Girl In A Red Tunic (5 page)

     ‘But you do not let them.’ He was depressingly sure of it.

     ‘No,’ she agreed, taking the empty porridge bowl from him and straightening his sheet and blanket, ‘because if we were to do so, they would spend a happy hour or two believing themselves recovered, then come creeping back to us with their hot, aching heads in their hands and feeling more ill than they were in the first place.’

     ‘Oh.’

     His mournful monosyllable made her smile again. ‘Do not worry,’ she whispered, putting her sweet mouth close to his ear, ‘I think I may safely assure you that you’ll be up and about tomorrow.’

     Then, with the suggestion of a wink that, in a fully professed nun, was highly daring, she was gone.

Sister Euphemia came to have a thorough look at him later in the morning, ordering him to open his mouth widely so that she could look down his throat, making him give a cough or two, putting her ear to his chest to listen to his breathing and smoothing the hair back from his forehead with her hand as she tested him for fever. What she observed must have reassured her for she allowed his curtains to be drawn back. He would have liked her to stay and talk to him – as yet he had not even begun to catch up on what had been happening in the Abbey since his last visit – but she seemed preoccupied and he guessed she had too much to do to waste her time gossiping with him. With a nod of approval, she left him.

     Now that he was able to observe the comings and goings in the main body of the infirmary, time passed far more quickly and interestingly and he found that being confined to bed when he felt well was not so bad after all. He was puzzled, though, because although both the infirmarer and Sister Caliste had given the strong impression that they were very busy and had their minds on other things, it did not appear that there were all that many patients in the infirmary needing their care. As always, there were plenty of nursing nuns calmly going about their duties and Josse would have thought that this was in fact a relatively quiet time. He firmly squashed the small, peeved voice that said, one of those nuns ought surely to be able to spare a moment of her time for me  ...

     As the morning wore away – he had earlier watched the nuns troop out for Tierce and now they were coming back from Sext – he wondered how soon he might see the Abbess. He believed, although he did not know for certain, that it was her custom to visit the infirmary at least once each day, probably more often if there were very sick patients who needed the comfort of her presence. She does not spare herself, he thought, she—

     There was a small stirring at the infirmary door; three nursing nuns paused in their work to bow and an old woman’s quavery voice called out from a bed just beyond the entrance, ‘God bless you, my lady!’

     The Abbess Helewise had arrived to visit the sick.

Josse waited patiently for some time for his turn. The Abbess had worked her way steadily up the long ward in his general direction, stopping to speak to what patients there were, but then, when it seemed she must surely come on to him, she turned and went back the way she had come, striding down the room and disappearing into a curtained recess like the one in which Josse lay but at the far end of the infirmary.

     She was in there for some time.

     Then at last she emerged and marched even more swiftly back up the ward and straight to his bedside. She took his hands in hers, raised one of them to touch it briefly to her cheek and said, ‘Sir Josse, forgive me that I come to you last. There were pressing calls I had to make and I was reassured this morning that you are much better.’

     ‘No need for apologies, my lady,’ he replied, managing to give her hand a squeeze before she withdrew it, ‘for as you say I am no longer sick and others must take precedence.’

     ‘Not in the least!’ She looked quite shocked, the grey eyes widening. ‘I saved my visit to you until last so that I would not have to hasten away.’

     Feeling himself grin with pleasure like a boy given an unexpected and undeserved treat, Josse said, ‘Then pull up that stool, my lady, and let us catch up with one another’s news.’

She insisted that he speak first and so he told her all about the summons to Orford and the tedium of guarding the ransom, the miserable, apprehensive hostages and the King’s treasures. She was the only person on Earth to whom he would have confessed his disenchantment with the whole business of Richard and his confounded ransom. His impulse to confide was justified; as soon as he had spoken – lowering his voice to a conspiratorial mutter – she whispered back that she felt exactly the same and was filled with compassion for the people, especially the poor, who, because of their sovereign’s carelessness in allowing himself to be captured, were having such a struggle to buy back his freedom.

     They stared at each other and he had the feeling that she was as grateful as he for a trusted friend to whom it was possible to speak the truth. Confirming his suspicion, she said quietly, ‘What a relief, Sir Josse, to stop the pretence, even though but briefly; I fear it must be only for this moment.’

     ‘Indeed, my lady, and in truth we must not repeat these words.’

     ‘Will the ransom be sufficient?’ she asked.

     He sighed. ‘They say the sum falls short of the demand, but the Emperor speaks of a release date so we can only hope that he will settle for what is on offer.’

     ‘It will be better than nothing,’ she said thoughtfully.

     ‘Aye, and we’ll all breathe more easily if we know the deal is done and the King is on his way home.’

     ‘It will be a great weight off all our minds,’ she agreed, and he knew without asking that she referred not to having King Richard back in England but to the definite cessation of the alarming, ruinous levies.

     There was silence between them for a time, the sort of easy silence that old friends fall into when they have finished discussing one topic and are not quite ready for the next. Then he said, ‘What of life at Hawkenlye, my lady? I observe for myself that there are not too many patients here in the infirmary, yet for all that there is an air of preoccupation among the nuns, as if something worries them.’

     She shot him a glance. Then, after a short pause, said, ‘All is well with us here, Sir Josse, and I thank you for the enquiry. My nuns and monks are busy, as always, but that is what they are here for. We have fewer pilgrims coming to take the holy water in the Vale, but that is on account of the cold and not, I am sure, because our shrine loses its attraction. Those who do brave the winter weather are greeted with extra rations of food and the luxury of a small fire at night. And, of course, the kind attentions of Brother Firmin and his companions. Otherwise’ – there was a vaguely panicky look in her face as she cast around for a way to complete her brief account – ‘otherwise, as I said, all is well.’

     He waited. After a moment, she looked up and met his eyes. Very gently he said, ‘Now why not tell me the truth?’

Chapter 3

She wondered why she had ever thought she would not confide in him; hadn’t Josse been the one person she had so much wanted to talk to when her dreams had troubled her so? Although her conscience still frowned at her inability to keep thoughts of her son and his family’s problems from intruding when her mind should be on greater things, she did not think it would be
wrong
to confide in Josse. She had, after all, prayed for God’s help in almost the same moment as she had wished for Josse’s presence, so maybe a part of God’s help had come in the form of sending him.

     Anyway, as soon as Josse spoke those words – so kindly, with such compassion for her in his brown eyes – she was lost.

     ‘You perceive what has not been put into words for you, Sir Josse,’ she said. ‘I ought not to burden you with my private concerns when you are so poorly but—’

     ‘Private concerns?’ he snapped, interrupting her. ‘Please, tell me straight away, my lady, what ails you?’

     ‘I am well, Josse,’ she said, putting her hand briefly on his. ‘Better than you!’ She tried to make a small joke.

     ‘Nothing much wrong with me,’ he said gruffly. ‘Sister Euphemia herself drew back the curtains which isolated me from everyone else and Sister Caliste assures me I’ll be on my feet tomorrow.’ He glared at her, but the fierce expression was denied by the tenderness in his eyes. ‘Now, what is the matter with you?’

     ‘It’s not me, it’s my son.’

     His eyebrows shot up. ‘Your son?’

     ‘Yes. You knew, I believe, that I was a wife and a mother before I came to Hawkenlye?’

     ‘Aye, my lady. I knew. But—’ He shrugged, as if what he was thinking could not be put easily into words.

     She did it for him. ‘But you cannot now imagine that one in my position was ever other than you now perceive her?’

     He muttered something that sounded like
all too easily
but she must have been mistaken.

     Wishing only to move the conversation on and spare them both further awkwardness – for he was giving a very good impression of an embarrassed man and her own composure was shaky – she said hastily, ‘Actually the problem really lies with my son’s wife, but such is his love for her that her problem is his, if you see what I mean.’

     ‘I do. Please, go on, my lady.’

     ‘They were married three years past and in September of last year, Rohaise gave birth to their son, whose name is Timus. According to Leofgar – my son – Rohaise has suffered in a variety of ways since the birth.’ Noticing that Josse was looking even more embarrassed, she said frankly, ‘Sir Josse, I do not speak of that sort of problem. The illness, if that is what it is, is of poor Rohaise’s mind.’

     Josse had such an open face, she reflected, watching him with amusement despite the seriousness of the subject under discussion; when she reassured him that they were not going to have to talk about some bodily malfunction of Rohaise’s but, rather, a mental one, relief had swept through him, swiftly displaced by guilt that he should feel pleased that Rohaise’s difficulty probably amounted to something a lot more serious than some temporary disorder in her reproductive organs.

     ‘I am sorry for her,’ he said as the flush faded from his cheeks. ‘Sorry for all of you. She has seen Sister Euphemia?’

     ‘Indeed.’ Helewise nodded in the direction of the long infirmary ward. ‘Rohaise was exhausted after the journey and did not sleep well last night, so Sister Euphemia has brought her in here and is keeping her under observation. She – Sister Euphemia – had a long talk with the girl this morning and then gave her a sleeping draught.’

     ‘The girl is in the recess down there?’

     ‘Yes.’

     He nodded. ‘And you went to see her just now.’

     ‘I did,’ she agreed. ‘She was deeply asleep and did not stir while Sister Euphemia quietly told me of their earlier discussion.’

     ‘Does the infirmarer detect the nature of this illness of the head?’

     She paused, collecting her thoughts. What Sister Euphemia had told her was still too fresh in her mind for her to have digested it. I shall share it with Josse, she decided, and see what he makes of it.

     ‘Sister Euphemia has had many years’ experience of new mothers,’ she said, ‘and has what can only be a divinely bestowed ability to gain a young woman’s confidence. She did not tell me the full story that Rohaise told her, but she assured me that what she did pass on formed the most important elements. Oh, Sir Josse, poor Rohaise! She has not smiled since Timus was six weeks old!’

     ‘Why? What happened?’

     It was an obvious question but had no clear answer. ‘Rohaise cannot say. She began to feel anxious about almost every facet of the baby’s well-being, doubting her own ability to protect him, to look after him, to love him, in short to mother him adequately. She started to believe that her milk would poison him and, despite the fact that she had milk in plenty and had previously been enjoying feeding him, she engaged a wet nurse and bound up her breasts to stop the milk.’

     ‘That is not unusual, is it?’ Josse asked.

     ‘No, not at all. It is Rohaise’s reason for her action that is unusual. And that isn’t all,’ she hurried on. ‘Sister Euphemia could get little more out of her, for she appears highly suspicious of us, as if she fears we are testing her fitness to be a mother. But what she did say before she fell back into her silence – she hardly speaks at all, Sir Josse! – was that she is in constant terror of someone coming to take Timus away from her.’