Blaze of Silver

by K. M. Grant

  “And this thing she cannot have, would it be you?” Hugh asked, his voice deliberately mild.

  Will flushed. “Yes. But honestly, really honestly, I’ve given her no encouragement, none at all. I just teach her to ride on Hosanna.”

  Hugh considered. “But is that not encouragement? After all, you are not betrothed and she is of an age when girls think of nothing else but marriage—or so I believe,” he added hastily.

  Will gave the abbot a withering look, which, fortunately, the shadows hid. “I’ve told Marissa before that she’s not to think of me like that.”

  “Very well,” said Hugh, wondering how it was that Will knew so much about war and so little about women. Will might consider Marissa a child but couldn’t he see that Marissa most certainly didn’t agree with him? He crossed his hands and made his decision. “I have to say, Will, that a convent really is the best place for her. Quite apart from giving herself to the Lord, she will be off your hands. I am surprised you don’t jump at the chance.”

  “It’s a trick,” said Will bluntly. “She is jealous of Ellie being able to come to Germany with me. All the talk of Fontevraud is just to make sure she is part of our entourage. She knows how far out of our way it is. We are headed for the Rhine and Fontevraud is on the Loire. I know exactly why, too. She thinks that once we’re on our journey, we’ll not want to stop, and she’ll end up coming with us. Or perhaps we’ll get to Fontevraud and she’ll change her mind. Believe me, Father Abbot, she’s capable of anything. I know her.”

  “Maybe you do, my son, maybe you do,” said Hugh, “but you must serve God as well as your king even if his requests take strange forms and do not fit in with your plans. A vocation is a precious thing. God will not like it to be squandered. Could you not send the girl with somebody else? There is surely no need to go yourself.”

  “That would never work,” Will said, viciously kicking a log in the fire. “Marissa’s so difficult and I’m responsible for her. If anybody takes her it must be me. But I can’t leave the ransom treasure, either. Where I go, it must go, so couldn’t you just talk to Marissa and try to tell her that she must wait?”

  “Does she want to talk to me?”

  “No.” Will could not lie.

  The abbot thought for a moment. “Can you be sure that if she says she will wait, she will spend her time in prayer and contemplation?”

  Will shook his head.

  “Then you must take her, my son. The king’s ransom is important, but so is God’s work. Maybe,” Hugh suggested, “you could deposit her not at Fontevraud but in the new abbey of St. Martin’s at Arnhem? That is directly on your way. They need recruits, and my sister Agnes is the sacristan there. The abbess is a true woman of God. And you may yet be surprised. With the right training Marissa may make a good nun.” Hugh got up. With not very good grace, Will kneeled for his blessing. “Hopeless,” he said to Ellie after he had sent the abbot, with gifts, back to the abbey. Ellie said nothing. She did not want Marissa to come on their journey, yet the girl’s unhappiness upset her. If only Marissa were more like Marie, Ellie thought, then chided herself for being so uncharitable. Marissa might be an irritating and even dangerous nuisance but nobody could deny her bravery and bravery was needed, too. And Ellie had never had to face being an old spinster.

  In the early morning, Will asked Marissa again to wait and again she refused. An hour later he gave in and received her strange little smile in return. “I’m sure I shall be happy at Arnhem with the abbot’s sister,” she said, “so long as I can get to Fontevraud in the end. After all, that’s the best convent for discarded noblewomen to end up in. They say it is where Queen Eleanor herself will go eventually.”

  “You are not being discarded,” said Will, angrily rising to her bait.

  “Well, you don’t want me, do you?”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake, Marissa! I thought we had been through all that.”

  To his discomfort her eyes filled with tears. “But I have no function here,” she said plaintively. “That’s the trouble. Ellie’s her own mistress, Marie will marry Hal eventually, and I am just the kind of spare girl who moulders away and everybody’s relieved when they die. Even if you give me a dowry, who’s going to marry me? I’ve got no land and I limp. Who’ll want me, Will? Tell me that.”

  Will was embarrassed by the look she gave him. “You must be ready to go in two hours,” he said shortly, “and remember, Marissa, there will be no turning back.” He felt quite out of his depth. Again he missed his father’s gruff good sense, and went outside to Hosanna.

  After he had gone, Marissa sat in silence. She had got what she wanted. She was not going to be left behind. As she dried her eyes her arrogance returned. Who knew, they might never get to Arnhem, and even if they did, nobody could make her stay. Standing up, she toyed with the idea of rescuing her ruby brooch and was thwarted only by finding the chest locked. Never mind, she consoled herself, at least I am going with it. And with that she hurried away to pack.

  9

  Marie cried as they were leaving, which upset Hal. Old Nurse clucked and took the girl under her wing, all the time glaring at Marissa, who was now settling herself in comfort in a covered wagon and looking as innocent as an angel. “I hope you are kinder to the nuns than you are being to your sister,” she growled as the wagon lurched forward. “God knows why, but she doesn’t want you to go.” Marissa didn’t answer.

  Ellie ignored Marissa and waited to say good-bye to Old Nurse herself. With the more observing eye that comes with parting, she noticed how ancient Old Nurse was beginning to look. Exactly how old she was, Ellie had no idea. For years, the fat lady had not changed at all, but Ellie was conscious that recent events had begun to exact a toll. Old Nurse’s comforting plumpness was a little less round; her face a little more withered; and her hands, once so swift and sure, shook and sometimes dropped things. For the first time in her life, it occurred to Ellie that Old Nurse was not immortal and she could see, from Old Nurse’s expression, that this thought was shared. The girl stretched her arms as far around the endless waist as was possible and they held each other tight. “Take care of yourself, Old Nurse,” Ellie whispered. “Eat lots of meat and get the servants to look after you.”

  The old lady bent down to kiss the top of Ellie’s head. “I’ll always be with you, my sweet,” she murmured, “just remember that.”

  When they finally parted, Ellie ran at once to Shihab, telling God, whose judgment she did not entirely trust since it was so often at variance with her own, that if he did not keep Old Nurse safe and well at Hartslove, she would say her night prayers under her blankets instead of on her knees for at least a month to spite him. She mounted and placed herself between Will and Kamil, glad that there was no delay for she did not want to cry. With shouts and whip cracks the carts began to roll, and before they had gone half a mile, with the silver horse obedient beneath her and an autumnal sun above, Ellie began to enjoy herself.

  And to begin with, the journey was truly marvelous. A silver blaze between two reds, even Shihab was happy, and although Sacramenta swished her tail if the other mare came too near, the horses were glad of each other. Hosanna liked to keep his nose in front, but when he forged ahead, the two mares willingly quickened. Soon, the three of them left the wagons on the road and were racing on the sheep-cropped grass above. Side by side they cantered freely and easily, their riders laughing as their stirrup irons occasionally clanged together.

  Below, the wagons made steadier progress. The first contained the Hartslove treasure and this was surrounded by a dozen heavily armed mounted soldiers, all carrying long swords. Behind them came a dozen handpicked mounted archers. The next wagon contained neatly stacked armor for men and horses, together with spare weaponry and horseshoes. The farrier and his boy drove this wagon, and in a small space on its flat back, the steward tasked with counting the money for the emperor sat singing to the cook, who spent most of the journey clucking at the antics of a couple of excitable pantry boys
on small shaggy ponies no bigger than wolfhounds. Then came the wagon of provisions, inside which a fat-armed laundress perched on a barrel of dried beef and teased the steward’s clerk about his baldness. It was a cheerful cavalcade.

  The last wagon contained all the excess baggage plus two neat bedrolls belonging to Kamil and Amal and a chest belonging to Ellie. On top of the chest sat Elric, whom Will had forbidden to ride until they crossed the sea. Marissa sat beside him. Everybody could hear them squabbling for Elric could not hold his tongue and Marissa, despite flinching when she saw Elric’s healing wounds, could not allow him to get away with anything. Soon, however, Elric fell asleep for he was still weaker than he liked to believe, and Marissa got bored. When she was sure Elric was quite unconscious, she amused herself by opening Ellie’s chest and rifling through it. She was disappointed when none of Ellie’s belongings caught her fancy and moved on to Kamil’s roll. It was very meager but in it she found a small bone comb he had fashioned. Its delicate sturdiness appealed to her so she took it. She almost left Amal’s roll alone, but as the miles dragged on and Elric didn’t wake, she opened that too and the first thing to fall out was Amal’s Turkish hat. She tried it on and at once found his little booklet carefully tucked inside. Intrigued, Marissa studied it. Although she could not make out a single word, she could sense that it was important to its owner. The parchment’s soft, smooth texture showed that it had been constantly and lovingly stroked as it was read. She turned the pages slowly, liking the feel of it, at once intimate and exotic. Then Elric groaned, and so quickly that she hardly noticed herself doing it, Marissa slipped the booklet in among her own things and pushed Amal’s roll away. By the time Elric rubbed his eyes and began to rile her once again, she was sitting back, delighted and horrified at her own dishonesty.

  Amal himself was at the back of the party, riding a nondescript brown courser Constable Shortspur had given him. The horse was adequate but no more and Amal spent much of the journey praying that his life would never depend on its willingness to gallop at speed away from everybody else. He thought only of Kamil and, more than he liked to acknowledge, of Ellie, wondering if she would remember all he had taught her.

  Though she never looked at Amal, Ellie was aware that she was being observed and did not want to disappoint. In the evenings as she went among the soldiers, dispensing ointment for bruises and sore feet or advising which herbs to boil up for headache, for the first time in her life Ellie felt the joy of being really useful. Amal might have more experience in medicine, but it was Ellie’s encouraging voice and her light touch that the Hartslove men found more healing. Ellie glowed in their appreciation as she waited impatiently for chances to show off her new riding skills, praying that Shihab would not misbehave. Already she could see curiosity in Will’s face as she rode with her legs bent instead of straight as he did, and she was gleeful when, after a sharp cry of “ditch,” she kept her seat as Shihab made an exaggerated leap, fearful of getting her dainty feet wet. Kamil did not hide his admiration. Stunned not only by Ellie’s grace and confidence but by seeing her ride Arab-style, his imagination ran riot. Surely this is what it would be like in the future: he and Ellie, two beautiful horses, and nothing to stop them galloping over all the desert plains.

  It was on the third day that the almost festival atmosphere growing between Will, Kamil, and Ellie was marred. The three of them were still riding off the road. The wagons were in sight, but the soldiers were reliable and Hal stayed with them, so when Kamil suggested that before they reached the abbey they should gallop off some of the horses’ excess energy, Will agreed with alacrity. They began in a line, with the two men soon dropping behind and Ellie streaking ahead. Will did not want to appear concerned, but it frightened him to see how fast the mare was going. He was about to suggest to Kamil that they go after her when she turned back toward them. Will relaxed, then, to his horror, he saw Ellie tumble off. Both he and Kamil cried out and Hosanna leaped at the terror in their voices. But her name was barely out of their mouths before Shihab had stopped dead and Ellie was vaulting back on. At once Shihab set off again. The whole operation had taken fewer than ten seconds.

  After he had snapped his jaw shut, for it had dropped wide open with surprise, Kamil began to laugh. “Amal must have been teaching her,” he said to Will. “That’s a trick from home.”

  But Will was furious. “What kind of an idiot teaches a girl tricks like that?” he stormed, shaking his head violently. “She could have been killed.”

  “No,” said Kamil, “really, no. We do it to fool our enemies so that they never know what to expect. It’s all about timing. How extraordinary that she should be able to do it so fast, faster than me even, I think. She must have been practicing a lot since we left.” His eyes sparkled as he and Will cantered on together and Ellie circled back between them. Her face was shining, but if she expected praise from Will she was disappointed. He almost refused to acknowledge her. Kamil, however, was full of admiration and grew, for him, quite talkative, telling Ellie how the horse on which he had learned the trick had decided it was much more fun with Kamil on the ground than in the saddle and had taken to throwing him off whenever it felt like it, then expecting a reward when it stood like a rock for Kamil to remount. They discussed techniques and different ways of vaulting. Kamil swung his legs over, ran for a moment beside Sacramenta, then swung himself back on from the opposite side. Ellie wanted to try and suggested to Will that he should, too. But Will shrugged his shoulders and gradually Ellie and Kamil stopped swinging on and off and fell silent. They all spoke civilly to each other thereafter, but things were not quite as they had been. When Whitby Abbey appeared on the horizon, their rejoicing was muted.

  The abbey towered over the town spread out below, some of it almost falling into the sea. As soon as the Hartslove cavalcade hove into view, the abbot cantered out to meet them, just in time also to greet three monks, flushed and sweating, surrounded by a pack of hounds. As fat as Hugh was thin, the abbot greeted Will warmly. “Just hunting for the pot,” he said, waving his hand at the hounds. “Visitors must be properly fed.”

  Ellie was shocked. “What a lot of meat they must eat if they keep a pack of hounds! It’s quite against the rule!” she whispered to Will. He did not reply. He could not forgive her quite yet.

  The hunting monks could not get over the beauty of the Hartslove horses. Hosanna lowered his head and allowed them to stroke his face. Instinctively, the monks touched his star, and Will, climbing off and touching the star himself, felt some of his ill humor blown away by the red horse’s comforting solidity. He glanced over at Ellie, wanting her to see that he was recovering himself, but she was on her knees petting the hounds. He watched her, then saw Kamil watching her also and sulkily turned back to Hosanna. He was glad when the carts rolled up and he had something to do.

  The treasure was immediately transported down to the harbor, for they would set sail early in the morning. Although a day’s rest would have been welcome, it was important to catch what remained of the good weather. Marissa climbed out of her wagon and, much against their respective wills, both she and Ellie were hurried inside the guesthouse by the guestmaster. The advent of the two young women made the younger monks restless and distracted, and it was best to get them out of sight. “Time for Vespers,” the abbot declared, clapping his small hands neatly but without much conviction.

  Ellie didn’t like being bundled along with Marissa. “Maybe the earl’s young ward should hear Vespers sung,” she said, “but I don’t need to. Marissa’s going to be a nun.” She saw Elric grin and was ashamed of herself.

  The abbot turned to Marissa, impressed. “Really?” He looked at her with new respect. “You will be wanting to pray, of course, my sister, so I’ll show you where you can stand behind a pillar at the back of the church. We take some pride in our chanting.” Marissa almost choked and lashed out at Elric, who skipped away, crossing his hands with mock sanctity.

  When dinner was served, the abbot came to s
it near Will. According to the Benedictine Rule, the abbot should have eaten nothing, for he had already eaten earlier in the day. However, the venison was too tempting and although he refused a trencher, his pudgy hand kept sidling out. “Just the scraps,” he said to Will, his face pink with guilty longing. “It’s a sin to let them go to waste.” Even Hal had to bite his lip to stop himself from snorting.

  With his mouth full, the abbot was full of the gossip his monks had gleaned from sailors returning from Palestine and the East. The Saracens were leaderless and their lands in chaos. “If Richard is released in time to lead another crusade, they say he could sweep all before him.” The abbot licked his lips as grease dropped off his many chins. “But for us poor creatures, more war will just mean more money and we have collected so much already.”

  Amal, disgusted by the abbot as he stood behind Kamil’s chair, heard this without moving a muscle. After supper, however, he set off down to the town. Ports were always full of the Old Man’s spies. Amal had his instructions but fresh word would also be welcome. As he hung about in the crowd along the quayside watching people gazing with resentful wonder at the heavily guarded ransom wagons, he wondered if anybody would make contact. At first he thought the woman clutching his knees was demanding money. She had the whining voice and ragged clothes of a beggar although a flash of gold at her neck suggested something else. But when she said his name, Amal followed her at once down a side street. Only when she bade him enter her house did he hesitate, fearing a trap. But what trap could there be? Nobody knew him in this place. He went in and was relieved to find the woman did not want to waste any time.

  “You received the letter?” she asked, her voice no longer whining but hard and businesslike. She spoke in Norman French. There was no pretence that Amal could not understand.

  “I did.”

  “The Old Man sends word to say that his plans are now complete.” The woman looked around her as if the walls might be listening, then she edged nearer to Amal and began to whisper in his ear. She spoke for some time and when she stopped, Amal stood perfectly still. “A strange twist, indeed,” he said, his voice low.