Whiter than the Lily (5 page)

The maid, Aebba, turned out to be a dour woman in early middle age. Like her mistress, she too looked as if she had not slept well, or perhaps the sour, disgruntled expression was the one that she usually wore. She was tall and strongly built, with a pallid and slightly greasy complexion. Her hair was completely hidden by a linen veil that was arranged so as to shade her face and a close-fitting wimple covered her chin and throat. Her eyes – of a shade somewhere between ice blue and palest green – were the most colourless that Josse had ever seen. She did not speak as she mounted her mare and settled herself, save to order Dickon curtly to adjust her stirrups.

When the party was ready and farewells had been said, Josse glanced at Dickon, nodded briefly and led the way out of the courtyard and off on the road to New Winnowlands.

The morning was fine and sunny. They reached Josse’s manor in good time and he managed to persuade Galiena to step into the house and take some refreshments; Will’s Ella, silent and shy as ever, worked her usual magic and had cups of cool wine and
a platter of warm, spiced cakes ready in next to no time. Aebba was offered the same courtesy but, with a brief shake of her head, she declined. Will was sent out to Dickon, left holding the horses, with a flagon of ale and a hunk of bread and cheese.

Then Josse saw the party on their way.

Standing beside Galiena as she sat on her horse, he sensed her nervousness. ‘Do not fear, my lady,’ he said quietly, for her alone to hear. ‘They are good people at Hawkenlye and will do their best to help you.’

‘But if I should fail!’ she said, her voice anguished.

‘Do not dwell on that,’ he advised. ‘Keep hope strong, for often that is the way to bring about what it is you desire.’

Fleetingly the tension left her white face and she smiled at him. ‘What a sound fellow you are, Josse d’Acquin,’ she murmured. Then, lightly touching her heels to her horse’s sides, she rode straight-backed out of the yard.

Leaving Josse with the distinct but surely mistaken impression that she had been flirting with him.

Helewise, Abbess of Hawkenlye, was absorbed in one of the great leather-bound ledgers in which the Abbey’s financial records were carefully detailed. In company with every other monastic foundation in the land, Hawkenlye was going to have to give up its wealth to go towards King Richard’s ransom; Helewise was in the middle of preparing an inventory of the Abbey’s assets.

It was neither a charitable nor a loyal thought, but she could not help but be extremely grateful that Hawkenlye enjoyed the patronage of Queen Eleanor. The Queen might be more eager than anyone else to see the ransom collected and paid over and her favourite son released, but, as Helewise well knew, Hawkenlye was special to the Queen. Had she not taken a personal interest in its construction and dedication, searching out the best craftsmen that France and England could produce to ensure that the Abbey would be memorable in its beauty? Had she not bestowed as her own personal gift – or so they said – the Abbey’s greatest treasure, the walrus ivory carving of the dead Christ in the arms of Joseph of Arimathea?

It was possible, Helewise acknowledged, that the Queen would demand the return of her gift so that it might be sold for the ransom. But somehow it did not seem likely.

Wishful thinking, Helewise told herself sternly, returning to her ledger. That’s what
that
is. And if we are commanded to give up our treasures, then we shall do so willingly for the King’s sake.

Queen Eleanor had visited Hawkenlye in April. The first desperate anxiety over her captive son had abated; she had recently received a letter from him in which he assured her that he was well and content. He also revealed that he had established a friendly and affectionate relationship with the Emperor, and he expressed his deep gratitude to his mother for her endeavours on his behalf. Eleanor, who had previously been beside herself with worry, had been bombarding the frail and elderly Pope Celestine with impassioned letters demanding that he do something to help the great Lionheart. Frustratingly, Celestine had yet to answer; he was, according to the Queen, shaking in his papal shoes at the prospect of performing any action that might offend the Emperor and so, in Eleanor’s own words, he had ‘taken the coward’s way and decided to do nothing’.

The encouraging message from Richard, together with the great comfort of actually being able to do something herself towards his release, had combined to make the Queen feel a great deal more positive, and it was in this mood that Hawkenlye had received her.

‘I shall set up a council,’ she had informed Helewise,
striding to and fro across the best guest chamber and ticking off points on her long, elegant, fingers. A huge emerald caught the light and glinted on her forefinger. ‘That is my priority, to ensure the help of good men to collect the money. The Earl of Arundel, the Earl of Sussex, Richard Fitznigel, Bishop of London – oh yes, and that handsome fellow Hubert Walter shall be at their head, which is only his due as our new Archbishop of Canterbury.’

‘They say he is a great man,’ Helewise commented. ‘His diplomacy, his wide experience and his vast intelligence will be needed in this enterprise.’

‘Indeed they will,’ the Queen agreed. She fixed intent eyes on Helewise. ‘But we shall not fail, Helewise.’

‘I know, my lady,’ Helewise murmured. ‘I know.’

The Queen’s restlessness had made that visit a less man restorative one for the old lady, Helewise thought now. Usually when Eleanor came to Hawkenlye, Helewise tried to spoil her a little; give her some much-needed time to herself, provide her with one or two books and make sure that, when the Queen requested it, the great Abbey church was empty for her private prayer. The nuns and monks, too, joined in the cosseting, appearing silently to leave little gifts outside Eleanor’s door. A posy of sweet smelling flowers. A jug of cool wine on a hot day. A phial of the precious holy water from the Vale.

But a woman like Eleanor of Aquitaine did not pause to rest, even for an hour, when her favourite son needed her help.

With a sigh, Helewise went back to her ledger.
Picking up her quill, she tried once again to reconcile the revenues from the Abbey’s sheep pastures down on Romney Marsh; she had done the long sum three times and each time arrived at a different result …

There was silence in her room for some time. Then, just as she gave a soft exclamation of pleasure – the sum had at last seemed to come out right – there was a tap on her door.

‘Come in!’ she said cheerfully, putting down her quill.

The door opened a crack and the round-eyed face of Sister Anne peered around it. She looked, Helewise noticed, faintly surprised. As well she might – Helewise smiled to herself – since it was rumoured among the nuns that Helewise disliked working on the accounts books. Sister Anne had probably been expecting a less cordial reception.

‘What can I do for you, Sister Anne?’ Helewise asked kindly.

‘I didn’t want to interrupt you, my lady Abbess,’ Sister Anne said, sidling into the room, ‘not when you’re so busy, but—’

‘I am not busy at this precise moment,’ Helewise remarked. Pleasure at the sum finally done was still making her smile but, nevertheless, there was more work to do and she knew from long experience that her patience would soon begin to wear thin. Dear Sister Anne was an amiable soul but not blessed with either swiftness of thought or any fine judgement of another’s mood.

‘Well, it’s like this, see,’ Sister Anne began. ‘Sister
Ursel was called to the gates a while ago and she sent you a message. She said it’s not really urgent but she knows you like to be kept informed, and she did think it a little strange, what with the young lady
being
so young, if you see what I mean, and well-dressed and that, mounted on a lovely mare with saddle and bridle new-like and—’

‘What was Sister Ursel’s message?’ Helewise felt her jaw begin to clench.

‘Oh, didn’t I say?’

‘No.’ The monosyllable sounded more like a bark than a word and Helewise hastily stitched a wide smile on to her face. ‘I don’t believe you did, Sister.’

Sister Anne squared her shoulders as befitted a courier with tidings to impart, frowned in concentration as she brought to mind the details of her message and declared, ‘There’s a young lady arrived. Says she’s called Galiena and is wife to Ambrose Ryemarsh. She asks to see the nursing nuns and so Sister Ursel’s taken her to the infirmary.’

Trying to follow the porteress’s reasoning – Sister Ursel did not usually feel it necessary to report to the Abbess every new arrival who came seeking help – Helewise said, ‘And this Galiena Ryemarsh is a lady of quality, Sister Anne?’ Perhaps the young woman’s elevated station was the reason for Sister Ursel’s action.

‘Oh, yes, without a doubt. I saw her with my own eyes and I can certainly attest to that.’ Sister Anne nodded violently as if to emphasise her words.

‘Ah, I see. The name is not familiar to me but
perhaps I should step across to the infirmary and make the lady’s acquaintance.’ She frowned, not relishing the interruption.

‘Oh, I don’t reckon there’s any call for that, not unless you feel like it, my lady,’ Sister Anne said, giving Helewise an indulgent smile. ‘Don’t you disturb yourself, not when you’ve so much to do!’

Losing patience at last, Helewise said, ‘Then why are you sent to interrupt my concentration in order to inform me of this arrival, Sister Anne?’

Sister Anne’s vapid smile froze on her face. ‘Oh – er – urn – because of how she arrived!’ she stammered.

‘Yes?’ Helewise restrained the impulse to ask sarcastically, and how did she arrive? Walking on her hands? Dragged on a hurdle? On a wicker chariot and driving a team of wolves?

‘She was’ – Sister Anne, undeterred by her superior’s ill-restrained irritation, paused dramatically – ‘alone!’

Helewise made herself work on the ledgers for a little longer, then, since she would soon have to stop in order to attend Vespers, she abandoned her efforts in time to slip across first to the infirmary.

Sister Euphemia came to the door to greet her. ‘You’ll have been informed of our new arrival, then,’ she said quietly, leaning close to her superior. As always, the infirmary was busy and several nuns were hurrying here and there throughout the long room as if keen to finish the present task before the summons to evening prayers.

‘Indeed.’ Helewise looked around her. ‘Is she within?’

‘No.’ The infirmarer gave her a quick glance. ‘She’s not sick so there’s no need for her to take up a bed among those that are.’

‘Then …?’ Helewise paused.

‘Step outside with me, if you will, my lady, and I shall tell you the little that I know.’

Helewise and Sister Euphemia went out through the infirmary’s wide doors and turned into the shady cloister outside; the day was still hot and the deep shade was welcome. When they were safely out of earshot of anyone inside the infirmary, Sister Euphemia said, with a brevity that Sister Anne might have done worse than emulate, ‘She’s called Galiena. She’s eighteen, married to a man a good bit older and she wants to be pregnant.’

‘Oh!’ Momentarily startled, Helewise recovered herself quickly and said, ‘And seeks your help?’

‘Aye. Seems the young lady is something of a herbalist herself. I took her to see Sister Tiphaine, who was clearly impressed by the remedies that Galiena has already used. She’s been treating both herself and her husband, which shows a deal of good sense.’

‘Can you help her?’ Helewise asked. ‘Is there anything you and Sister Tiphaine can suggest that has not already been employed?’

‘Reckon there’s always another remedy or two worth a try,’ the infirmarer replied. ‘The lass has agreed that I talk to her at greater length, which I’ll do in the morning.
If
I can find the time.’ She gave a short
sniff, as if to imply that a rich young woman’s fancies would certainly not be given preference over more pressing demands. ‘Sometimes it’s as simple a matter as a couple not knowing what they’re meant to do, if you understand me,’ she went on. ‘I well recall a pair of youngsters I was called to once where the girl was still a virgin.’

‘I should have thought that unlikely in this case, since the young lady’s husband is older than she and presumably experienced.’

‘Aye, so should I, but you never know. I intend to have a look at her while we have our talk. I’ll try to discover what their habits are, whether there’s any obvious reason why she has failed to conceive.’

‘And she, presumably, is happy to be examined and intimately questioned?’ It seemed important, Helewise thought, for Galiena to realise what she was letting herself in for.

‘I haven’t told her yet exactly what the morning’s session is going to involve.’ Sister Euphemia smiled somewhat grimly. ‘But if she wants my help, that’s the best way I can start to give it.’

‘I see.’ There seemed little more to add. ‘I shall receive the young woman after Vespers, Sister. Please will you send word to her to present herself in my room at that time?’

‘I will, my lady.’ The infirmarer gave her Abbess a low bow, then hurried back to her patients.

Helewise sat quietly in her chair, hearing again in her head the peaceful words of the evening prayers. The
office of Vespers was one of her favourites and this evening the Abbey church had been wonderfully cool and dark after the heat of the day.