The Song of the Nightingale

by Alys Clare

  He was aware that he was reluctant to think about the other woman who lived under his roof; the one he loved as much, in a different way, as he loved his daughter. But then thinking about Helewise had never been easy . . .

  His mind wandered back to how the two of them had hurried over the narrow seas last autumn, intent on finding Ninian. He had felt then that the argument she used to make him give up the search – that his loved ones were suffering enough with one of the family gone without losing Josse too – had been underhand. He still believed it now, although he knew in his heart that she was right. But then, just because what she said was true, it didn’t mean she’d been justified in saying it. He hadn’t forgiven her. Sometimes, glancing at her and catching her unawares, he thought that she hadn’t forgiven herself.

  Josse’s anger flared anew, and he kicked out viciously at a dead tree stump. Families always had their problems and upsets, he was sure of that, but, for all of them, even small matters were exaggerated by the conditions under which they were at present forced to live. Alone out there in the dense woodland, unseen, unheard, Josse drew a deep breath and, in words that would have made a nun blush, told King John exactly what he thought of him.

  It was the king’s fault; the king whose intransigence had led to the interdict placed on his poor suffering country. The man had showed so much promise, Josse mused. He had met the king a few times, had known him as a bright, shining boy. Where had it all turned sour, so that an intelligent, capable man should have reduced his realm to hunger, poverty, uncertainty and danger?

  Josse still kept his eyes and ears open to what was happening in the wider world, and he was also deeply worried at what he had heard concerning the serious rift between King John and Llewelyn ap Iorwerth, prince of North Wales. John had married his illegitimate daughter, Joan, to Llewelyn back in 1206, which brought about a truce for a time, but the two powerful men were now in open conflict again. Llewelyn had supported John’s favourite-turned-enemy, William de Braose, who, uncomfortably for the king, was one of the few people rumoured to know the truth about what happened between John and his nephew, Arthur of Brittany, vanished these seven years and believed by all but the most innocent and gullible to have been done away with by his Uncle John because he stood between John and the throne. Now, they were saying, the king was planning a spring expedition into Wales. On the basis that my enemy’s enemies are my friends, the word among the wise was that the king intended to summon the many prominent men who had a grudge against the powerful Llewelyn and make an alliance with them. Campaigns needed money; once again, the relentless, cruel demands were being sent out.

  Hawkenlye Manor, tucked away as it was deep in the forest, often missed the random attentions of the king’s more lowly officers, since few outside the immediate vicinity knew the house even existed, and those who did know tended to keep their mouths shut. Josse was a generous neighbour and was well known for being free with a handout for those in grave need who came asking for it.

  The House in the Woods was a well-run, virtually self-sufficient establishment. Josse, his mood improving again now that he had vented his anger at his king’s behaviour, thought about his home with satisfaction. Thanks to the abilities of men such as Will, Gus and, increasingly, Josse’s young son Geoffroi, the household made the very most of the acreage, and the family had enough and to spare. Geoffroi’s speciality was animals; Josse had no idea how his son had come by his natural touch with any creature from a large bull to a wounded sparrow – perhaps it was a gift from the lad’s mother, Joanna – but he was grateful every day for his son’s skill. Most of the breeding ewes were in lamb; Josse had watched with fascinated eyes as Geoffroi proudly demonstrated the fact early in this month of February, kneeling down in the snow to gently squeeze a teat so that the waxy fluid came out, an indication, according to Geoffroi, that the ewe was pregnant and her milk was coming in.

  The House in the Woods gave all that could be spared to Hawkenlye Abbey, but what they gave was never enough. Josse’s thoughts turned to Abbess Caliste, and he ached for her. She was thin, perpetually anxious, haunted by her inability to help all those who came in such need to the abbey’s doors, and he knew he was helpless to prevent her gradual and irrevocable change from a beautiful woman into a hollow-eyed skeleton. She ate barely anything, they said at the abbey. There was – or so she would see it – always someone who needed the meagre food more than she did. And, with the king excommunicated and England still under the pope’s interdict, there was nothing anyone could do because the abbeys were officially under the king’s control and he dictated how much of their own produce and goods they were allowed to keep. In Hawkenlye’s case, the amount was pitifully small.

  And, Josse thought miserably, above and beyond all these anxieties and problems – as if they were not enough – there was the ongoing, overriding hurt that each member of the household suffered: Ninian’s absence. He was so far away, somewhere in that war-torn land in the south, and neither Josse nor anyone else had the least idea when he might be back. It was safe now for him to return, but how on earth were they to get that message to him when nobody knew exactly where he was?

  Josse had been marching through the woods with little thought as to where he was going, and it was with faint surprise that he looked up now, as a different quality of light permeated his faraway thoughts, to find himself once more approaching his own house. He paused for a moment to simply stand and look, for the sight of his home always gladdened his heart.

  Stone steps led up from the cobbled courtyard to the stout door, and beneath the main hall was an undercroft, its two tiny windows looking out like narrowed eyes. The roof swept down low, giving the impression of sheltering arms, and the house stood firm and solid on its stone foundations. To the left, still within the circle of the trees that protected the house, was the stable block, where, from the sense of activity and the sound of voices that Josse could hear floating out towards him, it appeared visitors were even now leaving their horses.

  Shaking off the last of his depressing reflections, Josse hurried to see who they might be.

  ‘. . . couldn’t say when he’ll be back, sir,’ Gus was saying as Josse strode inside the stable building. Gus, turning, gave him a relieved smile. ‘Here he is!’ he exclaimed, standing aside to reveal a tall, slim, well-dressed man who wore a sword at his side, a young woman in a heavy and costly riding cloak, and a second man, clearly an attendant, who was powerful-looking and armed with a cudgel and a long knife.

  Josse hurried forward and took hold of the tall man by the shoulders. ‘Leofgar, dear man, it’s too long since we’ve seen you!’ he said happily, embracing him. ‘And Little Helewise!’ He hugged the girl to him, for he was very fond of her. He had noticed in one quick glance that she was pale, and his heart went out to her in her sorrow; she must miss Ninian all the time. ‘Your grandmother will be delighted to see you, as indeed will we all,’ he added, trying to raise a smile from her.

  Valiantly, she did her best, returning Josse’s hug warmly. ‘I’d rather hoped you would say that,’ she murmured, disengaging herself and looking up into his face. ‘May I stay for a while?’

  Taken aback, Josse shot a swift look at Leofgar. ‘Well, I—’ he began. But, realizing that did not sound very welcoming, he started again. ‘I should like nothing better, nor, I imagine, would the rest of my household, for time drags heavily and it seems winter will never end. But can your own family spare you?’ Again, he met Leofgar’s eyes, and the younger man gave a swift nod.

  ‘My daughter could do with a change of scene, Josse, if you’re willing to put her up,’ Leofgar said. ‘As you say,’ he added, ‘we’re all sick and tired of being cooped up within our own four walls, and it is hardest for our womenfolk.’ There was no need for him to elaborate. Josse, glancing across to the silent, burly attendant, reflected that Leofgar hadn’t even trusted that he himself would be sufficient guard for his daughter. What times we live in, he thought sadly.

  ‘De
ar girl,’ he said, taking Little Helewise’s hand, ‘you may stay as long as you like, as I hope you know without my telling you. Come in, both of you – we’ll break the news that Little Helewise is to stay, and I hope, Leofgar, that you will eat and drink with us before you return home? I will arrange for something to be sent out to your man here, and—’

  ‘A kind offer, Josse, but no,’ Leofgar interrupted. ‘I would prefer to set off homewards immediately. Rohaise worries,’ he added quietly.

  Josse nodded his understanding. All the family knew that Rohaise worried.

  Little Helewise was reaching up to take the paired leather panniers off her horse’s back, and Josse hurried to help her. Thinking she might like a moment to say a private farewell to her father, he said to her, ‘I’ll take these into the house; come in when you’re ready, we’ll be eagerly waiting for you.’ He took Leofgar’s hand in a quick, firm grip, muttered, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of her,’ nodded to the burly attendant and set off across the yard to the house.

  The members of Josse’s household were as delighted with their guest as he had predicted; it was as if, he thought as the afternoon wore on and they all went on sitting round the big dining table long after the meal was finished, chatting cheerfully, they hadn’t seen anyone from the world outside the House in the Woods for weeks and weeks. Which, when he came to think of it, they hadn’t.

  He could happily have stayed there for the rest of the afternoon, watching the welcome return of Meggie’s smile and the expression of quiet happiness on Helewise’s face. But, as the sun put in a brief appearance before beginning its slide down into the west, Will appeared silently at his side and muttered that someone wanted to see him.

  ‘Who is it, Will?’ Josse asked as, getting to his feet, he walked with Will towards the door.

  ‘It’s him that’s sheriff of Tonbridge, that Sir Gervase de Gifford,’ Will replied, keeping his voice low.

  ‘Then you should have invited him to come inside and join us!’ Josse exclaimed.

  Will looked affronted. ‘I did, only he wasn’t having it. Said he needed to speak to you private, like.’

  Josse was instantly contrite. Of course Will would have asked Gervase to come in! He knew the rules of hospitality as well as anyone, and abided by them. ‘Sorry, Will.’

  Will gave a sort of snort, which Josse took to signify his apology had been accepted.

  Gervase was waiting for Josse in the stables. Like Leofgar earlier, he too had a guard with him. Also like Leofgar, he gave the impression of being a man in a hurry.

  An impression which was borne out by his opening words: ‘Josse, I can’t stay – I’ve other outlying manors to visit yet, and it’ll be getting dark soon.’

  He had spoken softly, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. Josse, going to stand close beside him, said, ‘What is it, Gervase?’

  The sheriff looked around him quickly, then, observing that nobody could overhear, said, ‘Three bodies have been found, all male, in a shallow grave up on the forest fringes over towards Hawkenlye Abbey. Not a place much frequented, and I imagine they’d have stayed buried, only some wretch sneaking out to do a bit of poaching with a highly illegal hound came across them, or rather the hound did. It smelt the rotting flesh, and no doubt it was as hungry as every other living creature in this benighted land.’

  Noting, but not commenting on, his friend’s uncharacteristically bitter tone, Josse said, ‘Rotting flesh? The bodies have lain there some time, then?’

  Gervase gave a grim smile. ‘Apart from informing you about the discovery – you’ll understand the implications without my telling you – that’s why I’m here. You know about bodies, Josse.’

  The implications, Josse thought; meaning, no doubt, that Gervase had come to warn him there was a murderer, or murderers, about. The dead did not bury themselves in graves, shallow or otherwise. As to the other reason for Gervase’s presence, Josse was all too afraid he understood that, too.

  ‘You have helped me many times over the puzzles posed by death, old friend,’ Gervase was saying, ‘death by violence in particular. Will you help me again?’

  ‘Of course,’ Josse said. Then: ‘There was violence done to the bodies?’

  ‘Hard to be sure, from a quick preliminary look, just how they died, but it appears one of them had been tortured.’ Gervase paused, then said, ‘He has cuts incised into his chest. If you didn’t know, you’d almost think they were letters, but if so, they belong to no language or letter system that I am acquainted with.’

  Josse felt a surge of pity for the victim. It was bad enough to suffer being killed by another’s hands, but how much worse to be forced to endure such agony before death released him. ‘You said the bodies were found near to Hawkenlye Abbey, so presumably that is where they have been taken?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Gervase said. ‘They’re – it was thought that the patients in the infirmary ought not to be subjected to such sights and – er – smells, so Abbess Caliste found a room in the undercroft beneath the nuns’ dormitory, and the bodies lie there.’

  Better and better, Josse thought ruefully. Not only was he to be torn away from hearth, home and a pretty new guest to inspect three dead men, but in addition the bodies were putrid and stinking. He suppressed a sigh. ‘I’ll go over to the abbey tomorrow,’ he said.

  Gervase grasped his hand. ‘Thank you, Josse. I’ll get up there myself, as soon as I can. Until tomorrow.’

  ‘Aye, until the morning,’ Josse replied.

  He watched as Gervase mounted his horse and went out of the stable, joining his guard out in the yard. With a final wave, Gervase put spurs to his horse and hastened away.

  THREE

  Meggie was awake before the dawn. Living in the House in the Woods was good, in every respect save one: she never seemed to have any time by herself. Until now she had at least had a tiny sleeping cell to call her own – it was situated between Helewise’s room, set apart in one corner of the house, and the passage leading to the main hall – but yesterday Little Helewise had arrived, apparently for an indefinite stay, and the obvious place to make up a bed for her had been in with Meggie.

  Not that Meggie disliked Little Helewise: far from it. The girl loved Meggie’s beloved half-brother as much as Meggie did herself, and, but for the interdict, Little Helewise and Meggie would surely by now have been sisters-in-law. No – it was simply that early morning and late evening alone in her cosy room had been the times Meggie could retreat into the solace of her own thoughts, and now, because of her new companion, she couldn’t.

  She glanced across at Little Helewise. One of the things she most wanted to do now was to put herself into the light trance state that allowed her to discover things beyond the reach of her waking senses; there was something about Little Helewise that sent out a clear, light, warning note, and Meggie did not know what it was. I do not know YET, she corrected herself with a smile.

  She knew that the girl was deeply unhappy, and that was perfectly understandable, with the man she loved so far away, out of reach, out of touch and, apparently, in grave danger. It was enough to make anyone miserable, and Meggie, too, had to work hard to keep depressing, negative thoughts at bay. Little Helewise and Ninian, Meggie suspected, had only just been discovering the depths and the truth of their feelings for each other when he was so abruptly torn away, which would have made the pain of the rift that much worse.

  Was that it? Meggie wondered. Was it enough to account for the different emanations that she sensed coming from the girl? Tentatively, delicately, Meggie sent out a feeler into Little Helewise’s mind.

  The girl was dreaming. Effortlessly, Meggie slipped into the dream with her. Ninian was there, laughing, teasing, his bright eyes shining with love. He had his arms around Little Helewise, squeezing her in a tight hug. Meggie sensed where the dream was leading to and prepared to detach herself – such things were private. She would just give it a few more moments . . .

  Two things happene
d simultaneously, combining to send out a jolt of power that pushed Meggie’s questing thought right back inside her own head: she picked up something else – although in that alarming instant she had no time to evaluate what it might be – and Ninian bent his dark head to close his mouth on Little Helewise’s, sending out a shaft of sexual energy as powerful as a lightning strike.

  Well, thought Meggie, rubbing ruefully at her aching head, that serves me right for being nosy.

  She lay back on the pillows, drawing up the covers against the cold. Nobody would be up yet, and the fire in the hall would be lifeless. There might still be some glowing embers in the kitchen hearth, but it was some time still before Tilly, or perhaps Ella, would rise and get a proper blaze going. Everyone was asleep except Meggie.

  She wished, wished that she could bring herself to disobey Josse and do what she so longed to do: set out, all by herself, and spend some precious days of solitude in her mother’s little hut in the forest. From there, too, situated as it was, she would be free to slip away to visit the precious, powerful Black Madonna figure, hidden in her secret niche in the crypt beneath St Edmund’s Chapel, close by Hawkenlye Abbey.

  But Josse had forbidden them all to travel unaccompanied in these dangerous times, when hungry villains and outcasts roamed the woods and the deep, lonely places. For Meggie, who had lived in the Great Forest all her life, it was especially hard to face the fact that an environment she knew and loved like a mother could present danger, especially to one like her, but she knew there was a grain of truth in her father’s fears. People had indeed been attacked in isolated houses; households had been robbed, vandalized; girls and women had been assaulted, or so the darkest rumours whispered. Meggie was utterly confident that she would be perfectly safe in the little hut, for, apart from other skills she possessed, such as how to wield a sword and how to detect when an attack was coming even before the attacker was aware of it, she knew how to hide the hut so that even those who were familiar with its location could not find it.