Fair Weather

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  And then, to my utter amazement, I felt myself crushed deeply within Vespasian’s arms as he lifted Tilda from the ground where she sat, and wrapped her in his embrace. “Foolish child,” he whispered in my ear. “Quiet the trembling and the fear. You mustn’t try to help me, little one, nor could you if you tried. When, previously, you came to help me, you created more problems for us both. I was forced to do something to you that appalled me, and you suffered great injury and pain.” His cheek was against mine, his long fingered hands strong around me. “Enough now,” he soothed. “Now is the time for sleep and golden dreams,” and he carried me carefully across the room to the narrow wooden staircase and up the steps. He seemed to find Tilda’s weight so inconsequential that she was like a small bird against his chest, all crushed skirts and long curls, just a tangle of childish interruptions and a tear stained face.

  “Please -” she whispered, her mouth crushed against the dark wool of his cotte.

  “Hush,” he interrupted her. “The time for questions has passed.”

  Two beds remained upstairs, one which Tilda had made herself from fallen thatch and roughly gathered straw. The other pallet Walter had bundled up when he came to stay. Vespasian knelt and laid me carefully on my bed, pulling the cover up around my chin. Then he went across to the other side of the room, gathered up the rushes from Walter’s pallet and carried them over, kicked into some semblance of shape alongside mine and covered with his own cloak. Then, looking down at me, he slowly began to undress.

  Tilda lay in bed, breathing a little ragged, and watched the man who had once raped her and said nothing. Through her eyes I watched him too and for a few moments there was no one else in the world. Vespasian slowly removed his heavy padded cotte, jet buttoned and stiff with overlaid panels. He dropped it casually on the floor beside the bed and laid his sword and long tongued belt on top. He shrugged off the deep burgundy tunic which he wore beneath and stood in his loose white shirt, black hose and boots, looking down at me. He pulled the knife from his boots and laid it across the sword. Then he sat beside me and tugged off the boots. I watched every movement and wondered what Tilda should do.

  He smiled suddenly, fully aware of my thoughts. “I’ve no intention of doing you further harm,” he said, voice soft in the long shadows. “What I do now is simply for your protection.”

  I was absurdly aware of a vague disappointment. I turned and closed my eyes, cuddling down into the straw’s rustle and scratch. I was fully dressed and had made no attempt to remove my tunic, though I was barefoot. I felt Vespasian climb onto the bed beside me, the long warm strength of his body against my back. He flung one arm across my waist, closed his fingers around me, and settled, stretching. I could feel his breath on my neck.

  Tilda was exhausted but I couldn’t sleep. Vespasian seemed to have quickly fallen into dreaming and his breathing became deep and slow and steady. I lay still, unable to turn because of the weight of his arm around me. I loved his closeness and I didn’t want to wake him. The moon was full, almost at its height and the light turned all the room to silver sheen, each detail clear in its strange cold illumination. Tucking my chin down on my chest, I squinted at the hand clasped just below my breasts. I studied each finger, long and olive skinned, deep tanned after constant exposure to the weather. The nails were clean, short and square. The knuckles were prominent, a fighter’s hands, but the fingers were flexible and long phalanxed with an expansive spread. His ring was heavy and the ruby glinted through the shadows.

  “Stop examining my hand,” smiled Vespasian softly into my ear, “and go to sleep.”

  I stifled a giggle. “You’re not asleep either?”

  “Hush,” he said, “if we do not rest now, we’ll not have the strength to cope with the dangers of tomorrow.”

  They were not the most reassuring words to help me doze, but within minutes I was dreaming.

  Chapter Forty One

  Vespasian’s ugly brown horse showed me its teeth and snorted, all wide nostrils and bravado, but I smiled as Vespasian helped me up onto the saddle. I had come to know the horse well while we lived in the forest house and I knew that in truth it was better natured than its master. Vespasian adjusted the stirrups for me and tightened the bit. Then he took the reins himself and led us down the narrow streets away from the house and all its memories. The midday sun was autumn pale between the rooftops.

  Once past the winding tangle of lanes, the jutting eaves, beamed buttresses, bustle, squash and dirt, Vespasian lengthened the stirrups and climbed up behind me. I leaned back a little, enjoying the support of his body. Tilda had long desired intimacy. Now after a short night of his fraternal warmth, we were tight squeezed with the edge of the pommel pushing me firmly back into his grip. I could feel his tension, arms and thigh muscles taut as he guided the horse, and his chin was against my forehead. Vespasian spoke softly, squeezing his knees behind mine, and immediately we gained speed. The hooves made little sound except the slosh of dark yellow from the gutters and the clipped clatter on the beaten earth as we cantered to higher ground. The horse’s rhythmic pace lulled me deep into Vespasian’s embrace. The wind was in his black hair, sweeping it across my cheek, and although I was bundled in his arms, the bite of frost was in my face and against my body. “Are you cold?” he said, his soft voice almost blown away.

  I was surprised he was thinking about me at all. “No,” I said at once. “Though Hugh’s cloak would have been warmer than mine. He lent it to me but I lost it, you know, in the castle by the river.”

  He paused. I could guess his thoughts. “Yes,” he said. “I found it. I used it for – another purpose. But that’s something else I cannot explain to you. At least, not yet.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Tilda. “Hugh wouldn’t object.” I smiled to myself because Hugh had always objected about everything, though he’d been patient enough about the loss of his precious cloak. My private knowledge of the purpose the cape had served and what Vespasian had done with it, was lost in Tilda’s shivers.

  “If you’re cold,” said Vespasian, “pull the ends of my own cloak around you. It’s thicker than yours.” It was blue-night velvet and heavy sable lined. I caught its corners round me and cuddled cosy back to Vespasian’s body.

  The town’s scavenging dogs squealed and hurried away from us into the unpaved side streets, the kites and ravens flapped up to the roof tops, the bony little pigs and the busy chickens hopped from our path. A goat, bleating like a baby, turned and ran. Up past the tall arches of London’s principal conduit, on through the narrow alleys and the wider roads of the main cheap, finally we left the city walls beneath the low portcullis and huge shadow of Cripplegate. The road headed north.

  Beyond London and away from the buildings, the sun opened our horizons. The air smelled sweet, leaving behind the stench of sewerage. As the ground rose I looked down, seeing the snake glitter-caught twist of the Thames dazzled with autumn sunshine and spanned in columned stone. I had crossed that bridge so many times, with so many memories. Beneath its cold wet shadows Vespasian had found Tilda nearly eight years ago, and taken her under his protection. Then less than a year ago, it was where she had found Isabel and all the nightmare had begun. The serpentine sheen reminded her. “I still have the little carved snake. Now I know it comes from you, I promise not to lose it.”

  “I doubt you could, even if you tried,” said Vespasian. “I have bound it to you.”

  We were within sight of the convent wall. “Is this what Malcolm was looking for then,” said Tilda, “if it’s so precious? I thought it was his and he’d left it in my room on purpose. I thought it was evil. But since it isn’t, why did Malcolm come?”

  Then quite suddenly and deliberately Vespasian pulled on the reins and the horse stopped, feet firm on the thick grass. The stillness was momentarily pronounced. Then he spoke directly into my ear. “So – tell me again, why did you think the ouroboros came from Malcolm?”

  I twisted around to look up at him. The mena
ce was back in his voice. Tilda thought she had angered him. I wanted her to say she’d told him about this already, quite distinctly, and he’d either not bothered listening or had not taken her seriously. But instead Tilda said, “Was I stupid? I thought I saw Malcolm come from my sleeping chamber in the convent. Perhaps I was dreaming.”

  “You’d been asleep?” It wasn’t like Vespasian to repeat my words. He always understood what I was saying before I said it.

  “There’s a room there in the traveller’s wing, where I went to sit by the fire,” stuttered Tilda. “It was morning, but I fell into such a deep sleep, when I woke I felt sick. I saw Malcolm coming from the direction of my little room back towards the courtyard. He didn’t see me. When I went to lie down on my own bed, I saw the snake on the wall. So of course, I thought he’d put it there.”

  We were standing quite still now. Vespasian’s grip on the reins at my waist appeared unnaturally tight. He said, “Did you explain this to Bernado?”

  I nodded. “The Abbot said he’d felt an unnatural disturbance in the air, something unpleasant. But then he said no one else had come to stay at the convent so it couldn’t have been Malcolm. But that was strange because it’s a convent so of course it’s all women and no men ever visit, except the abbot himself of course. When I asked him to take the carving because I thought it was evil, he wouldn’t touch it and that was when he told me to leave.”

  “You speak specifically of Malcolm,” said Vespasian slowly. “Do you remember him so well? You were unconscious or delirious most of the time in that house. I made sure you were completely oblivious when he flogged you and I doubt you ever saw him clearly.” Vespasian paused. “How can you be so sure it was him?”

  “Because I nearly stole his purse once in the market,” I said, a little breathless. I hadn’t previously realised exactly what Malcolm had done to me. “Just before, you know,” I said. “Finding Isabel. Arthur caught me. Arthur, his wife, Uta and Malcolm, so of course I recognised them at your castle. I’ll never forget them now.”

  I thought Vespasian was going to change his mind and take me away. I expected him to turn the horse but he didn’t and I was disappointed. After a moment, he flicked the reins and the horse walked on. We rode up to the high wall and then at the convent gate, Vespasian dismounted. He looked up at me before ringing the heavy brass bell. “You will not be staying here after all,” he said. “Listen carefully, because this is important and I will not tolerate mistakes.”

  I felt Tilda’s heartbeat race. “I promise. Whatever you say.”

  “I believe the good abbot has been dabbling beyond his powers,” said Vespasian. “I believe it may no longer be safe to leave you here. When I sent the ouroboros to find you, Bernado must have felt its arrival, but instead of recognising alchemic purity, it seems he spoke only of an unpleasant disturbance. Malcolm’s presence, undoubtedly sanctioned, is an even greater wickedness. Now there are things that must be said, and things I must collect, so we will go in and face him. You will stay extremely close to me and you will not leave my side for any reason whatsoever. Do you understand?”

  I did. “I don’t want to be left here. I’m glad.”

  “You should not be glad,” he said, “for where I will take you will be far less pleasant and my company is something you should neither choose nor welcome. However, if in what you’ve told me is right, I must adjust my plans.”

  “I saw Malcolm,” I repeated. “I know I did.”

  “Perhaps your prioress has more to be frightened of than I realised,” said Vespasian. “However, that does not interest me now. You must promise not to leave my side, whatever happens. Hold to my cotte if you wish. And if possible, do not speak unless I tell you to.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say,” said Tilda.

  Vespasian smiled, more amusement than malice. “You were once an obedient child,” he said, “though less so since you became inspired with ideas of chivalry and adventure.”

  “Was that wrong of me?” said Tilda, chin up. “My friends were being murdered. You seemed to be in danger. I wanted to help.”

  “I had told you not to.”

  “You might have been dead,” said Tilda.

  “In which case,” said Vespasian crossly, “you could hardly have helped me. Besides, when I die you will know it because I shall come back to haunt you.”

  “Then it was because you were so angry with me,” continued Tilda, looking at her feet, hanging loose above the stirrups, “that I had to run away from the forest house. That – and what you did. The things you told me and what you refused to explain. Then Walter and the others as well. But mostly you.”

  “I know that,” said Vespasian, taking the convent bell in one hand, his other still holding the horse’s bridle. “Which is why I came to get you myself, once I was free to do so. But the past is no longer relevant. Quiet now and keep the sword I gave you close.”

  A scurrying novice came to open the gates. We followed her up the pathway to the main building, a well dressed knight leading his lady on their horse, a normal and respectable couple travelling north. A young stable boy came from behind the building, dancing at Vespasian’s heels, ready to take the reins. Vespasian helped me dismount and threw the boy a penny. “Don’t stable him,” he ordered. “Wait here and hold him. If he frets, walk him. I shall be back shortly.”

  Once into the shadows of the long hall, the novice turned. “Has the lady come to stay, lord? I will take you both to our prioress, Sister Rosamund.”

  “No,” said Vespasian shortly. “I wish to see your abbot. There’s no need to come with us. I know the way.”

  Vespasian’s manner was as usual imperious and the little novice blinked and backed off, leaving us alone. I followed his swirl of cloak along the cool corridor, coming directly to Bernado’s study. Without knocking, Vespasian pushed open the door and we walked briskly inside.

  The abbot looked up, nose over papers, eyes protruding. He opened his mouth to complain but then clamped his moist lips shut with a snap. He stared at us for a moment, then clasped his plump fingers before him, managed a hesitant smile and waited patiently for Vespasian to speak.

  Vespasian put both hands flat on the abbot’s desk and leaned forward, speaking low and quiet but distinctly so that the words seemed to vibrate, heavy with controlled malevolence. “I hear you have been playing a new and very dangerous game, Bernado,” he said. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  The abbot hurriedly cleared his throat. “As always, Jasper, it’s a pleasure to see you. But I’ve no idea what you’re accusing me of. Perhaps we should discuss this over a glass of wine.” He was looking at Vespasian but his eyes flicked aside to me.

  “Don’t be a fool,” said Vespasian. “You know I will not drink anything you offer me now. I want only explanations. And I will recognise the truth, Schiavone. You should remember this, since you value your comfortable life.”

  The abbot’s Italian became more accented, exaggerated by nerves. “La giovane? I must apologise for asking her to leave, but you must understand my friend, I have a position to uphold. Already she stayed far longer than we normally accept visitors. Gia, naturalmente, al inizio era una considerazione - solo per - yourself.”

  “You told her to leave when you saw the ouroboros,” said Vespasian. “Why?” He was leaning right over the little man now, both hands still gripping the desk.

  “Most intimidating, Jasper,” agreed Abbot Bernado, moving back with a scrape of the chair legs. “And quite unnecessary. You know I cannot risk having pagan talismans here. I could be excommunicated. A very simple explanation, don’t you think?”

  Vespasian spoke softer still. I was clutching his cloak, bit I shivered. “If you imagine, Bernado, that I am such a fool, perhaps I should prove to you that I am not. Would you like me to do that? Shall I offer you proof, here and now, that you must not try to play alchemic dice with me?”

  The abbot cringed. “Jasper, please. Tell me exactly what the matter is and I sh
all do my best to put it right. I’ve always shown you my gratitude. I know how much I owe you.”

  “Indeed?” smiled Vespasian. “Then why are you now dealing with Arthur d’Estropier? Hasn’t gold been enough for you? Now you want spiritual as well as material power?”

  “What has the girl said?” glowered the abbot, hunched beneath Vespasian’s gaze. “What nonsense has she told you? I have nothing to do with the black arts.”

  I stood and stared and said nothing. Vespasian was still smiling. “You make too many mistakes,” he said. “You see, I believe explicitly whatever my young friend tells me. Now your prevarications and absurd disclaimers increase my mistrust.”

  The abbot was breathing deeply. “I’ve been a friend of yours for many years, my dear de Vrais,” he puffed. “I’ve kept the bailiff from your door and the wolf from your back. I may have talked to Arthur on a few occasions, since it’s always wise to know your enemy. You deal with him yourself. It is impossible to avoid him. It’s in the nature of our work.”

  “I deal with him because I intend to destroy him,” said Vespasian softly. “Why has Malcolm d’Estropier been permitted to enter this place?”

  The Abbot scowled. “The girl’s wrong,” he said, though his eyes remained on his papers. “No one of that circle could enter here. This is a house of God.”

  “So I once believed,” said Vespasian. “But it seems your corruption is deeper than I’d supposed. If you were speaking the truth, Bernado, you would look into my eyes. In fact, you can barely face me. Look at me now.”

  The demand was so sudden and pronounced that I jumped. The abbot’s head snapped up and he glared directly at Vespasian as ordered. “You can’t destroy me, de Vrais,” he said. “Your power may go beyond my own, but you stand alone. I have all the collective power of the group behind me.”

  “Not at the moment,” smiled Vespasian. “You still underestimate me. I have been where you can never go and I am not limited by greed or the desire for reputation and the good opinion of men. My knowledge comes from Araby and Spain, from Persia and Egypt, and not Italy alone. My power comes from the future as well as from the past. You have one last chance, Schiavone. Give me back the papers of Jabir Ibn Hayyan and the seal of Thoth that I entrusted to you. Then I shall consider what to do with you next.”