The Joys of My Life

Eleven

The abbey was no longer the calm refuge that it was designed to be. Several times a day, ox carts came slowly down the track, heavily laden with sandstone blocks from small local quarries and huge loads of timber. The stonemasons had set up their workplace close to the apron where Martin wished to site the new chapel, and within the abbey walls the air was full of dust and noise.

Helewise recognized that Martin had chosen a sensible place for his masons to prepare the stone, but a petulant voice in her head kept demanding, ‘Why is he working just there, as if he would emphasize that it is the only place for the queen’s chapel?’

She would have liked to talk it over with Josse, but the poor man had worries enough. He had come running to find her yesterday evening, red in the face, out of breath and, unusually for him, frightened. ‘It’s back in that damned tree!’ he said, instantly apologizing for the profanity. She had not believed him — it was twilight, after all, and his eyes could be playing tricks — but the figure was gone from the cupboard in the wall.

This morning, just before the midday office, Helewise went out to look once more at the site on the forest fringe. She tried to ignore the stonemasons, the carters and the shouts of the men engaged in unloading the carts, and looked beyond them to the small area of flat land in front of the trees. Would it be so very bad to have the chapel outside the walls? There was one important advantage to siting it there: when the abbey gates were locked at nightfall, having the chapel outside them meant that those in need of solace would still have somewhere to pray.

There was also the strange matter of the statue. Something — no, she corrected herself firmly, somebody — seemed quite determined that the figure belonged not in the book cupboard within the abbey but out there in the tree. Josse had claimed that the beautiful woman in the horned headdress was not the Virgin, for she was pregnant and made of black wood, indicating, he said, a black skin. Helewise was not so sure. The Virgin Mary had been pregnant, hadn’t she? The conception of her precious child might have been unorthodox but she had carried the baby and delivered him just like every other mother. Who could say what colour her skin had been? She was a woman of the hot southern lands, so might she not have been considerably darker than her usual depiction in paintings and statuary?

There was no doubting the power of the figure. Helewise was not entirely sure if she was right, but some very deep instinct told her that this power, although alarming, was good. Perhaps the statue was some earlier artist’s vision of the Mother of God. Perhaps he — or she — had been inspired by the Virgin in some earlier guise.

Helewise, quite shocked at the thought, dismissed it. Goodness, it was surely heretical! Somehow, though, standing there so close to the Great Forest, she could not make herself believe this. Without realizing it, she seemed to have walked up close to the tree where the statue had been found. It was now back in her room — Josse had fetched it first thing this morning — but she knew that it would soon return to the tree. That is where she wants to be, Helewise thought dreamily. Perhaps we should do as she wants and let her stay in her chosen spot. Perhaps we should build the chapel there and make a special place within it for her. As the concept waxed in her mind, she seemed to hear a voice saying, ‘Do it.’

Josse spent the first part of the morning with Meggie. Brother Erse the carpenter was busy making a series of carvings of the Apostles for the new chapel, and Meggie, intrigued at the way people came out of the wood, as she put it, wanted to try. She sat with Erse, and Josse watched as the monk solemnly handed her an offcut of oak, put a chisel and a light hammer in her hand and showed her how to make the first incisions.

It gave Josse pleasure to observe that his daughter seemed to have skill in her small hands. Her figure had none of the stylized grace and power of Erse’s saints, but then it was her first attempt and it was a very lifelike hound.

As the morning wore on, he knew he could no longer postpone the task that was waiting for him. If he was right and Piers had gone to the tower at World’s End with his young squire and then escaped, it seemed likely that two of the three men whom the Oleron guard had rowed away from the island that March night were Philippe de Loup and King Richard. All three men were hard on Piers’s trail. Which one was de Loup, the tall, fair one or the one described as short and lightly built? Josse had no way of knowing. The Chartres mason had referred to de Loup having followed two others to the city; had one of the men been Piers, in the company of some fellow traveller he had met on the long road from the Ile d’Oleron? Oh, but it all seemed to fit! De Loup and perhaps other Knights of Arcturus must have lost Piers’s trail after leaving Oleron and gone with the king to besiege Chalus, where the lure of treasure had proved more powerful for Richard than the prospect of trying to find Piers, but then the king had met his death, the treasure had vanished, and the Knights of Arcturus had returned to the urgent matter of finding and silencing the renegade.

I must speak to Piers again, Josse resolved. I need to ask him if I’m right. I must make him confirm — if, indeed, he knows — whether the king, de Loup and a third man followed him as he fled from Oleron.

Against his volition something else that the Oleron guard had said kept echoing over and over again in Josse’s head: Screams were heard coming from the tower, dreadful, horrifying, agonized screams… and through the arrow slits… there poured a brilliant, unearthly blue light that suddenly changed to blood red.

What were they doing up there? Did they snatch Piers’s young squire, bind him, tie him face down to the altar and then make Piers watch as de Loup stepped up to the dais? He recalled the splattered blood and the stained silver robe and his mind turned in horrified disgust from the irrevocable conclusion. Was it the lad whose screams rang out into the night? Was it his sacrificial death that turned the blue light blood red? Dear God, if so, then what a frightful end to a young life.

Abruptly he stood up, and wood shavings tumbled from his lap. Meggie looked enquiringly at him. ‘I have to go and speak to someone, sweetheart,’ he said, forcing a smile.

‘But I haven’t finished my fox!’

‘I thought it was a hound.’

‘It was but its tail’s too bushy so it’s a fox.’

Brother Erse grinned. ‘I’ve done the same myself, Sir Josse, when a face I was carving turned out more like one saint than another. I’ll watch over her,’ he added quietly. ‘If you’re not back by noon, I’ll take her along with me and get her something to eat.’

‘Thank you, Brother Erse. See you soon, Meggie.’

In the infirmary, he asked to see Piers but Sister Euphemia, hurrying to intercept him, said it was impossible. ‘He has a fever,’ she said. ‘We have done everything we can to cleanse that wound in his throat but still it has become foul.’

‘Will he live?’ Josse muttered.

‘I hope so.’ The infirmarer glanced over at the curtained recess where Piers lay. Her tone, Josse thought, did not sound very optimistic.

‘I have to speak to him,’ Josse said. ‘It’s very important.’

‘You’ll get no sense out of him today,’ Sister Euphemia said firmly. ‘He’s raving again. Something about some boy who died and he was to blame. It’s the fever, Sir Josse. Either that or a guilty conscience.’

‘Then I must-’

‘Not till I say so! Go away and leave us alone. If your man recovers, I’ll send for you.’

And with that Josse knew he had to be content.

He decided to go back into the forest. If he had been in his right mind last evening — and he was not sure he had been — then there had been someone following him as he returned from Joanna’s hut. Could it have been de Loup? Having tried and failed to kill Piers, was he hanging around waiting for the opportunity to try again? Why? Because, he answered himself, Piers is horrified by the Knights of Arcturus and, far from becoming one of the thirteen, he may well betray them. Perhaps he had already done so.

Josse diverted from his path and, going up to the little room by the gate where the porteress kept watch, he collected his sword and his dagger. If he was going to come face to face with the sinister Philippe de Loup, he did not wish to do so unarmed.

He stepped warily along the tracks between the trees. Now, in early summer, they were in full leaf and he could not see far. He held his knife in his hand; within these narrow confines, it was a handier weapon than his sword.

He walked on. There were no sounds other than the songs of a thousand birds and the soft rustling of the leaves. The forest felt unusually peaceful. Perhaps he was wrong about having been followed.

Presently he found himself outside Joanna’s hut. As he had done the previous day, he let himself in. Everything was just as he had left it and again he climbed the ladder up to the sleeping platform. Answering some strong unspoken summons, he lay down and closed his eyes.

It seemed to him that suddenly night fell; he knew in a part of his mind that he must be dreaming, for outside it was midday, the sun high in the clear sky. He surrendered to the vision that was overcoming him.

She was there with him, lying in his arms, her body pushing against his. He held her close, so close, as if his dreaming self tried to meld her firm flesh with his. She was murmuring to him, sweet loving words, and her face was wet with tears. He thought he heard her say that she had come to bid him farewell. ‘Are you dead, my love?’ he whispered, lips against her soft, clean hair, tears running down his cheeks and into his mouth.

She said, ‘I am altered, dearest Josse. I am here but not here — I can see you, and my child, and I shall always be with you, loving you, protecting you, calling down blessings on you. But…’ She did not go on. Could not, he thought, grief burning through him, for her own sorrow prevented the words.

Deeper sleep followed and when at last he awoke, his memory of the dream was fudged and already fading. Was it true? Had she managed somehow to reach him and tell him that he would never see her again? Oh, but she had seemed so very real — he could have sworn that the place beside him in the bed was warm from her body.

Slowly he sat up, dazed, bemused, not understanding where reality ended and dream began. He would feel the pain of loss very soon now. He knew, in some fundamental part of himself, that the woman as he had experienced her was no more, but he kept remembering her soft voice speaking those precious words: I shall always be with you.

Out of habit, for she always kept the hut so neat and tidy, he reached round to plump the pillows and straighten the covers. Beneath the pillow where in his dream she had laid her head, he found something.

He picked it up and, wonderingly, stared at it. It swung on its silver chain and it was heavier than he had imagined. It was the bear claw that she always wore round her neck.

Slowly, not knowing if he was doing the right thing, he slipped the chain over his head and tucked the claw inside his tunic.

He was barely aware of closing up the hut and setting out back to the abbey. His senses were full of her and it was as if she walked beside him. She was… in him, he realized. In some strange way far beyond his comprehension, she seemed to have slipped inside his consciousness.

Inside his soul.

Stay, sweeting, he implored her. Stay with me.

He paced on, so deep within himself that it was some time before he registered the soft but regular sound of someone following him. Suddenly alert, he dragged his attention away from the sweet ways where he had walked with Joanna and back to the perilous present.

Listen. Listen! There — and there again. Someone was creeping along behind him, carefully matching their footfall to his so that it was barely audible. He went on, trying not to give away the fact that he was aware of his pursuer. Keep the element of surprise, he thought. Act naturally and then when the opportunity arises, grab it.

He waited until he had passed a dense thicket of bramble and holly, then, without breaking his stride, swung off the path and crouched down behind it. The footsteps came on and after a moment a cloaked, hooded figure slipped past. Silently Josse stood up and with a great leap was on the path behind the man — who was slight and considerably shorter than Josse — throwing one arm round his neck and pressing the point of his knife to his throat. The hooded figure stopped dead.

Josse said, ‘Do not move a muscle.’ Holding the knifepoint steady, with his left hand he caught the edge of the hood and pulled it back, revealing a head of smooth brown hair, neatly trimmed. Stepping back a pace, withdrawing the knife a little but still pointing it firmly at the man, Josse said, ‘Turn round.’

He was hit with a series of surprises. First, the man facing him was not a man but a boy of no more than fourteen or fifteen, the tanned skin of his chin innocent of even the fluff that would precede his beard. The lad was slightly built and, although perhaps tall for his age, still nowhere near the height of an adult. The second surprise was that he was smiling broadly, the expression of joyful relief revealing clean, even teeth and crinkling the skin around the brilliant blue eyes. The third surprise was that Josse knew who he was. He sheathed his knife, threw out his arms and, embracing the boy, cried, ‘Ninian! What in God’s name are you doing here?’

And Joanna’s son said happily, ‘Looking for you.’

They found a clearing into which the sun shone down, and Ninian took off his heavy cloak and spread it on the grass. He and Josse sat down side by side, Josse twisting round to stare at him, for he could hardly believe his eyes and kept wondering if this was still part of his dream.

But the boy had come here to find him and it was no time to sit gaping like a stranded fish. ‘What has happened, Ninian?’ he asked. ‘Why were you looking for me?’

‘I knew you’d be at the abbey or here in the forest,’ the boy replied. ‘I’ve been watching them down at the abbey and I saw you several times, often with that little girl.’

That little girl, Josse thought. I’ll have to tell him who she is.

‘Then yesterday when I was up here I saw you and followed you.’

‘I know,’ Josse said gently.

‘Do you? Oh, I thought you hadn’t noticed me!’

‘Most people would not have,’ Josse said. ‘I was a bit scared and on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.’

‘I get scared here too,’ Ninian admitted. ‘It’s quite awesome, isn’t it? The trees are so… old.’

‘Aye, they are.’ Then, ‘Ninian, what’s the matter?’

The boy’s composure broke. His voice shaking, he began to speak, the words tumbling out of him. ‘I went to France with Sir Piers of Essendon. I was sort of lent to him, for his own squire broke his ankle and couldn’t go. We… we went to this island where the wind blew such a gale that you couldn’t see for sea spray and we battled our way the whole length of it to a place where there were no dwellings and no people about, not even fishermen, and just this horrible tower. They said it belonged to someone called Philippe de Loup and he was a lord, or something, and everyone had to do what he said. There were other knights waiting for us and all of them put on long, slippery robes embroidered with the same picture. There was another boy there too — his name was Stephen and he was a bit older than me. The two of us were left in a dark, dank space just inside the entrance and all the men went up into the room above. There was a lot of singing — well, chanting, really — and we saw this weird blue light flickering on the stairs. I’ve never seen anything like it before.’ He shuddered. ‘Then they came for Stephen. They put a manacle on my wrist and fastened the other end to a ring in the wall, so I knew something bad was going to happen. Not that I could have got away — the door was bolted and I couldn’t reach the bolt.’

Oh, Ninian! Josse cried silently, but he did not speak; it was clear that the boy was only just managing to keep his composure and tell his tale and sympathy might make him break down and be unable to continue.

‘They- I heard more chanting, and then Stephen screamed and it was cut off suddenly, as if they’d stuffed something in his mouth. I could still hear him, though — a sort of terrified moan that suddenly went really high-pitched, as if he was hurting badly. Then there was a crash and a sudden brilliant flare of red light. All the knights started to cheer. I heard them stamping their feet up there, making a sort of rhythmic pattern; then one of them started to come down the stairs and I knew he was coming for me.’

Josse could only begin to imagine the lad’s terror. De Loup, you shall answer for this, he thought grimly. Whatever it takes, you’ll die for what you did.

‘But then all at once lots of things happened very quickly,’ Ninian said. He shot a quick glance at Josse and then lowered his eyes. ‘It was all a bit of a muddle and I’m not quite sure about the details. Anyway, before I knew it I was wrapped up in a big cloak. This cloak.’ He pointed to the one they were sitting on. ‘Someone — it must have been Sir Piers — took the manacle off my wrist and carried me outside. I heard him shouting something about the horses and then I was thrown up on to a huge horse and he got up behind me. I pushed the hood aside and we were galloping as fast as the wind, racing across to the lee side of the island where a little boat was waiting with a man beside it. They — he and Sir Piers — pushed the boat through the surf into the sea and we all leaped in. The man rowed us out to a ship that was standing offshore. The ship set sail as soon as we were on board — well, not the man who rowed the boat — and in the evening of the next day it dropped us at La Rochelle.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘Sir Piers and I set off for Chartres. Sir Piers had something with him that he said had to be left there. It was meant to go in the new cathedral.’

‘Meant to?’ Josse repeated.

‘Yes.’ Ninian gave him a slightly guilty smile. ‘Only Sir Piers said we mustn’t leave it there because everything was different now. I didn’t understand what he meant, although something had really upset him and I was worried, because I like him. He’s a kind man and I was happy to serve him. Anyway, because I wanted to help him, if he said we had to bring the thing safely back to England, then that was good enough for me and I did what I could to help.’

‘And where exactly is this thing now?’

Ninian was watching him closely. A smile began to form on his lips. ‘You already know, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You found it — or rather, that pretty girl did. You keep putting it away in the abbess’s room, but that’s wrong, Sir Josse. She’s meant to be out here in the forest. She’s much too powerful to be shut up in a cupboard.’

After a while, Josse said, ‘What do you want me to do, Ninian? If Philippe de Loup has, as I suspect, followed you and Sir Piers back to England-’

‘Oh, he has,’ Ninian said. ‘Although it’s not so much us he’s after as what we brought with us.’ Then his face fell and he said, ‘He attacked Sir Piers and tried to cut his throat. I hit him with a big, heavy stick and he sort of collapsed, but I’m afraid I didn’t hit him hard enough because he managed to get up and ride off. I think he thought Sir Piers was dead. I got him on to his horse — Sir Piers, I mean — and left him at the abbey gates.’ He eyed Josse anxiously. ‘Is he still alive?’ he whispered.

‘Aye, lad, or he was when I set out this morning.’ Josse tried to sound reassuring. ‘But why did you not come in? They’re good people at the abbey and they would have helped you. They’d have hidden you from de Loup.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Ninian smiled slightly. ‘The nuns hid me once before, remember?’

Josse smiled too, for the image was irresistible; the resourceful Sister Caliste had dressed the young Ninian up as a nun and pretended to be teaching him how to sew. ‘Aye,’ he said softly.

‘I couldn’t come in,’ Ninian said. ‘I had her to look after, and she wants to be in the forest.’

‘Her…?’ With a slight shock, Josse realized that he meant the figure. ‘She doesn’t want to be within the abbey walls?’

‘No! I keep telling you!’

‘Very well,’ Josse said soothingly. He grinned. ‘I’d better stop returning her to the abbess’s cupboard, then.’ Ninian grinned fleetingly in response. ‘Shall I take you to the abbey now? It’s safe there and-’

‘No, Sir Josse.’ Ninian spoke with a firm and undeniable authority and suddenly Josse remembered who had fathered him. Good grief, and didn’t it show. Fleetingly he wondered if Ninian knew. ‘I cannot go to Hawkenlye because I have to stay in the forest. It’s… it’s sort of where I belong and I feel secure out here.’

‘Where do you sleep?’ Josse asked. A thought struck him: perhaps he wasn’t the only one visiting Joanna’s clearing. ‘In the little hut?’ he asked gently.

‘No.’ Ninian stared down at his boots. ‘It’s my mother’s place. I know that. But she isn’t there any more. I’ve looked and looked and I can’t find her, and I… well, I don’t want to be there without her.’

‘I know, lad,’ Josse murmured.

‘I’ve been using the house,’ the boy went on, and Josse could hear the effort it took to move away from the emotional subject of his mother. ‘You know, the house in the woods where we were all together, her and you and me. It belonged to her and so I suppose that it now belongs to me.’

Belonged. Oh, dear God. ‘Do you think…? Ninian, what’s happened to your mother? Do you know?’

Ninian’s blue eyes were wet with tears. Staring at Josse, he said, ‘I think she’s dead.’