by Alys Clare
On the morning of the fifth day, Joanna sat with Meggie on the aft deck, watching the dancing waves and telling her a story about a city that drowned when the seas rushed in. To Joanna’s quiet delight, the little girl showed no fear – which might have been understandable even in an older child, bearing in mind that they were at sea and therefore not in the ideal place for a tale with drowning as its theme – but instead sat with wind-flushed cheeks and a fascinated half-smile staring out over the deep green water.
Aware of eyes upon her – Joanna’s sensitivity had grown fast during the years of her instruction – she turned and saw that one of the monks was staring at her. She met his gaze for a split second – his face was shaded by his hood and she could not read his expression – and then he bowed his head.
Returning her attention to Meggie and picking up the story, Joanna wondered why the small encounter had upset her. She had felt malice coming from those shadowed eyes; of that there was no doubt. One arm around Meggie’s waist as the child sat on her lap, Joanna reached inside her gown with her other hand and found the bear’s claw set in silver that she wore on a silver chain. Holding it firmly, she asked for protection from whatever it was that threatened her; after a few moments, she felt reassured.
She finished her tale and Meggie relaxed against her, half asleep and no doubt wandering happily in daydreams of magical drowned cities. Joanna wondered again about the monk; she risked a quick glance and saw that he was still there, although now the others had returned to their habitual place and were sitting muttering together. Perhaps they were praying.
She closed her eyes and went back to that moment when she had felt the monk’s malevolent thought directed against her. Was it simply that he heard her story and, judging her to be a pagan, instantly hated her? It was quite likely; one of her anxieties over coming on this journey had been over the inevitable proximity with Outworlders – her people’s name for those who lived beyond the forest – that it would bring. She had been given training in how to go unnoticed when with Outworlders and she could make herself so unobtrusive as to be to all purposes invisible; yet he – that monk – had glared at her as if he knew exactly who and what she was and both loathed and condemned her for it.
She risked another quick look at the group of monks. The one who had stared at her sat a little apart and she realised that she had already noticed something about him: he did not join in conversations or eat the sparse and not very appetising meals with the others. Was he being punished? Joanna was not very familiar with the ways of monks but she had an idea that temporary ostracism might well be the penalty for some piece of behaviour unacceptable to the community. With a faint smile she amused herself by wondering what the shunned one had done. It served to distract her from her moment of fear and soon she had forgotten all about it.
The ship had put in at Barfleur – Josse had told his companions that the port was favoured by their King and his mother, a fact verified by the excellent state of repair of everything from hawsers and bollards to the quay itself – and, since Harald said that it would take some time to complete the unloading and loading procedures, Gervase suggested that the party go ashore. Their horses were brought up from their accommodation below and for a happy hour the party enjoyed a ride on the fresh green grass above the town. Sabin spotted a street market on the way back to the quay and, handing her mare’s reins to Gervase, stopped to purchase some provisions.
As the Goddess of the Dawn sailed out of Barfleur and prepared to round the Cherbourg peninsula, the four adults and Meggie enjoyed a simple meal of bread, cheese, apples and a flagon of cider that nevertheless tasted like a feast.
At noon on the sixth day out of Pevensey, the ship reached Mont Saint Michel. Since the little island could only be approached at high tide, the Goddess stood off for an hour or so then, with the small waves now lapping at the rocky feet of the Mount, she put in briefly and tied up at a rickety wooden jetty. Josse and the others watched with amusement as the party of monks was ushered swiftly and unceremoniously off the ship by the clearly anxious Harald; ‘I’m surprised he didn’t chuck them in the sea half a mile off and make them swim for it,’ Josse observed. With haste, the crew prepared to put to sea again, every man of them, the captain as well, working with fierce concentration in that perilous place that tested the most experienced seamanship.
Josse and the others watched them intently, admiring their efficiency; Josse for one was relieved when at last they were done and the ship began to pull away from the jetty. So total was the absorption of both passengers and crew upon the task in hand that hardly anybody noticed the strange behaviour of one of the monks, the last one to slither down the gangplank and in the rear of the rest of the party by some fifteen or twenty paces. A couple of sailors, anxious to draw back the gangplank, went to hurry him up; abruptly he turned and ran back along the narrow plank, now stretched over the gap of water that was already appearing between the ship’s sides and the wooden supports of the quay. With a brief nod to the sailors, who were watching him indifferently as if passengers changing their minds at the last moment were all in a day’s work, he sprang up on to the gunwale and ducked down out of sight into the companionway leading down to the cargo deck. His brother monks, already some twenty paces away, did not notice any more than most of those on board the ship had done. Even if they had, it would not have concerned them overly.
The man was the monk whom Joanna had thought was being ostracised.
He was not in fact a monk at all.
Late in the afternoon the Goddess entered the estuary of the river Rance. She sailed for a mile or two up the wide waters of the river’s mouth but the captain knew that he could not approach the port of Dinan, perhaps another six or seven miles upstream, until the tide was once again coming in and the sea building up towards high water.
Joanna, seeing Sabin standing up in the prow, went to join her.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked her quietly; Sabin had been very sick during the first night in the stuffy cabin. She had asked Joanna not to tell Gervase and Josse, explaining with a wry smile that she was meant to be the healer, not the patient. She had dosed herself with a remedy of her own making – Joanna had been interested in the ingredients, the main one of which was root of ginger – and she had not felt as bad again, although she had been frequently upset by the ship’s motion and had consequently felt queasy for most of the voyage.
Sabin smiled. ‘Better now that the end is all but in sight,’ she said.
‘You and Gervase intend to disembark at Dinan too?’
‘Yes,’ Sabin confirmed. ‘Gervase was for sailing on round to Nantes, but I have heard that the sea gets rough around the Breton peninsular and I was very reluctant to encounter anything worse than we have already experienced.’
Joanna was about to point out that the sea had been flat as a pond almost all the way, but it would have been unkind and so she didn’t. She had noticed that, while some people quickly grew accustomed to the way a ship pitched and tossed and were soon no longer nauseated by the motion, others could sail all their lives and still lose their most recent meal at the first wave. ‘So you will continue your journey by road?’
‘Yes. The captain sent for one of his sailors, a man who knows the area, and he told us that the road from Dinan to Rennes is good. The one from Rennes to Nantes, as I know from my own experience, is even better. At this time of year, we shall make good progress and perhaps even beat the Goddess into Nantes.’
‘Even if you don’t,’ Joanna observed, ‘you’ll arrive feeling better than if you’ve just rounded Armorica on a sailing vessel.’
‘Armorica?’ Sabin queried. ‘A Breton myself, I know the word, of course – it is the ancient name for Brittany – but I was not aware that anyone still called the land by that name.’
Joanna could think of no reply; a short, trite answer would have served, only she did not want to fob Sabin off with the trivial; the full explanation would have taken far too long. ‘I
– er, I must have heard someone use the term somewhere,’ she said vaguely. Sabin eyed her curiously for a moment then, with a faint shrug, turned away.
The Goddess of the Dawn tied up at the quayside in the port of Dinan just as darkness fell. The journey upriver had been slow and tedious, especially for the crew, who had manned the oars for the last stretch. Their labours had been aided by the incoming tide, which sent the water flooding in up the river, but the men nevertheless had been hard put to it to keep the ship steady in mid-stream. Watching the swift expertise with which the hands secured the vessel to the quay, Josse thought that to a man they were undoubtedly looking forward to going ashore for a hot meal and a well-earned drink or two.
The captain sent four of his crew to bring the horses up from below and as Gervase and the two women set about stowing their bags and bedrolls behind the horses’ saddles, Josse went to say farewell to Harald.
‘When d’ye expect to return to England?’ Harald asked. ‘That is, if you’re intending to return?’
‘Aye, we’ll be going back,’ Josse confirmed. ‘As to when . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I cannot say. It depends on how long it takes us to see to our various missions.’
Harald nodded sagely. ‘Men of affairs, then.’
‘Er – aye.’ It seemed easier to agree than to enter into extensive explanations which were, in any case, nobody else’s business.
‘We’ll not be calling in here on our return,’ Harald said, ‘but we’ll be bringing a consignment of wine up from Bordeaux to the monks on the Mont, so you might catch us there if you’ve a mind to. Won’t be for more than a fortnight at the very least, however, and longer than that if these westerlies keep up.’
Josse was hoping to be safely back in Hawkenlye before that. ‘Thank you, captain. We’ll see how we go.’
And, with a bow, he took his leave of both captain and ship and went down the gangplank to join the others.
They climbed the winding, cobbled street that led up from the port, leading the horses because of the steepness of the incline; in addition, the stones were slimy with the refuse of a day’s traffic and, despite the cobbles, more than once one or other of the horses slipped. The incline flattened out slightly as the road approached the town walls and, in single file now, the party went under the great arched gateway, its iron grille at present raised. Joanna, who had been here before, glanced up at the darkening sky: twilight was fast falling and within the hour it would be fully dark and the gates would be secured for the night.
She had not anticipated coming back to Dinan when she had agreed to accompany Josse to Armorica. In a place close by the town she had endured the worst time of her life: pregnant by one of the most famous men in the western world, she had been married off to an elderly lord and sent to live with him in his ancient family manor. For six years he had made her life hell and then he had taken a fall out hunting and his death had released her. She had fled, taking her young son, a few personal possessions, the boy’s pony and her own mare and taking ship to England, to seek refuge with the only person in the world whom she trusted.
And look, Joanna thought as she panted up the last steep incline of the Rue du Jerzual, what that flight has led to . . .
She became aware that Josse was speaking and hastily began to listen.
‘. . . find a place where they’ll provide a good meal and beds for the night?’ he suggested.
He seemed to be asking her; presumably he too remembered that she used to live in the area.
‘I do not know Dinan well,’ she said, ‘only having visited on rare occasions. I am sure there is decent accommodation to be found, although I cannot say where.’
Josse, she noticed, had flashed her a look of sympathy and understanding; she tried to recall exactly what she had told him of her life with Thorald de Lehon and, embarrassed, thought that she might have included a few details that she would have done better to have left out.
‘There’s an inn down the street to our left,’ Gervase said. ‘Shall we try there? Plenty of people seem to be going in, which is always a good sign!’ He spoke lightly, as if he too felt Joanna’s unease.
She looked in the direction of the inn. It was indeed busy, and the sound of voices and laughter floated out into the street. She nodded. ‘Very well.’
Gervase went in beneath the arched entrance to the inner yard and engaged a harassed-looking man in conversation, pointing back at the others standing in the street. After a few moments the man gave a shrug and nodded. Gervase beckoned, and Josse led the way into the yard. The man had whistled up a couple of lads, who took charge of the horses, and Gervase explained that he had secured a room for the women and Meggie and space in the communal dormitory for himself and Josse.
‘It’s not perfect, but it will serve, I think?’ He looked anxiously at Sabin.
‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘Can we eat here too?’
Gervase smiled. ‘Oh, yes. That was the first thing I asked – I’m starving.’
Joanna looked around the small room that had been allocated to herself and Sabin. There was one bed, not very wide, and although the bedding looked reasonably fresh it had clearly been used. I’m going to hate this, she thought miserably; accustomed to nights in the fresh cleanliness of her little hut in the forest, where the invigorating air blew gently through the unshuttered window, to be forced to sleep in a confined space with the smell of other people in her nostrils was anathema to her. And she would have to share her bed not only with Meggie – which she was used to and which she loved – but also with Sabin. And as yet she had not decided whether she even liked Sabin . . .
Sabin had removed her gown and under-shift and was washing vigorously, bending over the basin and splashing water over face, neck, breasts and armpits. Drying herself on a small piece of linen from her bag, she grinned at Joanna. ‘That’s better. There’s plenty more water in the ewer if you want to wash too.’
‘Thank you. I’ll see to Meggie, then use up what’s left.’
‘Don’t be long,’ Sabin said. ‘The men are keen to eat.’
‘Very well.’
Quite soon Joanna was finished and she and Sabin set off along the passage towards the eating area, where Josse and Gervase could be seen downing large mugs of something no doubt cool and refreshing and probably also alcoholic. Sabin began to make some comment but just at that moment she caught her toe on an uneven flagstone and tripped, lurching against the wall and throwing out a hand to save herself. There was a ripping sound; looking down at her upper body, Joanna saw a large tear in the bodice of Sabin’s gown. An area of creamy white flesh was visible, together with one rosy nipple.
Despite herself, Joanna giggled. ‘I don’t think you can go in to dinner like that.’
Sabin muttered something in her own tongue, then smiled ruefully as she tried to pull the torn edges together. ‘No, I can’t,’ she agreed. ‘I can mend this, but it’ll take quite a while to do a good job.’
‘Have you another tunic?’
‘Yes. You go on – I’ll go back to our room and change.’
Joanna walked on into the dining area. She swiftly explained what had happened and said that Sabin would join them as soon as she could; Gervase, nodding, indicated a long table at the far end of the room and suggested they sat down and ordered some food.
Gervase sat with his back to the room, and Josse and Joanna sat against the wall, Meggie between them. The child was tired and hungry and consequently on the edge of being fractious; Josse took her on his lap and entertained her with the peek-a-boo game, contorting his face into the alternate happy and sad expressions with each passage of his hand. Meggie found this quite fascinating, wrinkling up her own little face as she tried to copy him. Joanna was in the midst of laughing at the picture that the two of them made together when suddenly she felt as if she was being stabbed; the sharp pain between her eyes was exactly as if someone were attacking her with the point of a dagger.
Recognising the sensation, she bent forward br
iefly, pretending to straighten Meggie’s tunic, and unobtrusively drew forward the small veil that she had put on when they came ashore, careful to make sure that it concealed her face. Then slowly she raised her head and let her eyes wander around the crowded room.
She saw him almost immediately. The force of his expression horrified her; no wonder it had caused her pain, for malice poured out of him, honed to a fine point that was aimed straight at her.
She thought quite calmly, I have to get away.
She leaned close to Josse and murmured, ‘I’ll go and see if I can help Sabin,’ then, getting up with unhurried grace, she left the room. Once out of sight of anyone within it, she ran as fast as she could along the passage to the bed chamber.
Bursting into the room, she found a flustered Sabin struggling with the laces at one side of a pretty grey-blue gown; the braid had got itself into a knot that she could not untie. Sabin looked up as Joanna flung the door closed and, panting, leaned against it.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sabin’s eyes were round with amazement. ‘You look terrible – what has happened?’ Her face paled suddenly and she seemed to sway. ‘Oh, God, it’s not Gervase? He’s not hurt?’
Registering with a part of her mind how deep was Sabin’s love for Gervase, if even the thought of his having come to harm affected her so badly, Joanna hastened to say, ‘No, Gervase is perfectly all right – they all are.’
‘What is it, then?’ Sabin looked only partially reassured.
Joanna took a breath, trying to steady herself. Then she said, ‘I used to live near here. I was married to a man – Thorald – whom I hated and when he died I took my son and we ran away. His younger brother thought I had killed him and was after my blood, only he never found me.’