The Rightful Heir

by Diana Dickinson

  The next morning when he re-joined the mummers he felt sick and exhausted. The priest had pronounced him ‘well shriven’ and Raoul had dutifully hung the image of St. Christopher round his neck but he felt, if anything, worse than before. He plodded along beside the cart wishing almost that he could die, if only as a way to find oblivion. But after death, he would undoubtedly go to Hell and perhaps Hell was...he frantically repressed the thought.

  That night they camped earlier than normal, on a grassy bank by a steam, surrounded by yet another thick forest; this one, Pol said, was called the Argoat, and was the most ancient wood in all Brittany. Guennec came up to Raoul as Maeve was lighting the fire.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, lad, but I sense that all is still not well with you.”

  Raoul hung his head and sighed. What was the point of talking about it?

  “If you come with me, I might be able to help.”

  Raoul looked at him suspiciously. “Has Maeve said something to you?” he asked with a frown of annoyance. He remembered their conversation about Morgane le Fay.

  “What would she say?”

  “Nothing.” Raoul felt tears rising and forced them down. “All right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll come with you. I suppose it can’t do any harm.”

  “Good lad.”

  Guennec led the way into the forest and Raoul followed behind, somewhat apprehensively. The trees here were pines, he noticed, and the ground was rocky. After a short distance they began to climb steeply uphill. Soon they passed a waterfall. After walking for about an hour they reached a flat ledge, almost like a shelf carved out of the hill-side. Behind it another waterfall tumbled down in a gushing roar. Under the trees the ground was covered in a thick carpet of brown pine needles and red squirrels played in the boughs above their heads. Built between two tall trees to one side was a rounded moss-covered dwelling with a spiral of blue smoke rising from it. In front there was an ancient stone cross; at its base sat a clay jug, a bowl and a rush basket.

  “This is the Green Chapel,” Guennec said quietly. “A holy place, in my opinion – much more so than the great wealthy Abbeys. And here’s its guardian.”

  A man emerged from the building. He was dressed in a long brown tunic and his white hair was cropped short, though he was not tonsured like a monk. His physique and his bronzed face looked as if they belonged rather to a soldier than to a priest, Raoul thought. When he recognised Guennec, he uttered an exclamation of delight and strode forward to embrace him. Raoul saw with surprise that he wore good leather boots rather than simple sandals.

  “This is a young friend of mine, Mathurin,” Guennec said once they had exchanged greetings and asked after each other’s health. “He would benefit from your counsel.” He turned to Raoul. “Stay here as long as you wish, lad. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  “I’ll try to make him welcome,” Mathurin said with a smile.

  “I know you will,” said Daniel. He patted Raoul’s shoulder, nodded to Mathurin and left them.

  Chapter Ten

  Raoul stood nervously, waiting with a slight feeling of resentment for Mathurin to start asking questions about what was wrong with him.

  “Are you any good at chopping wood?” the man said after a moment.

  “What?” Raoul looked at him in surprise.

  “You would think, living where I do, that I’d have a good supply. But the wretched stuff always needs cutting up and I get very weary of the task.”

  “Well, if that’s what you want, yes, of course I’ll do it.”

  “Excellent. What’s your name, young man?”

  “Raoul”

  “Well, Raoul, the axe is over there by the stump. I’d chop onto that, if I were you. It’s a good height. I’ll be inside cooking our supper.”

  Raoul was about to protest that he wasn’t hungry but he didn’t like to be impolite to his strange host.

  “I’ll get started then, shall I?”

  “Thanks.”

  Mathurin gave a warm smile then strode away, singing softly under his breath; Raoul recognised a well-known popular ballad. This was the oddest cleric he had ever met.

  He went over to the stump, picked up the axe and set to work. The light was fading by the time the stack of neatly split logs had reached a considerable size and he was glad when he saw his host approaching.

  “My word, you have done well!” Mathurin exclaimed in delight. “Come with me now.”

  He went back towards the dwelling so Raoul set down the axe and followed him.

  In the building there were two rooms, with the outer one obviously the chapel. There was a rough-hewn table to act as an altar. Placed in its centre was a piece of richly embroidered velvet cloth, somewhat incongruous in this humble setting. On it were a carved wooden cross and two lights set in clay cups, very like the one Raoul had seen at Meg’s hut. He shivered and looked hurriedly away, following Mathurin through the door at the back which led into the brightly lit room beyond.

  Clearly, in the inner room, the chapel’s guardian lived. Against two of the walls were simple bed-frames but these were piled with plump pillows and thick-fleeced sheepskins. In addition there was a cupboard, a table and two stools. The smoke from the cooking fire escaped through a neat hole in the roof and several thick candles were burning on a surprisingly elaborate wrought-iron stand, similar to those in the castle at Bonnebosq. Raoul sat down on the stool that Mathurin indicated and watched as bowls and spoons were set on the table. For some reason, he found himself relaxing. The place had an air of cleanliness and order which was reassuring. This room was almost like the reverse of Old Meg’s. That had been dark and chilling, the home of evil and the black arts. This was full of warmth and light, wholesome and comforting.

  Once he started eating, Raoul found he was very hungry indeed. It was a stew containing game of some kind and large juicy mushrooms, the gravy well flavoured with herbs. He had seconds and then thirds.

  “Have some of this,” Mathurin said producing a bottle and two cups. “It’s made from honey and tastes extremely good.”

  He poured generous measures into the cups and Raoul took a sip. It was delicious.

  “And I think you’ll find this cake goes with it quite well.”

  He fetched it from the cupboard and cut thick wedges. It was rich with nuts and succulent plums.

  “Did you make this?” Raoul asked him, wondering how it was possible on an open fire. Mathurin did not appear to have an oven.

  “It was a gift. Some of the local people bring me odds and ends when they’re passing by. Old friends remember from time to time where I hid myself. Some folk are grateful for my help. The older ones still believe an offering left at the Green Chapel will placate the forests spirits and grant them a good harvest. Perhaps they’re right.”

  “But you are a Christian, aren’t you?”

  “Certainly. But it doesn’t mean you have to discount all the old ways.”

  “Are you really a priest?”

  Raoul finished the last mouthful of cake and drained his cup for the final time. The bottle was now empty.

  Mathurin chuckled.

  “Oh yes. I am now. I saw a lot of the world, though, in my younger days. I haven’t always lived in this peaceful spot.”

  He stood up, cleared the table of their dishes then stacked them by the hearth.

  “Now why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”

  He gestured across the room to the bed. Raoul felt a prickle of unease.

  “I ought to get back to my friends,” he said. “I’ve imposed on your hospitality for too long already.”

  “Nonsense. Daniel knows you’ll be staying tonight. He’s stayed here himself. It’s dark now and honey-wine is not the stuff to help you find your way through a wood, not even at midday.”

  Raoul clenched his fists. Was there some sinister reason why this man wanted him to stay?

  “Don’t be afraid, Raoul,” Mathurin said gently. “There isn’t anything here to harm y
ou. You undress and settle down in the bed over there. I’ll just go out and give a share of our supper to my forest friends. And I’d better refill the altar lamps before I get too sleepy. Then we’ll shut up the door and be snug.”

  Tense and suddenly cold, as soon as Mathurin had gone Raoul took off his outer clothes and climbed quickly under the sheepskin rugs. After a while he heard him return to the chapel. He was singing the popular ballad again as he busied himself with his tasks. Gradually Raoul stopped shivering and began to relax. Perhaps there was nothing to worry about.

  When he returned, Mathurin added more fuel to the fire. Then he blew out the candles, pulled off his tunic and climbed into the other bed. The room was now lit only by a dim red flickering light.

  “That candle holder’s another gift,” Mathurin said, just as Raoul was starting to think he had gone to sleep. “From the Lord of Josselin, it was. He had a sickness of the mind and he said I had helped him to ease his pain. He used to say my rustic torches would set this place on fire!” He chuckled reminiscently. “I knew him in the Holy Land when we were both young. That’s why he came to me.”

  “Were you in the Crusade?” Raoul asked, his voice now full of boyish eagerness.

  “That’s right.”

  “You were someone’s chaplain, I suppose.”

  “No.” Although he couldn’t see him Raoul could tell that Mathurin was smiling. “I was a knight then. I fought in many a battle – and killed many an Infidel.”

  “Will you tell me about it?” Raoul turned onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows.

  “Perhaps.”

  “But why are you here? Didn’t you make your fortune and become a glorious hero?”

  Mathurin laughed softly.

  “I suppose I did. And I think that’s probably why I’m here. I expect you’re too young to appreciate this but I came to believe that I could serve God better by caring for his creatures instead of killing and maiming them.”

  “But the Infidels are the enemies of God!”

  “That is the popular view. It isn’t mine.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I renounced my wealth and my title, became a priest and when the former guardian of the chapel became old and frail, I lived here and helped him. When he died, I took his place.”

  “Were you rich? What title did you have?”

  “It’s not important what I was. What I am is what matters. Here I have found peace – and a useful purpose.”

  “What did people say when you told them what you were going to do?”

  He chuckled. “They thought I was mad, of course. Judged by their values, I was.”

  There was a pause while Raoul thought over what Mathurin had said. After a while he lay down again in the bed and asked a question.

  “Do you think that some people really do go mad?” he said, the quiver in his voice betraying his fear.

  “Yes, some do, unquestionably.”

  Raoul hesitated then blurted it out.

  “I’m afraid it’s happening to me.”

  “What makes you think so?” Mathurin’s voice was quiet and calm.

  “I have these terrible dreams...but I can’t tell you!” He broke off, ashamed.

  “About something or someone you’re afraid of?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they involve violence?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “A sexual act?”

  “Yes.” Raoul’s voice was just a whisper.

  “With a woman?”

  “It’s worse than that!”

  Suddenly, like water bursting through a dam, the whole story came tumbling out: Meg, the fortune telling, the orgy with the girl, the wolf on the rock, everything.

  “What can I do?” Raoul cried when he reached the end. He lay doubled up now, clutching himself, in almost physical pain. “I can’t sleep, I dream of it over and over again. There’s no escape! Will God ever forgive me?”

  “First, Raoul,” Mathurin’s voice was still gentle but held quiet authority, “you have to forgive yourself. What’s done is done. Whoever she was, whatever you did, you can’t change that. You must accept it. And if its memory disgusts you, as I think it does, you must resolve in future to be better – to think wholesome thoughts and do only what is right and good. You are a man, with both the blessing and the curse of free will. Only you can determine what sort of man you will become and your destiny depends on that. God can help you to decide, but the decision rests solely with you.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I know it’s true. In the war I committed acts which I found I could not live with. I was tempted to take my own life. With God’s help I found a better way.” He paused to let his words sink in. “Why don’t you go into my chapel now and ask God for his aid?”

  “I will.”

  With a surge of emotion, almost giddy with gratitude and relief, Raoul threw back the covers and went to the door. The room beyond was almost dark, with just the two pools of light cast by the lamps on the altar. There was also a little sweet smelling smoke wafting from a censor which hung above it. It was tranquil, safe and full of peace. Several times over the past few days Raoul had been close to tears. Now they flooded out. Trusting that Mathurin was too wise to embarrass him with his presence, he knelt down by the altar, rested his head on his arms and sobbed.

  Once the first paroxysm had passed, he thought over what had been said. Yes, Mathurin was right, it was up to him. He must try to be different from now on – then what had happened would be a lesson for the future – like Christ’s temptation in the wilderness. He hadn’t known what there was, so how could he know to avoid it?

  “Heavenly Father,” he said aloud, his voice just above a whisper, “please hear my solemn vow. From this day forward I shall be pure in heart and chaste of body. I shall spurn all corruption and do only what is right in your eyes.”

  He crossed himself, rose and went back into the inner room. The fire had burned low but the room was still warm, the only sound Mathurin’s even breathing. Raoul climbed back into his cocoon of fleeces and within seconds he sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  It was fully light when he awoke the next day. Warm and contented, Raoul lay still, listening to the chorus of bird song which came from all around. In the background he could just catch the murmuring rush of the waterfall. There were no bursts of cheerful singing to tell him whether Mathurin was near at hand but after a few minutes he roused himself, flinging back the covers and pulling on his tunic and his boots.

  “Good morning, my friend. You’re awake at last, I see.”

  Mathurin came in from the chapel. He was carrying something wrapped in a cloth, its twitching movements indicating that it was a creature of some kind.

  “Good morning,” Raoul replied. “Is it very late?”

  “Close to midday.”

  “Merciful Heavens! I’ve slept for hours!”

  “And you’re hungry too, I daresay.”

  “Ravenous!” Raoul grinned. “Whatever will Daniel say?”

  “He told you he’d wait, didn’t he? I don’t think he expected you at first light somehow.”

  The occupant of the bundle had begun to struggle desperately and muffled squawks emerged.

  “Can you take this for a moment, Raoul, please? That’s right – put your arm round it and hold it against your side. Good. I must find a pair of gloves.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a falcon. Her jesses were tangled in a tree and she’s hurt herself trying to get loose. I had to climb up and free her and I had the Devil’s own job holding on to her. She thought I was attacking her, of course.”

  He put a bowl of something on the table then drew on a pair of leather gauntlets and took her back from Raoul.

  “Their beaks and talons are razor sharp, you know. Have you ever had one yourself?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Mathurin went over and sat down, placing the bundle on the table i
n front of him. Raoul watched with interest as, murmuring soothing words, he carefully loosened the cloth to reveal the frightened bird. She had a brown and cream speckled breast and her back and wings were a darker shade of brown. Before she could attack him, Mathurin reached into the bowl and offered her a scrap of raw meat. She cocked her head on one side, regarding him with bright suspicious eyes, before she seized it.

  “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Raoul said. “What sort is she?”

  “A merlin. She’s been hand-reared, I think, or she wouldn’t have accepted the food so quickly. She’s still quite young.”

  He fed her another scrap.

  “Is she seriously hurt?”

  “I’m not sure. One of her legs is bleeding badly and she can’t fly. When she’s calmer I should be able to see.”

  “Can I help at all?”

  “Yes. If you look in the chest over there you’ll find an old pair of woollen hose.”

  A short time later, following Mathurin’s directions, he had cut the toe out of the hose to make a hood for the bird. Once her hunger was satisfied and the hood in place, the merlin submitted tamely to being examined. Raoul put on one of the gauntlets and held her on his hand while Mathurin carefully stretched out each wing in turn. They were not broken but the muscles were strained, he concluded after a while. He then bathed and bound up her cut leg.

  “What will you do with her now?” Raoul asked.

  “Would you like to have her?”

  “Do you really mean that? Do you think I could care for her? Would Daniel mind?”

  “We can ask him. As to caring for her, you’ll have to provide fresh meat every day until she can hunt for herself. And you’ll have to keep an eye on that leg. She probably won’t like having the bandage on but you’ll have to try to persuade her. I’ll give you a pot of salve – although I expect Maeve would have something suitable. If you want to keep her, that is.”

  “I should say so!” Raoul exclaimed in delight.

  The bird sat tranquilly, possibly sleeping, on his gloved hand. With the other he gently stroked her soft feathers.