‘Then all the more reason for us to make haste,’ Helewise replied. ‘Come along!’
Sister Ursel drew back the heavy bars and opened the gates. Helewise led her party outside.
She saw Josse coming towards her. Beside him was the slighter figure of another man who must be John Damianos. The infirmarer had reported that he was running a slight fever, which would not have been helped by this excursion out into the cold night…
John Damianos. Brother Ralf.
She frowned. Her eyes were on the young man beside Josse. His face was in the deep shadow cast by the hood of his cloak. She experienced an odd feeling, as if — as if- She gave up.
‘Sir Josse,’ she said as the two men stopped in front of their rescue party, ‘are you all right?’
‘Neither of us has received further injury, my lady,’ he said. Then, meeting her eyes, he added quietly, ‘It is over now.’
She nodded her understanding.
‘Go back to the infirmary, both of you,’ she said, addressing the two men, ‘for you are wounded and one of you at least has a fever. We will-’
‘My lady, I am sorry to contradict,’ came a low voice, ‘but I must speak privately with you.’
Josse, she noticed, gave the younger man a quick, sympathetic glance before turning to her. ‘It is important, my lady,’ he said. ‘And — ’ he eyed the gathered monks and nuns behind her — ‘it’s rather a delicate matter.’
‘Very well,’ she said, controlling her surprise. ‘Go along to my room, Sir Josse, and take your companion with you. Paradisa is sleeping in there but I expect the commotion will have woken her up already. I will join you shortly.’ She watched the two men set off. Josse, she noticed, seemed to be clutching the wound in his arm.
Then she turned back to her monks and her nuns. Filled suddenly with gratitude, for there they all were, ready and eager to fight for the community and to defend its Abbess to the very best of their ability, she smiled lovingly at them.
‘Thank you, all of you,’ she said simply. ‘The Abbey is very lucky that such courageous and devoted men and women live within its walls. Now, go back to your beds. Soon it will be morning.’
They parted into two ranks and she walked between them. There were one or two mutterings of, ‘God bless you, my lady.’ Reining in her impulse to run after Josse — run after the strange, disturbing man who strode beside him — she walked sedately back into the Abbey.
She entered her room and firmly closed the door. The young man and Paradisa were locked tightly in each other’s arms and Josse was looking on with an indulgent smile. The brazier had been poked into life and several candles were burning.
‘So, what is this important matter that demands my attention before it is even light?’ she demanded, seating herself in her chair. John Damianos, she noticed — or was he really called Ralf? — had buried his face in Paradisa’s hair, but both Paradisa and Josse were staring at Helewise.
It was Paradisa who spoke.
‘I told you, my lady, that Thibault of Margat has followed Brother Ralf all this way not because of who he is but what he carries.’
‘You did, yes.’
‘In that satchel is a secret formula. It was Hisham’s great treasure. He has discovered the secret of how to make a deadly black powder that bursts into life when it is set on fire and which has a magical force to it, a special sort of energy that-’
‘There is nothing magical about it,’ Brother Ralf interrupted, his face still averted.
‘Well, it looks magic to me,’ Paradisa said. Holding the young man’s face in her hands, she looked into his eyes and said softly, ‘It’s evil, too. Don’t try to deny it. You could have been killed that time it blew up in your face and then I should have had to contemplate the awful prospect of life without you.’
It was a moment of deep intimacy. Helewise felt almost guilty for observing it.
‘So, the Hospitallers wished to relieve you of this formula and utilize it for their own purposes,’ she said briskly, ‘and the two Saracens were sent by their master to recover it and take it back to it to him. And the last of your pursuers simply wanted to return Paradisa to her betrothed husband. Is that right?’
‘Quite right, my lady,’ Paradisa said politely.
‘None of them is a threat any more,’ Josse said. ‘All except the two Hospitallers are dead.’
‘Dead,’ Helewise repeated. Then: ‘I understand the importance of this… thing. Those flashes and bangs just now were, I presume, a demonstration of what it can do?’
‘Aye.’ It was Josse who spoke.
‘But what I cannot understand,’ she went on, ‘is just why, Brother Ralf — John — you should have brought it here to England?’
Paradisa stepped a little apart from the young man. It was, Helewise thought vaguely, as if she knew that he must explain this alone…
His face still covered, he said, ‘I had to take it to a place of safety.’
‘Why not just destroy it?’ she demanded.
She sensed that he was smiling as he replied. ‘That is a good question, my lady. Because it is possible that if, against all my hope, Hisham manages to recreate the formula, he may give his secret to the Saracens. If that unthinkable event comes to pass, I would wish also to provide our side with this weapon.’
She nodded. It was a frightful thought. It was bad enough to think of one side having this awful thing, let alone both, but in a ghastly way it made a sort of sense. And, she thought, what do I or any woman truly know of warfare? A sudden image flashed through her mind of women… of one woman, a deity figure, loving, caring, nurturing… but then as swiftly it was gone.
She felt strangely disturbed and it was only with an effort that she remembered where and who she was and what had just happened.
‘But why bring this thing here?’ she asked again. ‘Surely there were other safe havens on the long road from Outremer?’
‘None that I could think of that was safer than Hawkenlye Abbey,’ the young man said.
It was an extraordinary answer. ‘You — you know about Hawkenlye?’ she asked faintly.
He threw back his hood and at last she saw his face. He was smiling. ‘I do,’ he said softly. ‘I also know its Abbess. There is no woman on earth that I trust more.’
She was up and out of her chair, brushing both Paradisa and Josse out of her way, although she registered a fleeting impression that both were smiling and neither seemed to mind. Then the young man was in her arms and she was clutching him to her as if she would never let him go. She felt his strong arms go around her to return the hard embrace. She reached up to kiss his wounded throat and, as he bent his head, put her lips to his cheek. Pulling away slightly, she stared at him. He was tanned by the sun and there were lines of maturity on his handsome face; its bones and its shape were those of a grown man now.
But she would have known him anywhere.
‘Dominic,’ she whispered, ‘oh, my Dominic!’
Then, turning to Josse, she said, ‘Dear, dear Josse; this is my son.’
Postscript
21 December 1196
I t was not the traditional season for a wedding, but the young bride and bridegroom had waited quite long enough and it was high time that their union was formalized.
Dominic had asked his mother, and she had asked the priest, and Father Gilbert had said that little would give him greater pleasure than to perform, at Hawkenlye Abbey, the ceremony that would unite the Abbess’s younger son in matrimony with his radiant bride.
The wedding would take place on the shortest day of the year. To honour their beloved Abbess and show off the Abbey to the very best of their abilities, the nuns, the monks and the lay brothers threw themselves into the preparations. The news spread swiftly that Abbess Helewise’s son was home again after countless decades bravely fighting the Infidel in Outremer — it was only eleven years, but wild exaggeration spiced up a tale — and many
