Alys Clare: The Paths of the Air

Then she turned back to her monks and her nuns. Filled suddenly with gratitude, for there they all were, ready and eager to fight for the community and to defend its Abbess to the very best of their ability, she smiled lovingly at them.

‘Thank you, all of you,’ she said simply. ‘The Abbey is very lucky that such courageous and devoted men and women live within its walls. Now, go back to your beds. Soon it will be morning.’

They parted into two ranks and she walked between them. There were one or two mutterings of, ‘God bless you, my lady.’ Reining in her impulse to run after Josse — run after the strange, disturbing man who strode beside him — she walked sedately back into the Abbey.

She entered her room and firmly closed the door. The young man and Paradisa were locked tightly in each other’s arms and Josse was looking on with an indulgent smile. The brazier had been poked into life and several candles were burning.

‘So, what is this important matter that demands my attention before it is even light?’ she demanded, seating herself in her chair. John Damianos, she noticed — or was he really called Ralf? — had buried his face in Paradisa’s hair, but both Paradisa and Josse were staring at Helewise.

It was Paradisa who spoke.

‘I told you, my lady, that Thibault of Margat has followed Brother Ralf all this way not because of who he is but what he carries.’

‘You did, yes.’

‘In that satchel is a secret formula. It was Hisham’s great treasure. He has discovered the secret of how to make a deadly black powder that bursts into life when it is set on fire and which has a magical force to it, a special sort of energy that-’

‘There is nothing magical about it,’ Brother Ralf interrupted, his face still averted.

‘Well, it looks magic to me,’ Paradisa said. Holding the young man’s face in her hands, she looked into his eyes and said softly, ‘It’s evil, too. Don’t try to deny it. You could have been killed that time it blew up in your face and then I should have had to contemplate the awful prospect of life without you.’

It was a moment of deep intimacy. Helewise felt almost guilty for observing it.

‘So, the Hospitallers wished to relieve you of this formula and utilize it for their own purposes,’ she said briskly, ‘and the two Saracens were sent by their master to recover it and take it back to it to him. And the last of your pursuers simply wanted to return Paradisa to her betrothed husband. Is that right?’

‘Quite right, my lady,’ Paradisa said politely.

‘None of them is a threat any more,’ Josse said. ‘All except the two Hospitallers are dead.’

‘Dead,’ Helewise repeated. Then: ‘I understand the importance of this… thing. Those flashes and bangs just now were, I presume, a demonstration of what it can do?’

‘Aye.’ It was Josse who spoke.

‘But what I cannot understand,’ she went on, ‘is just why, Brother Ralf — John — you should have brought it here to England?’

Paradisa stepped a little apart from the young man. It was, Helewise thought vaguely, as if she knew that he must explain this alone…

His face still covered, he said, ‘I had to take it to a place of safety.’

‘Why not just destroy it?’ she demanded.

She sensed that he was smiling as he replied. ‘That is a good question, my lady. Because it is possible that if, against all my hope, Hisham manages to recreate the formula, he may give his secret to the Saracens. If that unthinkable event comes to pass, I would wish also to provide our side with this weapon.’

She nodded. It was a frightful thought. It was bad enough to think of one side having this awful thing, let alone both, but in a ghastly way it made a sort of sense. And, she thought, what do I or any woman truly know of warfare? A sudden image flashed through her mind of women… of one woman, a deity figure, loving, caring, nurturing… but then as swiftly it was gone.

She felt strangely disturbed and it was only with an effort that she remembered where and who she was and what had just happened.

‘But why bring this thing here?’ she asked again. ‘Surely there were other safe havens on the long road from Outremer?’

‘None that I could think of that was safer than Hawkenlye Abbey,’ the young man said.

It was an extraordinary answer. ‘You — you know about Hawkenlye?’ she asked faintly.

He threw back his hood and at last she saw his face. He was smiling. ‘I do,’ he said softly. ‘I also know its Abbess. There is no woman on earth that I trust more.’

She was up and out of her chair, brushing both Paradisa and Josse out of her way, although she registered a fleeting impression that both were smiling and neither seemed to mind. Then the young man was in her arms and she was clutching him to her as if she would never let him go. She felt his strong arms go around her to return the hard embrace. She reached up to kiss his wounded throat and, as he bent his head, put her lips to his cheek. Pulling away slightly, she stared at him. He was tanned by the sun and there were lines of maturity on his handsome face; its bones and its shape were those of a grown man now.

But she would have known him anywhere.

‘Dominic,’ she whispered, ‘oh, my Dominic!’

Then, turning to Josse, she said, ‘Dear, dear Josse; this is my son.’

21 December 1196

I t was not the traditional season for a wedding, but the young bride and bridegroom had waited quite long enough and it was high time that their union was formalized.

Dominic had asked his mother, and she had asked the priest, and Father Gilbert had said that little would give him greater pleasure than to perform, at Hawkenlye Abbey, the ceremony that would unite the Abbess’s younger son in matrimony with his radiant bride.

The wedding would take place on the shortest day of the year. To honour their beloved Abbess and show off the Abbey to the very best of their abilities, the nuns, the monks and the lay brothers threw themselves into the preparations. The news spread swiftly that Abbess Helewise’s son was home again after countless decades bravely fighting the Infidel in Outremer — it was only eleven years, but wild exaggeration spiced up a tale — and many people made up their minds to go to the Abbey and show their respect for its Abbess by cheering the young couple and wishing them well.

It was just as well that the Abbey could accommodate a crowd.

Helewise had ordered Dominic to face Thibault of Margat with the truth. Together mother and son went to see the Hospitaller, who, although slowly recovering, was still very unwell, and Dominic explained that he was going to entrust the formula to the safest place on earth. Thibault might have guessed where that was. He made a desultory attempt to question Dominic but soon gave up.

Looking at him with deep compassion, Helewise realized that the fight had leaked out of him. The single-minded, fierce and powerful man had gone, perhaps burned away in the fire that almost killed him and forced upon him this agonizing convalescence. He had been dosed and dosed again with Sister Tiphaine’s potions, wielded with a determined hand by Sister Euphemia. Their strength might be diminishing but the quantity that Thibault had consumed must now be considerable. And, as both the herbalist and the infirmarer often pointed out, you just did not know what else a powerful remedy did besides relieve pain.

Helewise studied Thibault as he looked up at the young man whose footsteps he had dogged so far and for so long. With a faint smile he said, ‘This thing… It is too powerful. I have seen what the lust for it will make men do and I’ve had enough of it all.’ He sighed. ‘I will not see Outremer again, for I shall never now voyage so far. When Brother Otto and I are able to travel, we shall go to Clerkenwell. I shall request a private meeting with the Grand Master and I shall report that the formula is gone.’