Alys Clare - Fortune Like the Moon

He rode up to the manor house, and was about to call out to advertise his presence when the man, Will, came out from the undercroft.

‘Sir?’ he said, looking up at Josse from beneath a hand shading his eyes from the sun.

‘Josse d’Acquin,’ Josse said. ‘I come from Hawkenlye, with matters of a personal nature to discuss with your master of Winnowlands. May I see him, please?’

Will went on staring at him. Then, slowly, shook his head. But it was not in rejection of Josse’s request; it appeared to be more in distress at the whole situation. ‘Aye,’ he said on a sigh. ‘Bad business. I’ve tried to say to him, gently, mind, that he should make up his mind, send word. Can’t be pleasant for them at the Abbey, left with a body they can neither send away nor bury. Wouldn’t like it, myself.’ He had summed up the dilemma with admirable brevity. ‘But, sir, it ain’t as easy as that. He won’t listen to me, won’t listen to nobody. He’s-’ He broke off, and scratched his head as if perplexed at how to describe his master’s condition.

‘Disturbed? Wrong in his mind?’ Josse suggested, hoping he wouldn’t offend the man by plain speaking.

But the man, far from taking offence, seized on Josse’s words with apparent relief. ‘Aye. Wrong in his mind. Aye, sir, that he is. Wrong in his body an’ all, but that he’s been these many years. Worse now, of course. Much, much worse.’ Sadly he resumed his head shaking. ‘But this here, this wrong in his head thing, this is what I find so hard to deal with, sir. I mean, I can’t tell him what to do, now, can I? Not me in my position. But then someone ought to. It ain’t right. None of it.’

This time the rueful head shaking went on for some time. Josse said gently, ‘May I dismount?’ And instantly Will looked up at him, dismay on the blunt features.

‘I’m sorry, sir, that I am! Of course, of course, here, let me help.’ He leapt to take Josse’s horse’s bridle, and Josse swung down out of the saddle. ‘I’ll put him here for you, in this nice patch of shade,’ — efficient man that he was, he acted as he spoke — ‘and take off that saddle. Like some water, eh, my fine fellow?’ He patted the horse’s neck affectionately. ‘Bet you would!’

The horse secured, Will returned to Josse. As if he had been turning it over in his mind in those few moments, now he seemed to have reached a decision. ‘You come in with me and see the master, sir, if you will,’ he said firmly. ‘Can’t do no harm. Nothing can make him any worse than he is, not now. Nor any better, seemingly.’ The features drooped briefly. ‘A good man, he was, sir, in his way,’ he said earnestly. ‘Don’t let how he’s fetched up deceive you. He has his faults, like all of us, but he was never all bad.’

With this ambiguous introduction echoing in his head, Josse followed Will up into the hall and went forward to meet the lord of Winnowlands.

* * *

Gunnora’s father, it was immediately apparent, was dying. He was lying on a bed as close to the great fireplace as he could be placed, despite the fact that, in the sun-warmed hall, the fire hadn’t yet been lit. He barely stirred as Will quietly spoke to him — ‘Sir Alard? Be you awake?’ and announced Josse, other than to turn his head towards them. He wore a fur-trimmed gown of heavy wool, over which a rug had been arranged. At his neck could be seen the collar of a linen shift, quite clean; dying he might be, but those who were looking after him were tending him devotedly.

His face was pale grey, without so much as the suggestion of colour. The flesh had all but gone, making the strong nose the more prominent. The eyes were dark, made more so now by the fact of lying deep within their sockets. In the dimness of the hall, as Josse’s eyes adjusted from the brilliance outside, he could, he thought, be looking at a skull.

‘What do you want, Josse d’Acquin?’ Alard of Winnowlands asked, in a voice that cracked on the words.

‘I come from Hawkenlye, Sir Alard. From the Abbess Helewise, who requires of you to know what are your wishes regarding the body of your late daughter, Gunnora.’

‘My late daughter Gunnora,’ Alard echoed. Astoundingly, the words were infused with bitter, mocking irony. ‘My late daughter.’ There was a pause. Then he said, this time quietly and expressionlessly, ‘With Gunnora, do what you please. Bury her with the nuns. She wished to be with them in life, let her stay with them in death.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Josse said. ‘Abbess Helewise and the sisters will be relieved to have your decision.’ He hesitated. ‘Sir, may I-’

‘Get out.’ The words, said in the same toneless way, at first failed to register. Then, as Josse stayed where he was, Alard raised himself slightly, fixed Josse with those burning black eyes and yelled, ‘Get out!’

Josse had scarcely begun to move when the coughing began. At first quiet, it grew so swiftly to its violent, prolonged climax that Will only just had time to thrust a square of linen to Alard’s lips before the blood spurted out. The linen, washed and smoothed, was soon covered with fresh stains to lie alongside the old. Josse watched, transfixed and helpless, while the master of Winnowlands coughed away some more of what remained of his lungs.

* * *

Will joined him outside some time later.

‘It’s a pity you had to witness that,’ he said, coming to stand beside where Josse leaned against the sunny front of the house. There was a scent of lavender from bushes growing against the undercroft; Josse had been breathing in the good, clean smell.

‘Aye,’ Josse said. ‘Has he long been like that?’

‘The sickness grew slowly in him,’ Will replied. ‘At first no more than a cough that persisted, gradually growing till he was troubled constantly. He began to grow weak, didn’t want to eat. Then, last winter, he began to cough up blood.’

‘Ah.’ And that, Josse knew, invariably meant life would not go on much longer.

‘He’d have gone afore now,’ Will said, ‘only he’s so strong. Used to be, anyhow. There was plenty of him to waste away, if you take my meaning.’

‘Aye.’ Josse had seen the same in other men.

‘And, besides, he can’t go yet.’ Will paused, glancing sideways at Josse as if wondering how many more family affairs to reveal to this stranger.

‘Oh, no?’ Jesse tried to sound casual, disinterested.

Will’s quick smile indicated he wasn’t taken in. But, nevertheless, he went ahead. ‘No. He can’t die, not afore he’s decided.’

‘Decided?’

‘He’s not got long for this world, as well he knows, what with the priest and the physician either side of him with their long faces and all that telling him so. Prepare your soul, priest says, make a good confession, arrange your earthly affairs so as you have credit in heaven. But it ain’t as easy as that, is it, sir?’

‘No,’ Josse agreed. It seemed sensible not to lead Will off at a tangent by asking, what isn’t?

‘And there’s the living to consider, too, along of the matter of credit in heaven, ain’t there? The living as has their needs, too.’

‘Quite.’

‘See, it all looked so straightforward, year or so back,’ Will said, leaning confidingly close to Josse.

‘Before Gunnora entered the convent?’ Josse guessed. The timing was right, anyway.

‘Aye, that. But that weren’t the start of it.’ Will was shaking his head again. ‘Sir, I tell you straight, I’m glad I’m a simple man. I’ve my little house, my woman, and that’s that. My house ain’t mine to leave to nobody, and as for the rest, what I own I wear on my back, mostly.’

‘Yes, I see.’ Josse did. Began to see, at last, where this was leading. It all began to fit together.