Whiter than the Lily

22

It was pleasantly cool in the garden and Helewise, who had been sitting on a wooden bench as she went in her mind through Galiena’s tale, got up and began to walk up and down across the short grass. It was a clear night and she could see the quick flit of bats. Somewhere owls were hunting, calling to each other.

The poor girl must have thought there was no hope left, she thought. Which was exactly what Aelle wanted because, had he wished to, he could have told her just why it was that Aebba had come running back to Saltwych in such a fluster. He had kept that knowledge from his sister, though. The moment of despair in the little hut had been the last part of the story to be told by Galiena, for, giving in to the strong sedative, she had known no more until she came to her senses sitting in front of Josse astride Horace.

It had been Brice and Josse, but primarily Isabella who had provided the rest of the tale.

It appeared that Isabella had been a skilful and adept spy, for she had managed to work out the detailed lie of the land around Saltwych and she had hidden herself away where she could watch the comings and goings in the settlement. Helewise was still not sure what Isabella had been doing at Saltwych. Brice and Josse appeared to think that she had joined them there only after their visit to Readingbrooke. Helewise, however, had a suspicion that Isabella knew more about the place and its inhabitants than had been revealed and she wondered if it was possible that Isabella had been there before either Josse or Brice had discovered it. Before Galiena had been imprisoned there. But why? What lay at the root of her interest in the place? That, she decided, was something to be discussed in the morning.

The fact remained — she went back to her recall of the story — that Isabella had witnessed the fury that whatever it was Aebba told him had aroused in Aelle. Although Isabella had not been close enough to overhear what had been said, it was possible now to surmise that Aebba must have come straight from Hawkenlye to tell her chieftain what had just happened there. She must have reported a death: not that of Galiena, as everyone had believed, but of Galiena’s replacement. Perhaps, too, she had told Aelle of the discovery of the groom Dickon’s poor murdered body. As Helewise had been able to verify, Aebba had done her best to keep out of everyone’s way at the Abbey but she had seen the body in the infirmary. Her instinctive reaction — Helewise could still picture Josse’s surprised expression as he had watched the woman — had been fury because all the careful planning had gone so badly wrong.

Helewise took several more turns around Galiena’s sweet-scented garden. That was the end of the story, as Galiena and Isabella had told it.

Isabella had mentioned that the name of the woman who had replaced Galiena was Fritha. Helewise wondered now if Fritha had known she was pregnant. Helewise almost hoped that she had not, for it surely would have been worse to suffer that agonising death in the knowledge that her unborn child was dying with her.

Who poisoned Fritha? Helewise asked herself the question for the twentieth time. And why?

I am too tired to puzzle over it any more now, she thought, turning at last back towards the house. I shall sleep, as I trust everyone else is doing. In the morning, perhaps our refreshed minds will manage to find some answers.

It appeared that others had also appreciated the need for answers. As they convened for the morning meal — Isabella was now dressed in women’s clothes and Helewise noticed in passing both that she was a remarkably handsome woman and also that she bore a resemblance to Galiena — Ambrose announced that Brice had something that he wished to tell them all.

‘Brice,’ Ambrose said commandingly, ‘please, enlighten us as to what it is you would have us know.’

With a quick glance at Isabella, standing by his side, Brice took hold of her hand and said, ‘Isabella has consented to become my wife. It is something I have prayed for since I met her and, at last, my prayers have been answered.’

There was a sudden babble of excited congratulations and delighted exclamations; Galiena went to hug her friend and whispered something in her ear that made Isabella smile broadly.

Then Josse said something which Helewise did not understand: looking both pleased and slightly perplexed, he asked, ‘But Isabella, what of the matter we spoke of? What of the — er — the impediment?’ His voice dropped to a whisper for the last word but, since Josse had never been very good at whispering, Helewise heard it clearly, although she did not think that anyone else had done.

With an affectionate look at him, Isabella replied quietly, ‘Wait, Josse, and I shall explain.’

Ambrose, once again master in his hall, said loudly across the noise, ‘There is another tale to tell here, unless I am mistaken. We would hear it, Brice, if you please.’

‘It is Isabella’s tale primarily,’ Brice replied. ‘I will speak when asked but, for the main, let us listen to her.’

Isabella paused for a few moments, looking down at the floor. Then, raising her head and staring out through the open door towards the bright sunshine beyond, she began to speak. ‘I was married, as all of you except the Abbess know, to a fine man, Nicholas de Burghay. When our second child was but a baby, my husband was killed. Galiena’s family, by which I mean her adoptive family at Readingbrooke, took me in because Audra de Readingbrooke is my sister-in-law; Nicholas was her brother. Then Galiena met and married Ambrose, and here in his hall I first met Brice. We fell in love but there was a powerful reason why I could not agree to follow my heart and marry him.’

‘Roger,’ Brice interrupted. ‘Isabella’s boy,’ he explained to Helewise, who nodded.

But Isabella put her hand to his face and said gently, ‘No, my love. Roger was not the reason and my heart has pained me every time I have had to endure your sad puzzlement, for you believed me when I said he disliked you. In fact he does like you, very much.’

Brice’s face was a study. He looked, Helewise thought, hurt, bemused and, not very far beneath the surface, angry.

Isabella must have perceived the rising anger too for she hurried on. ‘Hear what I have to say, Brice, before you judge me. My refusal to wed you was out of fear for your safety, for I believe — no, I know — that Nicholas was murdered and I was terrified that, if my love for you were to be made public by our marriage, you would suffer the same fate.’

‘No, I cannot believe this!’ Brice, deeply disturbed, shook his head. ‘Nicholas was murdered? By whom?’

Again Isabella paused. Then she said, ‘You may have wondered how it was that I came to know so much about the community at Saltwych.’ She glanced at Brice, who shrugged and muttered something about having supposed that Galiena had told her.

Helewise, who had been wondering that very thing, waited for an answer.

‘But I knew little of the place until quite recently!’ Galiena protested. ‘It was Isabella who told me much of what I know!’

There was a tense silence. Then Ambrose said commandingly, ‘Isabella, if you please. Go on.’

She gave him an anguished look and then said, ‘Like Galiena, I too am a child of the clan at Saltwych. My mother was Aelle’s second cousin and she died giving birth to me. I do not know who my father was — there was some mystery about it and I was half-afraid to know the truth, even had it been offered to me.’ She tried to laugh, but it was a feeble attempt. ‘It has been known for close kin to marry and bear children, and I did not-’ She made herself stop. ‘I was raised in the community until I was almost seventeen and then they found a husband for me. They thought they had selected a man who was close to the powerful circles that rule our land, but they were wrong. I do not know how they came to make such a fundamental error — perhaps the source of their information was mistaken over the name. Anyway, as far as my people were concerned, I was married to the wrong man. It was never explained to me.’

‘And they were not pleased when the man whom they had chosen proved not to be the influential person they had believed him to be?’ Helewise put in softly.

Isabella spun round to look at her, wide blue-green eyes taking on a bright shine in the light streaming through the open door. ‘No, my lady. They were not.’ She hesitated, then, swallowing, voice cracking on the words, said, ‘Aelle killed him. They made it look like an accident — we were out hawking and, as we rode through a stretch of woodland, a heavy branch came crashing down out of a tree and knocked Nicholas from his horse. He suffered a grave wound to his head and it became inflamed and he died in torment.’

Josse said, after a short respectful pause, ‘Isabella, are you certain Aelle was responsible?’

She looked at him, tears in her eyes. ‘Oh, yes. I saw him, and he had other men from the settlement with him. He pretended to be there to help me but there was no reason, other than an attack on Nicholas, for him to be in that vicinity; normally he rarely leaves the marsh.’

‘But it could have been coincidence,’ Josse persisted. Helewise, watching him, wondered why he was pursuing the point.

‘No,’ Isabella said firmly. ‘There is something else: later, when Nicholas was buried and I was about to move in with the family at Readingbrooke, Aelle visited me. And he said they would find another husband for me who would better advance the cause of our blood kin.’

Josse sat back with a smile, increasing Helewise’s puzzlement. But Isabella, who had also noticed, gave a quick laugh and said, ‘Are you happy now, Josse? Now that you understand that I truly had a reason?’

And he said, ‘More than happy, Isabella. Thank you.’

There is a small mystery there, Helewise thought to herself, that I will pursue another time …

Brice, who no longer looked angry, said, ‘Isabella, my love, you should have told me this long ago! I would have done something, I could have-’ He stopped.

‘What would you have done?’ Isabella asked. ‘What happened to Nicholas could so easily have happened to you. In the case of an active man, a man who loves to hunt as much as you do, it is all too easy to feign a fatal accident.’ Then, holding one of his hands in both of hers, she said, ‘I did not want to be the cause of the death of another man I loved.’ Then, passionately, ‘I did not want to lose you too!’

At which Brice put both arms around her and hugged her to him as she wept.

When, after some moments, she moved a little distance away from Brice and, giving him a grateful smile, wiped her eyes, Josse said, ‘Was that why, Isabella, you tried to dissuade us from going down into the Saltwych settlement to rescue Galiena? Because you feared for Brice?’

‘I feared for you too!’ she said. ‘I knew what they are capable of; you did not. And I did not know the identity of the girl in the hut. I was sorry for her, of course I was, but I felt that for your sakes, we should leave well alone.’ She looked at Galiena, then back at Josse. ‘I am so glad,’ she added, ‘that you ignored me.’

‘Just how long,’ Helewise asked cautiously, ‘had you been watching the Saltwych settlement, Isabella? Days? Or was it weeks?’

Again, Isabella turned her remarkable eyes on to her. ‘You guess accurately, my lady,’ she said.

‘The Abbess does not guess, she reasons,’ Josse interrupted pontifically, and his tone broke the tension in the hall, allowing them all a moment of laughter.

‘It was a guess, really,’ Helewise admitted. ‘You gave the impression last night, Isabella, that you knew the place much better than Josse or Brice, which, of course, you have just explained to us by saying that you were born and brought up there. So it follows that you would have known of a good place to hide while you watched and listened to all that went on.’

‘Yes, I have been going there on and off since Nicholas died,’ Isabella said. ‘My family all know that I love to hunt alone which, as well as allowing secret meetings with Brice, also meant I could slip away and see what was happening at Saltwych. Try to hear, for example, if any plans were being laid for me.’ Looking across at Galiena, she said, ‘I am only sorry that I did not learn of the threat to you, dearest. Aebba must have slipped away from Ryemarsh the very night after you had announced your visit to Hawkenlye, in order to tell Aelle that the perfect opportunity had arisen to snatch you and substitute a woman who looked like you. Had I seen Aebba in the settlement then, I might have been suspicious. But I did not.’

There was a silence as they all considered the implications of that. Then Ambrose said, and from his tone Helewise thought he was giving a final summing-up of the discussion, ‘Well, that cannot be helped. Galiena is safe now, back where she belongs, and, with Aelle’s death, it appears that there is no longer a threat to Brice if he becomes Isabella’s husband. You do not think that his successor will carry on his policy of marrying selected girls of the kinfolk to important outsiders, Isabella?’

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘There is not another like Aelle. He has no child of his own and his successor is his cousin’s son, a weak-minded fool who wishes nothing more than to hunt fowl in the marshes by day and whittle wood in the evening.’

‘I pray,’ Ambrose said gravely, ‘that you are right.’

‘I am,’ Isabella said firmly. ‘The Saltwych community has had its time and will degenerate to nothing.’ Then, as if surprised at her own prophetic words, she said ‘Oh!’

Ambrose got up and embraced both her and Brice. ‘I will send word of this happy news to your kin at Readingbrooke,’ he said, with a warm smile for Isabella. Then, delight flooding his face, ‘And, indeed, we must also impart the miraculous tidings that Galiena is returned to us. But for now we will drink the health of the newly betrothed couple!’ Turning towards the door that led to the kitchens, he shouted, ‘Julian! Bring us the best wine!’

As the day reached and passed noon, Helewise felt that she should set out back to Hawkenlye. The revelries at Ryemarsh were clearly going to continue for quite a time and, she thought, why not? Both couples had something to celebrate; a betrothal in one case and a joyous and unexpected reunion in the other. She hoped that Josse might offer to ride with her but, failing that, that Ambrose would supply an escort from his household.

She had spoken quietly to Ambrose and he had asked that the Hawkenlye community say masses for the soul of his groom, Dickon. To her surprise, he had added, ‘And, for all that she was a pagan and set out to do me great harm, please also pray for the woman who impersonated my wife.’ He paused, then whispered, ‘Now let her be buried under her own name.’

Guessing that he probably felt a superstitious dread at the thought of the Hawkenlye grave that was marked with his wife’s name, Helewise nodded.

Josse must have guessed that she wanted to be on the road for, as soon as they had finished the midday meal — which took a long time — he approached her and said, ‘I am ready to leave as soon as you give the word, my lady. We can be back at the Abbey by nightfall.’

Ambrose, Galiena, Brice and Isabella all came out to the courtyard to see them off. Helewise was helped on to the golden mare, Honey, and Josse swung up into Horace’s saddle; both horses looked sleek and well fed from their brief stay in the Ryemarsh stables and Josse muttered to Helewise that they had a lively ride ahead of them.

‘I will visit Hawkenlye soon, if I may,’ Galiena called out.

And Helewise, understanding, called back, ‘You will be welcome, you and your lord.’

But Josse, looking down at the radiant girl and her dignified husband, his lined face filled with a luminous joy that took years from him, muttered, ‘Perhaps it will not prove necessary.’

They did indeed have an exciting ride. Sensing the mare’s impatience, Helewise held her in; there was one more thing she wanted to ask. ‘Sir Josse,’ she said when they were out of sight of Ryemarsh, ‘why did you question Isabella so closely concerning the murder of her husband?’

‘It seemed cruel to you, my lady, that I pressed her hard?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘But I am sure you had your reasons.’

He said, after thinking for a few moments, ‘I saw her deliberately fly her hawk at Aelle. He was chasing us and he would doubtless have harmed some or all of us had he caught up with us; he had already given poor Brice that alarming bruise on his face. Isabella’s intention was clearly to defend us. But still, it was a calculated act and it is certain that the hawk’s attack probably blinded Aelle and caused him to fall to his death.’

She understood. ‘And you wished to reassure yourself that she acted out of what she saw as necessity,’ she commented. ‘She was, in short, not only protecting her friends but also, and perhaps more crucially, avenging her late husband.’

‘Exactly,’ Josse replied.

And, despite her own misgivings, Helewise decided from his set expression that it was probably best to say no more about it.

The lively horses were eager to run and at first Josse — who, as always, had been displaying his usual uneasiness in the company of the golden mare — seemed anxious in case Helewise could not stand a full gallop. But now she was impatient to be home. I’ll show him, she thought gleefully, I’ll prove that, although I’m a nun, I haven’t forgotten how to ride!

With a cry of delight, she kicked her heels into Honey’s sides and felt the mare leap off. Flying, feeling the wind of their fast passage tear at her veil, she heard Horace’s thundering hooves beat against the hard ground as Josse came after her. And she found herself laughing from sheer happiness.

She had been back at Hawkenlye for a day when Isabella came to speak to her. Helewise had spent some time thinking back over the impostor’s time at Hawkenlye and several things that had puzzled her about the woman whom she had believed to be Galiena Ryemarsh were now clarified. Why she had been so heavily veiled all the time, for example. Why she had refused to pray in the Abbey church but instead spent her time crouched in the corner of the shrine down in the Vale. Why she had shouted at poor Saul when he went in to clean the steps. Why, too, the serving woman, Aebba, had slipped away to the forest; she must have been looking for her accomplice, desperate to speak to Fritha so that the two of them might find a way to deal with the unexpected arrival of Ambrose.

And now that poor young woman — that pregnant young woman — was dead. It was, thought Helewise, all very sad.

It was a relief when Isabella was announced. She had brought her two children with her and Brice had escorted them all to the Abbey. She wished, however, to speak to Helewise alone and so Brice was going to take the children off down to the Vale to see Josse. Josse was about to return to New Winnowlands and now, Helewise thought, feeling pleased for him, he would have company on the road home because Isabella’s party had only come for a brief visit and would ride away with him.

The children had been brought in to be presented to Helewise. The handsome young son had nice manners, she thought, and she noticed in passing that Isabella’s daughter had her mother’s wide eyes, although their colour was different …

When the others had left the two women alone in the privacy of Helewise’s room, she turned to her guest and said, ‘Now, Isabella. What can I do for you?’

‘It is a question of what I can do for you, my lady Abbess,’ Isabella replied.

‘Indeed? Please, go on.’

‘I have been speaking to Ambrose about the woman who pretended to be Galiena,’ Isabella said. ‘I knew her. Fritha was also a child of the Saltwych community, as no doubt you realised, and she was closely related to Galiena. She was her half-sister, born to the same mother but by a different father.’

‘She resembled Galiena quite closely,’ Helewise said. ‘As you do too.’

Isabella smiled. ‘I am related by blood to Galiena but it is not such a close tie. She is my second cousin. There are few families at Saltwych and most of the people are distantly related. But, if I may return to the reason for my visit, it is to ask you whether you and your nuns have resolved the question of how Fritha died.’

‘I regret to say that we have not,’ Helewise admitted. Watching Isabella’s calm face, she decided not to mention the fact that the dead woman had been pregnant. If Isabella did not know — and it was difficult to see how she could have done — then there did not seem any need to tell her. ‘Poison was administered,’ she said, ‘of that my infirmarer is reasonably certain, for there seems no other way to explain Fritha’s terrible, fatal symptoms.’

‘There is another way,’ Isabella said quietly. ‘According to Ambrose, Fritha included in her impersonation of Galiena a session of massaging Galiena’s special cream into his hands?’

‘Yes, indeed she did.’

‘The ointment had a base made of hazelnut oil,’ Isabella said. ‘I know the recipe. It is one that I was taught as a girl and I showed Galiena how to make it.’

‘I see,’ Helewise said, although she was still mystified as to why Isabella had ridden over to tell her all this.

‘Only a very small number of us were taught to be healers,’ Isabella went on, ‘because our people believed that such skills are precious and not for the many. But those of us with the knowledge learned caution with the fruit of the hazel because, for a few people, the oil of the nut can act as if it were a poison.’

‘A hazelnut can kill?’ Helewise was incredulous.

‘Oh, indeed it can, my lady. The sensitivity appears to run in families.’

‘And you know of somebody related to Fritha who has this sensitivity?’

‘Yes. Her elder sister — her full sister, not a half-sister like Galiena — went gathering nuts when she was a young girl and, disobeying the instructions to bring her basket home without eating any of her harvest, she returned to Saltwych in a dreadful state. Her face was grossly swollen and the swelling seemed to extend down her throat, for she could hardly breathe.’

‘Did she die?’

‘No. The wise man has a small silver tube that he uses to blow the ritual incense into life on his brazier. He snatched it up, forced it down the child’s throat and it allowed her to take in breath until the swelling went down again.’

Helewise realised, to her shame, that she was surprised. She had dismissed these strange marshland people as backward and barbaric yet their healer — if that was what Isabella meant by wise man — had managed to save a life when all the skill and devotion of the Hawkenlye nursing nuns had failed.

It does not do, she thought sombrely, to be proud.

‘Thank you for telling me this,’ she said to Isabella after a moment. ‘It seems that you have solved for us the mystery of how she died. And, since it was by pure mischance, there is no necessity to search for her killer.’ Something occurred to her. ‘But surely this cream for Ambrose’s painful hands would not be something that Fritha would have eaten?’

Isabella smiled sadly. ‘It smells delicious, my lady. Appetising. Did you not remark on it?’

‘Oh — yes, I suppose I did.’

Still with the same smile, Isabella said, ‘Fritha would not be the first person to lick the residue off her fingers.’

Helewise told Josse later, when he came to take his leave of her. With a whistle of surprise, he said, ‘It would be wise, my lady, to mention this business of the nuts to Sister Euphemia and Sister Tiphaine.’

‘I have already done so,’ she said. ‘Sister Euphemia said she would bear it in mind. Sister Tiphaine said, oh, of course, and why hadn’t she thought of it?’

‘She already knew?’ he said.

‘So it seems. But then nothing surprises me any more about our herbalist.’

She went with him to the gate, where Isabella, Brice and the two children were patiently waiting for him. The children were laughing at something Brice had said and already, she thought, the four of them looked like a real family. She went up to them and said her farewells.

Then she went over to Josse. ‘Goodbye, my friend,’ she said to him. Then, on an impulse, ‘Be careful.’

As he swung up on to Horace’s broad back, he too was laughing.

She stood in their dust as the five of them rode away and out of sight. Then, smiling, she went back to her duties.