Alys Clare - The Joys of My Life

With the realization came so much more and, as the tumult of thoughts exploded, she understood that the effort of suppressing them had been enormous, and that she had been making it for some time.

She sank down on to the short grass beside the track, her mind leaping back. There had been the business of the heretics and that sweet-natured woman whom Helewise ought to have denounced; she vividly recalled the night when she had kneeled before the altar, to see after hours of anguish the tender face of Christ. Aurelia — yes, the woman’s name had been Aurelia. Helewise had let her go. Then there was the abiding presence of the forest people and, indeed, dear old Sister Tiphaine, at least still half pagan. There was Joanna, whom Josse loved…

She turned her mind from that. This, she told herself firmly, is not about Josse.

She was a nun — an abbess — and it was exactly what she wanted to be, for her love of and faith in the Lord was profound and sincere. But her role meant that she must serve another master, whose nature was no longer what she had believed it to be. She was bound by that great, powerful, impersonal and increasingly furtive body, the Church, and sometimes she barely recognized this master at all.

She drew up her knees, rested her folded arms on top of them and put her head down on her crossed wrists. She closed her eyes. She sat there for a long time.

Then slowly she came back to herself, got up, stretched her stiff limbs and set out in the twilight to find Martin and tell him he could start building the chapel in the morning.

Very early the next day, Josse left Meggie in the care of Sister Tiphaine and set off for Tonbridge. He might not be able to persuade Ninian to accept a more secure lodging but at least he could make the place where the lad was a little safer. Philippe de Loup was after him and Piers — or, as Ninian had said, after the statue; well, Josse would do all that he could to stop Philippe in his tracks. Ninian had wounded him, perhaps gravely. He had not come to Hawkenlye for aid, but it was possible he had gone to the canons at Tonbridge. Josse would go and see and, before he did so, visit Gervase de Gifford and alert him to the danger in their midst.

He rode into the sheriff’s courtyard while the family were still at breakfast. Gervase ushered him inside and offered him food and drink; both were very welcome, for Josse had ridden out from Hawkenlye with no more than a cup of water and a hard heel of bread inside him. As he wolfed down the food — it was delicious but he was in a hurry — he did his best to answer Sabin de Gifford’s cheerful remarks. She sat beside her two-year-old son, Simond, and the child quickly overcame his awe at having Josse at the breakfast table and threw a lump of soggy rusk, which scored a hit on Josse’s hand. For a few precious moments, Josse relaxed; Sabin and Gervase’s home was welcoming and always had been and, now that Sabin was over her grief for her old grandfather, who had died the previous Christmas, it was once more a happy place.

Josse finished his food and Gervase, drawing his chair closer, said, ‘Now, Josse, to what do we owe this very early visit?’

‘Aye, I’m sorry to disturb you at breakfast, but my errand could not wait.’ Briefly he told Gervase and Sabin about Philippe de Loup. Only when he had finished his tale did he add quietly, ‘The young squire is Joanna’s son.’

Sabin gasped. ‘The one who-’ She stopped. Then in a whisper, ‘Joanna told me about him when we all stayed in the inn at Dinan.’

Josse stared at her. ‘Did she tell you all about him?’

‘Yes.’ Sabin’s eyes were wide. ‘But I have told nobody, not even Gervase. I promised, you see,’ she said, turning to look at her husband.

‘There is some secret concerning this boy?’ Gervase demanded.

‘Aye,’ Josse admitted, ‘but it is Joanna’s secret, Gervase.’

The sheriff frowned but then shrugged and said, ‘Very well. So, Josse, Ninian prefers to hide out in the house in the woods and will not accept the shelter of Hawkenlye, and you wish me to help him by hunting down the man who tried to murder his master. Have I got it right?’

‘You make him sound like a petulant child,’ Josse protested. ‘He has very good reasons for staying out in the forest. One, he is of the forest people’s blood and they will guard him. Two, he has what he sees as a sacred mission to guard this statue that Piers has brought to England and keep it from de Loup’s hands. Three — ’ three was more difficult; it was something that had occurred to him in the small hours and he was not sure if he could speak of it in a level voice — ‘three is that Ninian fears some harm has come to his mother and he prefers to remain out there in her territory.’ He cleared his throat. ‘He is staying in the house, as I told you, but my guess is that he visits her hut regularly.’

There was silence. He could sense Sabin’s huge sympathy and even Gervase seemed affected. After a moment, the sheriff said gently, ‘And you, Josse? Do you too fear for Joanna’s safety?’

Abruptly Josse stood up, pushing his chair back so violently that it fell with a loud crash on to the stone floor. The little boy gave a cry of distress and hastily Sabin took him in her arms, soothing him. Josse barely noticed. I have to get out, he thought wildly. I cannot bear to think about my fears.

‘Josse?’ Gervase hurried along beside him as he strode out. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

Josse spun round to face him and saw in the sheriff’s face nothing but kindness and concern. He brushed a hand over his face. ‘I do not know, Gervase. I never do with her!’ he added, his grief and anger spilling over. ‘But I am told that… I believe she may not come back.’

‘Oh, Josse,’ Gervase said very quietly. Then, briefly patting Josse on the back, he added, ‘Keep us informed. You know you are always welcome here. And I will put word around of your Philippe de Loup. A knight from Aquitaine wearing a unique device on his breast is unlikely to go unnoticed. If he passes this way, my men will find him.’

As Josse nodded his thanks and hurried away to his horse, Gervase turned and went back inside the house.

Josse got his emotions under control during the short ride from the de Gifford house to the priory down on the marshy land close to the river. As he approached, he looked at the guest wing, rebuilt since the fatal fire two and a half years ago and now the scene of busy activity. He rode over to the stables, left Horace to be watered and went in search of Canon Mark.

The round-faced, bustling monk greeted him warmly and, after asking about Josse’s health and the Hawkenlye community — Josse’s allegiances were well known — said, ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I’m looking for a wounded man,’ Josse said. ‘He was hit hard over the head about — ’ how long ago? Ninian had left Piers at Hawkenlye four days ago, and that was presumably soon after the attack — ‘about four days ago. I understand that he was able to crawl away following the injury but it is likely he needed medical care. He is not at Hawkenlye and I wondered if he might have made his way here.’

Already Canon Mark was shaking his head. ‘Sir Josse, everyone hereabouts knows that Hawkenlye Abbey is the place to go if you have need of a healer,’ he said. ‘We have our Sabin de Gifford, whose skills as an apothecary are excellent and who treats all and sundry, both those who can pay and those who can’t, but a hurt such as you describe would surely take a man to the abbey.’ He was frowning and, as he finished speaking, his eyes seemed to focus on something in the distance. ‘Unless…’ His glance flicking back to Josse, he said, ‘Was this man a knight?’

‘Aye. I have not seen him, but I would judge that he would be well mounted and richly dressed. He probably wears an insignia on his breast depicting a horned woman standing in a boat like the crescent moon.’