Whiter than the Lily

by Alys Clare

  Brice frowned, then, after a quick look at Isabella, said, ‘The people of the Saltwych community do not like strangers. They keep themselves to themselves and they foster their own isolation by spreading fearful rumours of ghosts and hauntings that threaten any who wander down there under the inland cliff.’

  ‘I cannot believe they threaten armed men!’ Josse protested. ‘They have a few gold treasures but I saw nothing to persuade me that they can command a fighting force.’

  ‘Oh, but they can,’ Brice said. His hand was on his sword hilt as he spoke. ‘They have lived in poverty since the salt workings failed – and that wasn’t a recent calamity, I can tell you – but they retain a sense of their own worth. In full measure.’

  ‘It is often the way where wealth has evaporated,’ Josse observed. ‘Nothing left but stiff-necked pride.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Brice said.

  A thought occurred to Josse and without thinking he voiced it. ‘Think you that it was for that reason – their poverty – that they gave Galiena up for adoption? Because a baby girl was one more mouth to feed and she would likely enjoy a better life elsewhere?’

  ‘No,’ Isabella breathed quietly. Both men turned to look at her and, in some confusion, she said, ‘I mean, I don’t think that’s the way Galiena looked at it. She – er – she did not know where she came from but I think she imagined that she was the child of some young girl whose chances of marriage would be badly affected were it known she had borne an illegitimate baby.’

  Passing over that – Josse wondered if Brice had also noticed that Isabella’s explanation was given with such a lack of conviction that it seemed she couldn’t make herself believe it either – Josse asked her, ‘How did Raelf know that there was a baby up for adoption at Saltwych? If the people there are so secretive, why should anyone come to know of their business?’

  ‘I believe it was done through the mediation of a priest,’ Isabella said. ‘Someone of importance among the Saltwych folk put out word and the priest undertook to try to find a family of wealth and influence who would welcome a child and treat her as their own.’

  ‘A family of wealth and influence?’ Josse repeated. ‘The wealth I can readily understand, for to send her to a poor family would not provide any advantage over staying with her own kin. But why did they specify influence? And influence with whom?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know!’ Abruptly Isabella seemed to tire of the discussion. ‘We waste time here. Let us pack up and be on our way.’ And, not waiting for the men to agree or disagree, she ducked back inside the shelter and began packing her few belongings into a soft leather satchel. Josse noticed her pick up her thick gauntlet and he wondered what had become of Isabella’s hawk.

  Josse looked at Brice. ‘You have found out much about these strange people,’ he said.

  Brice smiled wryly. ‘I have found out nothing. I merely pass on what Isabella told me.’

  ‘Oh! But I thought she said Galiena knew nothing of her own background, so where has Isabella gained her knowledge?’

  Brice looked bemused. ‘I couldn’t say.’ His eyebrows went down in a worried frown. Then, his expression clearing, he said encouragingly, ‘But let us pursue the question when we are safe.’

  Josse stood where he was. ‘You, of course, must go if you so wish,’ he said. ‘For my own part, I must return to Saltwych.’

  Isabella, overhearing, shot out of the shelter again. ‘You can’t!’ she cried, just as Brice was asking, ‘Why?’

  ‘I can and I must.’ Josse gave them both what he hoped was a reassuring smile, the look of an old soldier for whom riding alone into a community of hostile strangers holds no fears. ‘You ask why, Brice, and indeed, since you both demonstrate such concern for my safety, you are owed an explanation.’ He paused, searching for the words to deliver his message so that they would understand the urgent need. ‘For one thing, Galiena’s serving woman, Aebba, is down at Saltwych and I believe she may have important information concerning the events leading up to Galiena’s death. For another, there is a girl chained in an outbuilding and I have promised myself that I will help her.’

  Neither Isabella nor Brice spoke for some moments. Then Brice said, ‘But I thought that Aebba rode with Galiena to Hawkenlye. Did she not remain there to care for Ambrose?’

  ‘She cared for him at first, aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘But she is not there now. She is at Saltwych.’

  ‘You are sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  Again, silence. Then Isabella said, ‘There may be a good reason for the child to be locked up. Perhaps she is being punished, or perhaps being kept apart from the community because she has a fever.’

  ‘She has no fever,’ Josse said evenly, ‘and, for my part, I can see no crime that a young girl could commit that would deserve being chained in a filthy hut with no light, no warmth at night and nothing to lie on or with which to cover herself.’

  But Isabella was not satisfied. ‘Josse,’ she said, her face urgent, ‘we should leave this to the Saltwych kin. It is not for us to say how they should treat their own!’

  Josse stared at her, eye to eye, and, after a short time, her glance fell. ‘Isabella,’ he said gently, ‘how do you know so much about them? Why do you defend their deeds?’

  ‘I’m not defending them! They are cruel, and—’ she began hotly. Then, breathing hard, she said more calmly, ‘I do not think we should risk our own lives to save a child who may not even need saving. That is all.’ And, as if she knew how weak her argument was, she hung her head.

  ‘We will go down on to the marsh,’ Brice said eventually. ‘We will wait for cover of darkness or, if the mist descends during the day, we will descend under its blanket. I do not see how we can seek out Aebba, Josse, without everyone else seeing us. But we can at least try to release the girl and take her away with us.’

  ‘She may not want to go!’ Isabella shouted. ‘Even if they are punishing her harshly, the Saltwych folk are her kin! What do you propose that we do with her, Brice?’

  He looked at her, and the love in his face softened her harsh, angry expression. ‘I do not know, my sweeting. Perhaps we should ask her what she wants.’

  ‘She’s drugged,’ Josse said baldly. ‘Or anyway she was last night.’

  He was uncertain what they should do. Isabella’s protest was a valid one – what, indeed, would they do with the girl once they had managed to rescue her? – and he was troubled too at the prospect of leading Brice, and possibly Isabella too, into danger.

  ‘I’m going alone,’ he announced firmly. ‘I do not believe that they will harm me if I go openly by day. I will ask to speak to Aebba and I will find a way to help the poor chained girl.’

  ‘You can’t. We must all go in together,’ Brice said, equally firmly. ‘We—’

  But Josse held up a hand. ‘Let me finish,’ he said. ‘It is unwise for us to move as one for, should we encounter difficulties, there would be none of us left to bring help. I would like you, Brice, to act as my reserve force. Watch for me from a safe distance. If I do not return by a certain prearranged time – by nightfall – then perhaps you will ride down in the dark and see what has become of me.’ He said it with a laugh, as if to suggest he was joking, but it was no joke.

  Brice looked at Isabella, who shrugged and then nodded.

  ‘And if Isabella will agree to wait for us up here on the cliff top,’ Josse went on, ‘then she could go to Readingbrooke for help should—’ No. He stopped himself from saying should neither of us return because it was far too pessimistic. ‘Well, in case it proves necessary,’ he finished instead.

  There was a pause. Then: ‘It makes good sense,’ Brice said. With a wry grin, he added, ‘And I do not think that Isabella and I will change your mind, Josse, if we argue for the rest of the day. Very well. So be it. When will you go?’

  And Josse replied, ‘I shall not wait for cover of mist or darkness. I shall go right now.’

  19

  For the third time,
Josse rode down the track and across the marshland to Saltwych.

  This time they knew who he was and they were waiting for him. Two of the guards who had apprehended him on his first visit rode out to meet him and, grim faced and silent, fell in on either side of him and rode with him into the settlement. There were few people about; the place appeared almost deserted. One of the guards took charge of the horses; the other man took him to the long hall. Josse expected to be faced with Aelle, but it was not the clan chieftain who waited for him across the hearth.

  The strange silver eyes contemplated him for some moments before the man spoke. Then, in a neutral voice, he said, ‘You have returned, Josse d’Acquin. By day now and not sneaking through the dark on your belly like a whipped hound.’

  Josse straightened his shoulders. ‘I was told quite definitely that the woman of whom I spoke, Galiena Ryemarsh, came from this community. I came back because I wish to establish the truth.’

  ‘The truth,’ mused the man with the silver eyes. ‘A dangerous commodity, Josse d’Acquin. Are you quite sure you wish to know it?’

  ‘I am,’ Josse replied.

  ‘Even more dangerous,’ went on the man, still in the same quiet, contemplative tone, ‘is your implication that the clan chief lied to you. Aelle does not care to have his word doubted.’

  ‘But I was told by Galiena’s family that this was where she was born!’ Josse said forcefully. ‘I believe that they spoke true.’

  The man said nothing. He stood on the far side of the bright fire in the hearth, and Josse could not see him clearly. He wore a long robe of some light colour and its outline seemed to shimmer in the flickering light. Unaccountably, Josse felt heavy-eyed as he tried to focus on his adversary.

  The man held up a long hand and beckoned. Josse stepped around the hearth and went over to stand beside him. ‘Aelle is away hunting,’ the man said softly. ‘He has taken the strong men of the clan. They will not be pleased to see you back here, asking your questions. Oh, no.’

  ‘Then tell me what I need to know and let me leave before they return!’ Josse urged. ‘I have come in peace, it is not right to threaten me in this way.’

  ‘You perceive a threat?’ The man’s eyes opened wide with false innocence. Or was it false? Josse could not decide. ‘Well then, we shall have to reassure you.’ He glanced around and, seeing that he and Josse were alone in the far section of the hall, stepped back to the far wall and, lifting the corner of a ragged hanging, revealed a small door. ‘Come,’ he ordered. ‘We shall sit in my own private chamber and I shall attempt to tell you what you wish to know.’

  Josse hesitated. The guards had not relieved him of his weapons – perhaps because their chieftain was not in the hall – and he felt the weight of his sword at his side. The silver-eyed man gave a soft laugh. ‘You will not need your sword,’ he said. ‘You would not attack an unarmed man, and I, as you see, carry no knife or broadsword.’ He opened his arms wide and the long, full sleeves opened out gracefully. But he was right; as far as Josse could see, he bore no blade.

  ‘Will you come?’ he asked.

  ‘Aye,’ said Josse.

  The man carefully closed the door after them and led Josse to a small building that he had not noticed before. It consisted of a shallow cave in the cliff face, out from which walls had been built so as to increase the space within. The man opened a low door in the outer wall and ushered Josse inside.

  The chamber was in near-darkness, the only light coming from glowing embers in a small iron brazier. The man put some small pieces of wood on to the embers, blew up a flame and then added a bundle of what looked like dry, twiggy sticks and dead leaves. Then, having drawn up a simple stool for Josse to sit on, he said without preamble, ‘Galiena did come from here. She was known by a different name and she was of high birth among our people.’ Watching Josse closely, he murmured, ‘Iduna was her given name. She was called for the goddess who guarded the golden apples of youth, for it was hoped that her birth was an omen and that she would put new vigour into the chieftain.’

  Goddess. Apples of youth. Good God above, Josse thought, these are pagan things.

  ‘She was the chieftain’s daughter,’ the silver-eyed man was saying, ‘begotten by him upon a woman of the bloodline and born to him in his dotage. We hoped she would heal him, for he was sick at heart and in despair.’

  ‘It cannot be that you speak of Aelle?’ Josse said.

  ‘No. Of Aethelfrith, the father of Aelle, who was chieftain before him.’ The man sighed. ‘Aelle saw the responsibilities of a chieftain differently. His father had encouraged us to look outwards, to mix with our neighbours and to end our long self-imposed and inward-looking isolation. He did not think it healthy for us to preserve our secret ways and to keep others away by the fostering and the propagation of frightening legends. That, he considered, was the old way. The unenlightened way.’

  ‘The old ways worked efficiently,’ Josse murmured, remembering the tale that had so distressed him as a child.

  ‘Yes, they did, didn’t they?’ The silver-eyed man looked pleased. ‘But then it is very easy to frighten uneducated and superstitious folk out of their wits.’

  It was nothing to be proud of, Josse thought. But he did not say it aloud.

  ‘The baby girl whom we knew as Iduna was healthy and she thrived.’ The man picked up his tale. ‘But the name that we hoped would bring good fortune failed us, and her father died when she was but a few weeks old. With his death there was no choice but to hail Aelle as chieftain. He turned his back on the outside world, shutting out the light just as it had begun to penetrate our life here. And his first act as our chief was to send his little sister away.’

  ‘Why?’ Josse asked.

  ‘Why? For two reasons. One, because she too was the daughter of a chief and when she grew to adulthood, she might have thought as her father did and so challenged her brother’s rule of secrecy. For another—’ He paused. Then: ‘Josse, what did you think of Aelle? A clever man, would you say? A wise and worldly one?’

  ‘I cannot say,’ Josse admitted. ‘I did not study him sufficiently well to judge.’

  ‘A fair answer.’ The man gave him a nod of approval. ‘Aelle is wise, and also worldly, for all that he lives isolated out here on the marsh and has little contact with the world. But he understands power, you see. He wants power, as it is understood in the wide world. Therefore he placed his baby sister in a place where he believed power was to be found.’

  ‘But Raelf of Readingbrooke is but a country lord!’ Josse protested. Smoke from the newly stoked brazier was floating through the chamber and prickling his eyes. It had quite a strong smell; somehow it caught at the back of the throat. He coughed, then said, ‘He lives comfortably, aye, but his prime concern is for his family!’

  ‘Yes,’ the silver-eyed man said patiently. ‘But I do not speak of Raelf de Readingbrooke. I speak of Ambrose Ryemarsh. Wealthy, indeed, very wealthy, would you not agree? And of a certain influence with those who rule over us?’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse agreed, remembering Ambrose’s swift and generous response to Queen Eleanor’s ransom appeal and the implied closeness to Plantagenet power circles, ‘but—’ He was struggling with what he was being told. ‘But she was not placed with Ambrose, she was adopted by the family at Readingbrooke!’

  ‘Yes, but she was married to Ambrose Ryemarsh.’

  Again, Josse felt incredulity. ‘You are telling me that Aelle knew she would marry Ambrose if she were to be adopted by Raelf?’

  ‘Aelle did not know. But I did. I saw it.’

  Josse slowly shook his head. ‘I can scarce believe it.’ It was more than that; he actively disbelieved it, but it did not seem prudent to say so.

  ‘She married him, did she not?’ the man enquired. ‘You will have to take my word for it, Josse d’Acquin.’

  Abruptly Josse stood up and began to pace up and down in the small space. His head was swimming and he was finding it hard to concentrate. The other man w
atched him, and his unusual light eyes following the restless movement held a hint of amusement.

  ‘I don’t know for sure that Ambrose has influence, not with the King,’ Josse said after a time.

  ‘He has already given a very large sum towards the Lionheart’s ransom,’ the man said. ‘He plans to give a great deal more. He is a stout supporter of the King and when Richard returns, those who gave most generously to his cause will not be forgotten.’

  ‘So King Richard will return?’ Josse demanded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve seen that, too?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the man with silver eyes.

  Josse threw up his arms in exasperated confusion. ‘I believe I must be dreaming!’ he cried. ‘I see nothing but confusion!’

  ‘It is quite simple,’ the man said. ‘Aelle wanted rid of a sister who might grow up to encourage the people in the old chieftain’s ways, with which Aelle strongly disagrees. But if he had to give her away, why not ensure that she found a place where she could influence the tides of men? If she bore Ambrose a child, what might not be that child’s future as the son of a man who stood high in a king’s favour?’

  ‘But in giving her away, surely all her ties with her people here were severed!’ Josse argued.

  ‘You forget one thing: she carries our blood, and so would her son. You overlook the bloodline.’

  The bloodline. Stunned, Josse sank down once more on to the stool.

  Was the man telling the truth, or was it all an elaborate story told by a master whose words convinced even as he spoke them? Josse could not decide. There was a certain logic to it, he had to admit, assuming that Galiena would have been open to an appeal by her blood kin for assistance of some sort in this future time when she and Ambrose – and their son – were to ride high in Plantagenet favour. Ambrose had indeed given generously towards the ransom, or so he had told Josse, and apparently intended to go on doing so. Was he close to the King? If he were, Josse was not aware of it, which was not to say that it was untrue …