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Alys Clare: The Joys of My Life

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Alys Clare The Joys of My Life

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‘Excellent!’ Helewise exclaimed. ‘And Brother Augustus has even removed some of the dust from the horses. Well done! Now, before we have a chance to get dirty again, let’s go and find the queen.’

They reached the shore and soon found a narrow inlet where several boats were tied up to a wooden jetty. Josse found a group of seamen crouched over a cooking fire on which something savoury was stewing, and one of the men confirmed that the island across the water was indeed Oleron. Standing up, he pointed to a grim and forbidding fortress that stood on the point directly opposite. ‘That’s the castle,’ he said, puffing out his chest. ‘The queen’s castle.’

‘Really?’ Josse obligingly acted the part of a man overawed and deeply impressed. Then he said swiftly, ‘Can you take us over there?’ He turned to indicate his companions. ‘We are five, with six horses.’

The man contemplated the group, rubbing a thumb across the dark stubble on his chin. He bent down to mutter with the other seamen and then, straightening, named his price. It seemed reasonable to Josse, although he guessed that the seaman was probably inflating his usual rate in the presence of unknowing strangers. More for form’s sake than anything else, he offered two-thirds and in the end they settled on three-quarters. Then the man summoned a younger version of himself, who had to be his son, and, with two other men, they led Josse and his companions down the beach to a low, flat wooden craft with a broad beam and a single mast. Soon both humans and horses were standing on the salt-bleached deck as the seamen wielded their long poles and pushed off from the jetty.

It was less than a mile across the stretch of water to the island. Many sea crossings had never quite convinced Josse that boats were safe and he was glad of the abbess’s presence beside him. They stood in the bows of the boat, staring ahead over the calm sea to the flat, green outline of Oleron, and he could sense her tense excitement. He did not think it was the crossing that was making her nervous.

He said, ‘We have made good time, my lady. The queen will be surprised, I believe, to see us so soon.’

She looked up at him and he read gratitude in her face. ‘Do you think so? Oh, I hope you are right — it seems so long since her messengers came to Hawkenlye and I have been anxious in case she is angry with me for delaying.’

Josse smiled. ‘The queen is a great traveller. She understands better than most that nobody could travel from the south-east of England to the west coast of France in much better time than we have taken.’ Impulsively reaching out to grasp her hand, he added, ‘Stop worrying!’

She laughed softly. ‘Very well!’ Then — and he noticed belatedly that Sister Caliste and Brother Saul were watching — she extracted her hand and stepped a deliberate pace away.

They landed on the Ile d’Oleron and stood looking around them. It was a long, thin island, lying at an angle to the mainland and stretching out roughly south-east to north-west. Eleanor’s high-walled castle stood at the south-east corner; it was, Josse thought, staring up at it, the obvious place, for it commanded the straits between the island and the mainland. For some reason he felt a sudden deep shiver of apprehension. Something very bad had happened — or was about to happen — here.

He pulled himself together. ‘Come,’ he said bracingly, ‘let us mount up and set a smart pace as we ride up to the castle.’

They set off, Josse and the abbess in the lead, and within a short time were approaching the narrow stone bridge that led over a deep gully to the castle on its headland. Guards stood at each end of the bridge and, on the far side, where an arched entrance led through the great wall into the courtyard beyond, an iron portcullis was poised ready for lowering. Arrow slits dotted the smooth stonework in a regular pattern and, high above, men could be seen on watch behind the crenellated walls. The castle gave the impression that it was bristling with weaponry and spoiling for a fight.

But that was fanciful, Josse told himself firmly. Wasn’t it?

He dragged himself out of his strange mood and made himself pay attention to the abbess’s exchange with the captain of the guard, who had stepped forward to bar their progress. Josse was about to offer his help but realized she did not need it; she was doing perfectly well on her own. The guard seemed impressed and, giving her a gallant bow, led the way across the bridge and in through the archway.

They were in Eleanor’s castle at last.

Eleanor gave them a short time to refresh themselves and then sent for the abbess and Josse. Briefly — and ungratefully — it occurred to Helewise to wonder why Josse was summoned, since the construction of a new chapel at Hawkenlye surely had nothing to do with him. She put the unworthy thought firmly away as they entered the vast room and, deeply and reverently, she bowed before the queen.

Eleanor stepped down from the raised dais where she had been sitting and took Helewise’s hand. ‘You have made good time, Helewise,’ she said.

In a flash Helewise thought, you were right, Josse. Then she said meekly, ‘We had a reliable guide, madam.’

‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, looking at Josse. ‘I know.’

Helewise knew it was probably not the right thing to speak before being spoken to but she could not help herself. She stared into Eleanor’s eyes; the queen’s face was pale and drawn, and her deep-set eyes were shadowed with dark circles. ‘I am so sorry, my lady, for your loss.’

There was a moment’s absolute silence. Helewise, quite sure she had broken some rule of etiquette, was about to apologize when the queen gave a sigh and said softly, ‘You too have sons, Helewise.’

‘Yes, my lady.’

It was enough.

The queen seemed to shake off the outward manifestations of her grief. Straightening up and squaring her shoulders, she said abruptly, ‘The new chapel is to be dedicated to St Edmund, who, like my dear son, died from an arrow shot. It is to be under the auspices of Hawkenlye Abbey, but I leave its exact site for you to decide, Helewise, in collaboration with the architect and the builders. I recall that the abbey does not have a great deal of available space within its walls and I would not have some existing building altered to make room. Within the chapel, the Hawkenlye community and the people will pray for the soul of King Richard.’ She paused, looking wryly first at Helewise and then at Josse. ‘Like all men, my son was a mixture of good and bad. He confessed his sins and was shriven before he died, but nevertheless I fear that many more prayers must be said for him before his soul may ascend to Our Lord in heaven.’ She fell silent, the lines of deep grief once more very apparent on her face.

Helewise waited. Eleanor again brought herself back from the dark paths of grief to the matter in hand. With a peremptory ‘Come!’ she walked across to a wide oak table on which there were several large rolls of parchment. With Helewise and Josse either side of her, she unrolled the largest, revealing a beautifully drawn illustration of a small chapel. ‘This is what I want,’ she said quietly. ‘Something simple, for my son was a plain man. Something for the ordinary people, who loved him.’

Helewise was not at all sure about love. It seemed to her that the unspoken opinion of most people was that the late king had cost them rather more than he was worth. This, of course, was no time to say so.

Eleanor was unrolling other parchments, showing them plans and elevations. ‘You will go from here to the city of Chartres,’ she said, ‘where they are building the new cathedral on the fire-blackened ruins of the old one. There, you will find the stonemasons and the carpenters whom I have chosen to build my son’s chapel and you will give them my written orders. Payment will be effected through the auspices of the Knights Templar, with whom I have arranged credit. It is my wish that work begin as soon as possible. I have already commissioned a similar chapel at Fontevrault, dedicated to St Lawrence, and it is my firm intention that prayers shall be said at both chapels within the year.’

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