Heart of Ice

Chapter 20

Gervase de Gifford, thrilled because his trap had worked and he had the killer in his hands, at first did not take in just how sick the man was.

Summoning the four guards from the courtyard, he gave orders for his prisoner to be manacled and chained to the heavy iron ring set in the wall. The guards took the drooping form of the dark-clad stranger and dragged him away.

De Gifford went straight to the small door leading off the passage between his hall and the kitchen area. It opened on to steps down to the undercroft and was covered by a heavy woollen hanging; a wicked draught came up from the dank cellar below in all but the warmest weather. De Gifford took out a key, inserted it in the lock and turned it. He opened the stout door and called out, ‘We have him. It is safe to come up now.’

Sabin and Benoit de Retz, the latter shivering inside his cloak and blanket and complaining steadily and vociferously not quite far enough under his breath, came up the short flight of steps and emerged into the passage. Sabin was holding the old man’s hand, guiding his footsteps where necessary. De Gifford noticed in passing that she had a cobweb in her hair and a dark, smutty smudge on her cheek but, in his eyes, neither did anything to mar her beauty.

‘Your ruse worked?’ she said quietly. ‘He thought the straw sack was me and-’ She paused, swallowed and managed to continue, ‘-and he attacked?’

De Gifford frowned. ‘He entered the chamber and approached the bed, yes, for I watched from the top of the stairs. But, my lady, I cannot say that he attacked the shape that he surely believed to be you, for in truth he did not.’

Benoit gave a snort of impatience. ‘He must have guessed that it was not Sabin asleep in the bed!’ he exclaimed.

De Gifford considered this. ‘No,’ he said eventually, ‘I do not think that is the answer.’

‘And why not?’ Benoit demanded.

‘Because of his demeanour,’ de Gifford replied. ‘Had he seen through the trick and realised that his intent had been foiled, then I should have thought he would be furious. He might have thrown back the bed covers to make sure, then possibly thrust a knife into the sack to vent his anger. I am sorry, my lady.’ He had noticed Sabin’s shudder of horror. Hastening on, he said, ‘In fact he did not even have a close look in the bed. He simply stood staring down at the shape lying in it, then, after some time, turned and quietly stepped away. I had scarce enough time to race back down the stairs before he came out of the chamber, slid down the steps and collapsed at my feet.’

‘He fell?’ Benoit asked.

‘I believe so,’ de Gifford agreed. ‘I think he must have injured himself in some way in falling for, when he felt me grab at him, instead of resisting he seemed to sink into my arms.’

‘I should like to see him,’ Sabin announced.

De Gifford looked at her. ‘Is that wise?’ he asked. ‘He is a violent man and-’

‘He tried to kill Grandfather and me in Troyes,’ she flashed back. ‘It is almost certain that he came here tonight to achieve the task in which he previously failed. Would you not want to look your killer in the face, given the chance?’

‘My lady, I am responsible for your safety,’ de Gifford insisted. ‘I do not think that-’

Benoit chuckled. ‘You’re wasting your breath, sheriff,’ he said. ‘Once Sabin has made up her mind on something, she’s like a terrier with a rat.’

De Gifford and Sabin stood eye to eye. Hers were steely blue and hard with resolve. ‘Well, I suppose it is perfectly safe now that he is in chains,’ he murmured.

Sabin smiled at him and the change in her was startling. ‘Thank you,’ she breathed. Then, sweeping up her long skirts, she strode off down the passage, across the hall and out into the courtyard. De Gifford quickly set off after her but a plaintive cry from Benoit — ‘Oi! Just you come back and help me! I’m blind, you know!’ — called him back.

By the time he and the old man reached the courtyard, the four guards were standing a few paces off, all looking slightly shamefaced, and Sabin was on her knees beside the huddled form of the prisoner.

Before de Gifford could say a word she turned, glared up at him and said, ‘This man is very sick! He has a dangerously high fever and he is in agony. You must remove the shackles and take him somewhere where he can be cared for properly.’

‘But-’ de Gifford began.

Again, Benoit interrupted him. ‘What a short memory, sheriff,’ he observed. ‘What was I just telling you? This man might have been set on killing us as we slept but he’s sick and my granddaughter is a born healer. She will not stand aside and see someone suffer, even one such as he.’

Cursing her for her stubbornness, de Gifford thought hard. If the prisoner was truly that sick, then to throw him in gaol would likely finish him off. And, the fair-minded Gervase told himself, there is as yet no real evidence that he has committed any crime. Somebody tried to kill Sabin and Benoit in the Troyes lodging house — unless the fire was in fact no more than an accident, which is quite possible given the normal urban overcrowding and people’s inherent carelessness with fires and torches and the like — and somebody killed both the Hastings merchant and Nicol Romley. This man came here tonight and I believe that his intention was to curtail the spread of this dangerous secret by silencing Sabin and her grandfather. Yet, when he had the chance to attack the body in the bed, he did not.

In short, he concluded, as yet I cannot prove that my prisoner has done anything worse than to break into my house. If that is the sum of his crimes, then I have no business signing his death warrant by refusing him healing care.

‘Very well,’ he said curtly. ‘Prepare a cart,’ he ordered, turning to the guards, ‘wrap the prisoner warmly and put him on it. We’ll take him up to Hawkenlye.’

‘Should we chain him?’ one of the guards asked.

De Gifford glanced at Sabin. Then, answering the guard, he said, ‘Manacle one wrist and fasten the end of the chain to the cart.’

Sabin rewarded him with another dazzling smile.

When the small procession was ready to set out, Sabin presented herself at de Gifford’s side. ‘I shall fetch my mare,’ she said, ‘and accompany you.’

But this time — for he had guessed she would want to go up to Hawkenlye with him — he was ready with an answer.

Taking hold of her gloved hands, he looked down into her eyes and said, ‘Please, lady, no. For one thing, your grandfather is chilled and miserable and surely needs your attentions. For another, we shall wait only to deliver our prisoner into the hands of those who will tend him. I will leave two of my men on guard and then I shall come straight back.’ Improvising but guessing he had it right, he added, ‘They do not allow anyone into the infirmary unless there is no choice so you would not be able to stay with him. And I shall leave instructions that I am to be informed the moment he is capable of talking to me. Believe me, I am almost as anxious as you to hear what account he will give of himself.’

Her eyes steady on his, she said, ‘May I come with you then, when you question him?’ Sorrow crossing her face, she whispered, ‘I do need to know about Nicol, you see. I have to — that is, until I know what became of him, his memory keeps me from proceeding with my life.’

‘I understand,’ he said gently, although he was not entirely sure that he did. ‘You have my word, lady. When — or perhaps if — I am able to ask the man to explain himself, I shall do my utmost to make sure you are with me.’

She bowed. ‘Thank you.’ Then she disengaged her hand, stepped back and walked back into the house.

It was long after midnight; the dead hours of the night that hold sway before dawn.

The Abbess had all but slipped away.

Earlier — some time late the previous evening — Father Gilbert had stood over her pleading with God to forgive her her sins and explaining that she would of course have confessed them and humbly asked for his indulgence, only she could not speak.

Now Josse sat alone on a bench outside the Vale infirmary. He had begged and begged to be allowed to see her — ‘You let Father Gilbert in!’ he had shouted at the infirmarer — but Sister Euphemia was adamant and would not break her rule, even for him. Especially for him, she had thought, for when the Abbess goes, we shall have need of his strength while we learn how to manage without her.

The moon had come up and the night was bright. All was quiet.

It seemed to Josse, half out of his mind with mental fatigue, physical exhaustion and grief, that he was aware of her soul hovering somewhere near. Turning his head as if trying to catch some faint essence of her through eyes or ears, it seemed to him that he felt her light touch on his shoulder.

He spun round so fast that he felt dizzy.

Sister Tiphaine stood over him. She said, ‘Sir Josse, there is something that I must tell you.’

‘She’s dead?’ He could hardly get the words out.

‘No, but death is very close.’ Tiphaine sat down beside him. ‘You are aware of this new draught that we have been giving to the patients?’

‘Aye, and you’ve been using the Eye of Jerusalem to prepare it. I already know, Sister, and you’re welcome to the jewel. It’s done her no good,’ he added bitterly.

‘No,’ Tiphaine agreed, ‘although you may be pleased to know that after drinking it, several others have been brought back from the brink.’

Josse supposed he should be glad for those others but, try as he might, he could not manage the charity. As if she knew this and shared his thought, Tiphaine reached out and took his hand. ‘I know,’ she murmured.

After a time she said, ‘It was not in fact our use of the Eye that I wished to discuss with you.’

‘No? What else, then?’ He could not imagine — and didn’t much care — but it was only polite to ask.

Tiphaine took a breath, then said, ‘Sister Caliste and I have had some help this time in our use of the stone. We have been into the forest and fetched Joanna.’

Joanna.

Amid the swirling emotions of that endless night, here was yet one more.

‘And precisely why are you telling me this, Sister?’ His voice emerged sounding far angrier than he intended. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

She squeezed his hand. ‘I am telling you because she has become a very powerful healer. I wondered what you might think if I suggested we — you and I — went to find her and asked her if she would come to see what she could do for our lady Abbess.’

At first Josse could find no words with which to reply. Then he said, ‘Is she willing?’

‘I have not yet put the question to her,’ Tiphaine replied. Then, with a small smile: ‘I thought the request might have more chance if it were you that made it.’

Josse managed an even smaller smile in response. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, getting to his feet.

He found that, as he and Sister Tiphaine approached the forest fringes, he was holding his breath.

‘Do you know where she is?’ he said in a very audible whisper to the herbalist. ‘Will we be able to find her hut in the darkness?’

Sister Tiphaine did not reply. Half turning, Josse saw that she had stopped a few paces behind him so that, beneath the first great oaks of the forest, he stood alone.

He seemed to know what was required. His heart hammering, he strode on.

There was a narrow clearing some dozen paces within the forest where the undergrowth was thin and where low hazel trees were interspersed with holly. As Josse stepped into it she emerged right in front of him. In the moonlight shining down on the clearing, he could see her quite plainly.

He stared at her.

She was Joanna, of course she was. But oh, how she had changed!

He stood and drank her in, from the glossy brown hair above the high forehead to the feet in their gold-clasped sandals. The wide folds of the cloak that she wore disguised her body but he had the overriding sense that she looked. . stronger, was the only way to describe it.

Her face had a new serenity that enhanced her strange beauty. The eyes, dark under the arching brows, were fixed on his and, as he stared at her, she gave him a smile.

‘Hello, Josse.’

‘Joanna, you look-’ He shrugged, grinning. ‘I can’t begin to describe it.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she said kindly, ‘I think I know what you are trying to say.’

‘What’s happened to you?’ he burst out. ‘Where have you been and what have you been doing? Tiphaine says you’re a great healer now?’ He could not prevent the remark turning into a question; he wondered if she knew how much hung upon her answer.

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘It is true that healing is my destiny and I have already put my feet upon the long path that will allow my powers to emerge.’ Observing his puzzled look, she laughed softly. ‘Josse, I apologise — in short, the answer is, yes, I am a healer. Of sorts.’

‘You have been taught by — er — by your own people?’

‘My own people,’ she repeated, half under her breath. Then, again picking up that he was not following her, said, ‘Yes, that’s right. I have been far afield, Josse, and I have seen sights that have frightened, inspired and greatly affected me.’

He wanted more than anything to ask if she was prepared to try to help heal the Abbess, but somehow it did not seem diplomatic, on seeing a former lover for the first time in two years, to ask almost immediately if she would go with him to help another woman.

But the other woman is the Abbess, he told himself firmly. He opened his mouth to speak but Joanna got in first.

‘Of course I will come, Josse,’ she said.

He glanced back at Sister Tiphaine; the herbalist was no more that a vague dark shadow, some distance away. ‘Has she already asked you, then?’ he demanded. ‘She said not, she-’

‘No, Tiphaine has not spoken. I read it in your mind, dear Josse.’

‘You — is that the sort of thing they’ve been teaching you?’ Even to his own ears, he sounded like a shocked and prissy old woman.

Now she was laughing and, despite everything, he found himself joining in. It was impossible not to: she carried a joy in her that was irresistible. ‘Anyone could pick up what preoccupies you at the moment,’ she told him, ‘especially one who was aware of your deep love of the Abbess Helewise.’

‘I don’t-’ he began. But why deny it when it was true? Saying the first thing that came into his head, he asked, ‘Do you mind?’

‘That you love her? Josse, why should I?’ Joanna sounded genuinely puzzled.

Trying to set aside the bewildering swirl of emotions that the brief exchange had sparked off, Josse spun round, said, ‘Let’s be away to her, then,’ and stomped off out of the forest.

He was quite sure that he heard Joanna’s soft laughter behind him.

Marching along behind Josse’s broad shape — Sister Tiphaine was trotting at his side — Joanna tried to overcome her surprise at what the reunion with him had done to her. Ever since she had realised that the meeting was inevitable — Tiphaine had told her that the Abbess was dying and she had known Josse would come, sooner or later — she had been dreading it.

Now, most of her mind already thinking ahead and seeking out the Abbess’s spirit in order to try to call her back, Joanna reflected briefly that, while she had known she still loved him, she had never expected the surge of sheer happiness that his appearance in the clearing had given her.

But it was no time to think of herself or of him; she had a job to do and she knew it was going to be a tough one. Sending out a fleeting thought to Meggie — the child had been taken home to the hut by Lora, who would look after her until Joanna returned, whenever that might be — she turned her thoughts to what lay ahead.

They must have realised that she worked alone. The large nun with the kind eyes showed her to the recess at the end of the ward and then, with the curtain pulled behind her, it was just the Abbess and Joanna.

Joanna studied the statue-still figure lying on the narrow cot, taking in the visual signs. The prospect of bringing this woman back from where she now was seemed all but impossible; the Abbess was burning hot, deadly pale and the infrequent, shallow little breaths barely lifted the chest beneath the white sheet.

Joanna stood quite still and closed her eyes. She concentrated on her breathing, turning her full attention to each deep intake and outlet of air. She felt them come to her almost instantly, as if they knew her need and were just waiting for the chance to join her.

You are a channel, they had told her. You do not heal; healing is bestowed through you. It is we who heal. Who are we? she had asked. We are the collective spirit of the people. We are the consciousness that was ancient even when the first stones were set up; the consciousness that awoke and greeted the first day. We are always here for those who seek us with the right mind; you have but to learn what that mind is and how to achieve it.

Joanna had spent a year doing just that. She was a rank beginner, she well knew it; a green sapling among mature, majestic oaks, birch and beech. She had undergone the exacting, alarming and sometimes downright painful initiations; she had experienced her first spirit journey. She had the supreme soul friend in the Domina and this was, Joanna was well aware, an important factor in having achieved the progress she had managed.

Now, standing in the recess where the Abbess lay dying, Joanna drew on all that she had been taught and sent out a silent cry to the spirits clustering around her to help her find the swiftly receding soul and try to bring it back.

She did not know how long she stood there; time as a phenomenon of the earth ceased once she had entered the trance state and walked with the spirits. Presently she saw that she was in a little hollow beside a stream; it was a lovely place, bright and shining with spring greenery and with the scent of growing things on the soft air. Helewise sat before her on a narrow strip of sandy shore that formed a beach by fast-rushing, shallow water.

Joanna sat down beside her.

‘Helewise,’ she said after a while, ‘you are on the brink of passing from this world on to another.’

‘Yes.’ Helewise sounded dazed. ‘I guessed that might be the case.’

‘Are you sure that you truly wish to go?’ Joanna kept her voice low, hypnotic; nothing in that dream-like place was loud or discordant.

Helewise considered. ‘I thought I saw Ivo waiting for me,’ she murmured. ‘This is where he and I first met. Where, not very long afterwards, my first son was conceived.’ She laughed, a sound of such happy remembered joy that it touched Joanna’s heart.

‘Will you go on to him now?’ she asked.

Helewise hesitated. ‘I — a part of me is so tired and in such distress that I long to lie in his arms again and find my comfort in him, as once I did.’

‘But?’ Joanna prompted. She knew there was a but; there usually was.

‘But I feel that my road in this earth-’ She stopped, turning puzzled eyes to Joanna. ‘Are we still within this earth?’

Joanna smiled. ‘Our bodies certainly are. As for our spirits. .’ She shrugged.

Helewise appeared to accept that. ‘My road on earth goes on,’ she said simply. ‘I can see it sometimes if I try not to look, if you see what I mean.’

‘I do,’ Joanna assured her. ‘What is on your road? Can you see?’

Helewise broke into a lovely smile. ‘Oh, very many things! My son and his wife are there. . my grandson Timus. . Oh! And a baby girl too and she’s called Little Helewise! Isn’t that delightful? And. . yes, there’s my younger son and his skin is so deeply tanned — whatever has he been doing? There is a look about him that I. . And there’s- Oh!’ The last vision, whatever it was, affected her very much.

‘What is it?’

But Helewise turned to her, still with that happy smile, and said, ‘I will not tell you, if you don’t mind.’

Joanna could have been mistaken but she thought there was a slight emphasis on you; as if Helewise were saying, anyone else I might tell, but not you.

‘What is your decision?’ Joanna asked. ‘Will you go on or will you let me help you return?’

For a long time Helewise did not speak. She sat there smiling, face turned up to the sun so that brightness shone on her, from her; as if some wonderful, blessed light beamed down and she felt its power and its benevolence.

Eventually she said simply, ‘I would like to go back, please.’

Joanna swayed on her feet as the healing force of her people surged through her and out through her hands, extended over the Abbess, and into the dying body. The power came in waves; one at the start was so strong that she felt as if a great jolt had flowed through her, jerking her like a puppet dancing on its strings.

She heard them; sometimes she thought she could see them. They chanted — quietly, hypnotically, continuously — and they wore white. In their hands they held rods tipped with quartz that looked very like her own. But the mighty strength that came pulsing out from them was as far removed from anything she had yet achieved as a puddle is from an ocean.

Humbly, more aware than ever in her life of her smallness and her unimportance, Joanna stood and let them use her until they were done.

Much later — or was it only a matter of moments? — Joanna opened her eyes. Something had woken her; listening, she heard quiet sounds from the ward beyond the curtain — booted feet on the floor; the sound of a cot being dragged across the stone; hushed voices — and she wondered absently whether yet another victim had just been brought in.

She was bone weary, so exhausted that she could barely stand. The agonising headache that followed trance work was just beginning; like the distant sound of a hammer on an anvil, the thumping pain was faint as yet, although it carried within it the full menace of what it would soon become.

Instantly aware of her patient, she fell to her knees beside the still, pale figure in the bed, reaching out her hand to touch the one that lay like a marble sculpture on the bedcovers.

The Abbess was breathing deeply. She was relaxed and her fever had gone down.

Joanna felt a painfully dry sob break from her. Pressing her face into the bed, she suppressed it. Then, looking up at the Abbess’s face, she whispered, ‘I think you chose right, Helewise. Welcome back.’

Then she got to her feet and, trying to straighten her back and walk like the woman of her people that she was, she pushed the curtain aside and walked out into the ward. The big nun stepped forward, her terrible anxiety evident in the very way she stood, straining forward, and the pain in her eyes shot out to Joanna as if she had loosed an arrow into her heart.

‘She is a little better,’ Joanna whispered. The pounding in her head was growing to a cacophony of agony. Gasping as she tried to control it, she reached into her leather satchel and extracted a small flask. It contained water in which Meggie had held the Eye; the jewel had had a longer contact with this particular water and Joanna hoped that it was correspondingly more potent. ‘Give her some of this as soon as she is able to swallow,’ she told the big nun. ‘I think — I am sure — it will help.’

The nun was watching her with the professional eyes of another healer and Joanna knew she could read the pain. ‘You poor soul,’ the nun said gently. ‘Would you like to lie down awhile, dear? You look exhausted.’

Joanna managed a smile. ‘No, I would rather return to my own place.’

‘Want me to find someone to go with you and see you safely home?’

It was a kind offer but one that Joanna knew she must instantly reject, for the most likely candidate for the task was Josse and she really could not cope with Josse right now. ‘I shall be perfectly all right alone. Thank you,’ she added.

The nun caught her sleeve. ‘Will you come back and see how she does?’

Joanna tried to think what it would mean if she said yes but the pain and the deadly fatigue were interfering with her mind. She said yes anyway.

The big nun still had not finished with her. ‘There’s another patient just been brought in,’ she said quietly, nodding to a cot quite close to the curtained recess where the Abbess lay. ‘He’s near death and-’

‘I’m very sorry but I can’t do any more now,’ Joanna whispered.

‘I was not going to ask you to!’ the nun said. ‘Dear child, you’ve done more than enough already.’ Dear child. The sweet words touched Joanna’s heart. ‘I was just going to ask,’ the nun was saying, ‘whether we could spare him some drops of this.’ She held up the flask that Joanna had just given her.

‘Of course. Give it to him with my blessing.’ Even to herself, Joanna’s voice was sounding distant. If I remain here any longer, she thought, I’ll lose my last chance of getting back to the hut before I collapse.

With what she hoped was a dignified bow to the nun, she straightened her back, lifted her chin, strode out of the long ward and set off on the path that would take her home.