Whiter than the Lily

by Alys Clare

  Women’s matters. Oh, God’s boots, Josse thought frantically, it’s even worse that I feared! ‘Er – they have a highly competent infirmarer,’ he hedged. ‘There are many dedicated nursing sisters and there’s Sister Tiphaine, she’s the herbalist.’

  ‘They treat women for their personal problems?’ Ambrose persisted, and the heavy emphasis on personal made Josse blush anew.

  ‘Um – hmph – er –’

  But Ambrose, lost in his own deep distress, seemed unaware of Josse’s extreme discomfiture. ‘She is a herbalist herself, my Galiena,’ he muttered. ‘She has tried everything she can think of. Even what I believe are quite desperate remedies.’ The anguished expression making him look even older, he went on, ‘I see her at night, you see. Oh, she thinks that she does not disturb me, that I sleep blissfully on when she creeps out of my bed. But I awake, sir, always I awake. I perceive her sudden absence, even if I am deeply asleep. And I go to the window, from which I can look down on the garden, and I watch as she enacts her rites. Only often she conceals herself, you understand, she slips away to where I can no longer see her. It is easily done.’ He sighed. Staring out over the garden, dropping to a whisper, he said, ‘Naked under the moonlight she is, her lovely body so pale and white. So beautiful. So beautiful.’

  Suddenly he seemed to recall to whom he was speaking. The intensity left his haggard face and, laughing briefly, Ambrose said, ‘Josse, I am sorry. In my desperation, I forgot myself. You arrive here as an unsuspecting guest then all of a sudden your host drags you off alone and starts raving about matters more suited to a private discussion between a lady and her bedchamber maid. You must be quite horrified!’

  Since horrified did not begin to describe it, Josse merely grunted.

  ‘What I am asking you,’ Ambrose went on, his voice calmer now, ‘is whether the Hawkenlye nuns can help my wife. Help both of us, indeed, for it is my wish as much as it is hers.’

  Light dawned on Josse, suddenly and totally. Old husband, young wife, and a large, wealthy household whose quiet peace was undisturbed by a child’s shrieks of laughter or a baby’s cry.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did so Ambrose forestalled him. ‘Galiena is barren, Sir Josse,’ he said quietly. ‘And I want more than anything in the world to grant her heart’s desire and give her a child.’

  2

  ‘You reassure me, Josse. I had no wish to raise my wife’s hopes if there was no hope, but now I believe I shall make the suggestion to her.’

  Ambrose and Josse had walked all around the garden. Josse had answered the older man’s questions about the Hawkenlye community as fully as he could, and at last Ambrose seemed to accept that Josse could not be regarded as any sort of an authority on that highly embarrassing subject of women’s matters. With a chuckle, Ambrose said he would wait until he could address his questions to the proper person – Josse had told him that the infirmarer was called Sister Euphemia, which Ambrose had committed to memory – and he promised not to badger Josse any more.

  As they set off back towards the house, the soft summer sounds punctuated by the tap of their footsteps on the path, Josse suddenly exclaimed, ‘We are forgetting the waters!’

  ‘The waters?’ There was a note of query in Ambrose’s tone.

  ‘Aye, the precious healing waters, down in the Vale.’ Confident that this was a type of cure that anyone could discuss without the hot flush of embarrassment, Josse hurried to explain. ‘There is a spring at Hawkenlye – you have not heard tell of it? The holy water has worked many a miracle.’

  ‘I am not entirely sure that I believe in miracles,’ Ambrose said. ‘Sir Josse, I would risk a further confidence, if you permit?’ Screwed-up eyes peering at Josse’s dubious face, he gave a shout of laughter and said, ‘Not that sort of confidence, man! Did I not just give you my word? No. What I was about to say was this. We have prayed, Galiena and I, aye, and fasted. Confessed our sins and done penance, quite extreme in my case. The priest tells us that Galiena’s failure to conceive is a mark of God’s disfavour and that a sincere and heartfelt repentance will restore to us the Lord’s grace. So we pray, and tell our beads, and I submitted myself to a hair shirt and no clean linen for a month.’ He shuddered. ‘Believe me, Josse, to I who am probably over-particular, my own stench and the crawl of lice on my skin were worse torments than the rough scratch of horsehair. And all for naught!’ Anger flashed in the stern face and, for a moment, Josse caught a glimpse of the authority and the force that must have surged in Ambrose when he was in his prime. ‘All for naught,’ he repeated more softly, ‘for my poor lassie goes on bleeding regularly each month.’

  Feeling that the gentle Hawkenlye monks had somehow been included in Ambrose’s rant against the priesthood, Josse felt obliged to speak up for them. ‘There is nothing of that at Hawkenlye,’ he said firmly. ‘For one thing, the monks are loving and only too aware that people go to them in trouble. They wish always to help if they can and they do not judge. For another, the Abbess of Hawkenlye would not permit such heavy-handed measures as you describe.’

  ‘The Abbess. Aye, I have heard tell of her.’ Ambrose shot Josse an assessing look. ‘What is your opinion of her?’

  An image of Helewise swam into Josse’s mind. In it she was laughing at something he had just said, her wide mouth smiling and her grey eyes under the well-marked brows regarding him affectionately. But then the image changed and, drawn up to her full imposing height, she stood in her severe habit glaring at some wrong-doer, authority in every inch of her.

  ‘What is my opinion of her?’ Josse muttered. ‘Sir, I do not believe myself fit to have one. But I will say this: she is a good woman, honourable, hardworking, devout.’ Meeting Ambrose’s narrowed eyes, he said, ‘Bring your wife to Hawkenlye and meet her. Experience for yourselves the love and charity of her nuns and at least try the healing waters. They will do you good, I believe, and the monks will make you welcome.’

  For a few moments Ambrose studied him in silence. Then he said, ‘I will do as you suggest. Let us return to the hall and I shall tell Galiena.’

  Josse found it difficult to look Galiena in the face after what her husband had been telling him about her. Still discomfited by her beauty, he heard Ambrose’s words running through his head, over and over again. I watch her as she enacts her rites. Naked under the moonlight, her lovely body so pale and white.

  Although he knew it was not his fault, he felt guilty.

  Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, he listened to the talk flowing between the other three. Ambrose had already announced that he and Galiena would make the journey to Hawkenlye and take the cure and Galiena had seemed genuinely delighted. Ambrose, muttering to her, had seemed to be cautioning her against unreasonable optimism, which Josse thought was wise. Reflecting on what the two of them might make of Hawkenlye – and, indeed, what Hawkenlye might make of them – he allowed his attention to wander.

  But then Galiena’s excited voice broke into his reverie.

  ‘… no reason why we should not go straight away!’ she was saying. ‘Is there, Sir Josse?’ He leaped to attention.

  ‘Er – what was that?’

  Smiling, she repeated herself. ‘I was saying, we could set out straight away. First thing in the morning, perhaps. Unless we have to give notice that we are coming?’ The delicate eyebrows were raised in query.

  ‘No, folks usually just turn up,’ he said. ‘But – do you not need to make preparations for the journey? There must surely be some small comforts you will wish to pack up and take with you.’

  The blue eyes met his. ‘Do poor peasants with a sick child bring such comforts?’ she asked coolly.

  ‘No, of course not,’ he replied.

  ‘Then what need have we of such things?’ Still staring at him, she seemed to notice that her words had stung. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse,’ she said, much more kindly. ‘I meant no criticism.’ Now she was smiling. ‘I am very anxious to be on our way and I fear that my mood affects my spe
ech. I did not mean to offend.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ he assured her.

  ‘We may set out in the morning, then?’ she asked again. ‘It is truly in order to arrive without prior warning?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he said.

  ‘Then we shall do so!’ she exclaimed, leaping up and clapping her hands.

  But Ambrose was frowning. ‘Galiena, I cannot set out from home at a moment’s notice,’ he said. ‘There are matters that I must attend to, orders and instructions I must leave with our people here.’ He glanced over in Josse’s direction and said quietly, ‘The ransom, you know. I have already given as much as I had immediately at my disposal and I have pledged what more I can. I am anxious to have this second sum ready as soon as possible, for without doubt the Queen’s newly appointed council will soon send out their officers. To think of the King out there, imprisoned among strangers …’ With a shudder he broke off, as if further contemplation of the King’s situation were just too painful.

  Instantly Galiena was contrite. ‘My love, of course!’ She flew to his side and took his hand. ‘In my eagerness I did not stop to think. I know how very important this matter is to you – indeed, to all of us – and I allowed my own preoccupation to take precedence. Forgive me.’

  Any brief annoyance that Ambrose might have felt was washed away; fleetingly Josse reflected that she certainly seemed to know how to keep her husband happy.

  Then Brice spoke, his interjection coming as a surprise since he had kept silent for a while. ‘May I suggest that the lady Galiena goes on ahead to Hawkenlye?’ he said. ‘Unless, lady, there are arrangements that you also must make before setting out?’

  ‘None that I cannot see to this evening,’ she replied. ‘Oh, but I think it’s a splendid idea!’ She turned to Ambrose. ‘Do you not agree, dearest?’

  Ambrose studied her vivacious face for a moment. Then he said, ‘I am not happy for you to travel unescorted, Galiena. Will you not wait, so that we may ride out together?’

  Her face fell. ‘Oh – if you wish it, my lord.’ She gave him a brave smile. ‘Only I feel that we have just been given hope and I do not believe I can bear to postpone my departure, even by a day. But it must be as you command.’ She hung her head.

  Ambrose, clearly uncomfortable at being cast in the role of unreasonable and dictatorial husband, tried to justify himself. ‘There is much that I have to see to,’ he said, ‘and surely another couple of days will make no difference?’

  ‘No,’ Galiena whispered. It was amazing, Josse thought, just how much emotion a woman could put into that one short word.

  ‘I would be happy to escort the lady as far as my own manor of New Winnowlands,’ he heard himself offer. ‘I wish that I could take you all the way to Hawkenlye’ – he turned to Galiena, catching the full force of her delighted smile of gratitude – ‘but, like my lord Ambrose here, I too have matters that must be attended to without delay.’ It was not, he well knew, going to be a light matter to give away a quarter of his income for Richard’s ransom, but he also knew that, as Richard’s man, he must set an example and have his contribution ready and waiting as soon as it was demanded. ‘Perhaps one or two of your household might be spared to ride with your lady on to Hawkenlye?’ He looked enquiringly at Ambrose.

  ‘I suppose that is possible,’ the older man said grudgingly. ‘Galiena’s personal maid has no role here if her mistress is absent, so she at least could be of the party and not be missed.’ Catching a sudden tension in Galiena, Josse shot her a glance; there was an expression of distaste on her face. Does the lady not care for her maid? he wondered. Then, assuming that her adoring husband allows her free choice in the appointment of her servants, why not dismiss the woman and find another? Strange!

  Galiena had not spoken and now, with her head lowered, her face was hidden.

  ‘Dickon can ride with you,’ Ambrose said decisively after a few moments. ‘My young stable boy,’ he said, turning briefly to Josse. ‘He’ll see you and Aebba safe into the nuns’ care, then ride home to report to me. I will join you at Hawkenlye as soon as I am able.’

  Nobody answered straight away; it was as if they were all silently acknowledging Ambrose’s right to order matters as he saw fit, without comment or protest from anyone else. Then Josse cleared his throat and said, ‘We shall meet at the Abbey in due course, then, my lord, since I am eager to speak to the Abbess concerning the – concerning this business that presses on us all.’

  Galiena shot him a quick smile. Ambrose, who appeared not to see, merely nodded and said, ‘Very well. Let us pray that all our purposes there will meet with success.’

  Josse was offered hospitality at Ryemarsh overnight, which he accepted. There was little point in riding away only to have to return in the morning to escort Galiena to New Winnowlands. He took a bite of supper with his host and hostess early in the evening – Brice had already left for home – and soon after they had eaten, Ambrose and Galiena retired to their own chamber.

  Josse went out into the soft twilight to take a last turn around Galiena’s garden. Bats were flying, swooping in elaborate circles as they pounced on blundering insects. Up above the darkening sky was clear, still faintly tinged with a deep orange band of light in the west. In the east the stars were appearing; Josse let his eyes roam around the sky until he found the great summer constellation that men called the Swan. The scent of flowers was strong; Josse, his head reeling, felt as if he had drunk strong wine.

  He turned back towards the house and, making his way up a narrow stair, settled down in the luxury of Ambrose’s guest chamber. He stood at the window as he unfastened his tunic, looking out over the starlit garden. All was quiet, all was still. But – what was that? Peering into the night, he saw a movement in the shadows and watched as a cloaked figure slipped light-footed away from the house.

  Despite his curiosity, Josse turned his back on the window and strode resolutely across to the bed. If Galiena chose to have one more attempt to bring about through her own efforts the thing that she and her husband so dearly wanted, then that was entirely up to her. Josse had no right either to pass judgement or, far more importantly, to spy on her. Fighting to banish the seductive images from his mind – naked under the moonlight – he screwed up his eyes and violently shook his head.

  There were crisp linen sheets on his soft bed and, as he moved, they rustled and gave off a faint scent of lavender. Well fed, with the taste of his host’s excellent wine still in his mouth, he was warm and comfortable. Soon he was sound asleep.

  Dickon was waiting for them in the courtyard in the morning; it was he who had greeted Josse and Brice on their arrival the previous day. He was a sturdy young man who looked, Josse thought, as if he could handle himself in a fight. He had the horses groomed and ready, with Galiena’s and her maid’s small packs attached to their mounts’ saddles, when the party came out of the hall. Galiena was sombrely dressed in a light travelling cloak of dark blue wool, its deep hood pulled up over her white veil and all but hiding her face. She looked pale, as if she had not slept well, and she seemed tense. There is much at stake for her in this, Josse thought compassionately. He watched as Ambrose helped her into the saddle; the older man said something quietly to her and she gave him a brief smile.

  The maid, Aebba, turned out to be a dour woman in early middle age. Like her mistress, she too looked as if she had not slept well, or perhaps the sour, disgruntled expression was the one that she usually wore. She was tall and strongly built, with a pallid and slightly greasy complexion. Her hair was completely hidden by a linen veil that was arranged so as to shade her face and a close-fitting wimple covered her chin and throat. Her eyes – of a shade somewhere between ice blue and palest green – were the most colourless that Josse had ever seen. She did not speak as she mounted her mare and settled herself, save to order Dickon curtly to adjust her stirrups.

  When the party was ready and farewells had been said, Josse glanced at Dickon, nodded briefly and led the way out of
the courtyard and off on the road to New Winnowlands.

  The morning was fine and sunny. They reached Josse’s manor in good time and he managed to persuade Galiena to step into the house and take some refreshments; Will’s Ella, silent and shy as ever, worked her usual magic and had cups of cool wine and a platter of warm, spiced cakes ready in next to no time. Aebba was offered the same courtesy but, with a brief shake of her head, she declined. Will was sent out to Dickon, left holding the horses, with a flagon of ale and a hunk of bread and cheese.

  Then Josse saw the party on their way.

  Standing beside Galiena as she sat on her horse, he sensed her nervousness. ‘Do not fear, my lady,’ he said quietly, for her alone to hear. ‘They are good people at Hawkenlye and will do their best to help you.’

  ‘But if I should fail!’ she said, her voice anguished.

  ‘Do not dwell on that,’ he advised. ‘Keep hope strong, for often that is the way to bring about what it is you desire.’

  Fleetingly the tension left her white face and she smiled at him. ‘What a sound fellow you are, Josse d’Acquin,’ she murmured. Then, lightly touching her heels to her horse’s sides, she rode straight-backed out of the yard.

  Leaving Josse with the distinct but surely mistaken impression that she had been flirting with him.

  3

  Helewise, Abbess of Hawkenlye, was absorbed in one of the great leather-bound ledgers in which the Abbey’s financial records were carefully detailed. In company with every other monastic foundation in the land, Hawkenlye was going to have to give up its wealth to go towards King Richard’s ransom; Helewise was in the middle of preparing an inventory of the Abbey’s assets.

  It was neither a charitable nor a loyal thought, but she could not help but be extremely grateful that Hawkenlye enjoyed the patronage of Queen Eleanor. The Queen might be more eager than anyone else to see the ransom collected and paid over and her favourite son released, but, as Helewise well knew, Hawkenlye was special to the Queen. Had she not taken a personal interest in its construction and dedication, searching out the best craftsmen that France and England could produce to ensure that the Abbey would be memorable in its beauty? Had she not bestowed as her own personal gift – or so they said – the Abbey’s greatest treasure, the walrus ivory carving of the dead Christ in the arms of Joseph of Arimathea?