Helewise had nothing to do. It was early afternoon, of a day that already seemed to have dragged on for an eternity. Nobody was inclined to venture outside, although the sun was trying to shine and, in Helewise’s opinion, it would do most of the household good to get into the fresh air and out of the claustrophobic tension that affected them all.
The family had dispersed after the meal, leaving Helewise alone in the Old Hall. Josse had gone to sit with Uncle Hugh. He had been preoccupied all morning, and, when Helewise had remarked that it was a kindly gesture to go and spend time with the sick old man, had muttered something about it not being kind at all since he intended to ask some unwelcome questions. He had looked so distressed. She had tried to cheer him up, tried to convince him that they could not even be sure that Peter Southey was Aeleis’s son, and so it was surely premature to conclude that, because the young man was grieving and alone, it meant Aeleis was dead.
Josse didn’t seem to be amenable to reason. Didn’t even, if she was honest, appear to have been listening to her.
Helewise tapped her foot. She couldn’t get used to being unoccupied: as long as she could remember, right back to earliest childhood, every minute of the day had had its allotted task or duty. Since leaving Hawkenlye Abbey, the relentless pace of life had continued, for, apart from the busy community at the House in the Woods, there was also her beloved sanctuary to tend. People’s need never seemed to decrease.
She did not, she reflected ruefully, make a very good guest. Here she was, for the first time in memory with time on her hands and nothing demanding her attention, so why couldn’t she simply go on sitting here in this comfortable seat, a cushion at her back and her toes warmed by the fire, and enjoy it? I am not accustomed to leisure, she thought, and it is probably too late to acquire the habit.
She wondered how Josse was getting on. She guessed he was going to try to force Uncle Hugh to talk about Aeleis. It was perfectly clear to her, now, that Josse as a boy had had strong feelings for his youngest cousin; knowing Josse as she did, she suspected he had probably loved her. He loves so many, she thought with a smile. He has such a big heart, and is ever ready to be hoodwinked into believing people are better than they really are.
She pulled herself up short. It was not right to criticize Josse, even in the privacy of her own thoughts.
She got up, pacing round the hall and listening at the various doorways to see if she could detect activity. Where was everyone? Stopping by the entrance to the passage leading to the family’s quarters, in the original extension, she heard voices. Without stopping to think, she strode off to see who it was, what they were doing and whether she could join in.
Following the sound of the voices, she hurried down the passage as it twisted this way and that and came upon a partly open door. In the small, cosy room beyond, warmed by a little fire and illuminated by several candles and lamps, a circle of women sat sewing, heads bent over their work, talking quietly as they stitched. As Helewise paused in the doorway, Editha and Philomena both gave her a smile and Jenna half-rose from her seat. The three little girls looked up eagerly.
‘I am sorry if I intrude,’ Helewise began, ‘but I wondered if—’
I wondered if I might help, and join in whatever you’re doing, she had been about to say.
She didn’t get the chance. Cyrille, who had placed herself in the centre of the group and appeared to be organizing the work, stood up and moved over to the doorway, positioning herself right in front of Helewise as if barring her entry.
‘Oh, no, my lady,’ she said, craning her head on its stocky neck towards Helewise. ‘I am working on my needlepoint, but the other ladies are busy with the household mending, and do not expect our guests to involve themselves with such work!’
She managed to make guests sound almost like an insult. As plainly as if she’d actually spoken the words, her meaning shouted out: You’re an outsider and not welcome in this intimate little circle.
‘I’m sorry,’ Helewise said again, flustered and very embarrassed. ‘I will leave you to get on.’
Not knowing where she was going, only wanting to get away, she hurried off along the passage. She thought she heard voices, swift movements – as if someone had leapt up, and was perhaps protesting, castigating Cyrille for her behaviour – but she did not wait to find out.
She meant well, and was trying to be kind and considerate, she told herself. The fact that I am burning with humiliation and furiously angry is entirely my own fault, and indicative of the fact that I am far too proud, and enjoy my normal position of authority and supposed indispensability a great deal too much.
She strode on, barely aware of her surroundings, all her attention absorbed in the battle not to dislike Cyrille de Picus so much that she yearned to run back and punch her.
After what seemed quite a long time, she came out of her fit of temper. Looking around in some surprise, she found that she had paced right through the house and had emerged in the kitchen quarters at the rear. To her right a storeroom, or larder, opened up, and she could see great hams and joints of smoked meat hanging from stout beams, and barrels of various staples neatly ranged along the walls. To her left was a still room, and from somewhere ahead the sounds of splashing water and chattering voices suggested the servants were still busy clearing up after the meal.
Not wanting to interrupt them, or have one of them ask her solicitously if they could do anything for her, she crept on.
She came to a big, heavy door, standing ajar. Peering out, she saw a covered way leading to the bakehouse, with the dairy some way beyond it. Once again, she could hear voices; the servants were all hard at work. She was about to turn round and creep back the way she had come when a movement caught her eye.
The kitchen quarters were bordered by a high fence made of wooden palings, and in the fence there was a narrow opening filled with a stout gate, which was slowly being pushed open. Intrigued, Helewise watched.
Presently a swaddled figure appeared. Slowly, moving at a shuffle, it came up the well-trodden path to the doorway in which Helewise stood. The path was slushy with melted snow, and the underlying earth had been churned up by the passage of many feet into a slippery squelch of mud.
Afraid that the stumbling figure would fall, she went out to meet it.
‘Are you in need?’ she asked, stopping a few paces short.
The figure stopped, raising a hooded head. In the hood’s dark recesses, Helewise made out a gaunt face with long, shaggy, unkempt grey hair and bright eyes under thick, bristling eyebrows. A scarf covered the nose and mouth, a filthy beard emerging from its lower edge. The hand holding it in place was missing the ring and little fingers. The garments were scarcely more than rags, held together with clumsily sewn string stitches. The deformed feet, half-buried in the mud, were bare.
The beggar stared at Helewise. ‘May I please have a cup of water?’ he asked in a low, cultured voice that crackled with disuse.
‘Of course! Come with me.’ She turned and trotted back up the path, her mind already working on how best to help this poor supplicant. A bowl of soup would be best, for if he was starving – and most people who came begging were starving – then solid food would be rejected by the shrunken belly. She looked behind her to make sure the beggar was following her. Perhaps some small pieces of bread, well soaked in the soup, and—
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
The words, spoken in a tone of horror, cut across her busy thoughts. Spinning round, she saw Cyrille standing on the doorstep, bulging pale blue eyes wide with horror, a fold of her veil held up over her nose and mouth.
‘Someone is here who needs our help,’ Helewise said, keeping her voice low so that the beggar would not hear. ‘He is far gone, I fear, and will walk no further without sustenance.’
Cyrille had not moved. She was staring at the beggar, her eyes unblinking, a few beads of sweat on her forehead. She raised her veil a little higher, peering over the top. Then she turned to Helewise. She did not speak.
‘Will you summon one of the kitchen servants?’ Helewise asked politely, struggling to conceal her impatience. Cyrille had already put her in her place once, and she didn’t want to invite a further snub. ‘He has asked only for water, but we should encourage him to take more than that, if he will, and perhaps find him a warm shawl or cloak and some shoes, if that is possible, for—’
To her amazement, suddenly Cyrille leaned forward, grabbed hold of her sleeve and dragged her inside the house, closing the door with a violent bang.
‘He must not come in!’ she hissed. Then, putting her face right up to Helewise’s, she added in a ferocious whisper, ‘He’s a leper!’
‘Yes, I know,’ Helewise said calmly. Hoping Cyrille wouldn’t notice, she drew back, away from the angry eyes and the fast-panting mouth.
‘There are women and children in this house!’ Cyrille said, her voice rising and her arms folding protectively across her shaking body. ‘They must not be put at risk. It is forbidden.’
By whom? Helewise wondered. Not, surely, by the level-headed, sensible Isabelle, who would undoubtedly know as well as Helewise that the risk of catching the terrible disease from a quick encounter was so small as to be non-existent. Even among the Hawkenlye nuns who heroically chose to be shut away with their patients, it was rare for leprosy to spread, and, in all her years at the abbey, Helewise had only known of two sisters who had succumbed.
When she was quite sure she had control of herself, she said, ‘I understand that you do not wish to admit the man into the house. However, I am prepared to take water and food out to him, and to wait with him while he consumes it. If some warm garment could be found, I’ll give it to him.’
Cyrille had stopped the frantic panting, and now regarded Helewise critically. Whatever terror had held her in its grip seemed to have relented.
Then, unbelievably, she shook her head. A patronizing smile spreading over the pale face, she said, ‘No, my lady. What you ask cannot be done.’ Edging closer again, her expression intent, she was nodding as if in confirmation of her own utterance. ‘I know about such people – they play on our finer sentiments, yet if we give them the assistance for which they crave, it only serves to undermine their efforts at self-improvement.’ Fixing Helewise with a hard stare, she said, ‘He must leave immediately, and I suggest you go out and tell him so.’
Barely able to believe she was actually hearing the words, Helewise said, ‘But, Cyrille, where is he to go? Apart from the fact that he is so weak he can scarcely walk, half his toes are gone, and the snow is deep.’
Cyrille’s face drew into a scowl of distaste, and she sniffed. ‘He must go down to the monks in the priory.’ She went on staring at Helewise, who had been shocked into immobility. ‘Now,’ she added firmly.
Then she spun round and strode away.
Flinging open the door, Helewise hurried out to the beggar, who stood slumped against one of the pillars supporting the roof over the covered way. ‘I am very sorry, but I cannot help you,’ she said. She could feel the hot blood flooding her face. ‘This is not my house, and the woman who came to the door has forbidden the giving of food or drink.’
The leper watched her from steady light-grey eyes. He had lowered his scarf, and she saw that he was missing several teeth. ‘She is afraid,’ he said simply.
‘Needlessly,’ Helewise said with a frown.
‘You know about the sickness?’ he asked, a sudden note of interest in his harsh voice.
‘A little,’ she replied. Enough, she thought, that I am mortified by Cyrille’s ignorance and her brutal refusal to act as she should. ‘You should go down to the priory in the valley,’ she said briskly. ‘The monks there will help you.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Then, to her surprise, he gave a rueful laugh. ‘Nevertheless, I had hoped to avoid approaching them for a little while yet.’ He looked straight into her eyes. ‘They will help me, yes, but once I am under their care, I will never leave.’ He looked up, his face open to the wide sky, his expression anguished. ‘And, in truth, my lady, I am not quite ready to bid farewell to this harsh but beautiful world.’
Her heart was wrung with pity. ‘What would you have me do?’ she whispered.
He smiled. ‘What you must, and, despite what I just said, you have my gratitude.’ She did not move. His smile broadened. ‘I’m asking if you’ll help me down the road to the priory,’ he prompted.
‘Oh! Yes, of course.’ Flustered, she tried to think. He was thin, wasting away, but a man just the same, and clearly beyond the end of his strength. She doubted that she could support him alone. ‘Wait just a moment, and I’ll be back. I will try to find you some boots if I can, for the snow lies thick and you are barefoot.’
He gave her a resigned smile. ‘My lady, do not trouble. I cannot feel my feet.’
She ran back down the passage, skidding round its many corners, hoping the house was as deserted as it had been a short while ago. Where was he? She had to find him, quickly. She tried to recall the way to Hugh’s room – down there, was it? No, that was the wrong direction, surely …
‘Helewise? Whatever’s the matter?’
Josse stood in front of her, his face creased with concern. Grabbing his hand, she dragged him on with her to the big old chest just inside the entrance, where outdoor clothing was dumped, not pausing for any explanation other than, ‘Come with me. We’ll need our heavy cloaks and our boots. Oh, hurry up!’
Supporting the leper between them, and steadily bearing more and more of his weight as the last of his reserves finally ran out, Josse and Helewise got him down the long hill, along the valley path and up to the gates of the priory.
A big, broad-shouldered man, warmly wrapped in a thick woollen cloak, had been watching their approach from the shelter of a little booth that stood beside the gates. As they covered the final few yards, all three staggering now, he came out to meet them. Josse could have cheered with relief.
‘I guessed you were coming here,’ the big man said. With gentle hands, he detached the beggar’s grip on Josse and Helewise’s arms, taking over his full weight and supporting him, apparently as easily as if he had been a child. ‘One for us, is it?’ He looked down into the beggar’s face with a smile.
The beggar made no reply. He stood slumped in the big man’s arms, his head fallen on his chest and his face concealed by his hood. He was, it seemed, beyond speech.
‘He came to the house but we – er, it wasn’t possible to help him, so we have brought him here to you,’ Josse said. Helewise had managed to explain the bare facts of what had happened, and, although he was as revolted by Cyrille’s lack of charity as Helewise clearly was, he found himself reluctant to condemn his kinsmen’s household by going into detail.
The big man was staring at him. ‘Couldn’t even spare a pair of worn-out old boots?’ he asked softly, jerking his head in the direction of the beggar’s feet.
‘We are guests in the house,’ Josse said curtly. ‘It was not for us to criticize the ways of the household.’ The big man nodded, but made no comment. ‘Will you help him, Brother?’
‘He’s not a monk,’ Helewise whispered. ‘The Cluniac order spend their days in prayer and contemplation, and laymen perform all the work of the priory.’
The big man, overhearing, gave her a grin. ‘You are well informed, my lady. I am called Gregory, and I am gatekeeper, porter, puller of the plough on occasions and bearer of anything and everything too heavy for other men.’ He flung out his chest with a certain amount of pride. ‘In answer to your question, yes, we will help him.’ With the same gentleness, he handed the beggar back to Josse. ‘Hold him up while I open the gates, and then, if you have recovered a little strength, come with me, for I must leave you while I find the prior and the infirmarian.’
A short time later, Josse, Helewise, Gregory and the beggar approached the big limestone building where the sick of Lewes Priory were cared for. It stood to the south of the vast church, and beyond it were a series of stew ponds, now frozen over except for one or two places where the ice had been smashed, presumably for fishing holes. Gregory led the way under a low, arched doorway, and they found themselves in a long, wide room lined on either side with cots, most of them occupied. Gregory, now carrying the beggar in his thickly muscled arms, turned immediately to his left, and they followed him into a section of the infirmary that was segregated from the main ward. It seemed to be a place reserved for initial assessment, and was sparsely furnished with a pair of narrow beds and a table, on which there were several rush lamps. Gregory laid the beggar down on one of the beds. Josse heard him say reassuringly, ‘The infirmarian will be here directly. He’s a good man; have no fear.’
He stood back. They waited. Presently, a black-clad monk hurried into the room, two men dressed in plain brown robes at his heels. He muttered a cursory greeting to Josse and Helewise, murmured, ‘Leprosy, you say?’ to Gregory, who nodded, and then knelt down by the bed.
It seemed intrusive to watch the examination. Josse turned away, walking a few paces back along the corridor to the main ward, and Helewise followed. But the monk’s quiet voice still reached them. ‘Damage to your hands and feet,’ they heard him say, ‘and thickening of the skin. Can you feel that?’
‘No,’ came the soft reply.
‘Or that?’
‘No.’
There was a long silence. Then, a note of perplexity in his voice, the monk began, ‘It’s strange, but I don’t—’
‘I know what’s wrong with me,’ the beggar interrupted with surprising force. ‘There is no need to talk of it, and certainly not right now, for I am exhausted and only wish to sleep.’
‘Of course,’ the infirmarian said smoothly. ‘I will leave you in the capable hands of Luke and Philip here.’
He came bustling out into the passage, glanced at Helewise and Josse, then went on past them. They heard his footsteps steadily fading as he crossed the main ward and left the infirmary.
‘Brother Anselm’s off back to his devotions, then,’ Gregory said, emerging from the little room and staring after the departing infirmarian. ‘Still, those two laymen in there know pretty well as much as he does, and they’ll look after our new patient.’
He stood looking at them, and Josse realized he was waiting for them to leave. ‘Thank you,’ he said courteously, ‘I am happy to hear it. Come, Helewise – we should return to Southfire Hall before darkness falls.’
Gregory walked with them back to the gates. His attitude towards them had softened, Josse thought. Perhaps, having had the time for reflection, Gregory had concluded that it really wasn’t a man’s fault if one of the senior women in the house where he was a guest had commanded – in very relentless terms, according to Helewise – that the sick and the impoverished were not on any account to be helped.
As if Gregory’s thoughts had been running along the same lines, he said, ‘Southfire, you said? The place you’re staying?’
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘My Uncle Hugh’s manor. We’ve come to visit because he’s not very well.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ Gregory murmured. ‘The monks are keeping him in their prayers.’
‘I’m grateful.’
Josse had the impression that Gregory had more to say, and after a few moments, he spoke again. ‘I’m surprised, I must admit, at a lack of charity from that house. The family has always been generous when it comes to alms-giving.’
Josse hesitated. Should he explain? He glanced at Helewise, and she shrugged as if to say, Why not?
So he did. ‘My cousin Isabelle’s son married last year,’ he said. ‘His wife has rather firm ideas about how things should be done, and she was quite vehement, apparently, on the subject of donations to the needy.’ He glanced at Helewise.
‘Indeed she was,’ Helewise agreed. ‘She is of the opinion that a beggar will be encouraged in his indolence if he is provided with sustenance, and that generosity undermines his efforts towards independence.’
Gregory’s eyebrows went up. ‘Indeed?’ Slowly he shook his head. ‘Well, it’s a point of view, I suppose. And what of the rest of the family?’
‘Nobody else was present when the beggar came to the door,’ Helewise said swiftly. ‘Had they been, I don’t believe he would have been turned away.’
Feeling the need to defend his kin, Josse said, ‘It seems to me that disagreeing with the lady leads to more trouble than it’s worth. The various members of the family have, I believe, fallen into the unfortunate habit of letting her have her way.’
Gregory nodded his understanding. ‘It happens in a place like this, too,’ he said, ‘even among the holy brethren, their servants and workers, who, you might say, ought to know better.’ He sighed, his pleasant face clouded; clearly he spoke from personal experience. ‘The kindly give way again and again in the face of the strong will of the conscienceless, and then one day you wake up and find you’ve backed yourself into a corner, and the one person’s rules have become the law that everyone else has to live by.’
‘Aye, that describes Cyrille exactly,’ Josse said.
Gregory looked up. ‘Cyrille?’ he queried.
‘Aye. She was Cyrille de Picus before she wed my cousin’s son Herbert.’
‘Herbert of Lewes was his great-grandfather?’
‘Aye, and my grandfather.’
Gregory smiled. ‘A great man. He died, of course, long before I was born, but his name is still honoured hereabouts. He lost his life on crusade, you know.’
Josse grinned. ‘Aye, indeed I do, since he died fighting beside my father.’
Gregory clapped a hand to his forehead. ‘I should have worked it out when you said you were Hugh’s nephew,’ he said. ‘You’re Josse d’Acquin.’
Josse bowed. ‘At your service.’
Gregory didn’t speak for a moment. Again, Josse sensed there was something on his mind. Then: ‘I probably wouldn’t have said this if I hadn’t just realized who you are, but, since I have, I feel obliged to.’ His eyes met Josse’s. ‘Not that I can be specific, mind, but something’s niggling me about the name Cyrille de Picus. There was some unpleasantness, although for the life of me I can’t recall exactly what it was.’
‘She was married before,’ Helewise supplied. ‘To a man named William Crowburgh, by whom she had a son. When he died – last year, or perhaps the year before – Herbert went to offer his condolences, having been a good friend of William Crowburgh’s in their youth, and he and Cyrille fell for each other.’
Gregory shook his head. ‘No, it wasn’t that – it’s all news to me, and not as if there was anything amiss in the tale.’ His brow creased in a deep frown. ‘It was, however, something to do with a marriage; or perhaps a betrothal, and I have the feeling that something very bad happened …’ They waited. Gregory shook his head. ‘It’s no good. I can’t bring it to mind.’
Josse met Helewise’s eyes. He knew, just from that quick look, that she was thinking what he was thinking. ‘May we visit you again, Gregory?’ she said. ‘We would like to check on the health of the beggar, and, if possible, we will try to bring some warm garments for him.’
‘And you’d very much like it if I could scratch my head till I’ve remembered what it was about Cyrille de Picus that rang a bell when I heard her name,’ he added with a grin. ‘Of course, my lady. Come whenever you like, and I hope I’ll have news for you.’
They had reached the gates. Gregory glanced up into the sky. ‘Best get on up to Southfire Hall without delay,’ he advised. ‘Temperature’s dropping, and the clouds are building; it’ll fall dark early, tonight. You—’
Suddenly, as Helewise and Josse watched, a change came over Gregory. He stopped speaking, and all expression seemed to be smoothed off his face, leaving it bland and vacant. His eyes seemed to be focused on something far away.
‘Gregory?’ Josse asked anxiously. ‘Are you all right?’
Slowly the big head on the massive shoulders turned to Josse. ‘You must take care,’ said a chilly, distant voice that was barely recognizable as Gregory’s. ‘There is evil there, and the threat is perilous and imminent.’
‘What do you mean?’ Helewise asked, her voice shrill with fear. ‘Who is threatened?’
Gregory did not respond; it appeared he hadn’t heard her.
Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the brief fugue was gone. Turning back to his contemplation of the skies, Gregory said, in his normal tone, ‘There’s going to be more snow before moonrise, I’ll warrant, so best be quick and get safely within doors. Good evening to you!’
With a cheery wave, he stepped back inside the priory grounds and closed the gates.