Whiter than the Lily

5

By the evening of that day, Helewise’s resolve to think charitable thoughts about Galiena Ryemarsh and her problems was wearing very thin. Besides her indignation at the way in which the girl had addressed her, she also found herself dwelling on the question of just how Galiena could be so unreasonably certain that her maidservant would come for her. She must surely have sent word somehow, Helewise thought, frowning, but with whom?

The only conclusion that she reached — and she felt it to be a feeble one — was that Galiena had found some departing visitor to the shrine whose way home went close to Ryemarsh and she had paid them to make the detour. She was on the point of setting out to the Vale once more to see if she could verify this assumption when, on going out of her room and into the cloister, she realised that the long June day was at last coming to a close and it was getting dark.

She had been sitting brooding in her room for far longer than she had realised. It was too late now to go asking questions of the monks who would, she was quite sure, have settled down for the night.

As indeed I should have done too, she thought, yawning hugely and not bothering to put a polite hand in front of her mouth. It was rather nice to be alone and not to have to worry about her manners …

Walking slowly across the courtyard towards the dormitory, she reassured herself with the happy thought that Galiena Ryemarsh would probably be leaving Hawkenlye the next day and, with any luck, Helewise would never have to see her again.

Galiena might have wished as fervently as Helewise that an early departure be accomplished. However, it was not to be. Well might the girl have been observed (by Sister Ursel, the porteress, and Sister Martha, who tended the stables) peering anxiously up the road to see if there were any sign of her maidservant coming to escort her home. But the maidservant did not appear. In any case, even had she arrived as early as her mistress began looking out for her, Galiena could not have left with her there and then. The second potion was not yet ready.

It was Sister Tiphaine’s fault, if indeed there was a fault. Careful to the point of obsession over her remedies, she had insisted that the last ingredient could not be picked until the planets were in the correct alignment and this had not happened until just before dawn of that day. Then, even having picked, prepared and added the final herb, the mixture had to steep for a certain time. Helewise, sensing Galiena’s impatience like an itch on her skin, had sent word to the herbalist suggesting that the remedy might steep even as Galiena bore it back to Ryemarsh. No, my lady Abbess, came the polite but firm reply. The potion will lose its power if not allowed perfect stillness whilst it matures.

It appeared that the earliest Galiena might set out — assuming either that her woman-servant had arrived or that she would accept Brother Augustus as escort — was midway through the afternoon.

And with that Helewise knew she — and Galiena — must be satisfied. Sister Tiphaine knew what she was doing and it was useless to argue.

Helewise was left with the distinct impression that she herself had received the unwelcome tidings rather better than Galiena. The girl had apparently taken herself off for a walk in the woods. Warned by the well-meaning Sister Anne not to venture off the track that led around the skirts of the Great Forest, Galiena had, according to witnesses, given a flounce of her wide skirts, twitched her veil into place, muttered something that fortunately nobody could make out and marched off.

It is understandable, Helewise kept telling herself. The girl is distraught, homesick, lonely. We — by which she actually meant I — shall just have be patient and kind for a few more hours, then we shall all have our wishes granted and she will be on her way home.

In the late morning, Sister Ursel came hurrying to tell Helewise that there were travellers on the road approaching the Abbey gates.

‘Is it Galiena’s maidservant?’ Helewise asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

‘I cannot say, my lady. It is a party of three and, as far as I can tell, consists of a man, well-dressed and well-mounted, a woman and a manservant.’

Oh. It did not sound like a lone woman coming to fetch Galiena. ‘Find out who they are and what they wish of us,’ she said calmly to the porteress. ‘Then report back immediately to me, please.’

Sister Ursel nodded a brief reverence and left.

In the brief period of her absence Helewise did not even try to return to her books. Instead she sat staring at the wall and trying to think kind thoughts.

Sister Ursel reappeared. ‘My lord of Ryemarsh is here, my lady,’ she said, and the avid curiosity in her eyes belied her deliberately bland tone. ‘He says he has come to meet his wife, as they arranged, and that he wishes to take the holy healing waters and pray with her here for a few days.’

Helewise rose slowly to her feet. As they arranged? Why, then, had Galiena not mentioned that Ambrose would be joining her at Hawkenlye? And Galiena wanted to go home, didn’t she? It was surely not in her plans to remain at the Abbey, praying and partaking of the waters. Thinking swiftly, she said, ‘See to it that the lord Ryemarsh is escorted down to the Vale and ask Brother Firmin to look after him. I will find Galiena and bring her to him there.’

The porteress nodded her understanding and hurried away. Helewise, moving with more deliberation, wondered just how she was going to accomplish her self-appointed mission. The forest was vast and if Galiena had not heeded the warning not to venture within its dark reaches, it was going to be no quick or easy task to locate her …

Well, the sooner I start, the sooner I shall succeed, Helewise told herself firmly. Quickening her pace, she set off towards the gate and out along the path to the forest.

Down in the Vale, Ambrose Ryemarsh was still asking for his wife. ‘We wish to pray together for the child we both want so much,’ he kept saying. ‘Also we must both take the waters for they tell me that miracles have happened to those who do so.’ He was becoming increasingly breathless and agitated and Brother Firmin, kind-hearted soul that he was, was worried. Urging Ambrose to sit and rest in the shade and take a few sips of the precious water, he caught the eye of young Brother Augustus.

‘Gus, I am concerned about our guest,’ he whispered. ‘Nip up and fetch Sister Euphemia, there’s a good lad. I think she ought to have a look at him.’

Gus did as he was ordered, showing a considerable amount of tanned and well-muscled leg as he hitched up his robe and ran off up the path to the Abbey. It was not long before he was back, walking now at the infirmarer’s pace and a respectful two paces behind her.

‘Where is he?’ Sister Euphemia asked Brother Firmin, who had hurried out from the pilgrims’ shelter to meet her.

‘Over there in the shade.’ Brother Firmin pointed to where Ambrose sat with his back to one of the Vale’s fine chestnut trees. A small group of monks stood a few paces off, watching the old man with concern; Ambrose’s servant had been left up at the Abbey tending the horses.

Of the woman, there was no sign.

‘What ails him?’ the infirmarer asked.

‘He cannot see, his breath is shallow and he complains of pains in his joints,’ Brother Firmin replied. ‘But, worse than that, he is troubled in his mind. He is greatly confused and sometimes he does not seem to know where he is — at one moment he was quite lucid, sipping the holy water and asking about the history of the Vale, then suddenly he opened his eyes wide, told me that his groom had run away and then-’ Brother Firmin broke off in distress. ‘Oh, then, Sister, the poor soul began to weep piteously and cry out aloud for his wife!’

Sister Euphemia nodded, giving the old monk’s arm a reassuring pat. ‘You were right to send for me, Brother Firmin,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him. And the Abbess herself has gone in search of his wife, so I’m quite sure that the lord Ambrose will soon have his wish.’

Then, turning all of her formidable concentration on to her patient, she approached Ambrose, sat down on the grass beside him and, taking one of his fretful hands in hers, gently held the cup of water to his lips and encouraged him to drink. Then, her practised and observant eyes studying him, she began quietly to question him.

* * *

Helewise’s search of the paths up to and around the forest had met with no success. Galiena was nowhere to be found.

Hurrying back to the Abbey, she was coming to the reluctant conclusion that quite a lot of her nuns and monks would have to be taken away from their duties and organised into a search party for the wretched girl. She had a swift look around the Abbey to see if Galiena had found herself a quiet corner within its walls in which to sit out the time until she could depart but, again, there was no sign of her.

Reluctantly Helewise turned for the Vale. She would have to find Brother Saul and instruct him to set about organising the search party. In addition, she realised, she ought to seek out Ambrose Ryemarsh and welcome him with a few well-chosen and reassuring words, which was going to be difficult given that she hadn’t been able to locate his wife.

Frowning, she set off down the path that led to the Vale.

She had only gone a few paces when Brother Saul came running after her. Hearing his footsteps, she stopped and waited for him to catch her up.

‘Brother Saul?’ she greeted him.

‘I was looking for you, my lady,’ he panted. ‘Brother Firmin’s got Sister Euphemia to look after the old man — the lord Ryemarsh, I should say — and it seems he’s not at all well. Sister Euphemia sent me to inform you that she wants to have him moved up to the infirmary — she says he needs to rest in the cool darkness for a while to see if that’ll help him recover his senses.’

‘Oh, dear!’ Helewise had not appreciated that Ambrose Ryemarsh was sick; was the purpose of his visit, then, more than to take the waters and pray for a child?

‘Will it be all right for Sister Euphemia to put the lord Ambrose in the infirmary?’ Saul was asking anxiously. ‘It’s so full at present and strictly speaking the old feller’s not really ill, only-’

‘Of course it’s all right!’ Helewise gave Saul a reassuring smile. ‘The infirmary is Sister Euphemia’s province and I would not dream of questioning her judgement.’

‘Aye, my lady,’ Saul said, with a smile that seemed to say, course you wouldn’t.

They were hurrying on down the path when they saw someone approaching across the short grass over to their left. The figure was tall and strongly built and, until she could make out details of dress, Helewise took it to be a man.

But it was a woman.

Her gown and veil were of dark cloth and she wore a close-fitting linen wimple. Her face was pale, the expression joyless. But it was the eyes that Helewise noticed; wide under pale brows and lashes, they were of the palest green, like thick ice on a pond that is tinged with the colour of what lies beneath.

For some reason, Helewise felt a shudder go up her spine. Rather more curtly than perhaps necessary, she said, ‘Yes? Can we help you?’

The woman frowned. Then, in a strangely toneless voice, she said, ‘I am Aebba. I serve the lady Galiena. I am come with the lord her husband to join her here and in time to see her safely back to her home.’

Helewise glanced at Saul to see how he might be responding to this strange woman. He was staring at her intently, a look of puzzlement on his face.

‘What were you doing out there in the grass?’ Helewise asked, trying to make her voice sound pleasant and non-accusatory.

The woman stared at her for a moment. Then she said, ‘I was praying in the Abbey church. For the lady, you know, that what she desires be granted to her. Then I set out to find the Vale, where they tell me the lord Ambrose rests, but I missed the path.’

Helewise was just wondering how anybody with eyes in their head could possibly miss the well-marked path to the Vale when Saul gave a sort of gasp and began, ‘But-’

Instantly Aebba stepped on to the path, elbowed Saul out of the way and said curtly, ‘I must go to the master. Please show me the way.’

After a brief hesitation, Helewise gave a slight bow and said, ‘Certainly. Follow me, please,’ and led the way on down the path.

Other than accuse the woman directly of telling untruths, there was little else she could do. Very aware of Saul, walking behind Aebba and muttering softly to himself, she resolved to have a private word with him as soon as it could be arranged.

The moment that Helewise laid eyes on Ambrose she understood Sister Euphemia’s concern. The old man lay back against his tree, eyes closed, barely conscious, face pale and with a sheen of sweat. As the infirmarer greeted her and came to stand beside her, Helewise said softly, ‘Let us arrange for him to be installed in the infirmary, Sister. I have been unable to locate Galiena but I am sure that she must surely reappear soon — after all, she must realise that her remedies are just about ready for her and she may well be expecting Aebba to have arrived.’

‘Aebba?’

Helewise indicated the dour woman standing a few paces off, staring down at Ambrose with an unreadable expression on her face. ‘Galiena’s serving woman.’

‘Ah.’ The infirmarer made no further comment.

‘Can he walk?’ Helewise asked.

‘I reckon so, my lady, with help. Saul! Gus!’ she called, and immediately the two brothers hurried towards her. ‘Help the lord Ambrose to his feet, if you will, and get him up to the infirmary. I’ll go on ahead and prepare a bed for him.’

As Saul rushed to obey, Helewise caught at his sleeve. ‘Saul?’ she said quietly. ‘Why did you look so startled when the woman, Aebba, said she had been in the church?’

‘Oh, I’m sure I was mistaken, my lady, and that’s exactly where she was,’ he said instantly.

‘You thought you saw her elsewhere?’

‘Aye.’ Again, the puzzled frown. ‘I could have sworn I saw her hurrying away towards the forest.’

Where Galiena went, Helewise thought, thanking Saul and sending him on to help Ambrose. And, since several people seem to have known that’s where she ran off to, then it is quite possible that Aebba went to look for her.

And, frowning just as Saul had done, she wondered why.

It was some time before Helewise could go over to the infirmary to see how Ambrose was. A delegation of the Abbey’s marshland tenants had arrived while she was in the Vale and she had to see to the receipt and the recording of the money they brought with them as their contribution towards King Richard’s ransom. So preoccupied did she become with the visitors, their questions (‘Will we have to pay more, my lady? Only it’s hard, very hard, on us as are family men to meet these ’ere demands’) and their need to gossip (‘They do say as how ’e won’t be back and that Prince John’ll have to be king!) that she all but forgot about the infirmarer’s new patient.

Her heart went out to the marshmen. They were the Abbey’s tenants and she, as Abbess, had a fair idea of the circumstances of their lives. In common with everyone else in England, they had already had to give more than they could afford to finance the Lionheart’s crusade. Although Helewise understood why such an expensive campaign had been necessary, a part of her could not help wondering whether knights, lords and kings with the passion and the thrill of holy war filling their heads and hearts ought not to pause just for a moment to wonder if it was all worth it.

And now King Richard’s dreams of glory had come down to this: he was ignominiously imprisoned and his poor struggling people were going to have to reach into all but empty pockets to ransom him. Looking at the faces of the men standing nervously before her now, she pitied them deeply and would have helped them if she could.

But she could not.

She wanted to be able to say that the sum they had delivered today would undoubtedly suffice. She wanted to tell them to go home and work as hard as they could in an attempt to make up what they had been forced to give away. She wanted to reassure them that what they now could put by, from their own increased efforts, would be theirs alone.

But if she gave those reassurances — which were not hers to give — then what if some further calamity occurred? What if King Richard again called upon his people?

It was almost unthinkable, but then the unthinkable did sometimes happen.

When at last she had seen the marshmen on their way, the afternoon was over and it was time for Vespers. As soon as the office was over, she went straight across to the infirmary.

A harassed young nun in a bloodstained apron bowed to her and, in answer to her query, led her along to the small curtained recess where Ambrose lay. Dismissing the nun — Helewise could see she was desperate to get back to whichever patient’s blood had flowed out so freely all over her stiff linen apron — Helewise drew back the curtain slightly and went into the dimly lit recess.

There was a delicious, sweet smell on the air — sniffing, Helewise tried to identify it. Then she looked down at the bed. Ambrose lay with his eyes half-closed, an expression of peace on his face.

For one dreadful heartbeat, Helewise thought he was dead.

But he must have sensed her presence; opening his eyes, he peered up at her and said, ‘Galiena?’

She moved quickly forward and took the hand that he held out. It was bony, knotted and misshapen, but the skin felt smooth, almost as if it had been oiled. ‘No, my lord, it is Helewise, Abbess of Hawkenlye,’ she said softly.

He was squeezing her hand, nodding slightly. ‘Aye, I can tell it’s not Galiena. I greet you, my lady, and I thank you for your care.’

‘Galiena is-’ she began, thinking that the best way of telling him that his wife was missing was to come right out with it.

But he said, ‘She was here, my lady. Did you see her, my lovely lassie?’

Helewise held back the question that rose to her lips. ‘I — er, no.’

Ambrose sighed with pleasure. ‘I may not see as well as I did, especially in this dim light, and it was almost as if I saw her in a dream. But I do not need the keen sight of youth to recognise my wife’s gentle touch. And I know the smell of the special ointment with which she rubs my sore hands.’ Freeing his hand from Helewise’s grasp, he held it up side by side with his other hand, as if for her inspection. ‘Such pain I had in my joints, my lady, and my Galiena took note and made me a wonderful remedy. She’s so clever, such a wise herbalist, and still so young. She knows when I am in pain without my needing to tell her and there she is, by my side, rubbing the precious stuff into my old bones until all the pain is gone! My lady, I have been cared for adequately well by her woman Aebba during Galiena’s absence, but it wasn’t the same.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, no. Not the same at all. But the touch of my lovely lassie, ah, that is something to cherish!’

‘She has been to tend you? Here?’ Helewise asked in surprise.

‘Aye, my lady, just now. Why, the ointment is still on my skin! Does it not smell delicious? Good enough to eat!’ With a small chuckle, he licked the back of one hand.

‘It does indeed,’ she agreed.

‘I always know my lassie by the sweet smell she carries about her,’ Ambrose said, a loving expression on his face. ‘She was here, my lady, oh, yes!’

Had he been dreaming? Helewise thought it quite likely. But then it did look as if someone had recently been massaging his hands.

The curtain parted and the infirmarer stepped into the recess. ‘My lord Ambrose, how do you feel?’ she said, but it seemed that the old man had slipped into a doze.

‘He says Galiena was here,’ Helewise whispered. ‘That she came to massage his hands with her special remedy.’

‘Did she?’ Sister Euphemia looked doubtful. ‘Can’t say as I saw her, but then we’re rushed off our feet today. And it could have been while most of us were over in the church just now for Vespers.’

‘His hands certainly feel as if they have received some sort of treatment,’ Helewise said. The infirmarer took up one of the old man’s hands and ran a finger over its back, nodding her agreement as she did so. ‘But it need not necessarily have been Galiena who administered it,’ Helewise concluded.

‘My lady, I couldn’t say.’ The infirmarer looked flustered. ‘He’s not well, that’s for sure.’

‘What is the matter with him?’

‘He’s an old man and his mind’s wandering,’ Sister Euphemia said baldly. ‘In addition he’s short of breath, virtually blind and very sleepy.’ She shook her head. ‘If that young wife of his is serious about conceiving his child, then all I can say is she’d be well advised to hurry up about it.’

‘You think …’ Helewise hesitated. Then, in a barely audible whisper, ‘You think he may be dying?’

‘He doesn’t look any too perky, my lady. But it’s always possible that-’

Whatever possibility the infirmarer had in mind was to remain unexpressed. For, interrupting her even as she spoke, there came a terrifying sound from the main body of the infirmary behind them.

It was not a moment for protocol. A nurse before she was a nun, Sister Euphemia responded to the dreadful choking noise by pushing past her superior and setting off at a dash between the curtains and into the infirmary.

Helewise, a pace behind, saw a horrible sight.

Galiena had come bursting into the infirmary and had sunk to her knees on the floor. Her heavy veil was awry — her hair, Helewise noticed distractedly, was beautiful: palest blonde and twined into two thick plaits — and she had torn at the neck of her silk gown, exposing the white flesh of her chest and her rounded upper breasts.

There was a look of extreme terror on her pale face. Her lips were swollen and, as Helewise stared in fascinated horror, a red rash seemed to spread across the girl’s throat.

Galiena, it was quite obvious, could not breathe. The rasping, choking noises as she tried to take air into her lungs were quieter now, even as the girl’s panic increased. She leaned forward briefly and some liquid came out of her mouth and dribbled on to the floor.

Eyes wide, she stared up at Sister Euphemia, Helewise and the circle of nursing nuns who now stood around her. Sister Euphemia held out her hands to the girl and said something — it might have been an encouragement to sit up straight, so as to let the breath flow more readily into her poor body — but Galiena did not appear to hear.

Then her whole frame convulsed once, twice. She slipped over sideways against Sister Euphemia, who was kneeling down and trying to support her, and then she was still.

After a few moments of absolute silence — the infirmary’s patients were too shocked to move, let alone speak — Sister Euphemia said very quietly, ‘I’m afraid she’s dead.’