Whiter than the Lily

14

It was late in the day when Brice set out from Hawkenlye Abbey. After a short time he realised what he should have realised sooner: there was a storm brewing and, from the ominous bank of black cloud that was blowing up from the south-west, it looked as if it was going to be a bad one.

He had not long passed the fork in the road where a track led down to Tonbridge. He could, of course, turn back to Hawkenlye and seek shelter there, but somehow he did not like to think what the Abbess Helewise’s reaction would be when she heard that the gallant, bold fighter who had set off full of his promise to go to Josse’s aid had turned back because it was going to rain.

He understood something about himself that came as a slight surprise: the Abbess Helewise was a woman whose good opinion he was quite keen to maintain.

Deciding, he reined in his horse, turned and headed down to Tonbridge. It was not far off his route and he would set off very early in the morning to make up the lost time.

Apart from anything else, an evening spent in the taproom, with a jug of ale and a hot bite to eat, would perhaps take his mind off his grave preoccupations.

She was dead. Dear God, but he still could not believe it!

Kicking his horse to a canter, he hurried on his way.

The storm struck in the small hours. Burrowing down under the covers on his narrow bed in the inn, Brice listened to the wind howling around the old building, rattling a loose shutter and making it bang against the wall in an irregular rhythm that was too disturbing to make further deep slumber likely. The rain was falling as if a vast vat of water had been upturned overhead.

Relieved that he had taken the sensible decision not to risk being caught out in the open this night, Brice made himself relax and waited for the drumbeat of the shutter to lessen sufficiently to allow him to slip back into a doze.

The new day was fresh and washed clean by the heavy rain. Outside in the inn’s courtyard, stable lads and house servants were sweeping up water and storm-brought detritus, working hard with their brooms to push it all through the archway and into the already flooded and muddy street beyond. Brice, awake soon after first light, ate a quick breakfast, paid for his night’s accommodation and, ordering his horse to be prepared, set out before anyone else in the inn who had a choice in the matter was even out of bed.

* * *

Once he was up on the ridge he made good time. Men of old had first made a track there, preferring to walk or ride on the chalky uplands instead of down in the heavy clay soil of the valleys; for one thing, the higher ground gave a better view of the surrounding land and, for another, you were more likely to arrive at your destination with dry feet. Brice, kicking his sleek and well-fed mount into a canter, told himself that the swiftly passing miles made up for his overnight delay and he began once more to see himself as the Abbess’s loyal knight and champion, engaged on a vitally important errand to find her missing warrior …

In the early afternoon he was on a lonely stretch of track to the north of Readingbrooke. To his right and a little behind him was the steep slope that led from the great tract of woodland on the high ground down to the marsh below. He was on familiar territory now and his thoughts strayed to the place not far from here where they loved best to dwell.

Then, bringing him abruptly out of his reverie, he saw a horseman approaching from the east. The man’s mount was a big warhorse, its feathered feet falling heavily on to the chalky ground as it trotted swiftly towards him. The rider was slumped in the saddle, hardly paying attention, it appeared to Brice, to where his horse was taking him.

‘Halloa!’ Brice cried out. ‘Watch where you’re going!’

He recognised the horse before he could get a proper look at the rider. As the big animal came up to him he jumped out of the saddle and, holding his own reins in one hand, grasped Horace’s in the other. Then, looking up at Josse, he said, ‘Dear God! What has happened to you?’

Brice had summed up the position with his usual incisiveness. The nearest place where he could be sure of help was at Readingbrooke; somebody of that household must surely be about and willing to give assistance, even if it was only one of the servants. On consideration, one of the servants might be the best to be hoped for since Raelf did not employ ineffectual wastrels but efficient, hard-working men and women.

Leading Horace — in fact Brice realised that there was no need for this since Horace was such a well-mannered horse that, in the absence of contrary commands from his master, he would have followed along behind Brice anyway — Brice carefully rode back along the ridge and then down the slope that led to Readingbrooke.

In the courtyard at Readingbrooke, Raelf himself came out to meet them. He had, in fact, been standing out there anyway, having just seen his wife, his sister-in-law and his three eldest daughters off to hear mass for Galiena’s soul.

Raelf was not yet ready for the comfort of prayer.

Stepping forward to meet the visitors and staring curiously at the still-slumped Josse, he called out, ‘Brice! What is the matter?’

‘I met Sir Josse riding towards me on the road,’ Brice said, dismounting. He did not see any reason for a fuller explanation; for one thing, he did not want to share his business with anyone else and for another, the most urgent thing was to help Josse. ‘I think he must have been caught out in last night’s storm, for his cloak is soaked and he seems feverish.’

Instantly Raelf called out for help and, as two strong-looking lads emerged into the courtyard, he issued orders and very soon the horses were being led away into the stables and Josse was being helped into the house.

There was no fire lit in the great hall — the day was warm and close — and so they put him in a chair in front of the fire in the kitchen, spreading out his wet outer garments in the warmth to dry. One of the kitchen women made him a hot drink that smelled spicy and another wrapped him in a blanket. After quite a short time, Josse shot up his head and, over-bright eyes staring around him suspiciously, demanded, ‘Where am I?’, the question instantly followed by ‘Where’s my sword?’

‘Your sword is by the wall there, Josse, you are at Readingbrooke and we’re looking after you,’ Brice said soothingly. ‘I found you up on the high ridge and as you were clearly unwell, I brought you here for help, it being the nearest house where I knew the inhabitants.’

Josse was glaring up at him as if this reasonable explanation were somehow highly suspicious. ‘Readingbrooke?’ he repeated doubtfully. ‘But I was at-’ He broke off. ‘Aye,’ he murmured, ‘aye, I remember.’ A shudder went through him. Then, mastering himself with an obvious effort, he managed a weak smile and said, ‘I was caught in the rain. I got a good soaking and it seems to have made me shivery.’

‘The good blaze here will soon remedy that,’ Raelf said from behind Josse’s chair.

Turning round, Josse said, in something much closer to his normal tone, ‘I thank you for taking me in, Sir Raelf, and for your care. But I will not trouble you long — there is an urgent errand that I must fulfil.’

‘Dry yourself and your cloak thoroughly first,’ urged Raelf, ‘and take some nourishment. Surely your business is not so pressing that you must set off again before you are fully recovered?’

‘It-’ Again, Josse seemed to be battling with the pressure of whatever emergency had possessed him and Brice suddenly realised that he did not want to reveal his mission.

‘I will ride with Josse, as soon as he is ready to leave,’ he said smoothly. He met Josse’s eyes and tried to make his own expression reassuring. ‘Entrust yourself to me, Josse, and I’ll go with you, wherever you wish to go, if you will have me.’

Josse stared at him. Whatever mental calculations he was making, soon he had made up his mind. ‘Aye, that I will,’ he said. ‘It is a gallant offer and one that I readily accept.’

‘Where are you bound?’ asked Raelf. ‘Is it far?’

After the briefest of pauses, Josse said, ‘To Hawkenlye Abbey. It is some half a day’s ride.’

There was no need of the swift glance that he gave Brice for Brice to know that he was lying; Brice had already guessed where Josse wanted to go in such a hurry and it was in the opposite direction from Hawkenlye.

Josse endured the fussing and the enquiries as to whether he was feeling any better yet for as long as he could; Raelf and his household were kindly and they meant well. Also, the warmth of the fire was very welcome and the drink that the serving woman had given him wonderfully restoring. She had followed it up with bread and a thick slice of ham, and he had surprised himself by a sudden appetite that had made him wolf down the good food as if he had not eaten for a week. He had stopped shivering and now felt reasonably confident that he could stand up without that dreadful spinning sensation in his head that made the very earth beneath him appear treacherous and uncertain.

He watched the people around him. The household servants, now that the small drama seemed to be over, had melted away to resume whatever duties they normally carried out in the late afternoon. Raelf was talking quietly to Brice.

Am I right to trust the man? Josse wondered, eyes on Brice. I suspect him of having been very close to Galiena — indeed, such is his familiarity with her family here in their home that my suspicions grow. He and she were lovers, of that I am certain.

But a man succumbing to the temptation of making love to another man’s wife did not make him an unwelcome ally, Josse thought, especially when no other ally offered himself.

And Josse needed an ally. There was no doubt of that.

He unwrapped the soft enfolding blankets — he was now far too hot — and tentatively got to his feet. So far, so good. The clothes he was wearing — his shirt and hose — were dry and, feeling the wool of his tunic and his cloak, he found that they were almost dry too. Swiftly he put them on then, stepping quietly over to the wall and picking up his sword on its heavy belt, he fastened it around his hips.

Brice and Raelf were watching him.

‘You are sure that you feel well enough to get up?’ Raelf asked.

‘Aye, thank you,’ Josse replied. Then, raising his eyebrows in enquiry at Brice, he said, ‘Shall we be on our way?’

‘You are leaving now?’ Raelf’s tone was incredulous. ‘But it will soon be evening — will you not eat with us? There are beds in plenty for guests, I have but to give the word and-’

‘You are kind, Sir Raelf, but my mission cannot wait,’ Josse said, trying to be firm and polite at the same time.

‘But my wife will be back soon and she-’

Then it is even more important that I leave now, Josse thought, for the well-meant but time-consuming enquiries of a group of women are to be avoided at all costs.

‘I must go, Sir Raelf,’ he said gently. ‘Brice?’

‘I am ready,’ Brice said.

Josse, watching closely, saw him go as if to speak to Raelf but, whatever he had in mind, he decided not to say it. Instead he put a hand briefly on the older man’s arm and muttered something that Josse thought was, I will come again soon.

Josse was sure that Brice had wanted to make some comment about Galiena. To give his condolences to her father, perhaps, to ask to be of the company when next the family heard mass for her.

Then he suddenly thought: but maybe Brice does not know that she is dead!

He stared at Brice. Had he the air of a man who had just lost his beloved mistress? Josse could not say. Brice seemed edgy and he was surreptitiously peering around as if he expected someone’s arrival. Was it Galiena? Was he hoping to meet his lover in her father’s household? Had the two of them met here before?

No, no, no, Josse thought, angry with himself that, just when he needed his wits, they were fuddled by his recent fever. Brice cannot hope to meet Galiena here, even if he does not know of her death, because he thinks she is at Hawkenlye taking a cure.

Oh, dear God, he prayed silently, if it has to be that I break the news to him, please let me do it with kindness.

Raelf came out to see them off. He went out through the gates and looked up the track, then, shaking his head, remarked that his wife and family were taking their time and had probably stayed to have a comforting word with the priest.

‘Give them my greetings,’ Josse said courteously.

‘And mine,’ Brice added softly.

Then the two men mounted and rode out of the yard.

When they were once more up on the high ridge, Brice drew rein and said, ‘I believe that I know where you are going, Josse. I was at Hawkenlye with the Abbess Helewise, and she told me where you were bound.’

‘You were at the Abbey? When?’ Josse asked.

‘Yesterday evening.’

Then he must know, Josse thought. The Abbess would have told him. He said quietly, ‘You know, then, the dreadful news?’

There was a long pause. The light was dim beneath the trees that shaded the track and Josse could not read Brice’s expression. After a while, he said heavily, ‘Aye. I do.’

He said no more and Josse, hearing over and over again those three brief words, could not say whether or not they came from a heartbroken man just beginning to become accustomed to the loss of his lover.

Then Brice said, ‘What happened at Deadfall?’

I must wait, Josse thought. I must be watchful, but I do not believe I shall discover the truth by rushing at it. ‘I found the ruined fort,’ he said briefly, ‘but of the place where Galiena’s kin live I saw no sign.’

‘I am not surprised,’ Brice remarked. ‘When I heard you were looking for it, I did not believe that you would succeed. They hide themselves well, I am told.’

Who told you? Josse wondered. Galiena?

And another part of his mind answered, who else?

‘Will you help me find them?’ he asked. ‘I have undertaken to inform them of her death and I cannot return to Hawkenlye until I have done so.’

‘You were riding back towards the Abbey when I found you,’ Brice observed.

Josse grinned. ‘Aye. I had little option, having failed so miserably, but to seek help. I hoped to come across some traveller who knew the area. But-’ He shrugged. ‘I was not quite sure what I was doing, earlier.’ The grin widening, he added, ‘It seems I found exactly what I wanted. It was my good fortune to encounter you.’

‘I will take you to Deadfall,’ Brice said. ‘But we must go carefully and prepared for … We must be on our guard.’

‘Why?’

‘They — the people there — do not welcome strangers,’ Brice said slowly. ‘They prefer to live apart. To keep themselves to themselves, as people are wont to say.’

‘You believe there is danger for us there?’ In the light of his experiences over the last never-ending night, Josse thought grimly, he would not be at all surprised.

And, watching him, Brice said simply, ‘Yes.’

The intimate companionship of two men alone on the road increasingly made Josse feel that he must speak. He argued with himself for some time but finally, almost to his surprise, heard himself saying, ‘Brice, I believe that I have guessed your secret.’

Spinning round in the saddle, his face pale, Brice said, ‘How? We have always been so careful!’

Josse shrugged. ‘I watch. I keep my eyes open. And sometimes I guess, and then on occasions I feel instinctively that I have guessed right.’

‘And I,’ Brice said softly, ‘have just given myself away by what I said in response to you.’ He frowned, his whole face taking on a threatening air. ‘You will keep silent, Josse?’

‘I — aye, I will.’ There was hardly any point, he thought, in telling anyone what he knew now. Not when the poor lass was dead. He murmured, ‘I am sorry,’ but he did not think that Brice heard.

They rode back to Josse’s campsite on the slope above the marsh. To his relief, this evening the sky was clear and the salt flats spread out below had taken on a different appearance from the shadowy and vaguely threatening look they had worn the previous evening. Now a golden light shone down on the quiet land as the westering sun sank in the deep blue sky. It was, Josse thought, unfastening his pack and setting out his gear, a place of enchantment …

‘These old stones must have sheltered you well last night,’ Brice said, breaking in on Josse’s dreaming thoughts.

‘Aye,’ he replied. ‘And one of the Hawkenlye nuns provided me with an oiled sheet that kept off the worst of the rain.’

‘Yet still your soaking made you feverish,’ Brice said.

I do not believe, Josse thought, that the fever came entirely from the rain.

But he was not yet ready to tell Brice about the macabre visitor who had come out of the darkness. Perhaps he never would be.

Brice had brought abundant provisions and they ate well. Then, with a moon rising over the marsh and making flashes of silver on the flat land as its beams shone down and sought out stretches of water, they settled in their covers and slept.

In the morning Brice led the way down the slope and out on to the marsh. They rode here and there across the soggy ground for some time, Brice going ahead, Josse following. After a while, Josse realised that they were covering ground that they had already ridden over and he said, ‘Brice, let us return to the high ridge. It is difficult, surely, to pick out any landmarks that will help you find your way when we are down here on the levels. Do you not think you would find the task easier from a vantage point up there?’ He waved an arm in the direction of the inland cliff, rising steeply behind them.

Brice frowned. ‘I do not know, Josse. I thought — I believed, from what I was told, that I would find the place without difficulty.’ He stared out across the featureless marshland where, as far as Josse could discern, there was little to be seen but some trees and a long line of hedge in the distance and some sheep dotted around like pale flowers fallen from a basket.

Making up his mind, Brice spurred his horse and set off towards the cliff. ‘Let us try out your suggestion,’ he called back to Josse. ‘It can hardly be of less use than the sum of my efforts so far!’

Following him, Josse had to agree.

They rode up the track that Josse had ridden down the previous day. This time the heron must either have been absent about its business or else had decided to stay safely hidden in the undergrowth. At the top, Brice turned to his right and rode a few yards down the road to where a gap in the trees allowed a view down over the marsh.

They sat side by side for a long time. Josse was aware of the sound of hooves on the track away to the west; it was clearly a well-used route, however, and he paid the approaching rider, whoever he might be, little heed.

Then Brice said, ‘I think I may have spotted something, Josse. I remember being told of a long hall, before which there is a corral for the animals, and behind that ought to be a long line of ancient willows that run along beside a little stream.’ He stared out over the lands below them, frowning. ‘Oh, but I am not sure. If I am right and it is the place we seek, then it is not where I expected it to be. I thought it would be simple,’ he added again. Then, with a rueful laugh, said, ‘You would have done better, Josse, to seek further and find someone who knew what they were talking about instead of a man such as I, who has more confidence in his own ability than is justified.’

About to deny the self-deprecating comment, Josse heard the rider approaching and, turning, saw him come into view; he had just emerged from an overshadowed stretch of the track out into the sunlight.

Brice had turned too.

Neither of them spoke; they both sat on their horses watching the rider. He was of slim build, he was dressed simply in a long tunic and he wore a soft, wide-brimmed hat that shaded and concealed his face. His horse was a pretty bay mare and on his left wrist, which wore a heavy gauntlet, sat a hooded hawk.

The man, clearly, had been hunting.

But there was a new element in the air; Brice, Josse realised, was sitting quite still and the tension in him seemed to sing through the air.

‘Who are you?’ Josse called, preparing to ride to meet the newcomer, but, swift as light, Brice shot out a hand to detain him.

‘It’s all right,’ he said quietly. ‘I know who it is.’ Then, turning to Josse — who was beginning to feel distinctly apprehensive — he added, ‘I was only just now wishing for someone who knew their way, my friend. Well, now we have our wish.’

And, in the midst of tension and anxiety, Brice let out a laugh. It was so unexpected and, in that moment, so alarming that Josse, thrown on to the defensive, reacted instinctively.

I have been betrayed, he thought, feeling for the sword at his side. I have admitted to Brice that I know his secret and he is desperate that I keep my silence. He has brought me here with the sole purpose of joining forces with some ally of his, some man of this secretive, dangerous family from which Galiena came. This huntsman, who even now is approaching. And, fool that I am, I fell right into his trap.

They will not take me without a fight!

Not pausing to think further, not even asking himself why he was so sure that Brice meant him harm, he drew his sword and, kicking Horace, shot forward to meet the hunter.