The Chatter of the Maidens Page 9

  Chapter Nine

  Having seen Brother Saul, Brother Augustine and the horses on their way to the guest lodgings of the monastery, Helewise asked one of the monks to direct her to the superior.

  As she followed the black-robed figure along a maze of narrow corridors, she was cross with herself for her nervousness. This abbey might be very grand and have its own vast cathedral all but completed, she told herself, but Hawkenlye is equally important to God. Detecting a certain amount of worldly pride in the thought, she crushed it.

  The monk tapped on a large oak door and, when a cool voice said ‘Enter’, opened it and stood aside to usher Helewise inside the room.

  The monk who sat within, evidently busy with the sort of endless paperwork with which Helewise was all too familiar, looked up. His unsmiling face was thin to the point of boniness, and the light eyes under pale, almost invisible eyebrows and lashes had no discernible colour. Nor did they have any discernible warmth. He said curtly, ‘Yes?’

  She introduced herself. Trying to ignore the element of mockery in his incredulous ‘All the way from Hawkenlye? In Kent?’, she proceeded to state her business in Ely. Watching a hard, cutting smile spread across the thin face, she realised, too late, her mistake. ‘Naturally,’ she hastened to say, ‘I did not expect to find that Sister Alba had actually been here in Ely, but I did wonder if—’

  But he was not listening. Too busy enjoying her discomfiture, he interrupted her: ‘We have no nuns here, Abbess. This is a monastery.’ The slow delivery of the word ‘monastery’ – as if she were a halfwit and incapable of understanding – was insulting.

  Anger gave her dignity, and told her what to say. ‘I am aware of that,’ she said calmly. ‘I have come here merely to ask you to inform me of those foundations in the vicinity that are for women.’ He opened his mouth – no doubt to say something else cutting – but she did not let him speak. ‘Sister Alba was very sparing in giving details,’ she went on, ‘and so I must ask you, if it is not too much trouble, to give me a comprehensive list of all the convents you know of. Only when I am able to speak in private with her former superior is there any chance of my resolving this vexing situation, and so permitting my community to return to our duty of serving God as He has ordained for us.’

  Her determination seemed to have some effect; the abbot’s supercilious expression relaxed slightly as he said, ‘I understand your position, Abbess.’ Then, after a pause as if to gather his thoughts, he said, ‘You should, I advise, visit the nuns of Chatteris, and those in the priory at Cambridge, those being the two houses closest to us at Ely.’ He frowned. ‘Although why anybody would say Ely when their foundation was in Cambridge, I cannot say.’ He was silent for some moments, apparently thinking. Then he said, ‘Perhaps you might do better to go first to the small Benedictine house near to the Templar preceptory at Denney. Denney is between Ely and Cambridge; I therefore opine that it is more likely that somebody might possibly have described that location as being at Ely.’ He gave a brief shake of the head, as if in incredulity at how anybody could be so ill-advised. ‘Yes, Denney,’ he repeated. Then, fixing hard and amused eyes on Helewise, added, ‘The nuns there run a madhouse.’

  His faint sneer said all too plainly that he thought Helewise might well be admitted to it.

  ‘Is there no other convent nearer?’ she asked, ignoring the sneer.

  The disdainful look intensified. ‘Nothing worth the name,’ he said coldly. ‘However, there is Sedgebeck.’

  ‘Sedgebeck?’

  He did not answer. Instead, he said, ‘Your nun – this troublesome Sister Anne—’

  ‘Alba.’

  ‘– does not appear, you judge, to have absorbed the essence of the cloistered life?’

  Untangling his pedantry, she said, ‘No. I do not believe she has.’

  Now he was actually smiling, probably, Helewise thought, at the pleasant prospect of imminently seeing the back of her. ‘Then I would venture to suggest that, before Denney, to Sedgebeck you should go.’

  She wasn’t going to risk allowing him to snub her by asking why; in all probability, he would say something annoying such as ‘That you must judge for yourself, Abbess, I could not possibly say’. Instead, she merely said, ‘I thank you for your time,’ and turned to leave the room.

  He called out: ‘Do you not need me to give directions?’

  Feeling a small and totally unworthy sense of triumph, she said sweetly, ‘Indeed no, Abbot, I shall ask someone who, unlike yourself, is not engaged in such all-absorbing work.’

  She found her way back to the courtyard, where Saul and Augustine were waiting for her.

  She said, ‘We have to find somewhere called Sedgebeck, then a place called Denney, where Benedictine nuns run a madhouse. Do you know of either, Augustine?’ The young brother shook his head. ‘Then we need to ask for directions,’ she continued. ‘Have you met any friendly, Christian soul who might provide them?’

  Augustine raised an eyebrow, and exchanged a swift glance with Saul. Both, Helewise noted, were too well disciplined to enquire why the Abbot hadn’t told her which way to go.

  ‘I shall ask the stabler,’ Saul said. ‘He says he is a local man.’

  Soon he was back. ‘For Sedgebeck, we have to go back the way we came, re-cross Wicken Lode, and go south towards a low isle that we’ll see directly in front of us. That’s Sedgebeck. Denney lies south-west of here, and it is a good road.’

  Saul, Helewise noticed, looked pale. ‘Thank you, Saul,’ she said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, Abbess.’

  ‘I suggest, then, that we leave straight away,’ she announced. ‘We have several hours of daylight left, and if neither Sedgebeck nor Denney is the right place, then the sooner we establish that, the sooner we can get on with finding the one that is.’

  Brother Saul’s mouth had dropped open. ‘Abbess, if we’re heading for Sedgebeck, I really think we would be better to set out in the morning,’ he said. Beads of sweat were standing out on his forehead.

  ‘Why, Saul?’ she asked gently, greatly surprised that her stalwart Brother Saul seemed to be showing all the signs of extreme terror. ‘What else did the stabler tell you about the place?’

  ‘Abbess, if it truly is where Sister Alba was, then it’s no wonder the poor lass is losing her wits!’ His voice dropped to a whisper, and he edged closer. Augustine, Helewise noticed, did as well. They must look, she reflected wryly, like a trio of witches.

  ‘Sedgebeck has an evil reputation,’ Saul murmured. ‘People have got lost there in the marshes, and gone clean out of their wits! And there’s shifting sands, too, in the waterways, that suck an unwary traveller in and don’t give up the body till he’s long dead and drowned! There’s things that live in the water thereabouts that no man wants to encounter, unholy things, things that creep up out of the ooze and steal livestock. Steal babies, too, so the stabler says.’

  Helewise straightened up and said firmly, ‘Saul, you have been listening to superstitious gossip. Do you really think that Our Blessed Lord would allow such things on His earth, especially so near to the sanctified ground of one of His holy communities?’

  ‘But that’s just it, it seems they do say that Sedgebeck is not—’ Saul began.

  ‘And that,’ Helewise interrupted, ‘sounds very like gossip of another kind, but just as reprehensible! Please, brothers, fetch the horses, see if you can beg some provisions from the good monks, and let’s be on our way.’

  With one last miserable look in her direction, Saul did as she commanded. Augustine went to follow him, but stopped. ‘Abbess?’ he said softly.

  ‘Yes, Augustine?’

  ‘It may not necessarily be just gossip, you know. We should take heed – these rumours don’t grow up for nothing, not in my experience.’

  She should have listened. Augustine’s experience, having been brought up a child of the travelling people, was worth heeding.

  But she was still suffering from the after-effects
of her interview with the Abbot, and reasoning with two lay brothers, wide eyed with peasant dread, did not appeal just then. She said curtly, ‘Please go and help Brother Saul. We leave as soon as we can be ready.’

  The sun was low in the sky as they set out. A splendid sunset was painting the sky flaming orange, and small, brilliant pink clouds were puffing up from the cooling land. There were rustling sounds coming from the reed beds which, Helewise told herself, were doubtless waterfowl settling into their roosts.

  They rode for some time. Then the weather changed.

  A bank of cloud low on the horizon suddenly began to grow, blooming quickly like some weird, black fungus, spreading rapidly up the sky. There was a distant, ominous growl of thunder.

  Saul, edging the cob up close beside Helewise, said urgently, ‘Abbess, there’s a storm coming!’

  ‘Indeed there is, Brother Saul. What do you—?’

  But Augustine, in the lead, interrupted. Turning round, he called out, ‘If we proceed to Sedgebeck, we’re going to be drenched. It will take time – we have to find the way, and it’s likely some of the dykes and ditches may flood if there’s heavy rain. But it’s a straight road to Denney, and only another four or five miles – should we not head there, Abbess?’

  She thought quickly. Keep to the plan and seek out the convent hidden away in the fens? Or divert and go to Denney?

  Another clap of thunder rolled towards them across the flat land. Swiftly making up her mind, she called out to Augustine, ‘Lead us to Denney!’

  They arrived as the first raindrops started to fall; big, round and hard as stones, they pounded agonisingly on to the three riders. Helewise tried to cover her head with one hand as she watched Augustine shouting at the porter above the sounds of the storm; he must have known exactly what to say for, after a moment, the big gate was thrown open and they all rode inside.

  A couple of sacking-covered figures ran out to help, taking the horses and hurrying them under cover as another figure, also sheltering under a sack, peered out from a partly-opened door and beckoned the Abbess and the two lay brothers inside.

  It was only as this figure was removing its sack and speaking words of welcome that Helewise realised it was a man. Hurriedly responding to the greeting, she asked, ‘Is this not the Benedictine house at Denney?’

  And the man, who, with the sack fully removed, was revealed as young, fresh-faced and dressed in a black habit, said, ‘No. This is indeed Denney, but you are come to the Templar preceptory. Was it the Benedictines whom you sought, Sister?’

  ‘It was,’ she replied.

  The man cocked an ear to another great rumble of thunder. ‘Then I suggest you delay your mission until morning, and stay with us for this wild night.’

  She could almost feel the relief coming off her two companions. With a bow to the black-robed monk, she said, ‘Thank you. We gratefully accept your hospitality.’

  The guesthouse of the Templars was luxurious.

  Helewise, who was, she reckoned, probably the only woman under the preceptory’s roof, had a room to herself. She was provided with hot water, a delicious meal and a jug of wine, and a fire was lit for her to dry her clothing. She slept soundly, in a very comfortable bed with linen sheets and soft, woollen blankets.

  Reunited with Saul and Augustine in the morning, the same monk who had received them the night before led them to a small room, where they were served breakfast. Helewise was just wondering why they were kept apart from the community when the monk said, ‘Forgive us if we appear preoccupied. We are in the midst of grave afflictions that demand our Master’s full attention, and that of our senior brothers.’

  ‘I am sorry that we add to your burdens,’ Helewise replied.

  ‘Please, no need for apologies.’ The monk smiled at her. ‘I have been detailed to give you what help I can; may I take you to the Benedictine house, for example? Perhaps if you could reveal your business with the sisters there. . . .’

  Helewise saw no reason to ignore his invitation. She explained her mission but, before she had finished, the monk had begun to shake his head. ‘Abbess – forgive me for having addressed you as Sister last night – Abbess, I can save you a wasted journey, for the nuns at Denney are most unlikely to have accepted your Sister Alba into their community. The nuns are all – er, mature in years, and without exception have been in the convent many years. Newcomers do not present themselves there seeking to join the community, for the work is arduous, and the Lord calls few to serve Him there.’

  Helewise suppressed a sigh. Oh, dear, it looked as though she and the lay brothers were going to have to brave Sedgebeck. She met the young monk’s anxious eyes. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘In that case, we must go on to the convent at Sedgebeck, and enquire whether the nuns there know of our Sister Alba.’

  ‘Sedgebeck,’ the young monk repeated, frowning. ‘I seem to recall the name . . . now where did I hear tell of the place?’ His face cleared and he had just begun on a cheerful ‘Yes, I recall now!’ when the door opened and another, older monk entered.

  Without preamble, the newcomer said curtly, ‘Brother Timothy? Your presence is required in the dormitory, where Brother Adam needs you to help him repair the roof.’

  The younger man had leapt to his feet. ‘But I was just. . . .’

  ‘Now, please, Brother Timothy,’ the older monk said, in a voice which allowed for no argument.

  With a bow to Helewise, and a deeper bow to his fellow monk, Brother Timothy left the room.

  The older monk said, ‘You are bound for Sedgebeck, Abbess?’ Helewise nodded. ‘Then I recommend that you leave as soon as the rain stops.’

  With no further speech – and no explanation of his remark – he, too, left the room.

  Helewise and the two lay brothers saw no other monks before they left. Soon after midday, at last the rain eased up and allowed them to get on their way, and Helewise reflected that, whatever was preoccupying the brethren at Denney, it must be quite serious. Grateful for their hospitality, even if they had been somewhat aloof, she prayed that their troubles would soon be resolved.

  They made reasonable progress along tracks made muddy and sodden with rain. Refreshed from a good night’s sleep and a generous breakfast, they did not stop for more than a brief halt and, by late afternoon, Augustine reckoned they could not have many more miles to go.

  In the lead as before, he drew rein and, shading his eyes against the sunset, stared out over the wetlands to the south. ‘I can see a rise, there, straight ahead,’ he commented.

  Helewise looked where he was pointing. ‘Yes, I see it. Do you think it is Sedgebeck?’

  ‘Hope so,’ Saul muttered.

  ‘Come along, then,’ she said decisively. ‘It cannot be far. If we press on, we should surely be there before long.’

  They pressed on. But, no matter how hard they tried to steer a straight line towards the rise, obstacles seemed to keep throwing themselves in their path. They would come to a lode just too wide for the horses to jump safely, or just too deep to ford. And, every time they had to divert to the east or the west, the growing darkness made it that much more difficult to discern the faint hump that was Sedgebeck.

  After a long, anxious wait while Augustine stood up in the stirrups, peering into the gloom, Helewise said, ‘Can you still see the place, Augustine?’

  ‘I think so,’ he replied, his voice sounding blessedly normal. Then: ‘Aye. We must head along this bank,’ – he indicated to the left – ‘quickly find a place to cross, then go straight ahead. That should do us.’

  Saul was muttering under his breath. It sounded as if he were praying.

  They found a piece of reasonably firm ground and put the horses at the ditch crossing their path. All landed safely; perhaps, Helewise thought, we should all join in with Saul’s prayers, since the dear Lord seems to be listening.

  They set out towards the island. The ghostly shape of a large, home-going bird flew across in front of them, a dark silhouette against the las
t of the light; Augustus said calmly, ‘Heron.’ And, as the warm, damp darkness seemed to settle around them, they heard the high-pitched, unmistakable whine of mosquitoes.

  Slapping at her cheek, Helewise said urgently, ‘Hurry, Augustine!’

  But, still calm, his voice floated back to her, ‘No need for alarm, Abbess. It’s best to make our way carefully, let the horses pick out their own path. Don’t worry, they know where it’s safe to tread.’

  Fighting down her panic, Helewise took a couple of deep, steadying breaths, and began to pray.

  It was fully dark when at last they climbed the slope up on to the island. The wet, heavy clay soil stuck to the horses’ feet, and their hooves made a different sound in the still night.

  From the low, reed-thatched buildings ahead that seemed to be the convent came neither sound nor light. Oh, dear God, there’s nobody here! Helewise thought. They’ve fled, or all died of the ague, or run from the demons and devils. . . .

  She heard a low moan from Saul. In front of her, Augustine sat on Horace’s back as if turned to stone. They are my responsibility, these good, loyal men, she told herself. I must not sit here in dread – it is I who brought them here, and it is I who must try to rescue this awful situation. . . .

  Leaping into action before her fear could overcome her totally, she slid off Honey’s back – the horses were not afraid, she noted almost subconsciously, so it couldn’t be that bad – and, handing the reins to Saul, strode up to what looked like an opening in the low wooden stockade surrounding the buildings. There was a hurdle drawn across the gap, which she pushed aside. Immediately some animal that had been penned inside rushed past her and disappeared, with a splash of running feet, into the fen.

  Oh, dear, she thought, hoping that the creature, whatever it was, wouldn’t go far. She slid the hurdle back in place again, and went on towards the nearest of the buildings, which was the only one of any size.