Ashes of the Elements

Chapter Sixteen

His head flew up. Staring around him, trying to peer into the gloom beneath the trees, at first he couldn’t see anybody.

Then she was there. It was like that: one moment he could see nothing but the trunks of the trees and the tangling undergrowth, then, like an apparition, suddenly a figure was standing there.

His head felt muzzy. Josse didn’t really know if he was awake or dreaming.

The robed figure moved closer, seeming to float as if she rode on a cushioning cloud of sweet-smelling smoke. Leaning over Josse and Helewise, her long silver hair brushed against his face. She smelt as sweetly as the smoke. Of flowers, and fresh green things.

A long-fingered hand stretched out, touched the Abbess’s cheek, was laid flat across her forehead. ‘She is injured,’ a calm voice said.

‘She hit her head,’ Josse said, his own voice sounding strangely distant. ‘As we ran in under the trees, she banged her forehead on a branch.’

No answer.

The robed figure had vanished. Then, some time later, she came back. He knew she was coming because she held a light in her hand, and it was the light that he saw.

She held it out to him.

‘Make a fire,’ the voice intoned. ‘It is forbidden here in the forest, except by my decree, but, for this need, I allow it. Keep the woman warm.’

She was, Josse noticed then, carrying something in her other hand: it was his pack. He must have left it by the smaller grove, where they had witnessed that incredible ceremony. The light from her flare caught a glitter of response from the pack, and he remembered pinning his talisman on the pack’s flap, before he and the Abbess had set out.

He said, having to force out the words as if his mouth were full of wool, ‘Thank you, lady.’

The woman stood staring down at him for a few moments. Then she said, ‘I am Domina.’

Watching her float off across the clearing and disappear away under the trees, Josse thought absently that he would bet money on ‘Domina’ being as much a title as ‘Abbess’.

* * *

The moon had set.

In the utter darkness of the pre-dawn, the temperature went down sharply.

And Josse gave thanks all over again to Domina, and her fire.

* * *

Left alone with the unconscious Abbess, Josse had hastened to make some sort of shelter for her; clearly, there was no question of trying to move her very far until she awoke. If that had not happened by daylight, then Josse would have to think about leaving her there in the deep forest and going for help.

It was a disturbing thought.

Using the Domina’s flare, he went in under the trees and, in the thick bracken, found a shallow dell with an earth bank at its back, overhung with hazel and holly trees. Stamping down the green fronds of bracken, he took one of the blankets out of his pack and laid it down, putting the other one ready beside it. Then he went back for the Abbess.

Had he been fully himself, then he probably wouldn’t have found carrying her the short distance to the shelter such a task. As it was, he still felt sick and dizzy, and the exertion of carrying a well-built woman a dozen or so paces almost made him black out.

As he was settling her, trying to arrange her habit around her legs so as to keep her warm before tucking the blanket round her, he wondered briefly why he felt so ill.

But then he remembered the wound on her forehead, and, in the rush of anxiety which that recollection brought, the thought went out of his mind.

He rammed the flare into the crook made where a low branch of the hazel tree met its trunk, and, by its steady light, bent down to examine the Abbess’s head. There was a wash of blood over her eyebrows now, and a thin trail had run into her right eye. Through the fuzz in his brain he thought: water. I need water to bathe her face.

It took him quite a long time to remember that he had put a flask of fresh water in his pack.

He needed a cloth of some sort, preferably clean … Rummaging in the pack, he came across the dagger which he had hidden away right at the bottom, wrapped in a square of linen. The cloth was not all that clean, but it would serve. It would have to.

He washed her eyes and her forehead, noticing with dismay that the blood had turned the stiff, pristine white of her linen headdress to scarlet.

I must see the wound, he decided. Hesitantly he pushed back the black veil, and untied the tapes which fastened the linen cap covering her head and her forehead, experiencing as he did so the shameful sensation that he was violating her. But I must, he told himself firmly, because the wound might still be bleeding, and, if so, I need to staunch the flow before-

Before what?

He decided it was better for his peace of mind not to dwell on that.

The wimple was tied at the top of her head, the ties normally sitting beneath the headdress. With that last item removed, the Abbess was bareheaded, and at last Josse could see her injury.

There was a huge bruise on the left side of her forehead, starting just under the hairline and extending almost to her eyebrow. In the centre of the bruise — which had swelled up to the size of a child’s fist — was a deep cut, the length of the top pad of his thumb. Blood was slowly welling out of it.

He wiped away the steadily seeping blood, then squeezed out his cloth until it was as clean as he could make it. He tore a long strip off one edge, folding the rest into a pad; he pressed the pad against the wound, and tied it firmly in place with the strip of cloth.

He said softly out loud, ‘That, my dear Helewise, is the best I can do for you.’

He looked down at her, frowning. Was it his imagination, or was she even paler? Perhaps it was just that her face seemed more pale, now that it was framed by her hair and not by the black veil on top of the white linen band and wimple.

Her hair, he noted absently, was reddish-gold, cut short and curling round her face, a little grey at the temples. The skin of her neck and throat, normally hidden beneath her wimple, was smooth and unlined; somehow, seeing her like this, he thought she seemed younger …

Looking down at her when she could not return his gaze was making him uneasy. And besides, he thought, he could be of more use to her than merely standing there gawping with his mouth open. He could, for example, do something about trying to warm her.

He made a swift search for dry and well-seasoned kindling and firewood — both of which were abundant in these wild, uninhabited depths of the forest — and, touching the Domina’s flare to the base of his fire, he soon had a small but intense blaze going. He put a stack of branches within reach beside it. Then, having stared at the still-unconscious Abbess for some moments, he gently turned her on to her right side, the front of her body to the fire, and lay down behind her.

She was well wrapped-up, in her own clothes and, outside them, the blanket; there must be, he was sure, a good four or five layers of various materials between her body and his. Nevertheless, he felt that he was committing a sin.

‘I’ve got to keep her warm,’ he said aloud to nobody in particular. ‘I’m doing it the best way that I can, by building the fire and by the heat of my own body. But I-’

What? But I swear I’m not enjoying it?

He grinned into the darkness. Well, perhaps he was, just a little.

Putting his arm round her waist and drawing her towards him, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. Even if he couldn’t sleep, at least he could rest, try to build up some reserves of strength.

Whatever happened, he was probably going to need them.

* * *

Helewise was dreaming.

She was young again, dressed in a flowing silk gown of sunshine yellow, and someone had put a garland of flowers on her hair. It was too tight, biting into her forehead and making her head ache. But there was singing and dancing, and she was sitting on a grassy bank beneath a vast, spreading willow tree, and her sons, both babies together, were at her breast. She was plump with milk, breasts running with it, abundant, earthy. Then Ivo was there, smiling his joy, kissing her, calling her his Flora, his Queen of the May, and she was laughing too, telling him that she could only be Queen of the May for a day, for then she must return to the Abbey.

And, in the instant way of dreams, she was back in Hawkenlye Abbey, kneeling at the altar in the Abbey church, eyes closed, hands folded as she prayed, and Sister Euphemia was plucking at her sleeve and saying, Abbess, Abbess, what has become of your habit? Looking down at herself, she saw she was still wearing the yellow silk. And the garland of flowers, heavy on her brow, was making her headache worse …

Helewise opened her eyes.

She lay quite still, trying to work out where she was. It was dark, and, judging from the smell — of earth and greenery — and from the cold, she guessed she was out of doors. In front of her were the remains of a small fire, little more than glowing embers now, although there was a neat pile of branches beside the fire. It could be rekindled quite easily, she thought dreamily.

Her head gave a throb, and she put up her hand to ease the pain. There seemed to be something tied around her brow.

And where was her veil? Her headband? Her wimple?

Her movement had disturbed Ivo, who gave a grunt and wriggled himself into a more comfortable position. He was lovely and warm; she pressed her buttocks into the crook of his body and revelled in the comfort of him, dear old Ivo, and-

Hurled into shocked wakefulness, she remembered. Ivo was dead, dead and buried years ago! Oh, dear God, then who was she cuddling up to?

And, equally important, where was she?

She made herself stop panicking, and thought back.

And, soon, saw again that incredible scene in the clearing. Remembered running, running, as fast as she could, and remembered being sick. Feeling so ill, so dizzy.

Remembered Josse.

I must have hurt myself, she decided. And Josse, bless him, has looked after me. Tended me — she fingered the pad pressed to what seemed to be the source of the pain on her forehead — and lit a fire. Wrapped me up, Lain down beside me to keep me warm.

It was, she knew, exactly the right thing, in cases of injury. Keep the patient warm.

Well, he’d done that, all right. And the sudden hot blood she could feel rushing to her face was merely a side-effect of how warm the rest of her was. Wasn’t it?

She let her eyes roam across the scene before her. The greyish light was growing — it must be a little after dawn — and she could make out the big clearing with the two fallen oak trees. She and Josse appeared to be lying on a bed of bracken, in a little hollow in the undergrowth.

Oh, dear.

She must have moved again, for she knew suddenly that she had woken him up. His body against hers had been relaxed in sleep, and now there was a tension in him.

What on earth, she wondered, do we say to one another?

It was he who broke the awkward silence. In a surprisingly normal tone, he said, ‘Good morning, Abbess. How do you feel?’

‘My head hurts,’ she confessed.

‘I’m not surprised. You ran full tilt into an oak tree.’

‘Oh.’

He was, she noticed, lying absolutely still, as if any movement would make an embarrassing situation even worse. Despite herself, she had to suppress a smile.

‘I needed to keep you warm,’ he said in a rush. ‘I’m sorry, but it — this — lying behind you like this — was the best I could think of.’

‘I understand.’

She felt him raise himself on an elbow, and then he was looking down at her, anxious face looming above hers. ‘You’re still pale,’ he said.

‘Mm.’ There was something slightly odd about him, too. She studied him for a few moments, then said gravely, ‘Your eyes are funny.’

‘Funny?’

‘The black bits — what do you call them?’ She couldn’t for the life of her think of the word.

‘Pupils?’

‘Pupils. Thank you. Your pupils are huge. So big that there’s hardly any brown round the edges.’

He leaned closer to her, eyes fixed to hers. ‘So are yours,’ he said.

Then, as if the discovery had exhausted him, he lay down again.

After quite some time she said, ‘I think we’ve been drugged.’

‘I think so, too. I was just putting it all together, the dizziness, the sickness, and I don’t know about you but I’ve been having the most incredibly vivid-’

‘Dreams?’

‘Dreams.’ She could hear that he was smiling.

‘What was it, do you think?’ she asked. ‘The drug. Something in the smoke?’

‘I imagine so. That — that ceremony which we saw seemed to employ some fairly sophisticated potions and herbal concoctions.’

‘Mm.’ She hadn’t wanted to be reminded of the ceremony.

He gave a great yawn, then said, ‘Sorry. I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.’

She, too, was sleepy. ‘Nor I.’

He said tentatively, ‘Shall we try to sleep again? For an hour or two, at least, until the sun rises and begins to warm the air?’

‘Yes.’ Absently she snuggled her hips against him, cradling her cheek on her hand. ‘Good night,’ she said, already dozy.

He muttered something. She heard the word ‘chastity’.

‘What was that?’ she said sharply.

‘Oh. Er — nothing.’

‘Josse?’

‘I said, whatever happened to the nun’s vow of chastity?’ he said.

She should have been angry, affronted, but for some reason she actually wanted to laugh. Controlling the urge, she said crushingly, ‘And who, may I ask, said anything about being unchaste?’ He began to make an apology, but she cut him off. ‘Sir Knight, do not presume!’

‘Abbess, please, do not take offence, I merely-’

But she was laughing now, and he, pressed so close to her, must realise it. She said, ‘It’s all right. I was teasing.’

‘So was I,’ he murmured.

She closed her eyes. ‘I was a wife before ever I was a nun,’ she said drowsily.

‘Were you?’

‘Yes.’ She yawned, so widely that it made her eyes water. ‘What I remember with the most fondness is not the passion of the marriage bed, but the comfort.’ She wriggled again, settling into sleep. ‘And,’ she added in a murmur, ‘the companionship.’

He said something, but she didn’t hear. She was already asleep.