The Enchanter's Forest (14 page)

     ‘Should we not have a better view up in the prow?’ Gervase said.

     ‘Aye, maybe, although there will not be much to see once night falls out in the middle of the Channel,’ Josse replied. ‘But my reason for selecting this spot is because if it’s rough out there, the middle of the ship will have less motion than the ends.’ He made a seesaw movement with his hand, the centre of his palm remaining relatively still; he was aware that he had not used the correct seaman’s words but Gervase understood.

     ‘Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Josse, I am glad that you and your experience are with us.’

     The women rejoined them quite soon. Joanna did not speak but Josse heard Sabin mutter to Gervase that the cabin smelt of stale sweat and she was sure she had seen a rat run away as they entered. With a private smile – he was quite glad not to be the recipient of her complaints – he announced he was going below to make sure the horses were being adequately cared for.

     As he came back up on deck, having satisfied himself that the horses were all right, he felt the planks beneath his feet give a sort of a lurch; looking down on to the quay, he saw that they had untied and were under way.

     Taking a bracing breath – despite the experience to which Gervase had referred, Josse still hated the sea – he went to rejoin the others.

The wind was from the west and the captain utilised it and ran before it almost due east to Boulogne. Although its force lessened as the night went on, still it was sufficient to fill the sails and drive the
Goddess of the Dawn
on at a fair speed. Opening his eyes at first light – despite the padded bedroll, a wooden deck was not a place conducive to prolonged, deep sleep – Josse saw straight ahead the line of the French coast. He got up quietly so as not to disturb Gervase and walked soft-footed back along the deck on the starboard side, where the captain stood talking quietly to the steersman.

     ‘Good morning,’ Josse murmured.

     The steersman nodded a greeting. The captain said, ‘Sleep well, did you?’

     Josse shrugged. ‘Not bad.’

     Harald laughed softly. ‘Not like our holy brethren up there.’ He nodded in the direction of the half-deck above the cabins. ‘One of them – maybe more than one – is snoring fit to wake the dead.’

     Josse listened; aye, the captain was right. The sound of steady, rhythmic and loud snoring could be heard above the rushing of the sea and the various creaks and groans of a wooden ship under canvas moving at speed. ‘Sounds like a chorus to me,’ he observed.

     Harald grinned. ‘Maybe it’s a version of plainsong and they throw the sound back and forth between them.’

     ‘Where are they bound?’ Josse asked.

     ‘Mont Saint Michel. D’you know it?’

     ‘I’ve heard of the place. Set in a bay where the sea rushes in like a galloping horse, they say.’

     ‘Aye, it’s a wild and bleak place all right. Cut off by the sea except at low tide, shrouded in mist more often than not and home to nobody but the monks.’ The captain shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t do for me.’

     Josse agreed. Then: ‘How soon do you expect to dock in Boulogne?’

     ‘Hour or more yet. We’ll have to take in sail as we near the coast – there’s some shallows there where the sand banks up and we’ll take it carefully.’

     Thanking him, Josse made his way forward and stood up in the high prow, his elbows resting on the rail beside the Goddess’s large wooden head. He would wake the others presently but, for now, he took pleasure in some time alone to stare out at the reassuring sight of the coastline ahead. It was irrational, he knew, for a man could drown as readily three paces from the shore as three miles, but somehow he always felt much safer once he was in sight of land. He glanced at the stern profile of the Goddess beside him then, after a quick check to see if anyone was watching, stretched out his hand and patted her firm, rounded shoulder. ‘Look after us, Lady,’ he muttered.

     The Goddess, naturally, did not reply.

The party spent another five days and nights aboard the
Goddess of the Dawn
, during which time the ship came to feel almost like home. The winds remained predominantly from the west or the south-west and, since this was the overall direction in which the ship was sailing, progress was often frustratingly slow. But Harald was a skilful sailor and, although often sailing almost straight into the wind, he usually managed to find a tack that ensured forward movement.

     Joanna abandoned the cabin after the first night; Sabin followed her after the second. For the remainder of the voyage the two women spread blankets on the deck beneath the mast beside Josse and Gervase where, at night, Meggie would be securely placed between them. The weather stayed fine and the ship kept quite close to the shore. The sea was for the most part calm and when rough waters were encountered, such as at the wide mouth of the Seine, the ship’s motion proved to be no worse than a steady rocking and the spray was no more than a refreshing mist on the face.

On the morning of the fifth day, Joanna sat with Meggie on the aft deck, watching the dancing waves and telling her a story about a city that drowned when the seas rushed in. To Joanna’s quiet delight, the little girl showed no fear – which might have been understandable even in an older child, bearing in mind that they were at sea and therefore not in the ideal place for a tale with drowning as its theme – but instead sat with wind-flushed cheeks and a fascinated half-smile staring out over the deep green water.

     Aware of eyes upon her – Joanna’s sensitivity had grown fast during the years of her instruction – she turned and saw that one of the monks was staring at her. She met his gaze for a split second – his face was shaded by his hood and she could not read his expression – and then he bowed his head.

     Returning her attention to Meggie and picking up the story, Joanna wondered why the small encounter had upset her. She had felt malice coming from those shadowed eyes; of that there was no doubt. One arm around Meggie’s waist as the child sat on her lap, Joanna reached inside her gown with her other hand and found the bear’s claw set in silver that she wore on a silver chain. Holding it firmly, she asked for protection from whatever it was that threatened her; after a few moments, she felt reassured.

     She finished her tale and Meggie relaxed against her, half asleep and no doubt wandering happily in daydreams of magical drowned cities. Joanna wondered again about the monk; she risked a quick glance and saw that he was still there, although now the others had returned to their habitual place and were sitting muttering together. Perhaps they were praying.

     She closed her eyes and went back to that moment when she had felt the monk’s malevolent thought directed against her. Was it simply that he heard her story and, judging her to be a pagan, instantly hated her? It was quite likely; one of her anxieties over coming on this journey had been over the inevitable proximity with Outworlders – her people’s name for those who lived beyond the forest – that it would bring. She had been given training in how to go unnoticed when with Outworlders and she could make herself so unobtrusive as to be to all purposes invisible; yet he – that monk – had glared at her as if he knew exactly who and what she was and both loathed and condemned her for it.

     She risked another quick look at the group of monks. The one who had stared at her sat a little apart and she realised that she had already noticed something about him: he did not join in conversations or eat the sparse and not very appetising meals with the others. Was he being punished? Joanna was not very familiar with the ways of monks but she had an idea that temporary ostracism might well be the penalty for some piece of behaviour unacceptable to the community. With a faint smile she amused herself by wondering what the shunned one had done. It served to distract her from her moment of fear and soon she had forgotten all about it.

The ship had put in at Barfleur – Josse had told his companions that the port was favoured by their King and his mother, a fact verified by the excellent state of repair of everything from hawsers and bollards to the quay itself – and, since Harald said that it would take some time to complete the unloading and loading procedures, Gervase suggested that the party go ashore. Their horses were brought up from their accommodation below and for a happy hour the party enjoyed a ride on the fresh green grass above the town. Sabin spotted a street market on the way back to the quay and, handing her mare’s reins to Gervase, stopped to purchase some provisions.

     As the
Goddess of the Dawn
sailed out of Barfleur and prepared to round the Cherbourg peninsula, the four adults and Meggie enjoyed a simple meal of bread, cheese, apples and a flagon of cider that nevertheless tasted like a feast.

At noon on the sixth day out of Pevensey, the ship reached Mont Saint Michel. Since the little island could only be approached at high tide, the
Goddess
stood off for an hour or so then, with the small waves now lapping at the rocky feet of the Mount, she put in briefly and tied up at a rickety wooden jetty. Josse and the others watched with amusement as the party of monks was ushered swiftly and unceremoniously off the ship by the clearly anxious Harald; ‘I’m surprised he didn’t chuck them in the sea half a mile off and make them swim for it,’ Josse observed. With haste, the crew prepared to put to sea again, every man of them, the captain as well, working with fierce concentration in that perilous place that tested the most experienced seamanship.

     Josse and the others watched them intently, admiring their efficiency; Josse for one was relieved when at last they were done and the ship began to pull away from the jetty. So total was the absorption of both passengers and crew upon the task in hand that hardly anybody noticed the strange behaviour of one of the monks, the last one to slither down the gangplank and in the rear of the rest of the party by some fifteen or twenty paces. A couple of sailors, anxious to draw back the gangplank, went to hurry him up; abruptly he turned and ran back along the narrow plank, now stretched over the gap of water that was already appearing between the ship’s sides and the wooden supports of the quay. With a brief nod to the sailors, who were watching him indifferently as if passengers changing their minds at the last moment were all in a day’s work, he sprang up on to the gunwale and ducked down out of sight into the companionway leading down to the cargo deck. His brother monks, already some twenty paces away, did not notice any more than most of those on board the ship had done. Even if they had, it would not have concerned them overly.

The man was the monk whom Joanna had thought was being ostracised.

     He was not in fact a monk at all.

Late in the afternoon the
Goddess
entered the estuary of the river Rance. She sailed for a mile or two up the wide waters of the river’s mouth but the captain knew that he could not approach the port of Dinan, perhaps another six or seven miles upstream, until the tide was once again coming in and the sea building up towards high water.

     Joanna, seeing Sabin standing up in the prow, went to join her.

     ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked her quietly; Sabin had been very sick during the first night in the stuffy cabin. She had asked Joanna not to tell Gervase and Josse, explaining with a wry smile that she was meant to be the healer, not the patient. She had dosed herself with a remedy of her own making – Joanna had been interested in the ingredients, the main one of which was root of ginger – and she had not felt as bad again, although she had been frequently upset by the ship’s motion and had consequently felt queasy for most of the voyage.

     Sabin smiled. ‘Better now that the end is all but in sight,’ she said.

     ‘You and Gervase intend to disembark at Dinan too?’

     ‘Yes,’ Sabin confirmed. ‘Gervase was for sailing on round to Nantes, but I have heard that the sea gets rough around the Breton peninsular and I was very reluctant to encounter anything worse than we have already experienced.’

     Joanna was about to point out that the sea had been flat as a pond almost all the way, but it would have been unkind and so she didn’t. She had noticed that, while some people quickly grew accustomed to the way a ship pitched and tossed and were soon no longer nauseated by the motion, others could sail all their lives and still lose their most recent meal at the first wave. ‘So you will continue your journey by road?’

     ‘Yes. The captain sent for one of his sailors, a man who knows the area, and he told us that the road from Dinan to Rennes is good. The one from Rennes to Nantes, as I know from my own experience, is even better. At this time of year, we shall make good progress and perhaps even beat the
Goddess
into Nantes.’