The Enchanter's Forest

Chapter 3

As he rode thoughtfully back to Hawkenlye Abbey, Josse tried to distract his thoughts from his reaction to the strange power of the bones by attempting to calculate just how much money Florian of Southfrith must be making out of his convincing and seductive new venture. There was the admission fee; he recalled the not inconsiderable sum of two silver half-pennies that had been extracted from him, although it was possible that those pleading extreme poverty might get in for less. How many visitors could there be in a day? Twenty? No, more, surely, for they had been arriving steadily throughout the time span of Josse’s approach, arrival and departure. Forty, then, and that estimate was surely on the low side. Even if every one gave just half a penny, that was twenty pennies. It would take a working man three weeks to make that much.

Then there was the food and drink that was on offer after the pilgrims had visited the tomb. Hot and thirsty after the journey, surely it would have taken either a strong will or an empty purse to resist the mugs of beer and the plates of bread, dried meat and cheese invitingly spread out. Josse had succumbed to temptation; he had been surprised to find the small beer pretty good, although the bread was hard and the meat had what looked like a maggot hole in it. His meal — served up by another of the strong-looking guards — had cost him another half-penny.

Assuming the same forty visitors, of whom perhaps thirty took refreshments, then that was another fifteen pennies. Some people clearly made use of the overnight accommodation; Josse had observed that one of the huts contained a pile of straw palliasses and a heap of blankets. Goodness only knew what the charge was for spending the night in Florian’s hut. And then there would probably be another half a penny for food and drink in the morning; people were reluctant to start a long walk with nothing in their bellies. Perhaps a penny for accommodation and breakfast? If only one family spent the night, that was at least another shilling a week.

Was there anything else? Josse thought it over. Oh, yes — the offerings. There had been a depression in the ground between the tomb and the refreshment tables, at the bottom of which a little spring welled up out of the earth. The stony bed of the spring had, by the time Josse passed by, been already covered with coins and with what had looked like pieces of jewellery and other small metal items such as pins and pocket knives. Doubtless people felt that Merlin would be more likely to answer their prayers if they gave him something and Florian was obviously encouraging them in this belief; Josse himself had been invited to leave his offering, although in fact he had not done so.

There was no way that he could accurately judge just what Florian was making each day. What was absolutely certain, however, was that it was a very great deal.

Keeping that fact at the forefront of his mind and pushing firmly aside the memory of how Merlin’s Tomb had affected him, Josse kicked the cob into a surprisingly sprightly canter and headed for the Abbey and the Abbess.

Helewise looked up from her work to see Josse standing in the open doorway. With a smile of welcome, she indicated the stool that she kept for visitors and invited him to sit down and tell her all about it.

She heard him out in silence, nodding occasionally. When he had finished, she said slowly, ‘Sir Josse, it is far, far worse than I feared, for the crowds whom you describe who queue up so patiently and so optimistically to view the tomb are clearly not to be deterred by reasoned argument. Even if we made a direct appeal — and, believe me, I have been contemplating such a move — I do not think that anyone is at present in a mood to leave the thrilling excitement and promise of the new for the unchanging reliability of Hawkenlye.’

He seemed to be on the point of speaking but appeared to change his mind; probably, she thought grimly, because, although he would like to protest, he knows I speak the truth. She thought for a while, did some mental calculations and then said, ‘If I reckon aright, this Florian of Southfrith must be making roughly twenty shillings a day.’ As the enormity of that sum struck her — why, a chaplain only earned twice that in a year! — she realised she must have made a mistake. ‘But that cannot be right,’ she added.

But Josse was nodding glumly. ‘No mistake, my lady. That’s what I worked out too. And, believe me, I was cautious in my estimates and so the likelihood is that he’s coining in a great deal more.’

‘He is surely unlikely to go on making so much,’ she said doubtfully. ‘As the proverb has it, a wonder lasts nine days, and then the puppy’s eyes are open.’

‘Hm.’

She had expected a more emphatic endorsement of her remark; had he not sat outside this very room only this morning and claimed firmly that the whole Merlin’s Tomb business was nothing but a hoax? ‘Sir Josse?’ she said enquiringly. ‘Do you not agree that people will soon tire of this new attraction and see it for the money-making scheme that it is?’

He met her eyes. ‘I am not so sure, my lady,’ he admitted.

‘Oh? How so?’

He cast his eyes around the room as if seeking inspiration. Then: ‘I expected to feel nothing or, if anything, disgust and contempt for a clever piece of dupery. Yet when I stood by the tomb looking down at those enormous bones-’ He broke off, shrugged and then said, ‘They give off a force. I felt as if I were in the presence of a great power that I did not understand.’

‘Josse! Oh, then there is something in all this and it is not just a fraud!’ She put her hand to her mouth, horrified by his admission. If he of all people had been so affected, then what of the more credulous? Oh, dear Lord, they would go from Merlin’s Tomb straight home to their towns, villages, hamlets and hovels, tell their family, friends and neighbours how wonderful it had been and in no time all those whom they told would be setting out too. The present steady stream of people would become a river, a torrent, a full-moon tide, and nobody would ever come near Hawkenlye again. .

With some effort, she made herself stop.

But Josse, dear Josse, must have seen the terrible vision that she saw. ‘My lady, do not despair,’ he said softly.

She managed a small smile. ‘I see very little reason not to.’

He had stood up and was pacing to and fro across her small room. His restless presence, as always, made it seem even smaller. ‘Florian of Southfrith must be made to stop,’ he announced.

‘But why?’ she demanded. ‘If there is a power in these bones, and if it is benign’ — she suddenly appreciated that this was quite a big if — ‘then what right have we to come between the people and a source of succour? Times continue to be hard, Sir Josse. It is but two years since everyone in the land had to give far more than they could afford in order to buy back our King. Yet what have they in exchange for their enforced generosity? King Richard stayed in England less than two months and then set off campaigning again and we have seen neither hide nor hair of him since. Purchasing the King’s freedom has cost the people dear and it will, I fear, take them a very long time to regain any sort of security. Some will never achieve it and will live in wretched poverty and miserable uncertainty until they die.’ She heard her voice rise with passion and took a moment to regain her composure. Then she said quietly, ‘If they find comfort and help in this Merlin’s Tomb, then should we try to stop it?’

‘If it is based on a fallacy then yes, indeed we should.’ Again, Josse did not sound as certain as she would have liked.

‘The crucial question being whether or not it is a fallacy,’ she murmured.

‘Aye.’ He gave a gusty sigh.

She thought for a while and then said, ‘Sir Josse, if these bones are not Merlin’s, then they have to be someone else’s.’ He smiled briefly at the simplicity of her argument but did not interrupt. ‘Then perhaps we should turn our efforts to discovering whose the bones are,’ she went on.

‘They’re very large,’ Josse put in. ‘The man in that grave would easily have stood head and chest above me, if not more.’

‘That much taller than you!’ She was shocked, for Josse was no midget.

‘Well, maybe not quite,’ he admitted.

‘Who on earth was he?’ she murmured wonderingly. She had always dismissed tales of giants as nothing more than fairy stories. To have the skeleton of one found not ten miles away was disturbing, to say the least. . ‘If it is true that Florian did not make this miraculous find on the forest fringe with its lead cross helpfully providing identity-’

‘I’ll stake my reputation that he didn’t,’ Josse said.

‘-then he must have found the skeleton somewhere else, manufactured the lead cross, dug a hole in the forest floor, lined it with stone and placed a slab in its base, then transported the bones. He would have had to wait a while for the grave to lose its air of raw newness-’

‘Not so long at this time of year,’ Josse put in. ‘In May and June everything grows so fast and signs of recent labour would soon have been covered up.’

‘Very well. Let us say he waited a few weeks. Then he chops down the trees to make his clearing, puts up fences and huts and then makes the announcement. You and I both know full well how news travels, especially when it concerns a miracle. All Florian would have to do was sit back and wait.’

Josse was frowning and she wondered if there was some point with which he wished to take issue. ‘Sir Josse?’

‘My lady, I was thinking of something prompted by the first part of your proposed account.’ He glared at her, although she knew his anger was not directed at her. ‘The trees,’ he said bluntly.

‘The trees?’ She tried to follow. Then light dawned. ‘Oh, I see. You are thinking of the forest people.’

‘Aye. We have seen in the past how they react to unnecessary felling of trees. I am thinking, my lady, that I would not wish to be in the shoes of the man who roused the wrath of the Domina.’

‘Neither would I,’ she agreed fervently.

There was a short silence in the little room. He, she imagined, was thinking the same as she. Who would be the first to put the thought into words?

It was Josse. ‘I should seek them out,’ he said slowly. ‘The forest people, I mean. I’ll go into the forest and try to locate one of them, and ask to be taken to her. The Domina,’ he added, as if he could have meant anyone else.

But he could, she suddenly realised: he could have meant Joanna.

Joanna lived in the Great Forest. She was one of the forest people and Helewise had good reason to know that her powers had been steadily growing until she too was a force to be feared. She also had reason to know that to speak of Joanna was difficult for Josse.

But speak of her she must.

‘Joanna too will be greatly disturbed by this intrusion,’ she said softly. ‘Should you, do you think, seek her out too?’

He turned pained eyes to her. ‘She is not always there to be sought out,’ he said. ‘Since I found out about Meggie, I have sometimes tried to. She said I might,’ he added, as if he needed to excuse his actions. Not to me, Helewise thought quickly. Why should a man not wish to see his natural child, and the woman who bore her?

‘You have tried to go and visit, but found her away from home?’ Helewise prompted.

‘Aye. Three times now, since that business with the Eye of Jerusalem.’

‘She saved my life, and that of others,’ Helewise observed. ‘I have never thanked her. Perhaps I ought to.’

Josse was watching her. ‘She’d probably be at home to you,’ he said roughly.

‘Oh, Josse, don’t-’ She could feel his pain and instantly wanted to comfort him. But she did not know how to. She bowed her head.

After some time she said, ‘I will go into the forest, with Sister Tiphaine as my guide.’ Sister Tiphaine was the herbalist; rumoured still to be part-pagan despite all the years she had spent as a nun, she was known to have contacts and friends among the Forest Folk. ‘We shall try to find the Domina and also perhaps Joanna, if she is there to be found, and speak to them concerning their views on Merlin’s Tomb. It may be that Hawkenlye and the Forest will unite in their opposition, and both be the stronger for having a powerful ally.’

He nodded slowly. ‘Aye. And it can surely do no harm to discover what they think.’ Tearing himself away with an obvious effort from thoughts of the forest and those who dwelt within it, he said, ‘As for me, I shall don my true identity and visit Florian’s home, then return to the wider area around the tomb. If it is as we conjecture and Florian has transported bones from elsewhere, then perhaps I shall be able to find out where he found them. If that fails, I shall consider approaching Florian himself to demand some explanations.’

She looked at him. ‘Be careful,’ she warned. ‘He is making a great deal of money and he will not be willing to discuss the whys and wherefores with anyone, even a well-armed knight such as yourself.’

‘I am a King’s man,’ he said with a hint of pride.

‘So you are but, on your own admission, Florian surrounds himself with bodyguards.’

‘Hm.’ He looked as if he would have preferred it if he had kept that fact to himself. ‘Very well, my lady. I shall be careful.’

‘I will pray for you,’ she said gently. ‘Once again, you take on a force that threatens the Abbey and, once again, we are in your debt.’

He grinned. ‘Don’t feel too much indebtedness until you know it’s warranted,’ he said. ‘I may achieve precisely nothing in my endeavours.’

‘That I doubt,’ she returned. ‘When will you set out?’

‘First light tomorrow.’ He stretched. ‘For now, I will reclaim my own clothes and return these garments to Sister Emanuel. Then I shall visit the monks in the Vale and ask them to provide me with some food and a bed for the night.’

He made a sketchy bow, headed for the door and was gone.

The next morning Helewise sought out Sister Tiphaine immediately after Tierce. She made her way around to the herb garden, where the neat rows of plants were growing abundantly under the June sunshine. Sweet, potent smells floated up to her and she breathed in deeply, enjoying the sensation as some of the plants’ power surged into her lungs.

The herbalist was standing inside her little hut. The door was propped open and the soft sound of Sister Tiphaine’s humming could be heard. It sounded more like a chant, as if the herbalist were making some incantation to empower whatever remedy she was working on. . Wisely, Helewise decided not to enquire.

‘Sister Tiphaine!’ she called out as she approached.

Abruptly the humming broke off. ‘My lady Abbess,’ Sister Tiphaine greeted her, wiping her hands on a spotless piece of white linen and coming to stand in the doorway.

‘Sister, I have to go into the forest,’ Helewise said without preamble — she was feeling quite apprehensive and the best way to deal with qualms was, in her experience, to ride straight at them — ‘and I need you to be my guide.’

‘Of course, my lady.’

‘It’s this wretched business of the new shrine.’

‘Merlin’s Tomb, they’re calling it.’ There was scorn in the herbalist’s tone.

‘Yes, indeed they are. Well, whether it is or not’ — she could have been mistaken but she thought she heard Sister Tiphaine mutter, ‘It’s not’ — ‘it is giving us a very great problem because it is diverting the pilgrims who would otherwise come here. Since a large part of the reason for our very existence is to care for those who come to take our healing waters, this is not a situation that I wish to see continue for any longer than can be helped.’ She realised that she was sounding pompous. Looking straight into Sister Tiphaine’s deep eyes, she said simply, ‘For their own reasons, the forest people must be equally distressed at this intrusion. It is my hope that I might meet the Domina and discuss our position. Can you — will you — help?’

Sister Tiphaine did not answer for a few moments. Then she said, ‘My lady, you say our situation, yet I believe that the interests of Hawkenlye and of the Forest in this matter are not similar.’

‘That’s as may be,’ said Helewise with some impatience, ‘but I would guess that both parties would like to see an end to this Merlin’s Tomb.’

‘Indeed,’ Sister Tiphaine muttered. Then: ‘I will guide you through the forest, my lady. I cannot say whether we shall meet the Domina, although I feel sure that she is close.’ She frowned. ‘As you surmise, the violation that has been perpetrated by Florian of Southfrith deeply disturbs and distresses those who guard the sanctity of the trees.’

‘Quite.’ Helewise was surprised that Sister Tiphaine, who kept herself to herself and did not indulge in Abbey gossip, should know the name of the man behind the Merlin’s Tomb trickery. If, indeed, trickery was what it was. . Oh, what she would give to be absolutely sure! ‘Well, let us be on our way, then,’ she concluded briskly, ‘and you must do your best.’

Sister Tiphaine bowed. ‘Very well, my lady.’

Tiphaine led the way along the forest path, turning her head now and then to ensure that the Abbess was still close behind her. Although she had said she was not sure of being able to locate the Domina, in truth she was pretty certain that she could, for that Great One of the people was bound to be in the area. As Tiphaine had hinted to her superior, the Forest Folk had reacted furiously to what Florian had done. There was the question of the felled trees and the great swathe of raw ground where he had ordered his workmen to hack away the undergrowth; there were also those two crude fences and the tacky, badly built huts that would blow apart in the first strong wind and that probably already let in the rain.

Worse, far worse, was the skeleton now lying exposed in an open grave for no better reason than that an unscrupulous man wanted to make money. A great deal of money. The forest people — and Tiphaine herself was sufficiently tied to them to feel the same strong emotion — were carrying the fact of those huge disinterred bones like a permanent hurt, a growing pain that nagged and bit and refused to let go.

The Forest and the Abbey both would like to see an end to it, the Abbess had said. Oh, thought Tiphaine now, she does not know how truly she spoke!

They came to a wide clearing a mile or so within the forest. Tiphaine stopped, looking around and sniffing the air.

‘Where are we?’ the Abbess asked, coming to stand beside her. ‘I do not know this place.’

Tiphaine glanced at her. The Abbess, she knew, was no stranger to the forest; living so close beneath its shadow, she had had occasion more than once to enter deep within its mysterious interior when the interests of Abbey and Great Forest coincided.

As indeed they did now.

‘It is a place of meeting, my lady,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘Usually a watch is kept on this glade so that word may be passed on when someone comes here.’

‘You mean we’re being observed?’ The Abbess glanced around and Tiphaine felt her apprehension.

‘Aye, but not with any malicious intent. They know you, my lady, and respect you.’

‘Oh!’

Tiphaine hid a smile; one of the things that she most admired about her superior was her absence of grandeur. It was true that she could be prideful in small matters, but her evident surprise at being told she was held in esteem by the Forest Folk was typical of her. Abbess of a great foundation such as Hawkenlye she might be, but she did not expect everyone to fall on their knees and grovel at her feet because of it.

‘Shall we wait, my lady, and see what may happen?’ Tiphaine suggested.

‘Yes.’

They moved across to where a fallen log made a convenient bench seat — which in fact was exactly why it had been placed there — and made themselves comfortable. Tiphaine, happy to be out in the forest and breathing in its good air, closed her eyes in bliss. Then, remembering just who it was that sat beside her, she opened them again and looked at the Abbess. With amusement she observed that her superior had also closed her eyes and was sitting with her face turned up to the sun, apparently taking the same keen pleasure in her surroundings as Tiphaine. Relaxing, Tiphaine shut her eyes again and let the forest take her over.

Presently there was a small sound.

Tiphaine’s eyes shot open to see the grey-clad figure of the Domina standing before her. Instinctively she rose to her feet and, forgetting for a moment that other superior who sat beside her, made a reverence to the woman who was one of the Great Ones of the forest people.

To her surprised pleasure, the Abbess did the same.

The Domina extended her hands, briefly touching those of Tiphaine and the Abbess. Then, looking at the Abbess, she said, ‘I knew that you would come and I know why.’

‘I thought you would,’ the Abbess replied. ‘This business affects us at Hawkenlye badly, diverting as it does those seeking help and comfort and taking them instead to a place whose prime purpose is to separate them from their money. But you of the forest are affected far more grievously, for I am told that this Florian of Southfrith has felled trees and cleared ground in pursuit of his dishonest scheme.’

The Domina’s eyes were fixed on the Abbess. ‘The man Josse has visited the place,’ she stated.

‘Indeed. He went there yesterday,’ answered the Abbess.

The Domina nodded. ‘It is known.’

And was, Tiphaine thought, probably the reason why the Domina had expected a visit from the Abbess.

‘I assume I am right in believing that you and your people wish to see an end to this Merlin’s Tomb?’ the Abbess said.

‘Yes.’ The single word was uttered with quiet force. Then: ‘It is sacrilege.’

There was a pause. Tiphaine wondered if the Abbess had been about to ask the Domina to elucidate but, if so, then clearly she thought better of it. Instead she said, ‘What can we do?’

The Domina sighed. ‘There are many things that could be done and that may indeed be done,’ she said after a moment, ‘although whether they should be is another matter.’

‘You mean-’ But the Abbess broke off. With a faint smile, she said, ‘Better, I think, that we do not speak of such things.’

The Domina nodded. ‘Perhaps the most sure path would be to prove to the people who now flock to gape and wonder that these bones are not what Florian of Southfrith claims them to be.’

‘Yes,’ the Abbess said eagerly. ‘If there is a way of proving that Florian has brought in the bones from elsewhere and it’s not Merlin at all in the tomb, then they’ll all realise they’ve been duped.’ A smile spread over her face. ‘Perhaps they’ll demand their money back.’

‘Such an action would be only fair,’ the Domina agreed, ‘although success would, I fear, be unlikely.’

‘Quite.’ The Abbess frowned. ‘It might, however, be a matter for the Tonbridge sheriff if it could be proved that Florian was taking money fraudulently.’

The Domina gazed at her. Whatever profound thought was running through her head, Tiphaine, watching the two powerful women with close attention, could not guess. ‘The bones are not those of Merlin,’ the Domina said. ‘Be quite sure of that, Abbess Helewise.’

‘You. .’ The Abbess hesitated, as if reluctant to ask for further assurance. Then, squaring her shoulders — she was slightly taller than the Domina, Tiphaine noticed — she said, ‘I am sorry if I appear to doubt you, but I must ask how you can be so certain. If we are to press ahead with our plans to discredit Florian’s scheme, I have to be absolutely sure that we are acting fairly and honestly. Otherwise — if, that is, there is a possibility that the skeleton is that of Merlin and that the bones are therefore capable of working miracles — then it would be wrong to close down a source of comfort and relief when our people so badly need all the help they can get.’

For some time the Domina did not reply. Tiphaine, who knew rather more about what lay behind the affair than she had revealed to her Abbess, waited.

Eventually the Domina said, ‘They are not the bones of Merlin. If miracles have happened, then this may be because of people’s expectations.’ Tiphaine could detect the care with which she was choosing her words. The Domina continued, ‘For one such as Florian of Southfrith to make money out of the exposure of bones that he falsely claims are those of Merlin is not only cruelly dishonest; it is also dangerous, for there is a force in that place that has been desecrated with which it is folly to meddle. For both reasons he must be stopped.’

‘Dangerous?’ the Abbess echoed, and Tiphaine saw her eyes widen in alarm.

‘Be assured, Abbess Helewise,’ the Domina continued implacably, ‘that the entity known commonly as Merlin has nothing whatsoever to do with either the bones or the miracles.’

And with that, it appeared from the Domina’s demeanour, the Abbess was going to have to be content.

After some time the Abbess spoke. ‘How do we prove it?’

‘I believe,’ said the Domina, ‘that, as far as the people are concerned, it is a matter of proving that Merlin is in truth entombed elsewhere.’

‘Is he?’ demanded the Abbess.

‘They say so,’ replied the Domina enigmatically.

‘And his tomb is there for all to see?’ the Abbess pressed.

‘Oh, yes. I have seen the spot where they say Merlin lies entombed with my own eyes. There is a spring that bubbles out of the ground whose water is ever cool and sweet. Above it is a great slab of granite, shadowed by a thorn tree. It is told, is it not’ — she had fixed the Abbess with a penetrating stare — ‘that Nimu penned the enchanter up beneath a hawthorn tree?’ Before the Abbess could speak, the Domina pressed on, her voice now low, hypnotic. ‘There is a long white banner tied to the thorn bush and it floats and dances in the breeze. They come to worship and they scare themselves, daring one another to stamp on the great granite slab and then running wild in horror when the power is unleashed.’ There was a pause as the echoes of her dramatic voice faded and died. ‘But,’ she concluded in her normal tone, ‘they come to no lasting harm.’

‘And this — this place of which you speak, it is in truth the burial place of Merlin, magician to King Arthur?’ The Abbess pressed the point.

‘So they say, lady.’

‘Is it nearby?’

‘No.’

‘But it is possible to visit there?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then — then I should go and see for myself,’ the Abbess said decisively.

The Domina eyed her and Tiphaine thought she saw a certain admiration in the look. ‘It is far away and to go there necessitates a voyage over the sea,’ she warned. ‘You would be absent from your Abbey for considerably more than a matter of a few days, Helewise.’

‘Oh. I see.’ The Abbess’s face fell. ‘Then I shall ask another.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘One who I know will agree to accept the mission.’

‘You speak of Josse,’ the Domina commented.

‘Yes.’

The Domina nodded. ‘I believe that he is a wise choice,’ she agreed, ‘and I in my turn will propose a guide who will ensure that he reaches his destination safely.’ She was watching the Abbess closely; Tiphaine, who had a shrewd idea what was coming, thought she could guess why.

‘Who is this guide?’ the Abbess asked. ‘Josse will not be in any danger, will he?’

The Domina shrugged. ‘There is always a certain peril in travel but he will be at no greater risk than anyone else. As to his guide, the person whom I have in mind has visited the place where they say Merlin lies buried and will not have any difficulty in recalling the way. Moreover, the presence of this guide will ensure Josse’s safety in realms where it could be perilous for outsiders to tread. He will be taken to the spot, shown the granite slab and the spring that they call Merlin’s Fountain. He may then bring the account of his visit back here to you and you may do with the information as you see fit.’

The Abbess was nodding her enthusiasm. ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ she said eagerly. ‘The word of Sir Josse that Merlin lies buried elsewhere, and that he therefore cannot possibly be the skeleton on the far side of the forest, will suffice to raise doubts as to Florian’s claims. People are less credulous than men such as Florian believe; Sir Josse’s word added to the fact that Florian has been making so much money from the supposed tomb will surely convince all but the most unintelligent that the whole arrangement is nothing more than a fake.’

‘So it is to be hoped,’ the Domina said.

‘You said that this place lies over the seas.’ The Abbess returned to the practicalities. ‘Where is it? In Ireland, perhaps?’

‘Not Ireland,’ the Domina replied. ‘It is in Armorica.’

‘Armorica?’ The Abbess frowned.

‘You may know the land as Brittany,’ Tiphaine supplied.

‘Brittany!’ exclaimed the Abbess. ‘Merlin lies buried in Brittany?’

But the Domina did not answer.

The Abbess was looking doubtful now, as if she were entertaining second thoughts about the wisdom of sending Josse off on such a trip to a place so far away.

Perhaps reading the thought, the Domina said softly, ‘Remember, he will have a sound guide with him.’

‘Yes, of course, so you assured me.’ The Abbess sounded relieved. ‘Who is this man? One of your own people?’

‘One of our people, yes. But not a man.’ The Domina’s face was expressionless. ‘I speak of a woman. She has been to Armorica and has stood beside the great granite slab. She of all people will ensure that your Josse achieves the journey there and back again as safely as it is in her power to make it. And she is powerful: be in no doubt of that.’

‘It’s Joanna,’ the Abbess breathed. ‘Isn’t it? You mean to send Joanna to be his guide.’

And the Domina said, ‘Of course.’