“Holy Mary, where is that girl?” Maeve exclaimed as the men took their seats round the fire.
She had made the thick Breton pancakes which Raoul thoroughly enjoyed and was waiting for Damona to return with mushrooms to go with them. She had even saved some of the cheese they had been given a few days before and this also was to be added to the dish. It would be a delightful change from pottage and Raoul relished the thought of it.
“Where can she be? There’s mushrooms all around in these woods at this time of year. It’s not a difficult task. Connell, go and find your sister.”
“Oh, Mam, do I have to? I’m busy.” The boy was whittling a piece of wood with his pocket knife. It was actually starting to look a little like a bird.
“I’ll go,” Raoul said.
Perhaps he could prevent her from being scolded and thus pacify her somewhat. She had been moody and difficult with everyone since the incident by the stream.
He hurried off in the direction Maeve indicated, calling her name at frequent intervals. It was strange how, even a short way from their camp, the woods felt silent and deserted. As Pol wasn’t with him on this occasion, he took careful note of his surroundings – it would be foolish if he too became lost. He bent over the occasional sapling and scored some of the tree-trunks with his dagger as he passed. There was no sign of the girl.
“Damona! Damona?”
A sound somewhere between a cough and a cry had come to his ears. He pushed his way through some bushes and then spotted her. She was crouching on the ground, retching, a half-filled basket discarded by her side.
“Damona, are you all right?”
What a fatuous thing to say! As he ran to her he knew that she was not. He knelt beside her and put a hand on her forehead. She was fever-hot.
“Leave me alone,” she whimpered, feebly attempting to shake him off.
“Damona, have you eaten something? Made a mistake with the mushrooms, perhaps?” Raoul knew that some varieties were poisonous.
“Don’t be...stupid!” she gasped, a renewed bout of nausea seizing her. “I’ve eaten nothing! Get off!”
Raoul ignored what she said, holding her against him, his cool hand on her burning head while she vomited helplessly. After a while the spasm passed.
“Now, let’s get you back to the wagon,” he said. He retrieved the basket, hanging it over his shoulder, then went to lift her up.
“Don’t,” she said. “I’m all right. I can walk.”
“There’s no need.”
Raoul kept his arms round her and smiled down into her face.
“I’m not as much of a weakling as all that, you know,” he said.
She gave him an anguished look as he lifted her with apparent ease, then she closed her eyes and pressed her head against his shoulder.
“We’ll soon be there,” he told her, adopting a long smooth stride which covered the distance rapidly but without jolting her too much. He was glad that he had made the effort to mark the route so clearly.
As they entered the clearing Maeve gave a shocked cry.
“She’s ill,” Raoul told her, explaining what he’d found.
“Get her into the wagon, Raoul, can you?” Maeve said anxiously and he hurried to obey her, laying the girl down on the straw-filled mattress inside.
Damona was now only semi-conscious, tossing her head from side to side and muttering incoherently. Maeve filled a basin with hot water from the can over the fire then added a handful of sweet-smelling herbs from her box of medicines.
“You’ll have to see to the food yourselves,” she told the men.
They assured her hastily that they would do so.
Later when she joined them by the fire, Maeve admitted that she was worried.
“Damona’s never sick,” she said, “and I don’t like the look of her. I’m skilled with remedies but I’m not sure what’s wrong.”
“What do you suggest, Maeve?” Daniel asked her.
“There’s an infirmary at the Abbey of St-Melaine and the Benedictine Brothers know much more than me. We’ve money – thanks to our young friend,” she nodded to Raoul, “and I think we should press on there with all speed. When we get near Rennes there’s a good road. We could make it by late tomorrow if we leave at first light.”
There were nods and murmurs of agreement. Usually they travelled at a leisurely pace. If they tried, it was possible that their journey time could be cut almost in half.
It was well after dark the next day when they reached Rennes. The town gates had closed long ago but in the Abbey gate-house, half a mile to the east, a dim light was still burning. Guennec clambered down from the cart and went to pound on the huge wooden door.
Throughout the day Damona had only been semi-conscious. Maeve had sat by her, trying to soothe her, repeating all the prayers and charms she knew. They hadn’t stopped to eat or drink but had merely snatched a bite on the move. Daniel had lashed the slow beasts with his whip to force them to continue on their way long after they would normally have been permitted to rest and feed. As Maeve had said, luckily, just as it was starting to get dark, they reached the broad straight road which came down from the coast, built it was said by the long vanished Romans. From there, they made good speed.
A small window opened in the door and a face peered through the metal grille.
“Who is it that disturbs our rest at this hour of the night?”
“Brother, my name is Daniel Guennec and my daughter is sick with the fever. We beg you to allow us to enter. We can pay for any medicine she needs.”
“One moment.”
The window was shut but a small door to the side of the main gate now opened and two black-robed monks emerged.
“Where is the girl?”
Guennec led them round to the back of the wagon. After a swift examination, the monks were clearly satisfied that Daniel’s story was true. One called a command in Latin to someone inside the Abbey and the great gates swung apart, allowing them all to enter.
Once they were inside, the gates were immediately shut and barred again. A monk lifted Damona from the cart and swiftly bore her off to the infirmary, Maeve scurrying anxiously behind him. One of the other brothers indicated to the guest quarters, a low building to the left of the courtyard. Guennec hesitated for a moment, knowing that they would have to pay much more for such lodgings than if they were merely using an outhouse or a stable, but he evidently decided that this was not the time to argue. He led them into the long room and told them all to settle down for the night.
Perhaps fortunately, they were the only people staying. A more refined traveller might have objected to his rest being disturbed by such a disreputable looking band. Although the dormitory was simply furnished and bare of ornament, Raoul found considerable pleasure in lying down to sleep on a real mattress on a raised bed-frame with two soft woollen blankets to cover him.
Predictably, in the morning, once he had been assured by Maeve that Damona was a little better, Guennec arranged with the prior for them to sleep in a disused cow-shed for the remainder of their stay. Compared with that at St.Hilaire, this one seemed to have been unoccupied long enough for the more pungent odours to have dispersed.
Later on, everyone apart from Maeve went into the town. Raoul was excited at the prospect but the reality far surpassed his expectation. Bonnebosq was the largest community he had visited so far and he was amazed by what he saw. Once through the gate, they followed the throng through narrow alleys into the central square where the great cathedral of St. Pierre rose high above the surrounding buildings. Its tower was even taller than the city walls, Raoul noticed. In front of it was the bustling market place, full of stalls selling a dazzling array of wares. Around it were countless streets of dwellings and taverns, teeming with life. Raoul stood agog, unable to believe that so many people could be in one place at the same time.
“Come on, Raoul,” said Cof, “don’t stand there gaping. Let’s go and buy hot pies then at least you can see the sights wi
th a full stomach!”
“Oh, yes, right!”
Raoul pulled himself together hastily and followed the others to the nearest food vendor’s stall.
Over the next three days Raoul became more accustomed to the crowd and bustle of the city – and came to the conclusion that he didn’t really like it. It was exciting, certainly, but it was hardly peaceful. He took part willingly in all the shows that Guennec wanted them to give. And when they did quite well out of it, Raoul was given a share of their earnings. He chose not to spend his free hours or his money in the city sampling the strong drink and finding partners for bed-sport – the activities that the other single men were pursuing with great enthusiasm. He had discovered that the Abbey had a well-stocked library and it had not been difficult to persuade the initially incredulous prior to allow him to read under the supervision of one of the more elderly brothers. He was even able to acquire several pens and some ink plus a thick wad of parchment – in return for a few hours of copying in his neat legible hand.
On the second market day, Raoul took most of his silver coins into the town and bought what he felt he needed in the way of warm clothes. He watched how other shoppers bargained with the stall holders until their opening prices were halved or even quartered. Putting the technique into practice, he was well pleased with having bought a sheep-skin jerkin, a blue woollen coat and hood, a broad leather belt and a pair of stout boots for the amount the first man had been initially asking for the jerkin alone. In addition he bought a thick cloak which would serve as both an outdoor garment and an extra bed-cover. He was about to leave the market when he noticed an old woman selling embroidered linen kerchiefs. He could buy one for Damona. Maeve said that she was feeling better but Raoul knew she had been looking forward to being in Rennes and perhaps a little gift would cheer her up. He completed the purchase, not trying too hard this time to bring its price down as the woman looked worn out and poor, then he tucked it away in his pouch. He would take it to Damona later.
On his way back to the Abbey, Raoul met Maeve and Daniel who were taking Connell out for a treat. The boy had been very patient while his parents fretted over his sister and now that they were satisfied that she was no longer in danger, they had promised him ginger-nuts and a new whittling knife from the market.
Raoul stowed away his purchases then went to do some more copying for Brother Stephen. He worked steadily for some time, ate dinner in the refectory, then decided that he would go and find Damona. He knew roughly where the infirmary was and he found it without difficulty. The monk on duty raised no objection and showed him where the girl lay, in an alcove off the main room.
He approached the bed quietly. She was asleep and she seemed desperately pale, Raoul thought, looking anxiously at the blue circles shadowing her closed eyes. He would scarcely have recognised her – especially as her shift was fastened high up under her chin and her luxuriant hair was tightly braided. She looked very much younger – almost like a little girl. He felt a rush of tenderness. Should he leave or wait a while? He certainly didn’t wish to disturb her.
A window high in the wall let in a good light and there was a stool and a table beside the bed. It only took him a few minutes to go and fetch his writing materials. He had had an idea for song – in Latin – about how impossible it was to know what females were thinking. His surroundings seemed to fade as he rapidly completed the first verse. Part way through the second, he paused, searching for an elusive rhyme.
“Raoul?” It was Damona’s voice, thin and weak.
He set down the pen and came over to the bed. She looked up at him with a faint smile.
“How are you? Do you feel stronger?” he asked.
“I’ll live, they say. We’re in Rennes, aren’t we?”
“That’s right.”
To Raoul’s alarm, tears welled up in Damona’s eyes and began to trickle slowly down her cheeks.
“I’d hoped to get the stuff for a new gown here,” she murmured sadly. “I won’t be able to now.”
“Please don’t cry,” said Raoul, feeling helpless. “Look, it’s not much, but I bought you this.”
He fished in his pouch for the kerchief. She brushed away her tears and raised herself on one elbow.
“Did you really buy it for me?” she said.
“Yes. Is it...all right?”
She managed to smile. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. Could you help me to sit up, do you think?”
He plumped up the pillows and helped her to prop herself against them.
“What were you doing at the table?” she asked when she was settled.
“Just writing something,” he said.
“Can I see?”
He fetched the piece of parchment to the bedside and handed it to her.
She touched the lettering with her finger.
“Are those words?” she said.
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“I’m sure it wouldn’t really interest you,” Raoul said hastily. “It’s just about...about...the Romans and things.”
He glanced at her anxiously, afraid that she’d be offended by what seemed to him to be obvious evasion. Apparently deep in thought, she didn’t seem to have noticed.
“If I asked you to, you could write a message from me to...someone I know who can read too. And then I could tell him that I haven’t forgotten his promise and that I’ll see him quite soon – is that all right?”
“Of course. Then you’d just need someone to take the message.”
Her face clouded.
“Yes, how silly of me. Otherwise I’d be there as soon as the message, wouldn’t I? And a messenger would cost money.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Presumably Damona had some literate suitor who lived near Vannes. He was glad to know there was someone that she seemed to care about.
She yawned and let her head sink back.
“I feel sleepy again now. I seem to sleep nearly all the time. It’s so boring – and I get lonely too. Will you stay with me for a while?”
“Yes, of course I will.”
“Here, sit beside me.”
She moved her legs under the cover to give him room. He sat down facing her and took her hand.
“Shall I tell you a story? When I was ill as a boy my grandmother’s friend used to sit and talk to me. She always used to tell me stories. Would you like that?”
Damona made no attempt to withdraw her hand. Her dark eyes looked up into his, her expression impossible to fathom. Then she smiled tiredly.
“Yes, I’d like that. You’re being very kind to me, Raoul. I don’t really understand why. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be out wenching with the others?”
“I’d much rather be here with you.”
A faint tinge of pick crept into the girl’s pale cheeks.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
Raoul gently stroked the hand he was holding.
“Now, close your eyes,” he said, “and listen...
“Once, there was a beautiful young girl called Nell who was wooed by a handsome, rich Lord who lived in a land in the west, at the furthest tip of the world.” It was Raoul’s grandmother’s story, of course, told to him a hundred times by Anne Le Hir. “When Nell arrived in the castle her husband was called away to the war, leaving her in charge. But the wicked steward and the Lord’s younger brother – who was in a foreign country at the time – had conspired to cheat the people and ruin the land, keeping its wealth for themselves. But Nell soon put matters right and the people loved her for it. While her husband was still away, the younger brother came home. He was angry when he found out what she had done. He sent armed men to find his brother, to kill him so that he could be Lord instead, but they failed and soon afterwards his brother came home, a victor and a hero. Some months passed by and Nell was due to give birth to her son, Radenoc’s heir...” Raoul paused, annoyed at his unintentional use of the real name.
“Go on,” Damona murmured sleepily, “w
hat happened next?”
“Well, the night before the child was born, by means of evil magic, the wicked brother managed to get into the Lord’s impenetrable tower where he smothered him under Nell’s very eyes. He then vanished without trace from the chamber. The next day when Nell told them all that her husband had been murdered, no one would believe her. And when her son was born she knew that the wicked brother would never let the baby live. He seemed very kind, very concerned for the child’s safety but she knew better than to trust him. She pretended to be very weak, suffering from child-bed fever, and then one night she smuggled him out of the castle by a secret door. Pulling baby Robert along in his wooden cradle like a boat, she swam over to an island where she was met by a loyal friend who smuggled them away to safety.”
“What happened to the wicked brother?”
“He stayed in the castle as its Lord.”
“That’s not a proper ending,” Damona objected, opening her eyes. “The son should have grown up bold and strong and then seized the castle back from his uncle.”
“Quite right,” Raoul said, “so he should. I’ll tell you the next part of the story another day. Go to sleep now.”
Obediently she closed her eyes again and Raoul continued to stroke her hand, gently and rhythmically. When he was sure she was fully asleep, he eased himself off the bed, picked up his writing materials and tiptoed away.
She was right, of course; the story didn’t have a proper ending. Armand de Metz was still enjoying the fruits of his treachery and there was nothing that anyone – least of all the rightful heir of Radenoc – could do about it.
Chapter Eight
The Rightful Heir Page 11