Alys Clare: The Paths of the Air

Joanna had told him last night that she had removed their tack and put them in a hazel-hurdle corral. It had not sounded very secure but he had been too far gone in pain and drug-induced confusion to care. At some time during the night — he remembered the crashing — they must have pushed their way through the hurdles. But Joanna had gone to check! Why on earth had she not reported that the horses were missing? Because she knew you would get up and try to catch them, answered his logic, and she knew you were nowhere near up to it.

She could have gone, he thought disloyally.

He went back inside the hut.

Joanna was awake, leaning on one elbow and watching out for him. ‘I did not go after them because I knew they were safe,’ she said softly; both John and Meggie were still asleep.

‘How can you be so sure?’ he whispered back. ‘There are all manner of strange beings in this forest, including the man who put those savage cuts on him.’ He nodded in the direction of John Damianos.

‘It was not he who was close by last night.’ Joanna spoke with such certainty that he believed her. ‘I know who it was, though, which is why I said we were safe. He was patrolling among the trees, guarding us. He was curious about the horses, for as you probably know my people do not have a great deal to do with them, although we greatly respect them because one of our Great Ones is revered in the form of a white horse.’

‘Aye, that’s as maybe, but are they safe?’ he demanded.

She smiled. ‘Perfectly safe. As I was saying, the being outside was curious about them and he probably called to them.’

‘I did not hear any call!’

‘No, dearest Josse, you wouldn’t have done, for it would have gone directly to their minds. They too were undoubtedly curious about him, which was why your old Horace pushed his way out of my admittedly inadequate pen and went to have a look, and the other horse followed.’

‘He’s called Cinnabar. He’s John’s horse.’ It was about the only thing Josse could think of to say.

‘Well, Horace and Cinnabar probably had a fine time with our guardian, then I expect they ambled off to look for food. Your Horace knows the Abbey well, doesn’t he?’

‘Aye.’

‘Then that’ll be where he’s gone, and Cinnabar with him. Don’t worry, Josse — ’ she swung her legs over the edge of the sleeping platform and jumped down — ‘they’ll be quite all right. When you leave, I’ll help you carry the saddles and bridles to the edge of the forest.’

‘They’re heavy,’ he said dully. It was better to think about the practicalities. The alternative was to contemplate going away from her again so soon and that hurt, especially when he hadn’t even seen his daughter yet this morning.

‘I will manage,’ she said. She added, with an attempt at a smile, ‘And you each have one good side with which to bear a load.’

Their eyes met. To his joy he saw an answering regret in hers. He knew that she too was wishing this day was going to be just for the three of them.

‘Come back soon,’ she whispered. ‘We will be waiting for you; I promise.’

She did not make promises lightly. With a grin that seemed to spread all by itself, he nodded.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘I am going outside to wash and then I shall prepare medicine, food and drink, and have a look at my patients’ wounds.’

Josse and John both drank more of Joanna’s pain-killing brew, although Josse — who had been given her remedies before — detected that this morning the element that had sent them so deeply asleep last night was absent. Joanna inspected the cut above John’s eye and then she lifted the dressing on his shoulder, sniffing at it.

‘Recently I have not had the chance to bathe as thoroughly as I would like,’ John said, clearly embarrassed, ‘for which I apologize, my lady.’

She looked up at him and smiled. ‘My name is Joanna,’ she said, ‘and I am not sniffing at you but at your wound. There is a particular smell when infection is present and, if I detected it on you, I should have to do something about it. But it isn’t there. This wound, and the one over your eye, are both clean.’

‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ John was looking at her with interest. ‘I have seen Arab doctors with their patients,’ he said. ‘They too place this emphasis on keeping a wound clean and they even go so far as to wash their hands and instruments in a special solution before and after they examine a patient!’

Joanna was nodding. ‘Yes, I have heard that their skills are far ahead of those of the West. Have you noticed anything else?’

‘Well,’ he said after a pause, ‘I was told that they use maggots in an infected cut, although surely that can’t be true?’

‘It probably is,’ she replied. ‘You have observed maggots on dead meat?’

‘Ye-es,’ he admitted. Josse, watching, hid a smile. He remembered very well his own reaction when he had first encountered Joanna’s extraordinary ideas.

‘Well, a severe wound may contain flesh that is dying because of infection. The maggots clean out the wound by consuming the pus and the putrid flesh, leaving a clean space for new, healthy skin to grow.’

John looked quite sick. ‘I see,’ he said faintly. Then, rallying, ‘I am even more relieved, then, that you smell no infection in my shoulder.’

Joanna laughed. ‘I do not use maggots. I would take it as an affront to my medical skill if any patient of mine needed them. Now I am going to look at you, Josse.’

Josse felt the familiar touch of her fingers and winced as she gently probed the wound. It too had been stitched. ‘No infection there either, my dear love,’ she said in satisfaction.

She called me my dear love, he thought. John Damianos heard and now he is watching us with a rather peculiar look on his face. Why? Simple human curiosity? Maybe; only why should Josse have received the distinct impression that for some reason he disapproved?

It was puzzling.

I am not ashamed of my love for Joanna and Meggie, Josse thought, nor of theirs for me. Perhaps I shall have a quiet word with him…

But Meggie was awake and yelling that she was hungry. Joanna set about preparing food and, as Meggie came flying down the ladder and climbed delicately on to Josse’s lap — Meggie understood about being very careful with wounded animals and people — he forgot about John Damianos and his frown in the pleasure of being with his child.

Soon after prime a very worried-looking Sister Martha came to Helewise to report that Sir Josse’s Horace had turned up accompanied by another horse, neither wore saddle or bridle, there was no sign of Sir Josse and the smaller horse had blood on its mane. It was only after Sister Martha had delivered her message that she noticed there was someone else in the room. The young woman was standing to the right of the door and the nun had not seen her.

‘Thank you, Sister,’ Helewise said calmly. ‘I am sure there is a simple explanation. You may go, and I will come across to the stables presently to decide if anything should be done.’

‘But, my lady, he might be-’

‘Thank you, Sister Martha,’ Helewise said firmly. The nun bowed, backed out through the door and closed it.

‘I did not wish to discuss possibilities in the presence of Sister Martha,’ Helewise said very quietly, ‘since it seems certain that this news is connected to your situation.’ She watched the young woman steadily, a query in her eyes.

‘I agree,’ the young woman said. ‘And I am very much afraid that it does not bode well.’

‘Come with me.’ Helewise got to her feet. ‘The first thing is to see whether you recognize this other horse.’

They walked together along the cloister and to the stable block. Helewise eyed her companion, reflecting that yesterday’s bath and change of clothing, together with a solid meal and a good night’s sleep, had done much for her. During the day she had asked if she might go out and fetch her horse, which apparently she had hobbled and left nearby. Helewise had agreed, but only on the condition that she take a couple of lay brothers as escort. The horse — a beautiful bay mare — was now in the Hawkenlye stables.