by Alys Clare
‘If their departure were for such a very understandable and indeed logical cause, then why did they run away in the middle of the night without telling us? Leofgar had only to say that he feared for his wife and son’s safety all the time there was the risk of a violent ruffian in the vicinity and we would have said, of course you must go home! Wouldn’t we?’
He had to admit that it was so. Moving away from her and returning to his usual place on the opposite side of the table, he said, ‘What do you think, my lady?’
Her brow creased into a frown. ‘I do not know what to think. I wish that I—’ She stopped. Then, looking at him, holding his eyes, she said very quietly, ‘Sir Josse, I have scarcely seen my son for more than fifteen years. I knew him as a baby and as a small child as well as any woman knows her son, but after that I – well, I was widowed and it was best for my sons’ own sakes that I took certain steps to ensure their futures. So I – homes were found for them with men of equivalent rank and position to that of my late husband and off they went. And then I came here.’ She dropped her head and seemed to be engaged in an intent study of her folded hands. ‘You ask me what I think of my son’s strange behaviour and I have to say that I have no answer. I no longer know what or who he is and I cannot even make a guess as to why he has fled from the Abbey as if the devil himself were on his heels.’
Josse had never really thought about the Abbess’s past. There had been hints – she had once or twice mentioned her late husband and made the occasional reference to motherhood and the birth of her sons – but this was the first time that she had spoken with such power and, it had to be said, such emotion about her past life. Wondering whether or not it would be diplomatic to pursue the subject – oh, surely he should, for did she not need some kindness, some reassurance? – he said tentatively, ‘My lady, you sound almost as if it is a matter for regret that you have lost your former closeness with your children.’
‘It is,’ she said baldly.
‘But is it not the case with the sons of many men and women, that they are sent from home when young and trained for knighthood by other men? It happened to me and I did not suffer.’
‘Yet you remained in contact with your mother. I know you did, Josse, you told me how she insisted you spend time with her kinfolk in Lewes.’
‘Aye, that’s true,’ he agreed reluctantly.
‘And when your brother Yves came here that time, you and he spoke with such love of your late father that I knew full well you had all been close.’
He had forgotten her prodigious memory. And the fact that, in pursuit of the truth, she was relentless. Even when – perhaps especially when – the truth was to do with some accusation she was making against herself.
‘The past is the past,’ he said eventually. ‘Maybe you will have to live with your regrets about what was done long ago, my lady. But must they be allowed to affect what you do in the present and what you plan for the future?’
Slowly she looked up. Then, her grey eyes full of tears, she said huskily, ‘I keep seeing him as a child. Both of them, and I see Ivo too. All this time, ever since I had those dreams when Leofgar was calling out to me, I’ve been unable to control my thoughts. The pictures from my own past flood into my mind and I can’t shut them out. And I still dream so vividly, about – well, about things that a nun should not be dreaming of.’
‘We cannot help what breaks out into our dreams,’ he said reasonably, ‘or, if there is a way, I do not know what it could be.’
‘I dream of Ivo and me when we were young,’ she murmured. ‘It is wrong, Sir Josse!’
‘You were his lawful wedded wife,’ Josse said. ‘Surely there is no shame attached to that?’ He thought she was about to speak but she seemed to change her mind. ‘And it is not as if you kept your past a secret when you presented yourself here and took the veil, is it?’
‘I ...’ She hesitated and he thought he saw a faint blush rise in her pale face. ‘They knew I had been married, had borne two sons and was widowed, yes,’ she said. ‘As you say, nobody protested that any of that made me unfit to be a nun. The Abbess at the time questioned me carefully over the provision I had made for my children, but everything had been meticulously arranged and she found no fault.’
‘What provision had you made?’ He asked the question despite himself; he was very curious to know the answer.
She paused for some time. Then said, ‘Leofgar went to a great friend of Ivo’s. He was to stay there and receive his training as a page and then a squire until he came of age, upon which he would take up residence at the Old Manor. That was Ivo’s family home,’ she added, ‘and it was, of course, Leofgar’s inheritance as the elder son.’
‘And your other son?’
‘Dominic was not all that much younger than Leofgar but he was—’ She swallowed. ‘He was closer to me, the one who always wanted to be with me. He was less of an adventurer than his brother, although ironically it is he who has grown up to be a soldier who fights in faraway lands. He – I sent him to live with my brother and his wife and Dominic quickly became like another child in their happy home.’
‘You did what was best for them.’ He believed it; knowing her as he did, she could not have done otherwise.
But she said only ‘Perhaps.’
After another lengthy silence she wiped the last traces of tears from her eyes, mopped her face with her sleeve and stood up. Taken by surprise, Josse said, ‘My lady? You are going somewhere?’
‘Of course I am.’ Determination written all over her, she strode round her table and made for the door. ‘I would love it if you were to accompany me, Sir Josse, provided you think you can be spared from the search for Walter Bell.’
‘Saul and Augustus can start without me,’ he assured her. ‘But where are we going?’
The expression that she gave him suggested that she thought he should have known without asking and, when she spoke, he realised that he should have done. ‘To look for Leofgar and Rohaise,’ she said. ‘We’ll search for them in their home, that used to be mine. We’re going to the Old Manor.’
Chapter 8
Helewise sent word to Sister Martha and both Horace and the golden mare named Honey were saddled and waiting by the time she and Josse had collected what few belongings they were taking with them and were ready to leave. Helewise had dressed herself in an extra layer of warm underclothes – a fine woollen shift and petticoat – and she had found her heavy travelling cloak. Josse, she noticed, was also well wrapped up against the cold.
Sister Martha, eyes betraying her curiosity, saw them to the gate and watched them set off. Helewise turned Honey’s head to the right, instinctively knowing which way to go; Josse, catching her up, said, ‘How far away is this Old Manor, my lady?’
I should have told him, she thought. It is discourteous to have virtually ordered him to accompany me without telling him exactly where we were going. ‘It lies in a small hamlet in the shadow of the North Downs,’ she said, turning round in the saddle. ‘As to how far ... a morning’s ride, perhaps a little more. I will take us along lesser-frequented tracks, Sir Josse, if you do not mind, for I prefer not to ride down through Tonbridge and possibly have people speculate and guess at our purpose.’
‘No, I don’t mind,’ he called back. ‘Lead on, my lady.’
They had been riding for some time when something occurred to her. ‘Sir Josse!’
‘My lady?’ He kicked the big horse and trotted up to ride beside her.
‘You speculated that perhaps Leofgar left as he did because he did not want to be a part of your search party.’
‘I was wrong, I am sure of it,’ he said quickly.
‘Never mind. What I wanted to say is this: I found my son in the stables last night and I realise now that he was probably getting everything ready for the family’s secret night-time departure. Did you tell him yesterday about the search party?’
‘No.’
‘I thought not because I did tell him, as we left the
stables, and to judge from his reaction I would have said that he had not known of the plan before.’
‘Therefore he did not leave because he feared helping us search for a violent man,’ Josse concluded. ‘There, my lady. I said he was no coward.’
For some time the happy thought cheered her. But then she recalled all her other worries and the fleeting lightening of her burdens was gone again.
Although she had once covered the journey in the opposite direction, Helewise had never travelled the route from Hawkenlye Abbey to the Old Manor; nuns did not habitually leave the convent for visits back to their former homes for, once within the order, that was considered to be their life and reminders from the past were not encouraged. Returning to your previous existence to care for a sick parent, for example, turned your mind from where it belonged, with God and in His service, perpetually His to command.
So it was strange, she mused as they rode along in the feeble sunshine, that she knew the way without hesitation. They left the main route down Castle Hill towards Tonbridge soon after leaving the Abbey, branching off to the right and descending into the wide Medway Valley down a track that was mostly used by drovers trying to get their herds up on to higher – and therefore drier – ground. They crossed the river some distance to the east of Tonbridge. It was as well, she thought, that the weather had not been wet recently because the marshy areas either side of the river would have been impassable if the ground were anything but bone dry and hard with frost. She turned north-west on the far side of the Medway and soon the long ridge of the North Downs rose up before them.
I must, she decided as once again she made a slight change of direction with barely a thought, have made this journey many times in my mind ...
But she was not sure that she wanted to dwell on that. The idea that she had mentally and unconsciously made her way back to her old home, perhaps with regular frequency, suggested that her detachment from her former life was not as complete as she had always believed.
They came into a small settlement with a wide green and a pond – there was nobody about and Helewise concluded that the inhabitants were wisely tucked up in their homes, sheltering from the cold – and rode on up a long, gentle rise towards the Downs.
Then the great line of oak and chestnut trees that sheltered the Old Manor from the east wind came into view. Helewise kicked the golden mare into a smart trot and then a canter and, with her veil flying in the breeze and the sound in her ears of Horace’s big hooves pounding the hard ground as Josse raced to keep up with her, at last she was approaching her former home.
And unbidden into her mind – impatient, as if it had been lying in wait for this moment – came a powerful vision of the first time she had set eyes on the place ...
She is a bride – a very young although fully mature bride – and she wears rustling scarlet silk; her new father-in-law’s wedding gift. She rides a neat bay mare whose name is Willow. She is excited and her blood races lustily through her body. It is a morning of high summer and her husband of slightly less than two days rides beside her.
She turns to look at him and the invitation in her laughing grey eyes is all that it takes. He kicks his chestnut gelding and comes up alongside the bay mare. Without a word he reaches out with strong arms and catches his bride around her waist, easily lifting her from her saddle and swinging her across so that she sits in front of him astride the chestnut horse. She leans back against his broad chest and a sigh of desire slips from her open mouth. He puts a hand on her jaw and turns her head so that he can reach her lips with his own. He kisses her hungrily and she responds. She wonders, as the kiss goes on and she feels their excitement mount, whether they might pause a while and, in the shelter of those big trees over there, make love ...
But he eases his mouth from hers and, opening her eyes, she sees that he is looking not at her but ahead. There is a light in his face that she has not seen before. Then he says, ‘Sweetheart, let’s wait until we’re home.’ Nodding towards whatever it is that he stares at with such deep pleasure, he says, ‘Look. We’re nearly there.’
She looks.
And sees a stone house perfectly sited; a gentle fold of the Downs rises up behind it and there is dense woodland screening it from the track that goes on up the hill. To the right – the east, and therefore the direction of the most spiteful winds – there is a copse of oak and chestnut; these are the very trees under which she has just been contemplating a short session of passion which, she now appreciates with a chuckle, would hardly have been suitable since the trees are actually rather close to the house.
The dwelling consists of a long building which she guesses is the great hall; it is a good size and it sits over an undercroft with a stout wooden door and one or two tiny windows. A stone stair leads up to the main entrance of the hall. To the right of this long, low construction is what she assumes to be a solar block. This too has an under storey, whose door, she will soon discover, gives on to a stone-walled room built half into the ground and off which a winding stair leads to the rooms above. The Old Manor, she can already see as she rides up to it, promises to be a magnificent home ...
‘My lady?’
It was not Ivo calling; it was Josse. Shaking her head and dismissing her reverie, Helewise turned to him. ‘Yes?’
He was, she noted, looking slightly anxious. ‘Oh – you stopped and looked for so long that I wondered if you had mistaken your way and brought us to the wrong place.’
She smiled at him. ‘No, Sir Josse. I am sorry but I was remembering the first time I came here.’
‘Ah. Oh.’
He’s embarrassed! she realised. He thinks I’ve forgotten our present purpose and am lost in my past! Dear Lord, but he is not far wrong. Gathering Honey’s reins in firm hands, she said decisively, ‘Let us go up to the house and see if we can find Leofgar. The sooner we can speak to him and find out why he left in such a manner, the sooner we can be on our way back to Hawkenlye.’
Now Josse looked simply surprised, presumably at her lightning change of mood. ‘Very well, my lady,’ he said. But she noticed that he continued to eye her with a certain amount of suspicion, as if – the whimsical thought quite surprised her – he feared that she might suddenly change into somebody quite different.
She rode the short distance up to where the gates of the Old Manor stood open and, with Josse beside her, went on into the courtyard. Josse called out, ‘Halloa! Halloa the Old Manor!’
At first there was no response. The main door to the hall was firmly closed and remained so. Helewise turned to look towards the solar block, but the door into the undercroft was similarly shut fast. Josse called again, but still there came no reply.
‘My lady,’ Josse said softly, ‘I am beginning to think that either your son does not wish to see us or else he is not here.’
‘There must be someone about!’ she said, copying him and keeping her voice low. ‘Leofgar and Rohaise may only have a small staff but they certainly do not live in this place all by themselves. There must surely be house servants and grooms and such like.’
Josse dismounted and handed her Horace’s reins. Then he paced away to the end of the long building that housed the hall and disappeared round behind it. He must have seen the smoke from the kitchen fire, she decided – she too had spotted it – and he has guessed what I know. That, if there are indeed servants here, they’ll be round the back.
Presently Josse returned. With him was a slim young man aged somewhere in the mid-twenties. He had smooth dark hair and was dressed in a cheap-looking but clean tunic and neatly darned hose. His sturdy boots were well-made and had been recently buffed to a shine.
Josse, walking a pace ahead of the young man, said, ‘My lady, may I present Wilfrid, who is in charge here in his master’s absence. Wilfrid, this is the Abbess of Hawkenlye, your master’s mother.’
Wilfrid went down on one knee on the hard-packed earth of the courtyard and said, ‘You are most welcome, my lady Abbess, and what hospitality
I can offer you is yours to command.’
‘Thank you, Wilfrid.’ She took the hand that he held out to her – it was clean, even down to the fingernails – and dismounted; Josse silently took Horace’s reins from her and collected Honey’s as well.
Face to face with her son’s man, Helewise studied the pleasant, open expression and the regular features. He reminded her of someone and, bearing in mind where they were, it did not take her long to decide who; his father had been manservant here before him. But she must get on with the matter in hand; deciding that there was no use in prevaricating, she said, ‘I had hoped to find Leofgar and the lady Rohaise at home.’
Clearly puzzled, Wilfrid said, ‘They have gone to Hawkenlye Abbey, my lady. Did you not receive them there?’
She glanced at Josse, who gave a faint nod of encouragement; he too, it seemed, had formed a good opinion of Wilfrid and was, she thought, urging her not to hold back from telling the whole strange story. Or, at least, telling as much of it as she knew. ‘We did,’ she said after a moment. ‘But then they departed and we had assumed they were heading for home.’
‘They have not arrived, as you see, my lady.’ Now Wilfrid was looking worried. ‘When did they set out?’
She hesitated. Then, with a rueful smile, said, ‘In the middle of the night.’
Silently she applauded Wilfrid’s discretion. Instead of asking the question that he must have been longing to ask – why on earth did they do that? – instead he said quietly, ‘Perhaps they are even now on their way and it is merely that you have overtaken them.’
She hadn’t thought of that. ‘Sir Josse, is it possible, do you think?’ she asked, turning to him.
He was frowning hard. ‘We came by a route other than the main way, did we not?’ he asked.
‘Yes, but the main way would, I believe, have been more direct and therefore quicker. If they came that way then they should already be here.’