The Joys of My Life

Eight

The abbess and her party arrived back at Hawkenlye at the end of May. The journey from Chartres had been swift and uneventful, progress greatly aided by the calm, sunny weather, which had kept the roads mud-free and flattened the seas for the crossing from Boulogne to Hastings. No matter how swiftly they travelled, however, it had not been fast enough for Helewise. Once she had done all she could in Chartres, she had burned to be back at the abbey getting on with the hundreds of tasks pressing on her conscience. Not only had she been away from her normal duties for six weeks, which in itself meant a great deal of catching up, but in addition there was now the vast and daunting prospect of the new chapel.

When the excitement of being home again faded, she sat at the big table in her little room one morning and reviewed the situation. The master mason whom she had engaged was due to arrive any day now, together with his team; he had told her that his work on the cathedral at Chartres would be complete by the end of May at the latest and he would then make his way over to England. He had explained the rudiments of the system: how he prepared the templates for the stonemasons, setting the job in motion, and how, once a certain stage had been reached, his job was done and he was free to move on elsewhere. She had noticed that her master mason was skilled at speaking a great deal of words without actually telling her very much, verifying the oft-repeated rumour that masons were secretive types. Not that it mattered; provided the chapel was built well and swiftly — nervously she recalled Queen Eleanor’s firm resolve that prayers would be said there within the year — she did not need to enquire into the methods.

While she waited, ploughing slowly but steadily through her backlog of work, a part of her mind dwelled constantly on an image of the new chapel. She saw it in her mind’s eye: a simple little building, beautifully proportioned, with perhaps one glorious window depicting the martyrdom of St Edmund. She could still see the glorious Chartres glass and to have just one example of that inspirational work in their own chapel was a dream that she knew she would fight for as hard as she could.

With a sigh, she firmly put the thought from her mind and went back to her accounts.

Josse had said farewell to the abbess, Brothers Saul and Augustus and Sister Caliste at the place on the road from the coast where the track for New Winnowlands branched off. He knew he would not stay long at home, for his mission for Queen Eleanor lay heavy on him. Investigate these rumours and find out if there is any truth in them, she had commanded. Well, he had, and there was. Perhaps he should simply have returned to the queen and told her so, but something in him stubbornly refused to admit the king’s guilt. Richard might have had his faults, but descending to the level of a devil-worshipper and child molester was surely too much to believe. A voice that could only be Josse’s own kept saying that there had to be an explanation…

So he had picked up the only lead he had and followed de Loup’s two companions back to England. All through the long miles from Chartres to Kent he had asked after them, but nobody could tell him anything of a tall man with fair hair accompanied by a smaller man with a deep hood. Not that he was surprised; it was hardly a precise description. He had no more luck with the name Philippe de Loup. As he reached New Winnowlands and gratefully surrendered his weary body to the various ministrations of his household, he concluded that the only thing to do now was head for London in the hope that pursuing his enquiries there among its swarming population might yield a new path to pursue. It was, he admitted, a faint hope.

It was sheer luxury to be home. Will took Horace away to feed him up and groom him till his coat shone like jet; Ella excelled herself by sending up from the kitchen such a splendid variety of dishes that Josse felt his waist expanding daily. Dominic and Paradisa, who since their marriage three years ago had shared New Winnowlands with him, adding two-year-old Ralf and the newborn Hugo to the household, spoiled him in every way and generally made him feel like a loved person returning to the heart of his family. Loving and delightful as they were, however, and despite the natural affection Josse felt for the abbess’s son and his wife, they were of course not actually his family.

He had little appetite for the next phase of his task and, indeed, was starting to consider returning to France to tell Eleanor what he had discovered and leave it to her to dig further. He had so very little to go on; the proposed trip to London would probably be no more than a costly waste of time. He seemed all of a sudden to be bereft of resolve: he missed his daughter, he missed Joanna and, after so long on the road with the abbess and her companions, he missed them perhaps most of all. Dominic and Paradisa did their best to include him in their life, but his common sense told him they would be equally happy without him. What, he thought miserably, am I to do with myself?

He frittered away several days at New Winnowlands. Then, returning one evening from exercising Horace, he rode into the courtyard to be met by Dominic and Will, both looking worried.

He slipped out of the saddle and Will hurried to take Horace’s reins. ‘What’s wrong?’ Josse asked.

Will jerked his head in Dominic’s direction and muttered, ‘Best ask him, sir.’ Then he led Horace away to the stables.

Fear bit deep into Josse’s heart. He spun round to Dominic. ‘What’s happened? It’s not-’ He bit back the words. He had been going to say, it’s not your mother?

Dominic seemed to sense it. ‘She’s fine,’ he said quietly, ‘as far as I know. No, Josse, it’s something quite different. Something really puzzling.’ He frowned.

‘What?’

Dominic grabbed his arm and together they hurried up the steps into the hall. ‘Come and see.’

Inside, Paradisa was sitting on the floor. Beside her, the baby slept in his crib and Ralf played with a set of wooden blocks. Next to Ralf, another child bent over the playthings, helping him to make tall stacks and then noisily push them over, a game that had the little boy squealing with delighted laughter.

The other child had long, curly brown hair. She appeared to be about six or seven. Sensing Josse behind her, she spun round and he looked into her brown eyes, which sparkled with golden lights. Her strained expression broke into a joyful smile and, leaping up, she ran to Josse and threw herself into his arms. He felt her firm little body shake with suppressed sobs and, gently stroking her hair, he said, ‘It’s all right, sweeting; you’re safe with me. I’ll look after you.’

It was Meggie.

Dominic and Paradisa managed to restrain their curiosity until later, when Josse had finally put his daughter to bed. The remainder of the evening had been occupied with supper, a bath for the little girl and a lengthy bedtime ritual during which her father demonstrated the advantages of her hastily arranged bedroom, snuggled her down in soft blankets and told her three stories.

Finally he sank down in his chair and, looking first at Dominic and then Paradisa, said wearily, ‘So what happened?’

It was Paradisa who told him. ‘I was here in the hall in the middle of the afternoon,’ she began. ‘Dominic was out with Will. I’d just fed Hugo and he was asleep; Ralf wanted to go outside and I said he could play on the steps but no further because I had to keep an eye on the baby. I was dozing — it was warm this afternoon, wasn’t it? — but suddenly I heard Ralf laughing. I thought at first that Dominic must have come back, but then I heard a child’s voice. I hurried outside and there she was, sitting on the bottom step beside Ralf and showing him how to do cat’s cradles with a piece of string.’ She paused, eyeing Josse anxiously.

‘Go on,’ he said.

‘She seemed to be quite alone. I didn’t want to scare her, so I stood in the doorway and said hello, then asked who was with her — I thought maybe she had run on ahead to the house, in which case whoever had brought her would not have been far behind. Anyway, she said she was looking for Josse and that they had brought her home from the big Shining City where the building was going up. I said, “Where are they?” and she said they’d gone.’

‘Did you look for them?’ he demanded. Then, hearing the echo of his voice, made sharp by anxiety, he said, ‘I’m sorry, Paradisa. I did not mean to interrogate you.’

‘It’s all right, Josse.’ She gave him an understanding smile. ‘I hurried out to look up and down the road, but there was nobody about.’ Her smooth brow creased into a frown. ‘The trouble is that I don’t know how long she’d been there. As I say, I was dozing, and she could have been there for some time, in which case whoever brought her could already have been some distance away. Oh, I’m so sorry, Josse!’

‘No need to be,’ he said hastily. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, dear Paradisa — quite the opposite, in fact, because I’m sure Meggie must have been afraid, left here by herself, and you managed to reassure her and make her feel welcome.’

‘It wasn’t difficult,’ Paradisa said. ‘She knows me, of course, from when she’s visited here before, and she seemed quite happy as soon as I said you’d be coming home before long.’

‘I’m grateful,’ he said. ‘You have a loving heart and a child like Meggie can recognize it instantly.’ He saw by the puzzled expressions on Paradisa’s and Dominic’s faces that they did not understand, so hurriedly he changed the subject. ‘But why is she here?’ he said. And, he added silently, where is Joanna?

He barely slept that night. He knew he must ask Meggie to tell him much more about this mysterious trip and why she had ended up all alone at New Winnowlands, but so far all he knew was that she had been in Chartres. Well, that made sense, for had he not met Joanna there less than three weeks ago? He had wondered afterwards if that strange meeting in the haunted and deserted cathedral had been a dream but, now that Meggie claimed to have been there too, he must conclude that it had really taken place. So for some reason Joanna had not chosen to leave Meggie with him this time but taken the child with her… Of course! She couldn’t leave Meggie here with me, he thought, jubilant at having resolved at least a small part of the puzzle, because I’d already left for France.

But why bring Meggie now? Perhaps it was because Joanna had remained in Chartres. She had mentioned her people’s desire to banish the dark shadow cast by Paul de Fleury’s murder, and there was also the business that had taken her there in the first place. Maybe that task, whatever it was, had still to be completed and, knowing somehow that Josse was going back to New Winnowlands, Joanna had sent Meggie to him in the care of some trusted friend.

Why in heaven’s name didn’t she tell me? he thought crossly. She could have explained it to me that night I met her. I could have collected Meggie there and then, and she could have travelled home with me. Dear God, but Joanna was an unfathomable, difficult woman. His irritation spilled over into anger and, sitting up in bed, savagely he punched his pillows. Anger did no good; he tried to calm his mind and think about what he ought to do next.

Well, he decided after some time, he still had a job to do for the queen and he could hardly take a small child to London while he attempted to pick up the trail of de Loup and his companions. He could leave Meggie at New Winnowlands while he was away, for she already knew Dominic and Paradisa and seemed happy in their company; she loved playing with little Ralf and was obviously entranced by the baby. Josse would explain to her that he had to go away for a few days but he would promise faithfully to be back soon. If she accepted that serenely, he would leave her here. If not, well, he’d just have to take her with him. It was, he realized, an appealing prospect.

He dragged his mind away from visions of himself and Meggie riding down a sunny lane and returned to the present matter. Before setting off for London he would pay a visit to Hawkenlye and go into the forest. He would seek out Joanna’s people and demand answers to a few questions, such as why is Joanna still in Chartres, what is she doing there and how long is she going to be there? Another pertinent question might be who brought Meggie home? He might ask that too.

With the immediate future decided, Josse turned on to his side and settled down to sleep.

The master mason and his team arrived at Hawkenlye and within hours Helewise found herself in the middle of a dispute. Since she had been informed of Queen Eleanor’s plan to build the new chapel, Helewise had envisaged it within the abbey walls; the mason, however, said firmly that there was no room even for the modest building he had in mind, not unless existing structures were radically altered or demolished. ‘Impossible,’ said Helewise. ‘There is nothing wrong with any building here and it would be sinfully wasteful to damage or even alter them in any way.’ Besides, she reminded herself, had not Queen Eleanor expressed her reluctance to alter any of the existing abbey structures? The mason — whose name was Martin — proposed to site the new chapel on an apron of land projecting from the forest opposite the main gates. It was abbey land — Helewise had verified that — but for some reason she had not explored she found it quite inconceivable for the chapel to be constructed there, so close to the forest that it would be in the shadow of the trees.

It was stalemate and neither Helewise nor Martin saw any way to break it. Meanwhile the team of stonemasons sat idle in the camp they had erected down in the vale and, as everyone knew, the devil had a habit of finding mischief for men with time on their hands.

In due course mischief arrived. Two days after the arrival of the masons, a badly wounded man wrapped in a bloodstained cloak was found at the abbey gates by the porteress when she went to open up after the first office of the day. The cloak was wet with dew and the man’s hands so icy to the touch that at first Sister Ursel thought he was dead. Sister Martha, hurrying over from the stables on hearing the porteress’s cry, bent down, put her cheek to the man’s lips and said, ‘He’s breathing. Come, Ursel, we must take him to the infirmary before he bleeds to death.’

Sister Euphemia, busy organizing the early morning round of patient care, told the two nuns to put the man in the curtained-off recess at the end of the long ward. Summoning Sister Caliste, she stripped him, washed off the blood and inspected his wounds. He had been savagely attacked; there were blows to the forehead and left cheek, cuts and bruises to the shoulders and chest, and a deep slashing wound across the throat. Although this had bled copiously, Sister Euphemia discovered that no major vessel had been damaged; she watched as Sister Caliste neatly stitched the wound and then she prepared a dressing soaked in comfrey and diluted lavender oil and covered it up.

The man remained unconscious for most of the day. As the sun set, his eyelids fluttered open and he gave a hoarse cry. While Sister Caliste tried to calm his extreme agitation, Sister Euphemia hurried to find the abbess.

‘I am Abbess Helewise and you are safe in Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Helewise said, bending over the man a few moments later. He was, she noticed in a quick assessment, in his middle years, lean-faced and wiry, with greying light brown hair and hazel eyes set in a face whose lines indicated that he was more inclined to happiness than misery.

He stared up at her. ‘How long have I been here?’

‘You were found outside the gates this morning. You were wounded but the infirmarer and her nurse have tended you and they believe you will live.’ She smiled.

‘My throat hurts,’ he said. Raising a hand, his fingers encountered the soft dressing. His face crumpled and he whispered, ‘I thought I was going to die!’

Sister Caliste gave him a few sips of a greenish-coloured drink and after a moment or two his eyes closed.

‘I will leave him to sleep,’ Helewise whispered, ‘and not bother him with questions until-’

The man’s hand shot out and he grasped her sleeve. ‘No!’ he croaked. ‘I must tell you, my lady abbess, for there is such danger and I am so afraid!’ He struggled as if trying to get up, but as soon as his head was off the flat pillow his face paled and he moaned, ‘Oh, but I’m so dizzy!’

Sister Euphemia gently but firmly pushed him down again. ‘You have lost a lot of blood,’ she said. ‘Lie flat and still, and let us heal you.’

He gave her an ironic smile. ‘It seems I have little choice,’ he said. ‘But there are things I must tell you, my lady — ’ he turned his eyes to Helewise — ‘terrible things, and the evil is right here…’ His eyes closed.

Helewise looked enquiringly at the infirmarer. ‘He’s rambling,’ Sister Euphemia whispered, ‘probably doesn’t know what he’s saying. I dare say there’s a bit of fever in his blood and he’ll-’

The man’s eyes were open once more. ‘It is a secret, my lady,’ he whispered, ‘a black, dark secret that was discovered by the Thirteen Knights long ago and far away. They knew its vast importance and they swore an oath to protect it. Thirteen, you see — the magic number that is the sum of moons in the year. There must always be thirteen and each one nominates his successor, so that as one dies the next takes his place and the company of the Knights of Arcturus is always complete.’ He stopped, for the effort of speaking had made him gasp for breath. Sister Caliste offered more of the drink but he pushed her hand away; perhaps, Helewise thought, he realizes that it is a sedative and will take no more until his tale is told, although the great effort hardly seemed worth it when he was talking such incomprehensible nonsense.

‘I was summoned in my turn, my lady,’ he went on, grasping her hand in a painful grip, ‘but it was odd, for the call came not from my old uncle, to whom I was close, but from another of the thirteen. My uncle did send me a message, but it was not the summons I expected when I learned he was dying. I could not understand it — I do not understand it even now — for my uncle sent me a note that was encrypted in a code only he and I knew, and he told me to stay away. Now what, dear lady, am I to make of that?’

Perhaps nothing, Helewise thought compassionately, for you are sick and probably have no idea what you are saying. In the morning, all this will seem like a bad dream and we shall find out what really happened to you. ‘Try not to distress yourself,’ she said soothingly. ‘Drink the medicine that Sister Caliste has prepared, for it will help you to sleep and ease your pain. Tomorrow we shall speak again and I-’

‘Tomorrow may be too late!’ the man cried, his voice breaking. ‘I cannot… I cannot…’

The strong herbs were having their effect at last. As the infirmarer, Sister Caliste and Helewise watched, his eyelids drooped, the desperate tension in his face relaxed, and he seemed to slump down in his bed.

Sister Euphemia said softly, ‘That’s more like it. He’s stopped fighting now and he’ll sleep till morning, which will give his body time to start healing itself.’ She smoothed the crisp linen sheet over the man’s chest, now rising and falling with the long, steady breaths of deep sleep. ‘We’ll look after him, my lady,’ she added, ‘and I’ll send word when he’s ready to talk to you.’

‘Thank you, Sister Euphemia. Well done — ’ she addressed Sister Caliste — ‘you have provided the rest that he so badly needed.’

Then she turned her back on the infirmary’s worrying but intriguing new patient and went back to her room to return to the vexing question of the new chapel.