He would have liked to pull his head off and throw it away. In a rare moment of rational thought, he wondered what on earth he was doing. Sometimes he thought he was quite, quite mad.
Now he really did not know what to do…
Finally, he made up his mind. They would go on, just as he had planned.
They were about to set off when he heard the sound of fast hoof-beats drumming on the ground. His head shot round, and he saw a hard-ridden horse pounding towards them. The rider was shouting and wildly waving an arm.
He looked at the girl and read alarm in her face. ‘Hide in the trees with Star,’ he said urgently, and to his surprise she obeyed. Perhaps she had already made up her mind that he was not going to harm her, whereas whoever was approaching in such a hurry was an unknown quantity. There was no time to dwell on it.
He put his hand on his sword hilt and turned to face the horseman.
FOUR
Tiphaine had spent the night in the herbalist’s hut at Hawkenlye Abbey. It was dry, fragrant and adequately comfortable. She had arranged some sacking on the wooden work bench and slept as soundly as she usually did.
The hut had been her workplace for many years. She still went there regularly. Abbess Caliste knew about her discreet visits and did nothing to prevent them, for Tiphaine was a herbalist with a rare gift and without her hard-working hands those who visited the abbey in need would have been greatly the poorer. Nobody, including Tiphaine herself, was exactly sure of her present status. She had asked to be released from her vows but, unlike Helewise, she had not felt the need to have her departure from the abbey formally recognized. Besides, also unlike Helewise, Tiphaine was still involved in its day-to-day affairs. She just did not want to be a nun any more, for the church was changing and, even if she still loved the Lord who had come to earth as a man to save the world, she no longer cared for the mortal men who were in charge.
Her status, Tiphaine had decided, really did not matter. It was immaterial to her and, as for the men of power, they had far greater things to worry about in this time of interdict than a half-pagan woman who wished to return to her true self…
There was no real hurry to quit her night’s lodging, for it was unlikely that anybody would visit the herbalist’s hut that morning. As Tiphaine knew only too well, there was not the same demand for medicines and remedies because people did not flock to Hawkenlye now as they always used to. Tiphaine did not bother her head with the intricacies of the political debate that raged through the land. She simply saw two great men, one of them a king and one of them a pope, who ought to be able to do better than plunge a whole nation into confusion, uncertainty and hardship.
Tiphaine got up, stretched, tidied away her makeshift bed and put more wood on to the small fire that smouldered in the brazier. She filled a pot with water and set it to boil, then reached up to the shelves with practised hands and mixed herbs for a drink. She set out a dry crust of bread and a strip of salted meat, eating the food slowly while she arranged her thoughts. When she had finished, and the herbal concoction was coursing through her body, she made sure the fire was dying down, packed up her bag and left the hut.
She moved swiftly and silently and kept to the shadows. Dressed in black as she was, with her hood over her head, anyone glancing at her would have taken her for a nun. She crossed the cloister and walked along to Abbess Caliste’s room, tapping softly on the door. Invited to enter, she went in and shut the door behind her.
‘Tiphaine!’ Abbess Caliste’s face lit up. The big table in front of her was, Tiphaine noticed, strewn with pieces of vellum, each covered in tiny rows and columns of figures and what Tiphaine assumed were words. ‘How good it is to see you. Is there any news? Will you sit down?’
Tiphaine shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. It is possible that some visitor to Hawkenlye may have heard or seen something concerning Rosamund’s whereabouts, and-’
‘And you wish to go among them and ask,’ Abbess Caliste finished for her. ‘Of course you must! Oh, Tiphaine, the family must be beside themselves with anxiety!’
Tiphaine nodded. ‘Aye, for she is young and vulnerable.’
Abbess Caliste looked down with a frown at the work spread before her. ‘I would help if I could, but the king’s agents were here yesterday and I have a great deal to do.’ She sighed. ‘Their demands are all but impossible.’
‘It is a heavy burden that you bear, my lady abbess,’ Tiphaine said.
Caliste looked up at her. Tiphaine did not often address the abbess by her formal title — there were old and profound ties between the two of them that made their relationship unique — but just then she had done so deliberately, intending to remind young Caliste exactly who she was and encourage a little confidence. ‘You can do it, if anyone can,’ Tiphaine added, her voice so low that she was not sure Caliste heard.
Caliste closed her eyes and her lips moved in a silent prayer, then, looking at Tiphaine, she said, ‘Tell me if you discover anything. May God help you all in your search.’
Tiphaine nodded. Then she turned and quietly let herself out of the room.
Next, Tiphaine went to the infirmary and spoke to Sister Liese. Sister Euphemia had at last acknowledged her years and now spent her days in Hawkenlye’s home for aged monks and nuns. Although she was always willing to offer help and advice, her legs and feet were swollen from decades of hard work and she found standing painful. She liked to sit in her chair by the door or, when the weather was warm, outside in the sunshine, watching and thinking. Sister Liese was a woman of middle age who had come to Hawkenlye on the death of her husband and had quickly proved to be a dedicated healer with a particular gift with the young. She had calmly acknowledged that taking over from Sister Euphemia was a hard task and, during her early years in the abbey community, she had been modest and self-effacing. Now that Sister Euphemia had finally retired, Liese had stepped into the role to which she had been appointed and, in her own quiet way, she was proving to be almost as firm a rock as her predecessor.
Tiphaine told her briefly about Rosamund. Sister Liese nodded. ‘We have few patients at present,’ she said. ‘All have been here for at least two days, so it is unlikely that they can offer any helpful information. I will, however, be sure to ask anyone who comes in.’
Next Tiphaine went down to the vale, where the monks were tending to the needs of a handful of hungry-looking pilgrims. Brother Erse, Hawkenlye’s carpenter, was performing old Brother Firmin’s task of fetching holy water from the shrine. Brother Firmin had been dead for some time.
She broke the news of Rosamund’s disappearance to Brother Saul and, horrified, he promised to ask the visitors if they could offer any information. ‘Some of us might go out and join in the search,’ he offered. ‘The dear Lord knows, we’ve little enough to do here.’ He stood with Tiphaine, looking at the lean faces of the visitors. ‘They’re all close to starving, but we’ve so little to give them,’ he added softly.
Tiphaine glanced at him. ‘You don’t look exactly tubby yourself,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t forget to eat, Saul. If you give it all to them, who’ll be here to help the next lot?’
He bowed his head. ‘You’re right,’ he sighed. Then, as if it were just too distressing to dwell on the sorry state of them all, he said, ‘Could the child simply have wandered off into the forest and got lost?’
‘I pray you’re right,’ she replied. She didn’t see any need to tell him about the stranger who looked like Joanna’s son. The poor man had enough to worry about already.
Helewise spent the morning making successive forays out from Meggie’s hut, steadily covering all the ground in its immediate vicinity. She found nothing. She returned to the hut to prepare a simple meal, wondering how soon Tiphaine would be back. Perhaps Meggie would come over. It would be good, to sit down with both of them to eat.