In time she accepted the truth. As if they had been waiting for that moment, her new teachers set about the most intensive period of study that she had ever had, instilling into her that she had gifts but they had no virtue and no purpose if she did not learn to use them. Building on what she had learned at Folle-Pensee, they showed her how to make the soul journey into the heart and mind of another, how to seek out whatever malady might lie there and how to cure it. When Samhain came round, the combined effects of her mysterious studies and her exhaustion meant that she was very close to what lay the other side of the veil. Too close, in fact; her teachers, afraid that she would be tempted to raise the veil and venture beyond, would not let her attend the festival. ‘Wait until next year,’ they said kindly, seeing her bitter disappointment, ‘next year you will be strong and the danger will be less.’
She was allowed — encouraged — to celebrate Meggie’s first birthday on the last day of October. But on Samhain night they gave her a strong sedative and she slept, deeply and dreamlessly, into the month of November.
Yule passed. Joanna worked harder and harder, knowing, for all that she had not been told, that she would soon be leaving. In the New Year they sent her back to Mona’s Isle, where she was received joyfully — and, it had to be said, with a certain amount of awe — by the friends she had made there. She celebrated Imbolc with her people there and then, a few days afterwards, the man with the gold earring came for her again and rowed her back to the mainland.
She knew what she had to do, for there had been so many hints that she had taken matters into her own hands and used her scrying bowl. As she trod the long road back to Hawkenlye Forest and her little hut, she was already building her mental strength for what lay ahead.
Part Three
Chapter 10
As Josse awoke in his quarters in the Vale on the morning following his visit to Gervase de Gifford, he went over their conversation. It had not amounted to much, but anything was better than allowing himself to think about the growing number of sick people who lay sweating and suffering not twenty paces from where he sat.
The welcome news that there were no cases of the foreign pestilence down in Tonbridge encouraged Josse to mutter fervent prayers of gratitude as he sipped at the hot herbal drink that Brother Saul had just brought him; Tonbridge lay on the river and its flat, marshy, mist-prone lands seemed to trap foul air. Many people living in and around the town suffered from the ague, and the disease was by no means limited to those who lived in the squalor of poverty. The consequences of this new peril let loose among such a weakened population did not bear thinking about.
Well, then I won’t think about it, Josse decided. As long as sick folk come up here to Hawkenlye — which is, after all, the obvious place if they want help — then Tonbridge ought to be safe.
Brother Saul brought him a bowl of porridge. With a smile of thanks, Josse took it and, although he didn’t feel much like eating, forced himself to finish it. Then he stood up, straightened his tunic and took his bowl and mug to wash them at the monks’ trough. Saul hurried to take the utensils from him; although Josse protested, clearly Saul considered that washing up was no job for a knight.
Saul dried his hands on a piece of sacking and reported that morning’s figures, which Josse had offered to pass on to the Abbess: the son and daughter-in-law in the party of five who had arrived the previous day were now very ill and unlikely to survive the day; the woman’s sister was also feverish, although her child remained well. The crippled boy and the man who had arrived on the cart were also very poorly, but the woman who had brought them in had not sickened and was proving a great help to the nursing sisters.
Poor Sister Beata had developed an agonising headache but as yet showed no signs of developing a fever; two more nurses, Sister Anne and Sister Judith, had been ordered to report to the makeshift infirmary in the Vale.
There was one notable exception in Saul’s report. Putting a hand on the man’s arm, Josse said softly, ‘And Brother Firmin?’
Saul’s eyes filled with tears and he shook his head.
All in all, it was not very good tidings for Josse to bear to the Abbess.
Helewise had been waiting for Josse for some time when he finally arrived and as he gave her the news from the Vale, she was aware of exhibiting a degree of impatience, for which she quickly apologised.
‘Please, think nothing of it, my lady,’ he said courteously, ‘I quite understand how you must feel.’
Oh, dear Josse, I don’t think you do, she thought ruefully. Then, deciding that it would do no good to hedge around what she had to say, that, in fact, such tactics would probably annoy him and increase the chances of a refusal, she said, ‘Sir Josse, you may have already been informed that yesterday Sister Tiphaine and Sister Euphemia made various attempts to harness the power of the Eye of Jerusalem in drinks and, for those too sick to swallow, in washes with which to bathe their wounds and their faces.’
He was watching her warily. ‘Aye. Brother Saul told me.’
‘Neither remedy had done any good by yesterday evening and, judging by your report, there have been no miraculous recoveries during the night.’
‘No.’ Now wariness had turned to something approaching hostility, as if he knew full well what was coming.
‘Sir Josse, will you try?’ Helewise implored. ‘Will you take back the Eye and use it to save those poor, suffering souls under Sister Euphemia’s care?’
He shook his head violently. ‘My lady, you know what I think about that stone! Why do you persist in asking me to try to use it when you are fully aware that I fear it?’
‘You fear giving it to your nieces!’ she cried. ‘It is not the same thing to try its power yourself!’
‘I gave it away!’ he shouted back. ‘I gave it to you — you are now its rightful owner, you and the sisters!’
‘But they have tried and failed! Oh, please, Josse, I’m begging you to help us!’
He glared at her but, as she watched, searching his angry face for any signs that he might yield, it seemed that his expression softened. ‘Do you really think it will make a difference if the Eye is wielded by my hand?’ he asked.
‘I-’ In truth, she had no idea. ‘Possibly,’ she said cautiously.
‘Well, that’s an honest answer,’ he said wryly. ‘Very well, my lady. I’ll have a go.’
Together they went down to the Vale. Brother Augustus hurried to the shrine and fetched another flask of the holy water. Josse pushed up his sleeves and, taking the Eye of Jerusalem from Sister Tiphaine with such an expression of distaste that, had the situation not been so grave, Helewise might have laughed, he dipped it into the water. He held it there for some time. Then Sister Tiphaine said quietly, ‘I reckon that’ll do it, sir. If you have the touch, it’ll have worked by now. If not. . ’ Tactfully she left the sentence unfinished.
Sister Anne was summoned and she disappeared into the shelter with the precious water.
They waited.
Later that morning, Sister Euphemia emerged from the temporary infirmary with blood on her apron and fatigue in her face. She located Josse, Helewise and Sister Tiphaine in the small shrine that housed the holy water spring. ‘The two women who arrived yesterday morning are dead,’ she said baldly. ‘That’s another motherless child to be taken care of,’ she added, half to herself.
‘The water did no good?’ Josse asked. Helewise, observing his stricken face, felt a wave of compassion for him.