‘I know the way,’ the boy interrupted. He did not offer anything to back up his statement, but, watching him, Josse didn’t think he needed to. The lad gave off an air of quiet confidence that was more impressive than a wealth of breathless assurances.
‘Then it remains only for me to wish you God’s speed, and a safe return,’ Josse said.
‘Thank you. We are to attend a special service in the Abbey church, then we set out.’ A flash of excitement lit the young face. ‘Abbess Helewise says to tell you she will come and say goodbye before we go.’
Josse watched him walk away, long legs covering the ground in smooth strides. The he closed his eyes to add his own plea to the Lord to take care of the little party and bring them safely home again.
For the first few miles on the road, Helewise’s pleasure in the sunny morning and the smooth gait of the chestnut mare were overshadowed by her memory of Josse as he said goodbye.
She had almost cried out, ‘Oh, very well, we’ll postpone the trip for a fortnight, a month, however long it takes you to be fit again! Anything, but don’t look at me like that!’
Of course, she had kept her peace. But it had cost her a lot.
Brother Augustine was riding ahead, turning round from time to time to make sure that Horace’s sprightly pace was not too fast for the mare and the cob and their riders. Helewise could hear Brother Saul behind her, keeping up a constant flow of softly spoken chatter to the old cob. Both men, she realised with relief, were showing the tact to leave her to her thoughts.
She decided to adopt Saul’s tactics, and began talking to the mare; even more important for me to do so than for Saul, she thought, since he and Baldwin are old friends, whereas this lovely mare and I are new to one another.
She began, tentatively and self-consciously at first, to introduce herself to her mount. Honey’s ears twitched interestedly. Pleased to have a response, Helewise found it easier to find the words to say and, by the time they were descending the long slope down to Tonbridge and the river Medway crossing, she was chatting to Honey as if they had known one another for years.
According to Brother Augustine’s reckoning, they covered not far short of twenty miles the first day. But then, he added, the horses were fresh and well rested, the weather was fine and warm, and the road good and firm under their feet. When he proposed that it was time to think about where they were going to stop for the night, Helewise almost urged him to go a little further; however, when she slid off Honey’s back to stretch her legs for the final mile or so, she was very glad she hadn’t.
It was many years since she had ridden any distance. And, although the mare’s saddle was expensively made and comfortable, Helewise’s legs and thighs had stiffened up badly. Muscles she had forgotten she had seemed to squeal their protest, and she longed for the chance to rub on some of Sister Euphemia’s special mixture. Yes, it would burn like fury, but it worked. .
‘All right, Abbess?’ Brother Augustine called back to her.
‘Fine!’ she said, gritting her teeth and forcing a smile.
‘Not far now,’ the boy went on. ‘There’s a small convent I know of, up the road a way. They’re generous to travellers, and they know me. They’ll be honoured to receive the Abbess of Hawkenlye,’ he added gravely.
Oh, dear, Helewise thought. Yes, I must present a suitably dignified demeanour. They have every right to expect that, from an Abbess.
But it wasn’t going to be easy to be dignified, when the only way that she could walk was with her legs bowed out wide enough to circle a beer barrel.
Chapter Eight
The journey from Hawkenlye to Ely took a week.
It had been, Helewise thought as, on the morning of the seventh day, they set out from Barnwell Priory northwards into the Fens, an illuminating experience. There had been moments of fear-tinged excitement, such as crossing the river Thames between Dartford and the Essex shore on what had seemed far too small a boat. And, one night, they had been delayed in finding the tiny priory where they were to put up and, on the dark fringes of Epping Forest, Helewise had convinced herself she had heard the lonely, spine-chilling howl of a wolf.
She had noticed quickly that, each night, Brother Augustine chose a religious house for their accommodation. Sometimes this was a wise choice — the Benedictine nuns at Barking treated Helewise and her party as grandly as if they had been visiting royalty, and Helewise had been offered the extraordinary luxury of a bath to soothe her aching muscles. On the other hand, there was Latton; tiny, dark, very well hidden away — it was Latton which they were searching for when they had almost become lost in Epping Forest — the prior and his two canons had been able only to offer their guests a share of their own meagre soup and dry bread for the evening meal. Helewise had slept on a damp straw mattress in a corner of the chapter house, and the two lay brothers had slept in the tumbledown stable with the horses.
She had asked Brother Augustine the next morning if there were any option other than staying with monks or nuns. Looking slightly abashed, he replied, ‘Well, not really, Abbess.’
‘Where used you to put up, when you travelled with your family?’ she persisted.
Brother Augustine’s tanned face flushed slightly. ‘We knew of — places we were welcome.’
‘Could we not stay there, in those places?’
The blush was deepening. Brother Augustine hesitated, then, apparently deciding that this awkward conversation would come to an end more quickly if he steeled himself to be forthright, said, ‘Abbess, it’s different now. Then, we used to pay our way with our skills. A chair mended, a charm against warts or a cure for an aching back, a good tale or two that nobody had heard before, a song and a dance. That sort of thing.’
Intrigued, she ignored his obvious diffidence and said, ‘What used you to do, Brother Augustine?’
Looking as if he wished he were anywhere but there, he said, ‘I sang.’
‘And could you not sing for your supper now?’
Brother Augustine’s embarrassment made him lower his head. Then, looking up and catching her eye, suddenly he grinned. ‘Not that sort of song I couldn’t, Abbess.’ The grin widened. ‘Not in this company, and wearing the habit of a lay brother.’
‘Oh!’ Of course! Why hadn’t she worked that out for herself! ‘I see, Brother Augustine.’
No more had been said on the subject of their nightly accommodation.
But as Augustine’s quite natural diffidence in the elevated company of his Abbess had abated, a great deal was said on many other subjects. Knowing that Saul would understand, Helewise had spent much of the first couple of days of the journey talking to the young man, trying to draw him out of his reticence.
Remembering what Saul had told her of the boy’s devotion to his mother, she had first asked Augustine about his family. The question uppermost in her mind was did he miss them, and the itinerant way of life; after one or two preliminary pleasantries, she asked him.
‘I do miss them, my mother and my father and my brothers and sisters,’ Augustine replied after a moment’s consideration. ‘And I can’t say as sometimes I don’t hanker for the excitement of being on the road — you know, new sights every day, the pleasure of going back a year later to some favourite place and having the same warm welcome.’ He paused. ‘But I know Ma’s well now, and she loves the life she leads. She understood when I explained to her about the Lord, how I heard Him calling to me, and she gave me her blessing over entering Hawkenlye.’
Helewise, riding beside him and watching him closely, noticed that his gaze had shifted, and that he was contemplating something distant. Not wishing to intrude on his thoughts, she said nothing.