The Song of the Nightingale (11 page)

‘It seems Lord Benedict had sent Matthew and his gang of thugs sniffing around the outlying hamlets and villages down to the south-east of Tonbridge,' Gervase went on. ‘After money, of course. Lord Benedict clearly hopes to impress his friend the king by dispatching a few more bags of gold in order to help finance this new expedition into Wales.'

‘No doubt creaming off a decent portion of the bounty for himself first,' Josse said quietly. Gervase glanced swiftly at him but did not comment. ‘What happened?'

‘Matthew arrived at an isolated farm just to the north of the forest,' Gervase said. ‘An all too familiar tale, I fear: the man of the house said he'd already given everything he could spare, Matthew refused to believe him and set his men ransacking the place, the man protested and Matthew got his men to take him outside and tie him to a tree so that Matthew could flog him.'

‘Matthew is
wicked
!' Josse hissed. ‘He—' With difficulty, he stopped. ‘And now you say he too has been assaulted?'

‘Yes. He didn't turn up at Lord Benedict's house yesterday, and Benedict sent his men out to look for him. They found him early this morning. He'd been tied to a tree and flogged.'

‘He's still alive?'

‘Yes, although he won't sleep on his back for a week or two.' Gervase paused. ‘He was given exactly the same number of strokes as he meted out to the farmer.'

Josse couldn't help the small cheer that seemed to sound inside his head. ‘An eye for an eye,' he said.

‘Vengeance again,' Gervase said tersely. ‘If we are right in our thinking, those three men who lie dead up at the abbey were murderers, and hence were killed. Lord Benedict's man Matthew abuses his position and does not hesitate to flog a man for no reason, and he in his turn has been given the same treatment.'

‘Is that not justice?' Josse demanded. ‘Matthew is a vicious man and has got what he deserves, and—'

‘
Hush
, Josse!' Gervase looked quickly around, but there was nobody in earshot. ‘Whatever else he may be, Matthew is acting for the king.'

‘Even so, you should be—'

‘
Enough
.' The single word was barked out. Leaning close to Josse, Gervase said, ‘These are dangerous times, Josse. Do not be provoked into speaking words that may land you in trouble.'

‘I'll speak my mind!'

‘Not in my presence.'

Stung, Josse stared at his old friend. Gervase whispered, ‘I know, Josse. But what would you have me do?' He paused, then went on, ‘Lord Benedict will be howling out in fury at this assault on one of his men. We shall have to redouble our efforts to find who is behind these attacks, and, moreover, make sure that we are
seen
to be redoubling them.'

‘And what will you do with the perpetrator if and when he is caught?' Josse asked coldly.

Gervase turned away. ‘What I must do.'

Then he went back up the steps into the hall.

Helewise woke in the morning following the first night back in the little cell beside St Edmund's Chapel and wondered at first where she was. When she remembered, she gave a smile of happiness.
I can do some good here
, she thought.
I know I can
.

Little Helewise was still asleep, curled up under her covers, but Meggie's bed was empty. Helewise got up, arranged her gown and her simple headdress, then went outside. Meggie was emerging from the forest, her arms full of firewood.

‘You're up early!' Helewise said, going to help her with her burden. ‘And how busy you've been!'

‘I thought our supply needed replenishing,' Meggie replied, ‘and we shouldn't rely on our sturdy lay brothers for everything.'

‘No, indeed, and they'll have their own duties down in the vale today,' Helewise agreed. Lowering her voice, she added, ‘Do you think we need to tell your dear father that we're only going to be guarded during the hours of darkness?'

Meggie gave her a quick smile. ‘No, I don't. It'll only worry him.'

‘We are, after all, in sight of the abbey,' Helewise said. She stopped, looking down the long slope to the familiar outline of the abbey buildings. It was odd, but she was discovering that she had no desire whatsoever to venture inside . . .

‘I wonder when we'll have our first pilgrims?' Meggie said as she followed Helewise on towards the hut. ‘I'm sure word is already spreading that you're here.'

‘And you,' Helewise said. ‘You, I'm sure, are the greater attraction, healer that you are.'

‘I can only heal bodies,' Meggie replied. ‘You heal souls.'

‘Only God does that.' The protest came automatically. Then, thinking Meggie might have read the remark as a snub, Helewise added, ‘Meggie, if St Edmund's Chapel isn't locked, do you think we could go up and visit it? Just the two of us, now, before Little Helewise wakes up?'

Meggie put down her firewood beside the door of the cell. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘It isn't locked – I just checked.' Her eyes met Helewise's. ‘It's high time we went to see her, isn't it?'

They stood side by side in the crypt beneath St Edmund's Chapel, staring at the statue of the Black Madonna in her secret niche. Helewise was only vaguely aware of Meggie beside her; almost all her attention was on the small, dark figure. The Madonna had been fashioned sitting on a low, simple throne, and she wore a headdress like the crescent moon turned on its back. She was heavily pregnant, her precious boy child swelling in her womb.

For Helewise, she was the Virgin Mary.

For Meggie, Helewise suspected, she was someone – something – else entirely.

Helewise began to pray. Silently, she asked for help and support in this new venture.
Let those who are in need know we are here
, she begged,
and bestow on us the strength, the wisdom and the compassion to give to each one whatever it is that will help them best
.

After quite a long time, the two women left the crypt, carefully replaced the trapdoor disguised as a flagstone, and returned to the cell.

People began arriving later that morning. Little Helewise, who stressed that she could neither heal the sick nor offer help to those who were troubled but knew how to stir a pot, had volunteered to work at the hearth. She busied herself keeping the fire going and tending the restorative broth that Meggie had prepared, doling it out to the visitors. Observing her, Helewise thought that the sweet smile and the gentle words of welcome probably did almost as much good as the broth.

Meggie was much in demand, and by noon her supply of herbal remedies was considerably diminished. Helewise had prayed with three different family groups, all of whom had called her my lady abbess and all of whom expressed their delight at seeing her in the little cell once more. She reminded them that she was no longer Abbess Helewise, but she wasn't sure they took any notice.

When the daylight began to fade, she could hardly believe that the day was ending. Little Helewise was tidying up the cell, washing out the little wooden bowls in which she had dished out the broth, and then she was going to begin preparing another batch for the following day. Meggie had gone down to the abbey to visit the herb shed, where she was hoping to find more supplies. The two guardian lay brothers had not yet arrived.

Helewise, then, was alone outside the cell when the last visitor of the day arrived. It was a young woman, pale faced, thin, ill-looking. Grieving, Helewise guessed. The girl was dressed in a worn gown that had been neatly mended; over it was what looked like a man's rough work jerkin.

She stopped a few paces away from Helewise, as if unsure whether to advance. Helewise approached her, holding out her hands. ‘May I help you?' she asked. ‘There is a little broth left, if you are hungry.'

The woman shook her head. Helewise thought she paled slightly at the mention of food. ‘I'm not hungry.'

Helewise waited.

‘Are you—?' The young woman stopped. ‘They said there's a healer here,' she said instead. ‘Someone that knows about herbs.'

‘Yes, that's right,' Helewise said with a smile.

She had been about to say that Meggie was down at the abbey but would soon be back, but the girl interrupted. Coming right up to Helewise, she whispered, ‘I need your help.'

Then she told Helewise what was wrong with her and what she wanted Helewise to do.

Horrified, Helewise realized the young woman had taken her for the healer; apparently not knowing that Meggie was a generation younger, in her desperation she had blurted out her problem to the first female face she saw.

‘But – but that's against God's laws!' she heard herself say. ‘You must not ask for that sort of help!'

The girl had shied away. Belatedly appreciating her mistake, she said, ‘You're not her, are you? Not the healer?'

‘No, I'm—' What am I? Helewise wondered wildly.

The young woman had turned and was running away. Already regretting her hasty response, Helewise started after her, but she was no match for the girl's speed. By the time Helewise reached the first of the trees, the girl had already vanished inside the forest.

Meggie had found some of the materials she needed down at the abbey, grateful for Abbess Caliste's generous response to her request: ‘Take whatever you need!' she'd said. The little hut was not, however, the cornucopia of useful herbs that it had once been. Standing there packing up what she had selected, Meggie wished fervently that Tiphaine was still the abbey's herbalist. But Tiphaine seemed to have disappeared, and those who had known her best suspected that she had gone off with the forest people. As Helewise had once sagely remarked, Tiphaine always kept one foot in her pagan past. Whoever acted as herbalist now – if, indeed, anyone did – seemed to be lacking the imagination required for the task. The standard remedies were there, adequately well prepared and tidily stored on the shelves, but standard remedies only got you so far . . .

Meggie realized that she was going to have to make another visit to her mother's hut and raid her own herbal stores. She smiled to herself. She'd been planning to return anyway, but now she had an excuse. The prospect of possibly finding further traces of the mysterious visitor was distinctly thrilling; maybe she would meet the man himself. Always assuming it
was
a man.

Back at the cell, she was greeted by an appetizing smell; Little Helewise had been busy and supper was ready. The mutton and vegetable stew had far more vegetables than mutton, but the girl had been imaginative in her use of herbs and it was delicious.

Wiping her bowl with a piece of bread, Helewise said, ‘I feel positively guilty that I enjoyed that so much, especially when we all know quite well that so many will go hungry to their beds tonight.'

There was a brief silence. Little Helewise, her mouth full, looked furtively at her grandmother. Meggie thought how to phrase her reply. ‘As you have often observed, Helewise,' she said, ‘we can only go on helping the starving, the sick and the desperate if we remain healthy.'

Helewise nodded quickly. ‘Yes, Meggie, I know.' She gave her a smile. ‘Actually, I was thinking of one person in particular.' She paused, and Meggie thought she looked sheepish.

‘Someone who came here today?' Meggie prompted.

‘Yes.' Carefully, Helewise put down her empty bowl and then folded her hands in her lap. ‘It was late this afternoon. You were down at the abbey fetching your herbs, and a thin, ill-looking young woman arrived. She asked if there was a healer, a herbalist, here, and when I said yes, she thought I meant that it was me. She – er, she told me what she needed.' Helewise stared down at her hands. ‘I – er, I was a little hasty, and she turned and hurried away. I tried to go after her – I hurried to the spot where she'd gone back into the forest, but there was no sign of her.' She shook her head, frowning. ‘I handled it very badly,' she said angrily. ‘I should have offered help, for in retrospect I can see how desperate she was, and now, oh, I'm very afraid of what she might do.'

Meggie had a fair idea of what the young woman had asked for. She had some sympathy for Helewise, who had been thrown into something she could not deal with. She had far more sympathy for the unknown young woman.

Meggie reached out and took hold of Helewise's hand. ‘She wanted an abortifacient, didn't she?' she asked quietly. Mutely, Helewise nodded.

Little Helewise whispered, ‘What's that?'

Unthinkingly, Meggie said, ‘It's a mix of herbs that causes a pregnant woman to slip the unborn child.'

Little Helewise gasped, a soft sound quickly stifled as she put her hands over her mouth. Amid the larger anxiety, Meggie cursed herself for her tactlessness.
I will speak to her later
, she resolved. Then, turning her full attention to Helewise, she took a steadying breath and said, ‘You are right to berate yourself, although I understand why you reacted as you did. I don't think you could have helped yourself, dear Helewise, given who and what you are.'

‘I'm no longer either an abbess or a nun,' Helewise muttered.

‘Maybe, but you are still a deeply Christian woman, and you have been taught that
thou shalt not kill
applies as much to an unborn infant in the womb as to a man or woman who walks the earth.'

‘It does,' Helewise said simply.

Ah
, Meggie thought. There seemed no point in battling Helewise head-on, so she said, ‘If I might suggest—'

‘Oh, please do!' Helewise interrupted beseechingly.

Meggie smiled. ‘I think it would have been best to have invited the young woman to sit down by the fire, offer her some broth—'

‘I did, and she said she wasn't hungry!'

‘—and ask her to tell you a little about herself; how she had come to be pregnant, and why she felt she could not face bearing the child.'