Read The Chatter of the Maidens Online
Authors: Alys Clare
The Chatter of the Maidens (31 page)
Helewise went in under the shadow of the trees. She took the track that she remembered so clearly and, glancing around, followed it. It felt different, walking there alone. She was apprehensive – of course she was – but, she realised, she was not afraid. The forest and its folk would understand, she thought, and probably approve what she was doing.
They would actually understand a lot better than anybody within Hawkenlye Abbey. Not that it was relevant, since nobody at Hawkenlye Abbey was going to know.
She hurried on.
The trees were now wearing their full summer foliage, and it was quite dark on the narrow path. But Helewise’s footsteps were sound and sure; it felt almost as if somebody were guiding her.
She reached the clearing.
There was the oak tree, and the branch where Alba had sat. And there, beneath it, was the place where she had died.
Helewise knelt down and placed the package she had been carrying down on the grass in front of her. She undid the wrapping, which was an old and brittle piece of sacking.
Looking about her, she reached out for some pieces of dry grass, dead leaves, a few twigs. She arranged them carefully around the sacking.
In the midst of the makeshift hearth lay a coil of rope. Knotted at one end, fraying at the other, it was grubby and worn.
This, Helewise thought, this was the rope with which a sad and disturbed woman hanged herself. Her life was a tragedy, and her final sin of despair was to be pitied; even though she probably never asked forgiveness for what she intended to do, we should remember that wrong was done to her. And
I
shall ask forgiveness for her.
I
shall ask forgiveness for her.
And this rope was also the terrible souvenir left to the woman’s only child. She wore it all the time, and, in the end, she tried to use it as her mother had done. In her failure, she threw herself from her branch and broke her neck.
Helewise closed her eyes and prayed for some time.
Then, taking a flint from her pocket, she struck a spark against the tinder-dry fuel around the rope. She repeated the action several times, until at last she had a small flame. Bending down to blow it gently, soon the kindling caught hold. The fire was alight.
It took quite a long time for the rope to burn to nothing; Helewise had to get up two or three times to fetch more fuel. But at last it was done.
Helewise sat and watched the last small tendrils of smoke spiral up into the dusk.
And as she watched, she seemed to see figures in the smoke. A woman with wild hair and desperate eyes, clawing at bars in a stout door. Then a young man, laughing as he played his part in a trick that had such dire and unexpected consequences. Then a pilgrim, crop-haired and bearded, rather like Bastian.
And, finally, Alba.
Only this phantom Alba had a smile on her face. Arms up towards the spectral figure of the wild-haired woman, the two shapes seemed to flow together.
Then a sudden puff of wind blew the smoke away.
With a sigh, Helewise stood up, carefully covered the small, dying bonfire with earth, and left the glade.
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