The porteress had evidently been watching as the gate was opened before him, and another lay brother was waiting to stable his horse. Dismounting, he stroked Troubadour’s nose and handed him over to the care of the brother. Troubadour went willingly; it was only when men tried to lay hands on him without his master’s consent that they discovered his temper.
Giles thought Sister Berthe had not yet forgiven him for his initial treatment of her, for she sniffed disdainfully as she escorted him, unsmiling, through the cloisters to the Abbess’s chamber. As he entered the room, Hildegarde got to her feet, a smile of welcome on her face, Sister Ursel at her side, both looking a sight more pleased to see him than had Sister Berthe.
Unmoved by their greetings, Giles looked despondently at the two women, his stomach in his boots.
“My dear de Soutenay.” The Abbess held both hands out to him. He ignored them.
“My lady, I’ll not be taking up your time. I’ll head to France, offer my sword to the French King.” His voice was grim. “I’ve no choice. My life won’t be worth a groat once John finds out I’ve not procured the device. If I might have a chamber for the night and stabling for Troubadour, I’ll be gone ‘ere it’s light. No need for John to take his temper out on you if he knows not that I’ve involved you. I’ve farewells to make to my brother and little time to waste.” He turned from them, wanting nothing more than to sit in the silence of the guest chamber and drink himself into a stupor. And if that was wrong, he knew of many an abbot who regularly did likewise.
“My lord, wait!” The clear voice arrested him and he hesitated, one hand on the latch.
“For what?” he said bleakly. “I’ve nothing to stay for now. I put my life in Marion’s hands. For whatever reason, she either couldn’t or wouldn’t return. My life here is done, and there’s an end to it.”
“No! Please, stay. Let me explain.” Hildegarde almost ran to stand between Giles and the door. “I made an error.”
“As did I.”
“Sir Giles, think! What do you know about Whitsuntide? Or rather, what do you not know from year to year?”
He looked at her impatiently, wanting only to be alone, to hide his defeat from these well-intentioned women. “My lady, with all respect, I’ve no time for such riddles.”
“This is no riddle. It is the reason she did not come – yet.”
A flicker of hope rose in him. He let go of the door and turned back to her, a query in his eyes.
“Sir Giles, Whitsuntide is variable! It has no set date from year to year.”
His heart lifted as enlightenment dawned. “It may be on a different date in Marion’s time?”
“Precisely. She may not have let you down. It may not yet be Whit Monday in her time, even if the date there is the same here, and we cannot be sure of that.”
The flicker of hope started to flare into a flame. “You mean…?” He hardly dared believe it.
“Yes! If it was on an earlier date in her time, the device would have already been there for you, and it wasn’t, was it?” He shook his head. “Therefore, in her time, Whitsun hasn’t yet happened.”
Giles sat with a thud onto a settle beside the door. As well that was padded, he thought, landing heavily. A fine bruise I’d have had on my rump if not.
“So…?”
“All you need do is wait. Come back each day, or remain at the Abbey should you wish. We can prepare you a chamber. She’ll be here; I’m sure of it, if not in the next week, then no later than the week after. Trust me.” She put her hand on his arm. “You’ve had a long and fruitless day, Sir Giles. Our hosteller, Sister Joan, has already prepared you a chamber. You’ll find all you need there, a ewer, food and wine. Rest tonight, at least.”
“My thanks, I’ll stay tonight and be right grateful. It’s not worth the trouble to travel back and forth from Oakley each day and would require too many explanations.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. Maude was not a woman to scent a mystery without wanting to find out more. “I’ll ride out to the beech again tomorrow. I confess, I am a happier man now than I was an hour ago. You’ve…” He flashed a grin at them as he remembered something. “What is it Marion said? You’ve blown my mind.”
Hildegarde muffled a snort of laughter as she caught the expression on Ursel’s face. The elderly nun looked as though her mind had indeed been blown, her face a picture of bewilderment. “A private joke, Sister,” she explained. “And now, we must prepare to attend Compline. Sir Giles, we shall bid you goodnight and pray for a good outcome on the morrow.”
As if in answer to an unspoken summons, there came a tap at the door, which opened to reveal Sister Joan, small and bustling. “Mother Abbess, I came to escort Sir Giles to his chamber.” She turned to him and indicated. “You’ll remember the way, my lord. There’s water laid out for you, and some wine and simple fare.” Her footsteps, and his, faded as she led him away.
Hildegarde watched them for a moment then, her mind starting to focus itself on Compline, her spirit in communion with her Lord, she left her chambers and headed, with Ursel, to the Abbey chapel.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
4th June 2006
Whitsunday
It was Sunday night. I had laid my plans well. The girls had a treat arranged which was filling their heads to the exclusion of everything else. Tomorrow evening, Tom and I were taking them to a medieval banquet in London. “We’ll hire costumes,” I had told them. That wasn’t good enough. At my words, two eager grins had transformed to down-drooped mouths.
“Oh Mum! Can’t we buy them? They’re really cheap online, and I want to keep mine.”
“Well, I’m not dressing up.” Tom had put his foot down. “You can all do what you like, but if I have to dress up, I’m not coming.”
The girls had moaned a bit at Tom, but, anxious not to have the whole thing cancelled and pacified by being allowed to buy, not hire, had capitulated. To be honest, it made things easier for me, which – ahem – had been the reason I’d succumbed to their begging for this particular treat. I had my own reasons for wanting to get a medieval costume. Chloe and Shannon had chosen something that wealthy women might have worn. Not me.
Tomorrow morning, I was planning to pack my outfit in the basket Hildegarde had given me and take it to the beech. Maybe I could slip into it just before I put my hands through. I wasn’t planning on going through again, but who knew what might go wrong? I certainly hadn’t planned my last visit, so I had something plain and understated, just in case. If the worst happened, I wanted to attract as little attention as possible in either century. Neither Chloe nor Shannon was happy with my choice.
“Mum, that’s so boring! You’ll look like our maid.”
Exactly. Neither too rich nor too poor; it would suit me just fine.
Late that night, after the girls had gone to bed, my nerves started to kick in. Tom put his arm around me, and I snuggled up to him, trying to osmose some of his solid calmness into my veins. Not that he would have been calm himself if he had known what I would be up to tomorrow. I hugged him tightly and kissed him. My Tom.
“Love you,” I murmured.
“Love you, too.”
I hated not being able to confide in him, but he didn’t seem to sense anything amiss in my manner. That’s Tom. Steady, just like Shannon. You’d have to set fire to something under his nose for him to notice anything wrong.
He stood up, yawned and held out his hand. “Come on, Marion, let’s hit the hay. Busy day tomorrow. I’m beat.”
“You haven’t forgotten I need you to keep an eye on the girls tomorrow morning, have you?”
“What?” He gaped at me, eyes wide, before bursting into laughter. “Only joking. Give your mum my love and tell her we’ll all come with you next time. C’mon.” He switched off the light and headed up the stairs.
At least he would be able to sleep. He had nothing pressing on his mind, and my tossing and turning never seemed to disturb him. My own chances of getting a decent night were pretty slim
. I found some herbal sleeping pills and knocked a couple back with a glass of milk. They weren’t much good, but they might help.
I woke at 6:30 having slept in spite of my expectations, albeit fitfully. The herbal tablets had worked. I’d have to get some more.
Normally, I like to rouse slowly, but today, I was wide awake as soon as my eyes opened. Sliding out from between the covers, I crept to the bathroom, taking care not to wake the girls. I showered and dressed, then I packed my basket with care and left the house, shutting the door quietly behind me.
The morning was grey and overcast. Good! At this time, and on such a miserable day, the Abbey was not likely to be busy. The fewer people around, the better, as far as I was concerned. The traffic was light, and I made it to the Abbey before 8 am. It didn’t even open until 10. With a bit of luck I’d have done what I needed to do and be long gone before the first visitors arrived. The car park was closed, but there were plenty of verges along that road.
5th June 1191
As the bell rang for Prime, and the nuns filed into the chapel, Giles mounted Troubadour and made for the beech. This would be his third day’s vigil. Ursel and Hildegarde continued to reassure him Marion would come; he hoped they were right.
Yesterday had been mind-numbing, depressing. What little sleep he had last night had been filled with nightmares, and this morning, his eyes were heavy. He had been provided with bread, cheese and ale to sustain him today.
It had dawned overcast, damp and chill, and this time, he was grateful for the gambeson that had so plagued him previously. Brother Bernard had been given permission to accompany him to watch over Troubadour and was riding Horace, the Abbey’s sway-backed nag, not a creature of beauty or grace but at least large enough that Bernard’s feet were not dragging in the dust.
As the birds sang their paeans of praise, they rode at a steady trot towards the beech. This time, Giles tethered Troubadour near the stream, leaving Bernard to tend to him. The monk was obviously enjoying his spell as ‘squire’ and was murmuring soft words to Troubadour as Giles walked away. The horse wore that expression of bliss which indicated he was satisfied with the arrangements. Giles was beginning to wonder if, should Brother Bernard decide to mount him, instead of flinging him headfirst into the nearest bush, Troubadour would bear him meekly and quietly wherever he wished. No, being entranced by the monk is one thing, allowing him to mount…Giles shook his head. Never.
Bringing his mind back to the task in hand, he walked through the copse towards the beech, eyes fixed on the tree, until he had reached within a few feet of its spreading branches. Not taking his gaze from it, he spread his mantle on the dew-damp grass, sat himself down and waited.
Apart from the sporadic song of a mistle-thrush, nothing seemed to mark the passing of time. If Giles hadn’t been so tense, he would have found the wait more tedious. Even so, he felt as though he had been staring at the gnarled trunk for hours, almost afraid to look away. What if she was unable to get back? Or unable to procure the device? In his head, he had almost planned his route to France, planned the words with which he would offer his fealty to Philippe. It would be with reluctance. He may not want to work for John, but he was damned sure he didn’t want to work for Philippe. His loyalties, his family ties, all were in England. She must come. She must.
He whiled away the time eating his bread and cheese, washing it down with ale, saving some for later, forcing himself to tear his gaze from the tree. Who knew how long he’d be keeping vigil? And all the time, his nerves were becoming more and more raw. He shook his head. His lack of sleep must be telling now, his head was buzzing. But wait! It wasn’t his head. He looked up and saw the tree had started to shimmer. No heat haze this time. It must be Marion. She was coming.
Giles got to his feet, intending to move just close enough to reach out and touch Marion’s hand when it appeared, but suddenly, an overwhelming urge came upon him. No man had ever seen beyond his own time, but here and now, he had the opportunity to see the future. Almost appalled at the thought, still he was unable to stop himself. The urge grew stronger and stronger, his head filled with the hum of a thousand bees. He drew ever closer to the beech. Against all his senses were telling him, he reached for the tree, watching as first his hand, then his arm disappeared. He felt his face drawn through the very fabric of the tree, as though he was pushing through something as thick as pottage. A mist was in his eyes. He blinked, and it started to clear. There she was, her face a mask of horror as she saw him. And beyond her – his jaw dropped in shock. The Abbey! What had happened to it?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
5th June 2006
Whit Monday
I parked the car. There wasn’t a soul about. Good. I was wearing jeans today, slim fitting with a tight tee shirt. In my basket, I carried the outfit I had bought from the internet. I was not going to be caught unawares this time. As I hurried towards the tree, I kept looking furtively behind me; still no one in sight. Ducking behind the trunk, I pulled the outfit from my basket and slipped it over my jeans and top. It was a bit fiddly, and I struggled with the lacing, but I managed. Looking at the white scarf thingy – a wimple, Chloe had called it, hadn’t she? – I tugged it over my hair and beneath my chin. Would it do? I hoped so.
I didn’t know whether I could approach the tree from this side, so I went back around to roughly the same angle as before, but then moved back a few yards. I wasn’t ready yet, didn’t know if I dared. But I couldn’t let Giles down, either.
Gritting my teeth determinedly, I was about to start fumbling in my basket for the caddy and auto-injectors when I felt the vibrations start. Not as intense as last time, but I supposed it was because this time I was coming to the tree of my own free will. Last time, I hadn’t been. The hum started to resonate in my body again but not so unpleasantly this time. I squared my shoulders and got ready to approach the tree.
Wait! What was happening? The gnarled old trunk almost seemed to be wearing a face. My mouth dropped open in horror as the tree started to shimmer. It wasn’t wearing a face; the face was coming through. It was Giles, his expression ghastly, as though he was staring at his own doom. But I was not letting this happen. It had been difficult enough for me to cope in his world. He was not coming through into mine. I sprinted to the tree just as his shoulders started to emerge, lunged at him, and we went tumbling back through, landing in a heap the other side.
For a few moments, we lay there winded. I was locked in a steel embrace, my body almost crushed against his mail, his arms around me, not in a lover’s embrace, more a confused heap, the result of me hurling myself at him. My face pressed against his beard, the bristles grinding into my skin, his lips against my cheek, his breath warm on my skin.
Slowly, I recovered my wits. I started to lift myself, and he dropped his arms allowing me to roll off him. Sitting up, I wrapped my arms about my knees. He got to his knees, sat back on his heels, and for a moment, we just gazed at each other. His eyes looked haunted.
“Marion, the Abbey! It was in ruins. What happened?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know. “It just fell into disrepair, I suppose. Oh, wait!” Could I tell him? He already knew more than he should. I supposed a little more information wouldn’t hurt. It might help.
“I remember now. In a few hundred years’ time…”
A look of utter confusion was in his eyes.
“In a few hundred years,” I repeated, “there will be a king who disagrees with the Pope.” I was glad I remembered that bit from school. It sounded about right. I’d have to check when I got back, but it wasn’t as though anyone was going to tell him differently, except maybe Hildegarde. “He will overthrow religion as you know it now.” He looked even more horrified. Maybe I shouldn’t have told him, but it was too late to stop now. Perhaps I could soften the blow. I dredged up as much as I could remember from those long-ago history lessons. “It wasn’t so bad. It meant everyone could believe in their own way eventually. And the Pope doesn’t tell us wha
t to do in England in my time. He doesn’t even tell the Italians what to do. Well,” I amended, “he does, but they don’t always take any notice. He hasn’t the power in my time that he had in yours.” Has, had? Which tense should I use? No matter. I wasn’t taking an exam.
It wasn’t helping. I could see him struggling to make sense of it all. “Giles, don’t worry about it. It won’t happen for hundreds of years yet.”
“After I’m laid in the ground, you mean? Why do I not find that a comfort? It’s just that…” he muttered, passing his hand across his eyes, “…when I looked into your world, I realised that to you, in your time, I’m entombed in my coffin. It’s not a reassuring thought, Marion.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, each digesting what the time gap really meant, before Giles spoke again. “And you – you’re not even born. I cannot…it’s just…” His voice tailed off.
Another thought hit me. My basket! The injectors. Were they still in one piece? I hoped the fall hadn’t damaged them. As I turned to look for the basket, the same thought evidently occurred to him. He leaned forward and reached behind me. There it was. The basket was tumbled on its side, but the fabric cover was still in place. I pulled it off and looked inside. At least I’d had the forethought to wrap them in an old scarf. I took them out and examined them. They seemed none the worse.
“I think they’ll be okay.” He looked at me and I realised what I’d said. “I mean I think they are unbroken. They look as though they will still work.” His face cleared. “And, Giles, I have a gift for the Abbess. It’s in this caddy…er this tin…er…never mind. It’s in here. She’ll know what it is. Tell her, if she gives you the caddy to replace with the unused devices each year, I will refill it for her.” He took it from me along with the devices and put them in some kind of bag, a sort of large leather pouch.
It occurred to me that he had not noticed my more appropriate dress. I guessed that meant I’d got it right. He would have been more likely to comment if I had got it disastrously wrong.
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