Out of Time

by Loretta Livingstone

  Slipping the box into my denim bag, I tucked it into the cupboard, turned on the kettle and suddenly remembered something. Hildegarde! Didn’t she say she really missed tea? If it wasn’t for Hildegarde, who knows what would have happened to me? I would have been half crazed with fear, maybe never have got back to my own time. I owed her. Smiling to myself, I took a packet of loose tea and tipped it into an empty caddy. I’d love to be able to see her face when she tasted her first cup of tea in thirty years.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  3rd June 1191

  Whit Monday

  Well before dawn some three weeks later, while most were still sleeping, Giles slipped quietly into the stables at Ralph’s manor at Oakley. A scurry and rustling came from the pile of straw on his right, and a grimy face with tousled hair peered up at him, blinking owlishly. “Sire?”

  “Go back to your dreams, boy. I’ll saddle Troubadour here myself.”

  The pale grey eyes looked startled.

  “Don’t look so surprised. If a man cannot saddle and bridle his own horse, then he should not be riding one.” Giles’ father had insisted his sons were competent at looking after their own mounts. The eyes blinked again at him in acquiescence, and the face disappeared back into the straw.

  As he saddled Troubadour, the big horse pushed his nose insistently at Giles’ tunic until he found one of the apples Giles had taken from the kitchen as he left. The sorrel whickered in satisfaction at him, and he absently fondled the swivelling ears, his mind on the day ahead. She would be there, would she not? His whole future depended on one woman. It was not something he relished, preferring to control his own destiny, not leave it to the whims of others.

  Despite his calm exterior, Giles’ insides lurched slightly. He had bid farewell to Ralph and Maude last night; they knew he must be about his own business today.

  Maude had been wrath with him for leaving his nephew without a farewell – “Martin will be upset,” she told him, hands on her hips. “Why could you not have mentioned it earlier?” And nothing would do but to wake the child and say his adieus, promising him a gift next time he came to call. Still, it meant he could leave before all were awake today, with no bad feelings. And mayhap he would not leave it so long next time. The boy was growing like a tadpole.

  He added to his bags a pouch, which he had stuffed with food filched from the kitchens along with a costrel of ale and the apple Troubadour had just eaten. Giles was edgy now and eager to be on his way, and his mood communicated itself to Troubadour, who pranced impatiently. He pulled the tossing head down and murmured to him, “Hush now. No need to wake the whole household this early.”

  Leading the horse from the stable, he heard a muffled female squeal from the pile of straw into which the boy had disappeared. He grinned, realising the lad hadn’t been alone under there – older than he looked then.

  Troubadour picked his way through the countryside, ears twitching as birds started their exuberant dawn chorus. The sun began to tint the skies, and Giles felt himself begin to relax again. A pity he had to wear his gambeson and mail, but there was much unrest at present. A lone traveller was wise to be protected. It was a nuisance though, for even at this hour, the day was bidding fair to become over warm.

  Troubadour snuffed the air and tossed his head. Giles gave him a friendly thwack. A man and his horse, what could be more pleasant?

  A couple of hours or so later, he was within view of the Abbey. From this rise he could see into the grounds, see the choir nuns filing from the chapel. Should he pay his respects to the Abbess? No, time enough for that later. He paused. A pity they hadn’t thought to ask Marion whether she would return in the forenoon or later; he might have a long vigil ahead. Still, the day was pleasant enough for now, and better over hot than a cold, rain-sodden watch. And he was well provisioned.

  It wasn’t often he had an entire day to himself. Might it have been wise to request stabling for Troubadour at the Abbey? No, he thought not. The grass was plentiful; the horse may as well enjoy the day too.

  Hildegarde left the Abbey chapel after Prime feeling slightly disordered. Something was nagging in the back of her mind. The soothing chant of the Divine Office had not been able to dislodge it nor bring it into submission. Indeed, she had found it hard to set her mind to her devotions at all.

  As she walked across the courtyard to the lavatorium, she felt uneasy. What is it, Lord? What am I missing? She had not felt so disturbed for years. Her vocation, although it had been unexpected – Unexpected? There was an understatement, she smiled – had brought her a peace she had never expected to find. The young student she had been would never recognise the woman she was now. Contented, fulfilled. But today…oh, what was wrong with her? Even the joyous birdsong failed to gladden her heart. It was no good. She needed to seek peace. Having completed her ablutions and her private Mass, she decided to abstain from breaking her fast and turned back into the chapel. Kneeling before the altar, gazing in despair at her crucified Lord, she bowed her head and sought refuge in her prayers. She stayed there until her knees were sore, but still, she felt a tug in the corner of her mind. What was it? What was this feeling of unease?

  Crossing herself, she rose creakily to her feet and went thoughtfully to the Chapter Mass. The glory of the early summer morning was lost on her, the melodic chorus of the blackbird no more than a cacophony of distraction.

  All morning, Hildegarde’s thoughts whirled in a disorderly swarm. After High Mass, deciding to fast through dinner, she asked her prioress to take her place in the refectory and sat distracted in her chambers, elbows on her desk, chin resting on her hands, eyes gazing at some point far beyond. A tap at the door roused her. “Come.”

  Ursel peered round the door at her, concern in the depths of her hazel eyes.

  “God’s blessing, Sister. You have need of me?” Hildegarde started to rise as the elderly nun came into the room bearing a tray with bread, cheese and a cup of ale.

  “Mother Abbess, you missed your meal. You will be hungered.” Ursel put the tray firmly down before the Abbess and bade her eat.

  Hildegarde turned rueful eyes on her. “And what if I were fasting, Sister Ursel?”

  “Dear Mother Abbess, plenty of time for that on days when we are bidden to do so, but when you need all your wits about you, it is no time to be fasting. Have you remembered what day it is?”

  A flash of clarity struck Hildegarde so hard that she sat down abruptly in her chair, causing Ursel to tut in concern. “No, Sister Ursel, I am not feeling faint. Now, I know what it is that has been nagging at me like a toothache. Bless you, Sister. You have brought me more than sustenance; you have brought me enlightenment. Won’t you sit and share this with me? I have need of your opinions to help me order my thoughts.”

  The wrinkled old face lit up. Ursel always enjoyed time with Mother Abbess. Why, she remembered the strange young maid who had first joined their order and the odd tale she had to tell. Lucky it had been Ursel who had come across her that day, lying there in the grass by that old beech tree, addled out of her wits. Lucky too that Abbess Matilda, who reigned supreme when Ursel had been but a novice, was gone. In her reign, Hildegarde would have been suspected of madness, such strange things she had spoken. But Matilda had been superseded by the time Hildegarde had appeared at the Abbey, by a gentler abbess, gifted with an open mind and a kinder rule. Between them, they had pieced together the truth of her arrival. And oh, how her presence had been ordained! Such an outbreak of fever and vomiting there had been soon after that. Ursel was already infirmaress, but her skills, though as good as any apothecary, were inadequate for so many patients, her sister nuns worn to the bone and falling ill with the sickness themselves. Hildegarde, with her unheard of knowledge of medicine and nursing from the future and her calm demeanour, had turned the tide of the sickness. Her ideas had been so unfamiliar to them. How they had balked. How they had remonstrated with her. But she had reasoned with them – explaining, showing, teaching. As even more nuns fel
l ill, it had seemed worth trying anything. And it had worked. No new cases, and those who had seemed on the brink of death had been pulled back to this life. And the girl had been blessed with a vocation, stayed and now, in turn, blessed the sisters with a reign which was as wise as it was good. Ursel said a prayer of thanks as she broke bread with Hildegarde, frowning as Hildegarde clapped a hand to her forehead, exclaiming, “Oh, what a fool I am!”

  “Abbess?”

  “I told her Whit Monday. How could I have been so stupid?”

  “Stupid? Why, Mother Abbess, what do you mean?”

  “How could I have forgotten? How will she know what date it is in our time? And even if she does realise, it will not avail her.”

  “Realise?” Ursel was baffled.

  “Ursel, the dates change! The date of Whitsun changes each year.” She rested her head on her hands and let out a groan. “That poor young man. He will think she has forgotten him. He’ll believe she betrayed him. And he will have nothing to give to John. Oh, how could I have been so stupid?”

  Ursel quite forgot she was speaking to her Abbess, going to her side, putting an arm round her and soothing her as she would a patient. “Never fret, sweeting, we will find a way. Come now, calm yourself. Let us put our heads together and see if we cannot resolve this. Come now, come now,” she comforted the distraught Abbess. “As it is, it has not gone beyond what can be mended. Calm yourself, and let us see what can be done.”

  Hildegarde wiped a tear from her eye with a scrap of linen. Ursel was right. All was not lost. Whatever had come over her? She sat up straight, gave the old woman a grateful smile and set her mind to the subject.

  “Now,” continued Ursel, “I daresay that young knight has already started on his journey. Like as not, he’ll be tethering that fine horse of his near the beech about now. But what if Marion does not return today? It is no great matter. We shall set aside a guest chamber here at the Abbey, and he may stay here until she comes. For she will come. That was a young woman who could be trusted. I could see it in her. I daresay John will not make great bones about a day or so either way. That’s if de Soutenay survived the telling of whatever tale he finally concocted – and I hope it was a good one!”

  Hildegarde relaxed. Ursel was in the right of it. She put out her hand and covered the wrinkled claw of the old infirmaress. “What a blessing you have been to me this morn, sister. I confess, my senses have been quite disordered. But you are correct. All we need to do is get word to Giles. Now, how shall we accomplish that?”

  Ursel grinned. “Brother Bernard would find it a great pleasure. You know how he loves to help, and he is so stolid, has no imagination whatsoever. Nothing would ever convince him Marion was a wood nymph, whether she stepped through the tree before his very eyes or even descended from the heavens or rose out of the earth. He would surely find some reasonable explanation.”

  Hildegarde almost laughed to picture the scene. But again, Ursel was right. He was the very man. She would send him to watch over Giles from a distance. If nothing had happened when dusk started to fall, then Bernard should bring him to the Abbey where she could speak to him.

  “Sister Ursel, may God bless you, you have quite restored me. We shall request Sister Hosteller to prepare a chamber at once.”

  “Ah, as to that, ‘twasn’t me who restored you; ‘twas that good bread and cheese. To say nothing of the ale.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Now he had arrived at the beech, the sun was beginning to feel uncomfortably warm on his mail. Giles wished there was at least one more tree in the vicinity for shade and to lean against. Still, there was no help for it. He sat himself down on the tussock he had tripped over last time, eyes fixed firmly on the tree. For the first hour or so, nerves on the raw with expectation, he started each time an insect buzzed past, thinking the magic was beginning.

  After half a dozen such starts, his tension eased, and he felt his stomach starting to growl. Pulling out one of the meat pasties he had brought with him to fortify himself, he bit into it hungrily. Doubtless, she would arrive sometime between now and dusk.

  As the sun reached its zenith, the heat blazed down onto his hauberk. Sweat started to soak the heavy gambeson, despite the surcoat he had worn to shield himself, and Giles wished he had been less cautious in his preparation. He swore silently. If any enemies came upon him now, all they would have to do was wait for him to broil to death in his own juices. A pity the only shade was that cast by the beech.

  He was tempted to move back from the clearing and sit in the shadow afforded by the trees at the edge of the wood but afraid to stray that far from his trysting place. And to venture closer to the beech would be an act of recklessness. He had left Troubadour tethered loosely within reach of the stream, knowing that, should felons attempt to touch him, they would be at risk of hooves and teeth. Troubadour was a one-man horse. Besides, the creature would be more comfortable there. Giles only wished he had the same comforts.

  Wiping the perspiration from his face with the back of his hand, he swore again before pulling out a costrel of ale, removing the stopper with his teeth and taking a hefty swig.

  If he stayed here in the sun, he would surely roast. He took another pasty, chewing absently as he pondered his options. The shade of the beech extended far enough from its trunk to make him consider taking the risk.

  Giles inched forward cautiously until he reached the edge of the shade. It was still hot but better, for sure, than sitting in the full glare of the day. He ate the last mouthful of pasty almost without noticing, and then wished he had savoured it more. Pulling out an apple, he bit into it, not taking his eyes from the tree. Then, tossing the core away, he pulled up one knee, leaned his arm on it and waited. And waited. The heat of the sun continued its relentless assault and, slowly, his head began to droop.

  Giles let out a sudden snort and awoke with a jerk. The sun was no longer directly overhead, the shade had lengthened. How long had he been asleep? He cursed his stupidity. He would have had a man flogged for falling asleep on duty. Now, he shook himself angrily to full wakefulness. Had he missed her?

  Standing up stiffly, he arched his spine, then, with some misgivings, moved closer to the tree, head cocked to one side, listening for the slightest sign of humming and ready to leap backwards if he felt a pull.

  No buzz. He edged closer, eyes fixed on the hollow at the base of the trunk. Mayhap she had delivered the device while he had been sleeping. An unexpected feeling of disappointment swept over him, and he scolded himself. What point in seeing her again anyway? It was not as though there could be a future for them. Nevertheless, the sense of loss could not be shaken.

  Ah well, naught for it but to retrieve the device and be on his way.

  He knelt and reached out his hand cautiously; he had no wish to be sucked from his own life, whatever the marvels Marion’s time held. Ignoring the prickling sensation at the base of his scalp, he pushed one hand into the hollow and felt around. Nothing! Throwing caution to the wind, he thrust his other hand into the hollow, scrabbling in disbelief as a sick feeling of dread swept over him. There was nothing there.

  He had let down his guard, trusted her – and she had defaulted.

  Regardless of the risk now, he thrust his hands deeper beneath the roots of the tree, groping frantically. So intent was he on his task that, when a large hand came down upon his shoulder, he nearly jumped from his skin. An obscene oath died on his lips as he turned, only to see a heavy-set lay brother from the Abbey standing over him, face full of concern. Giles’ eyes widened in disbelief for behind the monk, nibbling unconcernedly at the grass, stood Troubadour.

  “Hellfire! How came you to go near my horse without losing an arm? Is everyone in this abbey possessed of witchcraft?”

  The brother’s large face creased into an apologetic smile. “Sire, beg pardon for startling you. My Abbess would speak with you privately. She bade me come.” His eyes crinkled with embarrassment.

  “She…er, she…to
ld me to…to guard the tree for you.” It sounded right silly to Brother Bernard, but if that was what the Abbess required, it was not his place to argue. “See, I have brought your horse for you.” He turned to the horse, speaking soft words as he scratched a spot on Troubadour’s withers. The horse snorted ecstatically and leaned his weight against Bernard, who braced himself.

  Giles watched in fascination. “Are you a sorcerer? My horse goes with no man of his own free will.”

  When Brother Bernard stopped scratching Troubadour whickered in protest and nuzzled at his shoulder. One large hand went back to his withers and resumed its task; the big horse snorted blissfully.

  “I fancy I have a way with horses,” Bernard said. “The pity is, most of ‘em are too small to seat me.” An expression of wistfulness flickered across his face and was gone. “Of course, there’s not much call for a man of my persuasion to ride now, but ah, when I was younger!”

  Giles recalled himself to the task in hand. “You say the Abbess would speak with me?”

  “Aye. Quickly now, make haste. And I daresay you wish for some victualling for you and the horse as well. It will be provided at the Abbey.”

  Giles glanced at the tree.

  “Don’t you be worrying yourself about yonder tree, I’ll stay to watch it. Though who is going to move it, I can’t imagine. It looks secure enough to me.” Brother Bernard handed the reins to Giles, who wasted no more time in discussion. Swinging himself up onto Troubadour’s broad back and leaving the lay brother staring in puzzlement at the tree, he rode disconsolately to the Abbey. Whatever the Abbess had to say, it could do naught to lift his spirits.

  A cloud came, as though from nowhere, and shadowed the sun. It brought no welcome relief to Giles, merely emphasised the darkness overshadowing his soul.