Josse and his son stared at each other. Josse might have been wrong, but he thought the small, sweet sound that chirruped from the baby might just mean that he liked what he saw.
Nineteen
Helewise knew they were near. Some newly awakened sense that seemed to wax within her whenever she went out to the new chapel put an image in her head of Josse riding with a boy that had to be Ninian. The boy led a rather beautiful white horse. Josse was holding a bundle — perhaps the black figure had been entrusted to him.
She went one evening to the chapel. The roof was to go on the following week; the team had worked very fast, taking full advantage of the continuing good weather. Helewise had carefully checked the finances and there was enough for a small additional request. She had commissioned Martin’s men to build a tiny habitation immediately behind the chapel, on the very edge of the abbey land. It would consist of a single room, its walls of wattle and daub on top of a first course of stone and its roof of local rush thatch. There was no need for it to be any larger, for it would house a solitary inhabitant. It was the dwelling of an anchorite; one of those who lived in seclusion and whose solitary devotions, or so the country folk liked to say, helped to anchor the faithful in the faith. Helewise, who knew a little Latin, was aware that the word implied simply the act of withdrawal, but she thought the country folk’s version might actually be more accurate. No such anchorite — or anchoress — was yet apparent, but Helewise thought that could change. Not yet, perhaps, but soon.
She stood inside the tiny room that would form the hermit’s accommodation. No, she mused, hermit was not the right word, for the purpose of having someone living here between the abbey and the forest was so that those who came in need would receive not only the solace offered within St Edmund’s Chapel but also a kind welcome, a mug of water and a bite to eat from the person who tended it.
It was not going to be easy; she knew that. Quite a lot of people would need a great deal of convincing. But she had made up her mind and she would not allow her vision to dissolve.
Meggie was calling. Helewise hurried out and stood before the chapel, waving. Meggie, running towards her and dragging a laughing Sister Caliste beside her, waved back.
‘He’s nearly here, my lady!’ Meggie cried.
Helewise pretended not to understand. ‘Now who on earth can you mean, little Meggie?’ she asked. ‘Would that be Brother Saul, perhaps, or Sir Gervase de Gifford? Or — yes, I know! — it’s Father Gilbert, coming for more of Sister Tiphaine’s special rubbing oil for his sore back!’
Meggie was hopping from foot to foot with excitement, laughter creasing her pretty little face. ‘No, no and no,’ she chanted. ‘It’s my daddy! He’s on his way and he’s almost at the bend in the road!’
‘Is he?’ Helewise made it sound as if it was the most extraordinary thing. ‘Well, then, we had better go and meet him!’
She gathered the skirts of her habit in her hands and, running as she had not done for years — amused, she noticed Sister Caliste’s astounded face before the young nun picked up her own skirts and followed suit — flew down the shallow slope and jumped down on to the road. Meggie landed beside her, and Sister Caliste slithered down the bank on her bottom. Then, panting, flushed, the three of them turned to stare down the track to the spot where it bent away out of sight.
A reddish chestnut appeared first, its rider holding the leading rein of a grey. The rider — it was a boy of about fourteen — saw them and, with a shout, kicked the chestnut into a canter, the grey following behind. Then round the corner appeared another, larger horse on which sat the familiar, broad-shouldered figure of Josse.
As he approached he was partially hidden from Helewise’s view by Ninian, but he was not hurt, she could tell that much at least. Not physically hurt, anyway, though he had lost Joanna, so the pain would be deep inside. And he would bear it for ever…
Her eyes were fixed on the bundle that he was holding so carefully, so tenderly, before him, cradled in the crook of his left arm. It could not be the black figure, for it moved. It wriggled, stretched, and then it let out a small cry that quickly escalated to a full-scale yell.
Josse was level with her now. Meggie hurled herself at her father and, pulling up the big horse, he let the reins go slack and reached down with his free hand, hauling Meggie up in front of him. She twisted round to gaze at the baby, eyes round with wonder.
Josse sat staring down into Helewise’s eyes. She could not read his expression. In it there was pride, deep happiness and also a sort of guilt. Then she knew for sure that what she had begun, incredibly, to suspect was true.
Josse, detecting perhaps some slight relaxation in her face, smiled and said, ‘My lady, may we proceed straight away into the abbey? I really hope that among your patients and visitors there’s a recently delivered woman, for my son is hungry.’
She swallowed the threatening tears. In a voice surprisingly like her normal tone, she said, ‘I am sure such a woman can be found, Sir Josse. If not, then the nursing nuns will come up with something. Come along!’
With her heart singing and a spring in her step, she led her small procession back to the abbey.
As soon as the little party arrived, news began to sweep through the abbey that Sir Josse was back and had his baby son with him. Sister Clare, who ran Hawkenlye’s home for fallen women, approached Helewise and very shyly said that one of her regulars had just given birth to a healthy little girl and had more than enough milk for two. If the abbess thought Sir Josse would not mind his son sharing the breasts of a Tonbridge prostitute, then Jehane had said she’d be pleased to oblige.
‘It is a very kind offer, Sister Clare,’ Helewise said. ‘I will speak to Sir Josse.’
Sister Caliste had taken Josse and the baby into the infirmary, where, in the absence of any lactating women, Sister Euphemia was trying to get the increasingly desperate Geoffroi to accept warm water with a tiny spoonful of honey melted in it. Helewise noticed as she approached that Sister Caliste, three nursing nuns and two elderly patients long acquainted with Josse were all standing around the infirmarer as she held the screaming baby, looking down adoringly and muttering helpful comments.
Helewise beckoned to Josse and, out of earshot of the others, said, ‘There is a young mother in the fallen women’s refuge. She has offered to share her milk with your son, although if you would prefer-’
He did not wait to hear her out. A huge smile creased his tired face and he said, ‘My lady, I could kiss you! Oh, I apologize, I did not mean to be rude. I’ll fetch Geoffroi and we’ll go over straight away.’
Helewise escorted him to the fallen women’s home, where Sister Clare presented a young woman with an oval face, a sensuous mouth and hazel eyes; she would have been lovely, Helewise thought with compassion, but for the scars and the world-weary, dejected expression that her way of life had forced on to her.
She was about to make some diplomatic comment to ease Josse out of letting his son feed off this poor wreck of a woman but, to her amazement, Josse had hurried forward and taken her hand in his. ‘Jehane!’ he exclaimed. ‘I did not think you would be our saviour! How are you? It’s… what, six years since we met, in this very place? You have a new baby, they tell me?’
‘I do all right, Sir Josse,’ Jehane replied, a smile sweetening her face. ‘And, yes, I’ve had another girl. She’s sleeping.’ Jehane looked back over her shoulder to where a baby lay in a cradle.
‘Will you feed my son?’ Josse asked. ‘He is in sore need of milk, as you’ll have noticed.’ The child was crying ceaselessly now.
Jehane looked down into the tiny scarlet face. ‘Of course,’ she said softly. ‘Give him here.’
Quite unabashed, Jehane took Geoffroi, sat down on the end of the nearest cot and, unfastening her gown, put him to her breast. He was desperate with hunger now and, for a few moments, too far gone in panicky fear to realize what was on offer. With a practised hand Jehane squeezed out a few drops of her milk and spread them on Geoffroi’s lips. Scenting and tasting what he so desperately needed, the infant suddenly latched on to the nipple and, an expression of bliss on his face, closed his eyes and began to suckle.
Helewise stood beside Josse and Sister Clare. Josse’s face, she noticed, was fixed in an absurd grin; Sister Clare looked almost as happy. Jehane looked up, her face alight. ‘He’ll do all right now,’ she said. ‘Took him a while because I smell different from whoever fed him afore, but he’ll know me next time.’
That, then, was that, Helewise thought with a private smile. A hungry baby had found comfort; an anxious
