The Winter King (13 page)

Abruptly she pulled away from Meggie and, burying her face in her hands, began to weep.

Meggie sat watching her, wondering what she should do. She knew full well what Abbess Caliste
wanted
her to do; was it right, though, for Lilas?

This poor old woman is suffering
, she thought.
She is locked up with her fear, which perhaps I can alleviate if I see for myself what frightens her so.

If she had known the nature of this mission, she reflected, she could have brought the Eye of Jerusalem with her, for it was the easiest and swiftest way of inducing trance, in herself and others, even if the after-effects were frequently painful. But she had not known, and would just have to do her best without it.

With a deliberate effort, she stilled her mind and slowed her breathing. After only a short interval, she felt the calm begin to descend. Only then did she stretch out her hands and, gently but firmly, take hold of Lilas’s, removing them from her tear-stained face and grasping them so that the old woman could not draw them back. Looking into Lilas’s eyes, she said softly, ‘Calm yourself, Lilas. Relax with me, and breathe slowly and deeply. Yes, like that. Slow. Deep. Now, close your eyes, and I will close mine too.’

The two of them sat there for some time, and gradually Meggie’s awareness of the rest of the big, busy infirmary fell away. She sensed, from the lessening of tension in Lilas’s hands, that the old woman, too, was moving on to another plane.

Meggie felt the exact moment when reality retreated and trance took over: behind her closed eyelids there was a shift in the quality of the light, and she was aware of a faint humming in her ears …

… and in the world of the vision, Meggie opened her eyes. Lilas was beside her – she knew it, but she did not know how she knew, for she could not see her. This, however, was Lilas’s trance. She was quite sure of that.

The pictures began to come, busily, swiftly, one succeeding another before she had had a chance to absorb the details. The images were universally disturbing: sinister figures lurking deep in the shadows, whispering their malice, the whites of their eyes flashing; an island in a broad, swift-flowing river, and strong lords standing firm in an unyielding group around a short, stocky, defiant figure in their midst; the sea, rushing towards the land in a mighty upsurge of violent motion, turning over frail ships, drowning the men who floundered and screamed, while one harsh voice soared above them wailing in anguish.

A man lying in a filthy, soiled bed, twisting and thrashing, his hands clenched on his belly, crying in agony as the life ebbed out of him.

Inside Meggie’s head, a deep, sonorous voice said:
Behold, the Winter King.

Meggie moaned softly. Some quality of the vision changed subtly, and the image of the dying man was replaced by another, in which a blue-eyed stranger smiled at her and offered to teach her how to fight.

You swing a sword like a man, although your technique could be refined. I’ll give you some lessons, if you like.

She could hear him so clearly that he might have been there beside her. And, despite all that she knew of him, everything she loathed and despised about what he had done and was still doing, yet she felt her heart ache with a sudden pain at the thought that she had just witnessed his death.

The visions were still coming, thick and fast. Weakening now, Meggie could not distinguish between those that originated with her and those which came from Lilas, for they flashed like distant lightning and there was no time to separate one from the other. Maybe they were one and the same. Now she saw fighting: the vicious clash of well-armed men, inflicting horrific wounds on each other. A dark line of alien ships, drawing ever closer to England’s shore, and a young king – just a little boy – who grew to be a weak and greedy man, yet from whose loins would come a giant.

And then suddenly there are two people standing face to face in a small, simple chapel, and a memory of brilliant blue light. Someone speaks her name.
You are a vestal virgin
, he says.
Keep your fire burning … a blue fire
.

There is a lamp on the altar
, she hears herself reply.
Some trick of the light allows its flame to catch in the blue of the window.

And the man with the stunning blue eyes says,
I would believe there was magic here, and that you, my Meggie, were a witch, only I do not believe in magic and there are no such things as witches
.

This is not trance. This is a memory, true and vivid.

I leave for London in the morning
, the man says.
I wish I could take you with me.

Then he leans forward and kisses her mouth.

He takes one long, last look at her. Then he turns and strides away.

Images reel and whirl inside Meggie’s head. The forest. The chapel. Blue eyes. Blue light. Laughter. Screaming. The stink of a soiled bed, and the howls of pain quietening to a low, persistent moan.

The sea again, and those sinister ships with the alien devices on their sails.

The brilliant blue light.

Meggie is lost. She does not know where she is, or in whose vision she wanders. She is afraid. She cannot find her way back. She opens her mouth to scream …

… and strong hands gripped hers. Someone’s voice said firmly, right into her ear, ‘Don’t cry out, or they’ll come running, and you’re not ready for them.’

They?
Who were
they
? But the voice had spoken right, for Meggie could not even think about facing anyone yet.

But someone was right there with her; someone who understood. Her eyelids fluttered open and she looked right into the pale eyes of Lilas of Hamhurst.

Finding herself slumped across Lilas’s bed, Meggie struggled to sit up. Those same strong hands held her down. ‘Stay still,’ Lilas said. ‘If you try to rise, your head’ll spin.’

Meggie obeyed.

Lilas was stroking her hair, gently, rhythmically. ‘Scared you, didn’t it?’ she murmured. ‘Saw terrible things, eh?’

‘Yes,’ Meggie whispered.

Lilas leaned closer. ‘You frightened me, lass,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘One moment I sensed you there with me, next you’d gone. I didn’t know where you were, or if you’d come back.’

‘Was it your vision? The dark, threatening figures, the island in the river, the drowning men and the ships turned over?’ Lilas nodded. ‘And you saw it true, this time? You weren’t pretending?’

Lilas snorted. ‘You saw it too, girl. Weren’t no pretence. You saw what I saw, seemingly, although I don’t know how that could be.’ The old eyes narrowed as Lilas scrutinized her. Lowering her voice again, she hissed, ‘Got forest blood, have you?’

‘Yes,’ Meggie whispered.

Lilas gave her a strange look. ‘Me too.’

Meggie knew she must report back to Abbess Caliste before she left, although it was the last thing she wanted to do. But the abbess had asked for her help, and she had agreed to give it.

‘I believe Lilas truly did see the vision which she described,’ she said, standing rigidly before Abbess Caliste in her little room. ‘She is not sick in her mind, my lady – or, at least, I do not believe so. She knows when the trance comes and when she’s pretending, and that sounds quite sane to me.’

‘I see,’ said the abbess neutrally.

‘She’s afraid, though,’ Meggie went on. ‘I think, from what she said, that someone overheard her; someone who wants to use the things she claims to have seen for their own ends.’ She hesitated to be more explicit, even within the apparent safety of the abbess’s own room. ‘Do you understand what I mean, my lady?’

‘I do,’ Abbess Caliste said. ‘I, too, have heard her refer to this someone, and I believe I know the use to which he – they – would put Lilas and her pronouncements.’ Swiftly she rose. ‘Do not fear for her, Meggie. We shall keep her here, for I have promised her safe refuge.’

‘How can you?’ Meggie asked. ‘How will you keep her here, if they come for her?’

‘Hush!’ the abbess said quickly. ‘Do not speak of it. We have our ways. This is still a house of God, even if the whole turbulent world seems to have forgotten it.’

Meggie shook her head, feeling suddenly dizzy. She was still dazed from the trance, and her head ached with a steady, painful throb. Little lights flashed on the edge of her vision. ‘I must go,’ she muttered. ‘I … I …’

The abbess came towards her, hands outstretched, face concerned. But Meggie did not want to be caught and held; she wanted to get away. ‘I’m all right,’ she said, summoning a smile.

‘I’ll send for Brother Watt and he shall escort you home,’ Abbess Caliste said, moving towards the door.

‘No!’ The abrupt word came out too loud, too dictatorial. ‘I am sorry, my lady, but I am not going home. I’ll leave the mare here in the abbey’s stables, if I may. I’m going to the hut.’

My mother’s hut, in the forest
, Meggie could have added.

But there was no need. Caliste knew what she meant as well as she did.

Caliste was looking at her. Meeting her eyes, Meggie sensed she knew what the abbess was about to say. ‘Meggie,’ she began, ‘now that you appear to have formed a bond with Lilas, might I ask if you will come back later, and stay here for a few days to help us look after her?’ Before Meggie could reply, she hurried on, ‘I’m sure Sister Liese could find a recess in the infirmary where you could sleep. You would have a little privacy, at least.’

Meggie suppressed a sigh. Lodging within the abbey was not at all what she wanted to do, but Josse would protest if she announced she was going to stay in her hut. She wouldn’t have to be with Lilas all the time, and she could slip away to the hut when she wasn’t needed. It was, she had to admit, closer to the abbey than to the House in the Woods.

She made herself smile. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘I will.’

But just now
,
she thought as she hurried up the slope away from the abbey and towards the forest,
I have to be alone
.
I cannot be with people who love me, people I love; I have to think.

She had to work out why, when she and everyone close to her loathed that man and everything he did, and when she had believed herself in love with Jehan and planning a new life with him, she should have remembered, with such rousing, stirring clarity, that moment a year ago. When, very close to the clearing she was now crossing on flying feet, a blue-eyed king had kissed her. And she had kissed him back.

J
osse left the House in the Woods early that morning. Although he and Helewise had talked long into the night, they had come up with no sensible explanations for the deaths of the two young men, nor any obvious way to identify them. The mere name
Symon
was little enough to go on. They had concluded, feeble and unsatisfactory though it was, that the only thing to do was to ride down to Tonbridge and discuss the matter with Gervase de Gifford.

This morning, Helewise had offered to accompany Josse, but he could tell she didn’t really want to.
She wants to go to the sanctuary
, he thought.
There’ll be some purifying prayer she’ll be eager to say, something to send the spirit of the dead man on its way and make the place wholesome for those who come next.

She came out to the stables with him to see him off. ‘You’ll do what’s necessary in your precious sanctuary,’ he said, looking down from Alfred’s broad back into her earnest face. ‘Don’t worry; a death or two won’t keep them away.’

‘Really?’ Her grey eyes lit up with relief.

He’d been right, then. ‘Really.’ He gave her an encouraging grin, then edged his heels into Alfred’s sides and trotted off.

The morning was cold, with clear skies and a wintry sun shining brightly, sparking flashes of light off frosted grass and the last of the autumn leaves. Alfred was keen to go, and Josse let him have his head. Reaching the place where the road branched off to the right to descend into the valley and the town, both man and horse were warm and exhilarated.

Josse held the big horse in for the descent, and rode into Tonbridge at a sedate trot. He turned to his left, following the lesser track along to Gervase’s house, hoping the sheriff would not yet have left. It was still early.

Gervase’s stable lad came out to take Alfred, nodding a greeting to Josse. ‘Is your master at home?’ Josse asked.

‘No, sir. Gone down to the lock-up to see about a couple of drunks as tried to knife each other last night.’

‘Oh. Will he be gone long?’

‘Couldn’t say, sir. Mistress’s in, if you want to go up.’

Josse was about to decline (his business was with Gervase and, doubting that Sabin could help, he preferred to seek out the lock-up and find the sheriff) when the door at the top of the steps opened and Sabin looked out.

‘Tam, I heard a horse, and then voices,’ she began, addressing the lad. ‘Who …?’

Josse stepped out from behind the bulk of his horse and said, ‘Good day, Sabin. It’s me. I’m here to—’

He did not get the chance to explain his presence. Even from where he stood, some eight or ten paces away, there was no mistaking the sudden pallor in Sabin’s face, nor the look of fear in her eyes.

‘Josse, you must … I …’

She staggered and, thinking she was about to pass out and might fall all the way down the steep stone steps, Josse threw himself across the yard, bounded up the stairs and caught her in his arms. She muttered some words, but he could not make them out.

He turned to the lad, standing holding Alfred, eyes and mouth perfect ‘O’s of fascinated interest.

‘Look after my horse,’ Josse ordered. ‘I’ll take the lady inside.’ Before the boy could reply, Josse put an arm round Sabin’s waist and, half-dragging and half-carrying her, took her inside the house and firmly closed the door.

There was an oak settle drawn up beside the hearth, and a tapestry work bag lay on the stone floor beside it. The piece of embroidery on which Sabin had presumably been at work had been thrown down on the settle. Removing it, Josse sat Sabin down, crouching beside her and vigorously patting her hands. He had some vague recollection that slapping people’s hands brought them out of a faint.