My Lord, the Hermit

by Veronica Heley

  Father Hilarion and the old Countess were summoned, but the patient did not recover consciousness. Someone suggested that Amory might be able to help, but Father Hilarion would not agree to send for the hermit.

  The Lady Floria came, and told Julian that he had very likely killed his father. In vain Julian protested that he had but been protecting his father’s interests, and pointed out what he had achieved.

  ‘Do you call it a victory, with the convent and the workmen’s huts destroyed? On your knees and pray that your father may survive this blow!’

  ‘I pray he may survive,’ said Julian. ‘You know I have always loved him, and would always have obeyed him, if he had not shown signs of … I hope I have been a good son to him. If I have caused him grief, then I am sorry for it. But it is not a good son’s part to stand aside and let his father, through ill-health or whatever, give away his inheritance. Now he is ill, it is doubly my right to defend our lands from oppression. If my father lives and is restored to good health, then I will resign control of the castle to him once more. Until that day, I must do as I think best.’

  ‘Murderer!’ shrieked the Countess. ‘On your knees and pray for forgiveness!’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Julian, nervously fingering his sword-hilt. ‘I have arranged to ride out at dawn to clear Sir Bevil’s men from the valley. My men await me.’

  ‘You would leave your father like this?’

  ‘Madam, I …’ Julian turned pale, then flushed, and hastened from the room.

  Amory had been standing in a dim corner of the courtyard, watching Herkom’s preparations. He was wrapped in his cloak, but fully armoured, save for his helmet. Suddenly he started, and withdrew a pace into the shadows behind him.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘You should still be abed.’

  ‘I could not rest.’ She touched the back of his neck with soft fingers. He shivered, and she smiled. She was standing in her shift, with a cloak around her and her hair tousled. ‘I slipped away from Alice and Kate. Is your leg sound enough for you to ride?’

  ‘It is stiff, no more. What of your side?’

  ‘Kate bathed it for me, and I promise I will not cover it. It is a bad graze, merely. You heard the babel above? The Count has fallen into a swoon, on finding himself supplanted by his son. Julian is a thoughtless youth; you will have to handle him with care. Will you be gone long?’

  ‘Not long, I think. Herkom has received word that Blackbeard was unable to flush the rebels from out of the quarry, although most of the stone-cutters who had been imprisoned there have escaped. The valley is still wide open to Sir Bevil. We have but gained a respite.’

  Her hand sought his, and finding it, caressed it without clinging.

  ‘When you return, we will talk.’

  ‘You must not forget that I am still bound by my vow.’

  ‘We will think of something.’

  ‘And you are to marry Julian.’

  She laughed. ‘I doubt it, somehow. When you return. …’

  ‘You will show me my son?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ He caught the doubt in her voice, and would have turned to see her face, but she pressed his hand and withdrew as swiftly and as silently as she had come.

  ‘Is there no way to smoke Sir Bevil out of the quarry?’ demanded Julian. He and Amory stood beside their horses, surveying the quarry from a hundred yards away in the valley. The sun was hot, and the armed men were uncomfortable in their mail, but they dared not discard it, for though Sir Bevil and most of his men had managed to fight their way back into the quarry, there were still a good number of fugitives hiding in the valley. Around the distant castle smoke still rose lazily from the blackened ruins of convent and shack. None of those who had hidden in the crypt had survived the firing of the convent and its subsequent sack by Sir Bevil and his men. But the arches of the church still soared to the sky, most of the peasants’ livestock had been recovered, and the harvest still grew, untouched, all around them.

  Amory stroked his chin and considered the problem. There was but one road in and out of the quarry, and this Sir Bevil had closed with blocks of stone cut by the workmen whom he had enslaved. The quarry itself was easily defencible by trained soldiers, and in it were huts, forge, kitchens, and an adequate supply of water which trickled down the sides of the quarry here and there from the hillside above. More, the road which led out of the quarry on the far side was also well defended; a temporary stockade and fort of timbers on a stone base had been erected at the point where the road plunged into the forest and hence to Sir Bevil’s own lands, or up to the top of the hills.

  ‘The key to the situation,’ said Amory, ‘is the church up there. If I had been allowed to hold it, none of this would have happened, and I think we must regain it before we can be free of Sir Bevil. Once break his stranglehold across the Travellers’ Way, and he will be cut off. Yet how to do it?’

  ‘A night attack …?’ said Julian.

  ‘Across two miles of valley, and up that track? No. It could not succeed. Sir Bevil would sally forth from the quarry, and his men would come down on us from above, and it would be we who would then be left without defence.’

  ‘Then we must attack the quarry, by lowering men on ropes into it at night.’

  ‘If John Blackbeard and his foresters could not manage a surprise attack at night, then neither can we. Besides, the men from the church would come down behind us and cut them off. A feint in one direction might bring them out of the church, but … so far from the castle. …’ Amory shook his head. ‘It would be costly in lives, I fear.’

  ‘Then what do we do? The moment we withdraw our men to the castle, Sir Bevil will be out and firing the crops.’

  ‘We must besiege him here at the quarry, and at the point at which the track comes down into the valley from the church. We must set up two encampments in the valley … one would do; hereabouts, where watch can be kept on both places. Stakes driven into the ground in a ring, banked with earth, watchmen at all hours, horses kept saddled to ride out at all times, a system of signals to communicate Sir Bevil’s actions to the castle. There must be a force of archers, ready to shoot at any man who steps out of the quarry, or down the track. Then there must be mounted men, ready to resist an armed breakout from either source. And this will come, I think. The men must be housed in tents, and provisions sent out daily from the castle. It will be but a holding action, and costly; but until we can devise a scheme to destroy Sir Bevil, it will preserve the harvest for you.’

  Julian clapped his hand on his armoured thigh, and whooped with joy. ‘The very thing to hold them! If it had not been for you, I would have withdrawn, knowing no better.’ He called his men to him and gave them their orders, shyly asking Amory if he had forgotten anything, when he had done. Amory shook his head. He thought Julian might make a fair to middling commander of men in years to come.

  Then, while waiting for the camp to be set up, Amory and Julian sat down to break their fast. Julian wanted to know where and when Amory had fought before, and how he had happened to become a hermit.

  ‘My wife died in mysterious circumstances,’ said Amory. ‘And so I took a vow of poverty and silence, until I had built a church for God. I suppose I am about halfway through my task. But you must have heard all that.’

  ‘Yes, but now that I have met and talked with you, I find it difficult to believe that … well, that you murdered anyone.’ Julian went red, and busied himself with a buckle on his belt.

  ‘And yet I must have killed half a dozen men within the last two days.’

  ‘That is different. I am sorry. I ought not to have mentioned it.’

  ‘Yes, it is different. And so I must return to the hill-top as soon as I may.’

  ‘But surely, what you have done for us will count as remission for your sin?’

  ‘I doubt it. Certainly Father Hilarion does not think so, and in a way I agree with him. Whether I murdered my wife or no, I did vow to build a church in silence and poverty, and I have brok
en that vow somewhat conspicuously of late. Father Hilarion will doubtless think up some suitable penance for me.’

  ‘But – doesn’t it worry you?’

  Amory repressed an urge to tell the boy not to be a fool. What would be the use? The lad was growing up fast, but he was not yet of an age to appreciate the virtue of endurance. An act of rash courage would mean something to him, years of obedience would mean nothing at all. So Amory merely smiled.

  Julian dismissed the matter from his mind. He looked around, and now it was his turn to smile. ‘I’ve always loved this valley. I never realized how much, until now.’ He laughed, and lifted his arms high above his head, his fists clenched. ‘Oh, I am sorry about my father, of course. But it makes me feel so … different, to have done something for myself for a change. And I’m sure it will make all the difference between me and the Lady Joanna. You know we are to be wed? Lately she’s been – not exactly sharp with me – but rather as if she were always thinking about something else. I’m sure she only left the castle yesterday to make me assert myself, and come after her.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amory, favouring his wounded leg. ‘I believe she did hope you might come after her. But for the rest … she has a mind of her own.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll soon get over that, when we’re married.’ He jumped to his feet, and pointed back across the valley. ‘Look, our relief is coming. We can go now.’

  Amory stood up, too, though more slowly. His smile was twisted, though Julian did not notice it. He could manage to hide the pain of his wounded leg. He could probably manage to hide the pain of loving Joanna, in time. And soon he would see his son.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE sun was high overhead by the time that Amory and Julian rode back into the castle, and there was still much to be done before Amory could rest. Father Hilarion was looking after the Count and the nuns. The Count had spoken a few words and moved his right arm and leg, but it was clear that it would be some time, if ever, before he resumed control of affairs. His mother and the Lady Floria were with him. Three of the nuns had contracted the dysentery which had so decimated the workmen, and they had been isolated in one of the little-used rooms at the top of the Keep.

  None of these required Amory’s attention, but the architect and master carpenter wanted him to go with them into the meadows to discuss rebuilding their huts around the spring, and devising a water-course to carry the clear water down to the convent buildings. Midge and Father Ambrose were treating the sick workmen with infusions of blackberry roots, and Elena had sent word down to say that she would be glad if Amory could arrange for the workmen to return to the valley, as they had little food left.

  About a dozen of the soldiers from the castle had been wounded and twenty or so of Sir Bevil’s men had been brought in, disarmed, and thrown into one of the dungeons. All of these people must be visited before Amory could rest.

  The memory of his recent conversation with Julian had reinforced Amory’s belief that Joanna was not for him, and he tried to avoid her. He failed, for Joanna had set herself over the sick and the homeless, and wherever Amory went, there was she also to be found. Amory tried not to look at her. Noticing this, she smiled at first, and then she tossed her plaits back over her shoulders, and frowned. Her hand brushed his arm – not by accident – and he caught his breath. She smiled.

  When he had seen the last of the sick men, she drew him aside, and told him he must go out into the garden to rest his leg. He looked at her then, and in his eyes she saw all the admiration she had longed to receive from a man. Woman-like, she would have liked to hear him put his love into words again and again, but she was learning patience and did not insist. Besides, she could see how tired he was. She led him through the hall, where Joyeuse, helped by one of the pages, was taking down the garlands which she had set up the previous day for Joanna’s marriage. Amory started, looking at the boy. The page stopped what he was doing, and stared back, a half-smile on his face. Amory looked at Joanna, colour coming into his cheeks. She looked from the dark-haired page to Amory, and seeing the hope in his eyes, felt sorry for him … She shook her head.

  ‘That is not your son. He is named Fulk, and is of my lord Fitzstephen’s stock. A pleasant lad, but retiring, and not very strong.’

  The light died from Amory’s eyes, but he still smiled. ‘The stock breeds true. He is my cousin’s son, so we are kin. I was just such a one at his age, too thin, and always tired. The lad is growing over-fast.’

  She added this information to what she knew of Amory, and liked him none the less for it. Joyeuse dropped a curtsy to Amory, who bowed. The boy Fulk flushed with pleasure when Amory ruffled the lad’s hair in passing. Joanna looked anxious.

  ‘The other pages will be in the garden,’ she said. ‘I will take you into the inner pleasaunce, the herb garden. You can see there, without being seen. You must rest that leg of yours.’

  ‘Yes. I …’ His breath came unevenly. ‘Twice I asked Father Hilarion if I might see the boy, but he thought I did not deserve such a privilege. Do you think it would be wrong of me to make myself known to him?’

  She did not know what to say. Only a little while ago she had been a heedless girl, fearing nothing. Now there was pain everywhere she turned. She did not think he was going to like the boy. She did not know how to guard him against the disappointment he must surely feel when he realized how selfish and shallow the boy was. Yet to deny him the acquaintance of his son would surely be cruel.

  She led him through the passage and into the garden. The younger members of the castle were in the water garden; discipline had been relaxed, and there was more noise than usual. The pages were hanging on the words of those squires who had been in the fighting, and were now boasting of their exploits. The group broke up when they saw Amory, and crowded around him, begging him to talk to them. Amory, unused to so many people being close to him, and being tired and in some pain, gave such a good imitation of a frightened horse that Joanna brushed the youngsters away, and took him through into the seclusion of the herb garden.

  ‘So many children, so much noise,’ said Amory, allowing himself to be pushed on to a seat. ‘Which boy was he? The dark one with the red tunic?’

  ‘No, he is fair, and well-made. I thought you must have noticed him. He clutched at your arm so hard.’

  ‘Fair?’ He passed his hand across his eyes, and she saw with pity that his hand trembled. ‘I don’t recall … my cousin on my mother’s side was red-headed, but a dark red … will you point him out to me?’ Despite her protests, he limped to the gate that divided the two sections of the garden, and looked through. The boys had started a wild game, pretending that they were Amory and Joanna being besieged in the convent. Half were playing at being Sir Bevil and his men, and the others were defending the ‘convent’.

  ‘There.’ She pointed. ‘The one who is pretending to be Sir Bevil.’

  ‘The small boy with the merry face?’

  ‘No. There. You must know him. He bears the badge of the swan on his breast.’

  Her arm was touching his shoulder. She felt him grow rigid. He did not move. She looked at his face, and saw that even his eyes had gone blank.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked, after a long moment during which he did not seem even to breathe.

  He let out his breath in a sigh. He looked at her, and at first she did not think he recognized her. Then he knew her, but it seemed he did not wish to speak. He brushed past her, returning to the seat. He sat down with his back to her, and put his head in his hands. She understood that something was wrong, but she did not know what. The boy had disappointed him, but surely disappointment would not account for this despair?

  She waited for him to come out of his reverie. The tense set of his shoulders told her that his thoughts were not pleasant. Presently Joyeuse came out into the open air, and the boys ran to her, beseeching her to join in their game by playing she was Joanna, or Alice. Joyeuse laughingly brushed them aside, and came into the herb garden to look for J
oanna. The boys followed her, crying that if she liked, she could play at being Kate, who had hidden while the others fought, or one of the women who had died in the crypt.

  ‘That is enough,’ said Joanna, stepping forward to protect Amory from their view. ‘What of your lessons today?’

  ‘No lessons today,’ said the lad with the merry face.

  ‘Father Hilarion is busy, and the other monks don’t care. Anyway, none of us are interested in lessons, for we’re not going to be monks ourselves.’

  The boy Amory strutted through his fellows to stand before the hermit.

  ‘I want to ask the hermit why he took my name, and why he has taken my badge to wear. Your name is Keren, isn’t it? They tell me you murdered your wife. What does it feel like to have murdered someone? Father Hilarion’s going to flog you for breaking your vow of silence, isn’t he? He said he’d flogged you before, but that you haven’t learned from your previous punishments and that he’s going to have to be harder on you in future. How many strokes do you think …?’

  ‘Oh, don’t!’ The boy Fulk shuddered. ‘Tell me, sir: that is, if you will? Were you very afraid when you had to fight Sir Bevil, all on your own?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amory, looking at Fulk, and not at the fair-headed boy at his side. ‘Yes, I am often afraid, but there is a sort of courage that comes when you are afraid of showing fear. Sometimes that’s almost as good as not being afraid.’

  ‘Yes, I can see it would be.’ The boy’s face lit up.

  ‘What nonsense!’ cried the boy Amory. ‘Either you are a coward, or you are not: that’s what I say.’

  The hermit rose to his feet and turned away. Something had distressed him to the point where he could not speak. Joanna and Joyeuse exchanged glances, and together they swept the boys from the garden.