents shouldn’t be allowed to sit idle, don’t you agree, Will?’

‘No, indeed, sir.’

‘We’d better have her, too, then. Your Ella.’ He paused. ‘But where will you live?’ He looked around. ‘I don’t think there’s anything suitable, I’d better-’

‘There is, sir,’ Will interrupted, looking slightly sheepish. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of having a look, and there’s a tidy little cottage tacked on the end of that row there.’ He pointed to a barn and several lean-tos, on the far side of the courtyard; Josse, who hadn’t had a close inspection, had imagined most of the row would have to be pulled down.

‘There’s a cottage? In that lot?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Aye. Run down right now, but it’s dry. The timbers are sound, it just needs a bit of work. Me and Ella’ll soon put it to rights. Given your permission, sir, naturally.’

Again, Josse started to laugh. In the space of a quarter of an hour, he had found himself a manservant and a first-rate domestic woman, and agreed to their refurbishment of a cottage he hadn’t known he had.

All in all, not bad going.

* * *

Now, riding towards New Winnowlands — he was quite pleased with the name — on a warm June afternoon, Josse felt for the first time a sense of coming home.

The house stood on its slight rise, walled courtyard in front, walled garden stretching out to the rear. All of those walls looked strong, and the manor itself was soundly roofed, with a whisper of smoke from some cooking fire floating up on the gentle breeze.

It looked, at last, as if the house was almost finished.

Josse rode into the courtyard. As if he had been waiting, Will appeared from the barn, and came to stand at Josse’s horse’s head.

‘Shall I take him for you, sir?’ he asked. ‘Ella’s been baking, she can have food ready for you in a trice.’

‘Yes, thanks, Will.’ Josse dismounted, handing over Horace’s reins. ‘Oh, just let me get my pack. I’ll have to see to-’

‘Ella’ll see to your kit. If you’ll let her, sir, that is. Fine washerwoman, my Ella, and nimble-fingered with a needle, should any mending be called for.’

‘I had an idea she might be,’ Josse murmured. Then, out loud: ‘Please ask her, then, Will.’ He grinned at his manservant. ‘I must say, it’s quite a novelty, to be so well-received.’

‘This is your home, sir!’ Will said, clearly surprised. ‘Should not a man be welcomed, in his own home?’

My home, thought Josse. Ah, how good it sounded!