‘No,’ Sister Euphemia said. ‘I’m sorry, Sir Josse. Looks like the Eye must have known you gave it away.’
‘Oh,’ he said lamely.
‘We had to try, Sir Josse!’ Helewise said, trying to rally him. ‘We could not have known that-’
But Josse was not to be consoled. ‘I am a coward and a fool,’ he muttered, scowling, ‘for we have in our very hands a jewel with the power to heal and by my actions I have rendered it useless.’ He bowed, first to Helewise and then to the herbalist and the infirmarer, who stood close together with similar looks of concern on their faces. ‘It is a heavy burden to bear,’ Josse added. ‘If you will excuse me, my lady’ — he had turned back to Helewise — ‘I shall take Horace out for a ride and think about how best I may make amends for my faults.’
Before she could say a word, he was off, hurrying away off up the path back to the Abbey.
The three nuns watched him until he was just a small, anonymous figure climbing up the steep path; the very way he was moving spoke of dejection and failure. Then Sister Euphemia said quietly, ‘Oh, dear.’
Helewise had been thinking hard, arguing with her conscience. She came to a decision.
As the infirmarer announced wearily that she must be getting back to her patients, Helewise lightly touched the arm of the herbalist. ‘Sister Tiphaine,’ she said, ‘walk with me, please.’ To her distress her voice was not quite steady. She took a breath and tried again. ‘I would speak with you on a private matter,’ she continued, very softly, ‘and we shall take the path beside the pond and continue until there is no danger of our being overheard.’
Sister Tiphaine’s eyes widened but, disciplined nun that she was, she bowed to her superior, muttered, ‘Of course, my lady,’ and, as Helewise strode away, fell into step behind her.
Helewise continued along the path until she reached the place where it began to curve around the end of the pond. Then, beneath the skeletal branches of a copse of winter-bare birch trees, she turned and faced the herbalist.
‘Sister Tiphaine,’ she began — she had been rehearsing what she would say as she walked — ‘you may or may not be aware that there is a prophecy concerning the Eye of Jerusalem, which was revealed to Sir Josse when the jewel came into his hands.’
‘Indeed, my lady?’ The herbalist’s face remained blank; if she was aware of any such thing, it appeared that she was not going to admit it to her Abbess.
Helewise sniffed. ‘Indeed,’ she repeated. ‘The Eye was presented to Josse’s father by some foreign prince in Outremer in gratitude for Sir Geoffroi having saved the man’s little son. It was lost — stolen, in fact — but in due course it found its way back to its rightful owner, who, Sir Geoffroi having died, was Sir Josse. At the time the Eye was presented to Sir Josse, it was predicted that one day it would go to a female descendant of Sir Josse’s who would have the power to bring the stone alive and awaken its full powers, which are apparently considerable and extend far beyond lowering fevers and testing for poison.’
‘Oh, aye, that they do,’ muttered the herbalist.
But Helewise, intent on what she was saying, barely registered the remark.
‘Now Sir Josse has no wife and no child,’ she continued, ‘and when he heard these words he was alarmed, because he thought, quite reasonably, that the man who spoke them was referring to one of his nieces; he has four brothers, Sister, and between them they have three little daughters. Or is it four?’ She frowned, trying to remember what Josse had told her. ‘No matter. Nieces there are, and Sir Josse greatly feared laying this extraordinary and frightening burden on to any one of them.’
‘He was right to be wary,’ observed Sister Tiphaine. ‘Such a thing should not fall into the wrong hands. For one thing, it would remain inert unless whoever holds it knows what she’s about.’
‘Quite, quite,’ said Helewise. Again, her preoccupation with the delicate matter she was trying to raise meant that she paid less than full attention to her herbalist’s comment, which, considering it revealed that Sister Tiphaine appeared to know more than a nun ought to about pagan power objects, was perhaps just as well.
‘Sister,’ Helewise said boldly, ‘I am going to describe a sequence of events to you that may or may not actually have happened. Two years ago, in the February of that year, Sir Josse met a young woman who was fleeing from — well, never mind what she was fleeing from. The relevant fact is that she — her name was Joanna de Courtenay — hid in the Great Forest close by Hawkenlye, where she and Sir Josse met and. .’ Oh, but this was difficult! Agonising, Helewise thought, supposing I am wrong and have been wrong all along? If so, I shall be making accusations that damage the good names of two innocent people!
But there was something in Sister Tiphaine’s wary expression that suggested Helewise was not wrong at all. .
Heartened, she continued. ‘Let us imagine for a moment that Sir Josse and Joanna de Courtenay became lovers and that she conceived a child. That child would have been born some time in the autumn of that year, and so now he or she would be about sixteen months old.’
She paused to see if Sister Tiphaine would comment. The herbalist remained silent.
‘Sister, if indeed a child has been born to Joanna de Courtenay, and if Sir Josse is that child’s father, and if the child is a girl, then do you not see what it will mean?’
‘I do, my lady,’ the herbalist said quietly. ‘If those events really happened, then the descendant spoken of in the prophecy could be alive now.’
Helewise could not help but notice the heavy emphasis on if.
‘Sister Tiphaine,’ she said, after a pause, ‘it is said of you that you keep a foot in the pagan past and I admit that I have always considered there to be something — er — slightly strange about you.’ A brief flash of humour crossed the herbalist’s impassive face, there and gone before Helewise could properly register it. ‘However, you are a dutiful and obedient nun, a skilled herbalist, wise in the lore of healing and, in general, an asset to our community.’
‘Thank you, my lady.’
‘For this reason I have permitted a certain leeway over your comings and goings that I would not tolerate in another sister.’ Now Helewise fixed the herbalist with a glare. ‘In particular, I speak of your links with the forest people. Oh, it’s no use denying that they exist, Sister, for I am convinced that they do.’
‘I was not going to deny them, my lady,’ the herbalist said tranquilly. ‘I learned much of what I know from the forest people and I have never found any malice or evil among them.’
‘They are pagans, Sister, and you are a professed nun and vowed servant of Our Lord Jesus Christ and his holy father,’ Helewise reminded her.
‘Aye, and right glad I am to serve him,’ Sister Tiphaine said. ‘But-’
She bit back what she had been about to say, instead bowing her head and, with an air of humility, waited for whatever her Abbess might say next.
But Helewise did not speak. Into her head, where she had heard it before, a calm voice said, All gods are one god and behind them is the truth.
Who are you? Helewise cried mutely. Won’t you tell me?
But, as before, there was no answer.
After a moment, she addressed Sister Tiphaine again. ‘I am not asking you to speak now,’ she said, pleased to find that her voice held its usual authoritative tone, ‘I am simply asking you to consider what I have said and to think how best to act so as to benefit the greatest number of people.’
Sister Tiphaine nodded slowly. ‘A gem of power wielded in the destined hand would be useful just now, my lady, even if the hand were but that of a small child,’ she said. ‘There’s no denying it.’
‘Exactly!’ Helewise said eagerly. ‘You and Sister Euphemia have tried, Sir Josse has tried, but none of you have met with success. People are dying, people who could perhaps be saved.’