by Jodi Taylor
‘Well, yes. But no. Not really.’
He gave a shaky laugh. ‘I see your answer covers all bases, as usual.’
I smiled sadly and shook my head.
‘Just tell me, Max.’
Well, he’d asked for it. I said carefully, ‘I was lost, Leon. I don’t just mean lost without you – which I was – or physically lost – although I was that as well – I was cast adrift, if you like. They meant well. Those two men. They let me live. I sometimes wonder if it would have been better … but they just left me there. I know I was lucky to be alive. Ronan had given instructions I was to be killed and my body – pushed out of a pod somewhere. Anywhere. Anytime. He didn’t care and he didn’t want to know. St Mary’s – you – would have been tied up for years looking for me. And you’d never have found me.
‘Anyway, you know what happened. I did end up at St Mary’s but about six hundred and fifty years ago. No supplies. No prep. Nothing but the clothes I stood up in. And they weren’t the right clothes. It all looked very bleak. I’m not excusing the choices I made. I’m giving you the reasons for them. I needed a man. For protection. For status. For a home. You know how these things go. I had no relatives. No income. No skills. No one to support me.’
I took a breath. ‘His name was William Hendred. He was marshal of St Mary’s. Head of Security, I suppose we’d say. He was a good man. A very good man. He took me in. He protected me. He treated me with respect and made others do the same. He saved me when I torched St Mary’s and again after I was kidnapped and had to burn down the hunting lodge.’
‘I begin to feel a certain sympathy for this unfortunate man. Did he have any choice in the matter?’
I smiled reluctantly. ‘Yes, of course. But my choice was of being used by many men or just one. I chose the one.’
There was no expression on his face. I knew what he was thinking. There had been a connection between William Hendred and me. Another man had had what Leon held so dear.
‘I have to tell you, Leon – he never forced himself on me. I told him I’d just lost my husband. He was sympathetic. He … I suppose you could say he courted me. He brought me ribbons for my hair. He gave me time to heal. And then …’
I took another breath. ‘And then the moment came and he asked me to marry him. I had to decide. Did I take a chance and hold out for an impossible rescue? Or did I commit to my new life and everything it entailed?’
Leon stood up suddenly, took a few paces in one direction, wheeled about, took a few more, and then sat back down again. ‘Go on.’
‘I was walking through the village, thinking about my future and half way up the hill, someone called my name. My real name. It was one of the two men who’d left me there. Ronan, presumably wanting all traces of me eradicated, had turned on them. I’d warned them not to go back, but they hadn’t listened. They were both injured. They’d barely escaped. They couldn’t operate their pod very well and it was faulty anyway, so they jumped back to me for help. The pod was in a terrible state. I estimated we had just enough power for one last jump. And it had to be then – that moment or never.’
I stopped and stared at my feet.
‘What is it? What’s the important thing you’re not telling me?’
And here it came.
‘I left him, Leon. Without warning. Without a word of farewell. I just disappeared. As far as he’s – he was – aware, I walked out of the door and vanished. We never got the chance to say goodbye. He’s an honest man with honest feelings. What is he thinking? That I’ve run away – that I’ve abandoned my home rather than be with him? That the Rushfords have had another go at me? He’ll spend weeks looking for me – to no avail. I’ve vanished into thin air. How will he recover? I’m not big-headed enough to say I’ve ruined his life but how will he move on from this? He’ll look for me in every face he sees. He …’
He pulled me into his arms. ‘Hush.’
I was sobbing. ‘I can’t … I can’t just …’
‘Hush,’ he said again.
‘Leon, I didn’t … we didn’t … but I would have. I would have married him and been a wife to him and …’
‘And a very sensible decision that would have been,’ he said calmly. ‘You would have been safe. You would probably have been happy. I’m not selfish enough to deny you that. I’m glad you found a good man. He sounds as if he deserved you.
I wiped my nose on something. I’ve no idea what. Leon, probably. ‘We didn’t …’
‘You don’t have to tell me that,’ he said. ‘You have the most transparent face in the universe.’
‘But I would have,’ I said, determined to make a clean breast of everything.
‘But you didn’t,’ he said, determined to be considerate and reasonable.
I sighed.
He sat staring at his feet for a long time and then said, ‘Listen Max, you should go back. You’re talking about him in the present tense. You spent nearly a year there. Part of you is still there. This is your problem. Part of you is still there with him. You need to go back and say what is necessary for both of you.’ He tightened his grip on my hands. ‘And then come back to me.’
My heart swelled with gratitude. Why had I thought he wouldn’t understand? I should have known. And then I remembered what Mrs Partridge had said.
‘Come with me.’
‘What?’
‘Come with me. If I can tell him my husband has found me again he will accept my leaving him. He’s a good man. He would never come between a husband and his wife. Knowing I’m back with my husband will give him the strength to move on.’
He nodded slowly. ‘All right. Yes, I will.’
I spent the remainder of the day in Wardrobe with Mrs Enderby, and then in the library, carefully calculating the coordinates. Because I had no clear idea of the date on which I’d left, Leon insisted on at least one clear month between my leaving and our arriving.
‘I think it was June or July,’ I said. ‘So August or September.’
‘Beginning of October,’ he said, ‘just to be on the safe side.’
We set off for the first week of October, 1400.
We were almost too late.
We landed in the woods at the top of the village, opposite the church. We picked our way up the path, through the russet woods, and emerged opposite the church.
I stood very still, absorbing the sights, the sounds, the smells. I was back. Looking around, nothing seemed to have changed.
‘This way,’ I said, and we turned right to make our way down through the village towards the ford.
Leon wouldn’t have been human if he hadn’t stared around him, comparing what he was seeing now to the village he knew. He touched my arm.
‘Do you see that cottage over there. The one with the sprouting thatch and the oven outside?’
‘That’s Pikey Peter’s mother’s house,’ I said.
‘That’s the one I would have rented for us after Matthew was born.’
‘That will still happen,’ I said. ‘I haven’t given up.’
He looked down at me. ‘Neither have I.’
I looked away and blinked back the tears. More tears. I really had to stop bursting into tears every ten minutes. I’d wash myself away at this rate.
Curious faces appeared over hedges and in doorways. I smiled and nodded, hoping curiosity would win over hostility. Leon and I had dressed well for the occasion. He wore a thick, woollen robe in a rich dark red, matching hose and good leather boots. His cloak was fur-trimmed despite the autumn sunshine, because he was making a statement. I am a wealthy merchant and this is my wife. Who was also better dressed than anyone here would ever remember seeing her. I wore a long, green dress with a blue surcoat. My headdress was as elaborate as Mrs Enderby could contrive and I could legally wear. We were both almost as well dressed as Hugh Armstrong. In these new times, there wasn’t a lot of difference between a wealthy member of the middle class and a not-so-wealthy member of the aristocracy. The boundaries were beginning
to blur and we were exploiting that.
We crossed the ford – neither of us lost our footing, but the water was very low anyway, and set off to St Mary’s.
There was something wrong.
Just as on the occasion of my first arrival, there was no guard.
Leon was busy taking it all in, so I rang the bell.
There was a long delay and I looked around. That strange sense of something not quite right had returned in force. I knew what it was. There were no men. I looked back down to the village. All the faces I had seen were female. No men were working the land. No man answered the bell. In fact, no one answered the bell at all.
I rang again. There was a tremendous curse off to my left and Margery appeared from the washhouse, sleeves rolled up, arms bleached white with the harsh soap. Her jaw dropped when she saw me and then she lumbered towards us.
Leon said afterwards that I stepped in front of him but that wasn’t strictly true. He definitely stepped behind me.
She stopped a few paces away, taking in our fine clothes and prosperous air. I would have to go to her. I stepped towards her, ignoring the smell of lye and urine and God knows what, and put my arms around her. She was stiff for a moment and then I was enveloped in a bone-crushing bear hug.
Extricating myself with difficulty, I introduced Leon. She looked him up and down and then bowed. She’d obviously pegged Leon as being more socially respectable than his wife. Most people make that mistake.
I took a breath to still my heart. ‘Master Hendred? Is he here?’
I already knew the answer to that one. If he hadn’t turned up to investigate the noise Margery was making then he wasn’t here.
I was wrong.
She gestured towards the solar. ‘In there. This way.’ She set off for the door.
I caught her up. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Gone with Lord Rushford.’
‘Where?’
She shrugged. ‘Wales. Shrewsbury. Somewhere there. Fighting the rebels.’
Had Owain Glyn Dŵr’s rebellion begun?
‘Are all the men there now?’
She halted at the door to the solar. ‘Most, yes. Except for the wounded. They’ve come home.’
I swallowed, already knowing the answer. ‘Master Hendred is here?’
Leon, who had already worked it out, took my arm. ‘Max …’
I nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Shall I go first?’
‘Please.’
He motioned to Margery to lead the way and I followed on behind them. We were met at the top of the stair by Roger, a tray of uneaten food in his hands. His face went slack with shock when he saw me.
‘How is he, Roger?’
He shook his head. A tear ran down his cheek. ‘I do not think he will last the day.
I made a small sound and turned away.
‘No,’ he said. ‘It will be a mercy, mistress.’
We went in.
I didn’t need the smell of death in the air to tell me William Hendred was dying. I barely recognised him.
Father Ranulf, sitting on the stool by the bed, rose to his feet. I don’t think he recognised me until I spoke. His eyesight was getting worse.
He took us aside. ‘The wound has gone bad. There is nothing we can do other than give him the poppy juice. I am glad you are here. Sometimes, when the pain is bad, he calls for you.’
I introduced Leon and they greeted each other, gravely.
‘How did it happen?’ I asked
‘When you left …’
‘My husband found me,’ I said quickly.
‘When you left, he searched for you. Mistress, could you not have left some message?’
‘I tried to. I left my basket where it could easily be found.’
‘And then the rebellion began. Lord Rushford rode with the king and Master Hendred raised a force from St Mary’s and went with him. He was injured. Not seriously, but it would not heal. It kept breaking open. He could not fight so Owen brought him home with the other wounded. By the time he arrived, the wound had gone bad. We had hoped that with rest and prayer … but it was not God’s will.’
I nodded, blinked back tears and went to stand beside his bed. Roger pushed the stool for me and I sat where he could see me, putting my hand over his. The smell was sickening, but I smiled. ‘Master Hendred. I am here.
He smiled, caught his breath with pain, and smiled again.
I felt Leon move up behind me.
‘Master Hendred, this is my husband. This is Leon of Rouen. He found me. I am sorry we had to leave so quickly. We looked for you. To say “thank you” and “goodbye”.’
He made a tiny sound.
Leon stepped forwards, saying in his deep voice, ‘Thank you, Master Hendred, for your care of my wife. She means everything to me and I could not bear to lose her. I do not tell her that often enough.’
I knew he was really talking to me.
I translated that, speaking slowly for him. William nodded, sucked in his breath again and cut his eyes to the goblet of poppy juice by his bed.
Leon and I looked at each other and then I got up, took Father Ranulf’s arm, and led him away to the window. ‘Father, my husband travels widely. He has many medicines. He can perhaps do something for the pain.’
‘Of course,’ he said quickly. ‘If you think it will help.’
‘It will,’ I said gravely. ‘You understand nothing can save him …?’
He nodded.
Behind me, I heard Leon rummaging in his pouch. He’d brought a basic medkit – I’d brought pepper spray. Between us we had all the bases covered.
I distracted the good father with queries about Rowena while Leon prepared the shot. We stood at the window until I heard Leon say, ‘There.’ When I turned back, he was refastening his pack.
He said quietly, ‘I’ll wait downstairs.’
He and Father Ranulf disappeared down the stairs. Roger had already gone. It was just William Hendred and me.
William died a gentle death. I sat with him the whole time. He was unable to speak, but he knew what was happening. I talked to him about our time together. I started from the day we met outside the gatehouse. The haymaking. Walter and his bad temper. The raid by the Rushford brothers. The night he found me in the snow. The yellow horse. Which was, apparently, still here. The moment by the stream. All our adventures together. I brought out old memories and relived special moments. He couldn’t speak but that was all right because I could talk for both of us. I leaned in close because he couldn’t see very well. Sometimes he drifted away and I sat patiently until he came back again. Occasionally, he caught his breath in a faint hiss and I knew he was laughing.
As I finished, he lifted his hand. I followed the movement across the room to his wooden chest. Where he kept his belongings. And his treasures. I lifted the lid and there, on the top, neatly folded, lay my stole. Now faded almost beyond recognition, but I knew it. As I lifted it from the chest, blue and green hair ribbons fluttered to the floor. I picked it all up and gently placed it under his hand.
His fingers scrabbled feebly at the stole. I carefully unfolded it to find my purse. The one I’d given him for safekeeping the day we went to Rushford. He’d kept my purse for me.
I couldn’t speak.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
I looked around. Leon was coming through the door. The sun had moved on. I’d been talking for more than an hour. William’s face was creased in pain. Sweat beaded his brow. Leon’s painkiller was beginning to wear off already. In a few minutes, he would be in agony again. And I would depart, leaving him with nothing but an old stole and a slow and painful death.
Leon looked at me. I knew what he was saying.
I looked down at William. A spasm twisted his face. He would not recover. He would die soon. In agony. I closed my eyes and saw that vigorous man striding up the hill to St Mary’s. Standing in front of me with his hands on his hips. Riding towards me in the snow. Keeping me warm. Buyi
ng me hair ribbons. He deserved a better death than this.
I nodded at Leon.
It took only a moment. I looked away as he did it. William’s breathing began to slow. I went to the door and shouted for Father Ranulf whom I knew would not be far away.
I heard him call a response and the next minute his bald head appeared below me on the stair. He pushed past me, his attention all on William, who was gently fading away.
I closed my eyes and bowed my head as Father Ranulf began the last rites, and, when I opened them again, William was dead.
We refused all offers of refreshment. I said a final word of farewell to Margery who was waiting in the courtyard.
Everything was as it was before. The chickens still pecked between the stones. A stable cat still dozed on the roof. The doves cooed. And William Hendred was dead.
Leon took my arm and we walked back up through the village to the pod and jumped away.
We returned to St Mary’s and sat in silence as the cold blue decontamination lamp played over us. Leon shut things down. We still hadn’t spoken.
Finally, he said, ‘Max, how do you feel?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said. I wasn’t, but I’d deal with that later.
‘He’s dead.’
‘He was always dead, Leon. He died six and a half centuries ago.’
I pushed away the memory of him lying helpless and in pain. That wasn’t William Hendred. I would always see him striding up the hill towards me, standing with his hands on his hips with that expression of mingled exasperation and amusement. That was William Hendred. And he’d been dead now for a very long time.
Silence fell again. I don’t know why neither of us made a move to leave. Perhaps because there were still things to be said and something told me that this was the moment to say them. To talk to each other properly. This wasn’t the time for smart remarks or dodging the issue or changing the subject. There were things that must be said.
I turned to him. ‘You would have done the same, Leon. If you found a woman – anyone – alone and lost and afraid, you would have taken her in. You would have sheltered her and protected her from others. Yes, you would probably have become fond of her. You might even have loved her, although you wouldn’t have been “in love” with her. But you would never have forgotten me or done anything to betray the memory of me – as I never did to you.’