The Song of the Nightingale (27 page)

She held up the jug. ‘It is a chilly night for being on guard,' she said, keeping her voice low, ‘and I have brought you a warming draught.'

The nearest man scrambled to his feet and took the flask, pulling out the stopper and sniffing at the contents. ‘Smells good,' he commented, giving the abbess a toothy grin.

‘Drink it while it's hot,' advised the abbess. ‘Here.' She handed him the cups, which he laid on the ground, filling each to the brim with the hot drink.

The four men slurped greedily at their cups. ‘Mmm,' said another man appreciatively. ‘What's in it?'

‘Wine, honey to sweeten and herbs for flavour,' Abbess Caliste replied. ‘It is a sovereign remedy prescribed by my nuns to keep out the cold and bring heart to those who are weary.'

The guards smacked their lips, grinning to each other. The drink was better than anything they'd tasted since they had been put to this tiresome duty, and they all took a refill. The abbess watched them, a faint smile on her lips.

The guards were coarse, ignorant men, chosen by Tomas not for their sophistication but for their strength and their brutish willingness to do anything he told them to, the crueller, the better. As a consequence, none had more than the sketchiest idea of how an abbey operated. They didn't care, for they took their cue from the men of power who ruled their lives, and they, in turn, took theirs from the king. King John had no respect for the religious foundations, viewing them simply as a rich vein of wealth to be tapped whenever he saw fit. The four men who now sat chuckling with each other, finding the same old lewd jokes suddenly amusing again, were merely a despicable by-product of the world which John had brought into being. Had they ever had the least curiosity as to what life in an abbey was like, and had they made the smallest attempt to satisfy that curiosity, they might well have found it odd that the abbess herself had brought out refreshments.

They steadily drank their way through the spiced wine until the jug was empty. So sweet, so spicy, it was hard to resist. Sweet, spicy . . . and drugged, with one of Tiphaine's more potent sleeping draughts.

The abbess watched as the four men fell asleep. It was quite amazing, she thought; although she had known what to expect, still the swiftness with which one man after another abruptly slumped down on to the floor took her by surprise. Hitching up her skirts, the abbess leaned down and grasped the shoulders of the first man, dragging him down a couple of shallow steps and inside a small room set into the wall beside the door. The second man was lighter, and she was able to move him more easily. Panting, she went back for the third – a heavy, thickset man – and had to resort to rolling him over and over in order to move him. His head bumped once or twice on the hard floor. The fourth man was almost more than she could manage, and it took her a long time to get him into the little room with his companions. When at last all four were laid out in a row, she checked to see that they were still breathing, removing the key on its iron ring from the belt of one of the men as she did so. She then hurried out, closing the door.

She picked up the lantern and, clutching the heavy key, went on down the passage to the punishment cell and turned the lock, then slid back the bolts, which moved more easily than she had expected. Then she hurried inside, almost falling down the steps in her haste. She put the lantern on the floor and stared down at him.

He was lying with his back to her, and she saw immediately that the wounds on his shoulders were already healing. She sent up a prayer of gratitude for Joanna and her ointment; and for Tiphaine, who'd had the good sense to bring it to where it was needed. She took hold of his upper arm, shaking him.

He turned towards her, a frown creasing his brow. Then he saw her face. His eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth to speak.

‘Hush,' she whispered, ‘no time now for explanations. Can you walk?'

‘I will walk,' he muttered.

She helped him to sit, then to stand. It broke her heart to see that he was unable to straighten up. For a tall, long-legged man like him, the punishment cell must have been a torment.

She stood, supporting his weight as he tried to get his balance. She could tell he was very weak; she cursed under her breath, calling down every horror she could think of on those who had treated him in this way. After a while, she felt the heavy pressure of his arm across her shoulders lessen; he was standing unsupported.

‘Come on,' she murmured. She helped him up the steps and out of the cell, locking and bolting the door once more. Then she led him back along the passage, pausing to put the key back beside the man who had been entrusted with it. Now they were at the door to the undercroft, the abbess and the man from the punishment cell, and they spared a moment to embrace, for the love between them was deep and enduring.

They hurried towards the gates, and she helped him shin up the wall. Propping herself on the top of it, she watched as he dropped down on the other side. He looked up at her. ‘Aren't you coming? We should hurry.'

‘Soon,' she replied. ‘There is one more thing I must do.'

He nodded, understanding. ‘Very well. But be careful.'

‘I will.'

‘I'll wait for you. You know where.'

‘Yes. Keep out of sight!'

He grinned, teeth white in the soft moonlight. ‘I usually do.' Then he turned away and began to run, and in a few moments had merged into the night landscape.

The abbess let herself fall back inside the abbey wall, brushing the dust off her habit. Then, hurrying light-footed over the hard ground, she went back to the little room at the end of the cloister and quietly let herself in.

Early the next morning, Josse and Helewise arrived at the House in the Woods. Josse had not slept much, and he doubted if she had, either. They had slipped out of the little cell by the chapel soon after dawn, leaving Little Helewise asleep. She knew where they were going, and why; apart from saying how much she wished she could be setting out with them, she was more than happy with their plans. The lay brothers still slept in their shelter by the cell; Little Helewise would be quite safe. One of the nuns from the abbey stables helped Josse and Helewise prepare their horses and wished them God's speed as she saw them off.

As predicted, Geoffroi was very angry at being left behind. ‘It's not
fair
!' he cried, the eternal protest of the child, and Josse took some time to explain all the reasons why he couldn't go. To no avail, since the boy was still cross and upset when Helewise quietly came to stand beside Josse and announce that their provisions were packed and they were ready to go.

‘Keep an eye on him,' Josse muttered to Gus. ‘He'll probably try to follow us.'

‘Don't worry, sir, Tilly, Will, Ella and me'll keep him out of mischief,' Gus replied. He reached out his hand and, in an unexpected gesture, clasped Josse's. ‘Good luck, sir,' he added. ‘We'll be praying for you.' He paused. ‘
All
of you.'

Josse opened his arms and embraced him. ‘We'll be back as soon as we can manage it,' he said gruffly. Then – for this was proving more painful than he had expected – he grabbed Helewise's hand and hurried her out of the house, across the yard to where Will was waiting with the horses. They mounted, then put heels to the horses' sides and hastened away.

For a few moments, the House in the Woods rang to the echoes of goodbyes and the clatter of hooves on stone. Then the deep silence fell again.

Helewise was very relieved to see that Josse looked his old self. She had been worrying about him for weeks – months, really – and had been at a loss to know what to do to restore his usual optimistic good spirits. He'd been missing Ninian, of course, ever since the young man went away, and their failure to catch up with him and bring him back last autumn had hit Josse very hard. As had her own role in the matter; she hoped he might at long last have forgiven her. It was going to be a rough trip, she mused with a wry, private smile, if he hadn't.

Then, to add to poor Josse's woes, Meggie too had gone, and perhaps only Helewise understood in full how much pain her departure had caused him.
That's why he's himself again
, she thought now, riding hard to keep up with the pace he was setting as, away from the forest, the countryside opened up before them.
Because the waiting is over at last and he's actually able to
do
something
.

She was glad – more than glad; glad didn't begin to describe it – that he had asked her to go with him.

She had used the time of Josse's distraction to do a great deal of thinking. Several things had happened – one, in particular – and she did not view the world, and her place in it, in quite the same way any more.

She hoped very much that there was going to be a chance to tell him so.

The forest was a great bulge to the west and, eventually, the north of the road. They were going at a steady, sustainable pace, for there were many miles to go. Presently, there came the sound of fast-moving horses from behind.

Josse turned and met Helewise's eyes, realizing that she, too, was remembering the last time this had happened.

The horsemen came galloping round the bend and into view; not a big gang of roughs but just two men, Gervase de Gifford and one of his deputies. The deputy drew rein and Gervase came on alone, trotting up until his horse was close beside Alfred.

Leaning towards Josse, Gervase said, ‘They told me at the house that you hadn't long left. I had to catch you, Josse. There's something I must tell you.'

Instantly, Josse feared that something had happened to the prisoner; that Lord Benedict had arrived in a surprise dawn visit, dragged the man out and hanged him.

But Gervase was shaking his head, smiling. ‘It's not news from Hawkenlye that I bring,' he said softly, ‘for, indeed, I did not stop to call in on my way up from Tonbridge.' He paused, his light-green eyes intent on Josse's. ‘The news is from much further afield.'

And then Josse knew. ‘He's safe? He's all right?' He felt his heart thumping in his chest like the feet of a galloping horse.

‘He left the south several weeks back,' Gervase said, still in the same low voice, as if this were too secret a matter to be overheard even by Helewise or his own trusted deputy. ‘I'm told he's making for Chartres.'

Josse could have sung. A huge bubble of joy seemed to swell up inside him, making it hard to breathe for a moment. Then, reaching out to grasp Gervase's hand, he said, the grin spreading right across his face, ‘So are we.'

At Hawkenlye Abbey, the cry went up as the nuns were leaving the abbey church after tierce, which was the third office of the day. It was only then that the four guards, stumbling around after their long and exceptionally heavy sleep, had thought to go and check on the prisoner. Puzzled at finding themselves waking up in the small room by the undercroft door, they had wasted quite a lot of time wondering how they had got there and blaming each other for being too heavy-handed with the wine, of which they had a dim memory.

The guard who looked after the key had been fooled by its presence, on the floor beside his hand, into believing nothing was amiss. How could there be, he had thought vaguely, when he still had the key?

It might be incomprehensible, but the fact remained: the prisoner had gone. The four guards were all yelling at one another, their anger swiftly turning to fear as they realized the unpleasant truth: Tomas would be bringing Lord Benedict to the abbey later that morning, to collect a man who was no longer there.

A man whom they had been ordered to guard.

‘It's that bloody abbess's fault,' one of the men cried, loud enough for several Hawkenlye nuns and monks to overhear and making them frown their disapproval. ‘She shouldn't have brought us that spiced wine!'

Another of the men rounded on him – the leader, if anyone was. ‘And that's going to be our excuse, I suppose? The abbess brought us something tasty to drink, out of the kindness of her heart, and we forgot all about being on guard and drank it down till we were all so pissed we fell asleep?'

‘She probably put something in it to make us sleep,' muttered the first man. ‘They know about potions and that, these nuns.'

The leader swore in frustration, grabbing his companion by the collar. There was a ripping sound. ‘And Tomas is going to believe that, is he? He's going to take your word – the word of a man facing the very serious charge of falling asleep on duty and letting his prisoner escape – over an abbess swearing blind she only brought us some warmed wine because it was a cold night?'

‘How
did
he get out?' a third guard said.

One of the others shuddered, making the sign against the evil eye. He muttered something.

‘What's that?' the leader demanded.

‘I said, he's got magic powers,' the man repeated, only slightly more loudly. ‘It's them eyes, and that weird howling. Reckon he summoned the spirits, and
they
fetched him out.'

The leader gave a furious, disgusted snort. ‘Try telling that to Lord Benedict!'

‘I still reckon we was drugged,' said the man in the torn jerkin.

The leader rounded on him, clutching his wrist so hard that he winced. ‘And
I
say I don't want to hear another word about that!' he hissed. ‘We're in deep enough shit as it is without you going hurling accusations at the abbess. Who d'you think's going to believe you?'

‘I'm only saying,' the man mumbled.

‘Well,
don't
say.' He released him, and he stumbled and fell. The grumbling went on as the four men went back inside the undercroft.

Tiphaine had been approaching the undercroft entrance as the exchange began, and had stopped, out of sight of the guards, to listen. Now she continued on her unobtrusive way over to the abbess's room, smiling to herself.