Chapter Six

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N icholas commandeered a change of horses twiceon the way south, leaving those he had ridden hard to await theearly return he foresaw, with the news he had promised to carryfaithfully, whether good or bad. The stench of burning, old andacrid now, met him on the wind some miles from Wherwell, and whenhe entered what was left of the small town it was to find an almostde-peopled desolation. The few whose houses had survived unlootedand almost undamaged were sorting through their premises andsalvaging their goods, but those who had lost their dwellings inthe fire held off cautiously as yet from coming back to rebuild.For though the raiding party from Winchester had been either wipedout or made prisoner, and William of Ypres had withdrawn thequeen’s Flemings to their old positions ringing the city andthe region, this place was still within the circle, and might yetbe subjected to more violence.

Nicholas made his way with a cramped and anxious heart to theenclave of the nunnery, one of the three greatest in the shire,until this disaster fell upon its buildings and laid the half ofthem flat and the rest uninhabitable. The shell of the church stoodup gaunt and blackened against the cloudless sky, the walls jaggedand discoloured like decayed teeth. There were new graves in thenuns’ cemetery.

As for the survivors, they were gone, there was no home for themhere. He looked at the newly-turned earth with a sick heart, andwondered whose daughters lay beneath. There had not yet been timeto do more for them than bury them, they were nameless.

He would not let himself even consider that she might be there.He looked for the parish church and sought out the priest, who hadgathered two homeless families beneath his roof and in his barn. Acareworn, tired man, growing old, in a shabby gown that neededmending.

“The nuns?” he said, stepping out from his low, darkdoorway. “They’re scattered, poor souls, we hardly knowwhere. Three of them died in the fire. Three that we know of, butthere may well be more, lying under the rubble there still. Therewas fighting all about the court and the Flemings were draggingtheir prisoners out of the church, but neither side cared for thewomen. Some are fled into Winchester, they say, thoughthere’s little safety to be found there, but the lord bishopmust try to do something for them, their house was allied to theOld Minster. Others… I don’t know! I hear the abbessis fled to a manor near Reading, where she has kin, and some shemay have taken with her. But all’s confusion—who cantell?”

“Where is this manor?” demanded Nicholas feverishly,and was met by a weary shake of the head.

“It was only a thing I heard—no one said where. Itmay not even be true.”

“And you do not know, Father, the names of those sisterswho died?” He trembled as he asked it.

“Son,” said the priest with infinite resignation,“what we found could not have a name. And we have yet to seekthere for others, when we have found enough food to keep thosealive who still live. The empress’s men looted our housesfirst, and after them the Flemings. Those who have, here, mustshare with those who have nothing. And which of us has very much?God knows not I!”

Nor had he, in material things, only in tired but obstinatecompassion. Nicholas had bread and meat in his saddlebag, broughtfor provision on the road from his last halt to change horses. Hehunted it out and put it into the old man’s hands, a meagredrop in a hungry ocean, but the money in his purse could buynothing here where there was nothing to buy. They would have tomilk the countryside to feed their people. He left them to theirstubborn labours, and rode slowly through the rubble of Wherwell,asking here and there if anyone had more precise information toimpart. Everyone knew the sisters had dispersed, no one could saywhere. As for one woman’s name, it meant nothing, it mightnot even be the name by which she had entered on her vows.Nevertheless, he continued to utter it wherever he enquired,doggedly proclaiming the irreplaceable uniqueness of Julian Grace,separate from all other women.

From Wherwell he rode on into Winchester. A soldier of the queencould pass through the iron ring without difficulty, and in thecity it was plain that the empress’s faction werehard-pressed, and dared not venture far from their tight fortressin the castle. But the nuns of Winchester, themselves earlierendangered and now breathing more easily, could tell him nothing ofJulian Grace. Some sisters from Wherwell they had taken in andcherished, but she was not among them. Nicholas had speech with oneof their elder members, who was kind and solicitous, but could nothelp him.

“Sir, it is a name I do not know. But consider, there isno reason I should know it, for surely this lady may have taken avery different name when she took her vows, and we do not ask oursisters where they came from, nor who they once were, unless theychoose to tell us freely. And I had no office that should bring meknowledge of these things. Our abbess would certainly be able toanswer you, but we do not know where she is now. Our prioress,also. We are as lost as you. But God will find us, and bring ustogether again. As he will find for you the one youseek.”

She was a shrewd, agile, withered woman, thin as a gnat butindestructible as scutch grass. She eyed him with mildly amusedsympathy, and asked blandly: “She is kin to you, thisJulian?”

“No,” said Nicholas shortly, “but I would havehad her kin, and very close kin, too.”

“And now?”

“I want to know her safe, living, content. There is nomore in it. If she is so, God keep her so, and I amsatisfied.”

“If I were you,” said the lady, after viewing himclosely for some moments in silence, “I should go on toRomsey. It is far enough removed to be a safer place than here, andit is the greatest of our Bendictine houses in these parts. Godknows which of our sisters you may find there, but surely some, andit may be, the highest.”

He was young enough and innocent enough still, for all histravels, to be strongly moved by any evidence of trust andkindness, and he caught and kissed her hand in taking leave, asthough she had been his hostess somewhere in hall. She, for herpart, was too old and experienced to blush or bridle, but when hewas gone she sat smiling a long, quiet while, before she rejoinedher sisters. He was a very personable young man.

Nicholas rode the twelve miles or so to Romsey insobering solemnity, aware he might be drawing near to an answerpossibly not to his liking. Once clear of Winchester and on his wayfurther south-west, he was delivered from any threat, for he wentthrough country where the queen’s writ ran without challenge.Pleasant, rolling country, well tree’d even before he reachedthe fringes of the great forest. He came to the abbey gatehouse, inthe heart of the small town, in the late evening, and rang the bellat the gate.

The portress peered at him through the grille, and asked hisbusiness. He stooped entreatingly to the grid, and gazed into apair of bright, elderly eyes in beds of wrinkles.

“Sister, have you given refuge here to some of the nuns ofWherwell? I am seeking for news of one of them, and could get noanswers there.”

The portress eyed him narrowly, and saw a young face soiled anddrawn with travel, a young man alone, and in dead earnest, nothreat. Even here in Romsey they had learned to be cautious aboutopening their gates, but the road beyond him was empty and still,and the twilight folded down on the little town peacefullyenough.

“The prioress and three sisters reached here,” shesaid, “but I doubt if any of them can tell you much of therest, not yet. But come within, and I’ll ask if she willspeak with you.”

The wicket clanked open, lock and chain, and he stepped throughinto the court. “Who knows?” said the portress kindly,fastening the door again after him. “One of our three may bethe one you’re seeking. At least you may try.”

She led him along dim corridors to a small, panelled parlour,lit by a tiny lamp, and there left him. The evening meal would belong over, even Compline past, it was almost time for sleeping.They would want him satisfied, if satisfaction was possible, andout of their precinct before the night.

He could not rest or sit, but was prowling the room like a cagedbear when a further door opened, and the prioress of Wherwell camequietly in. A short, round, rosy woman, but with a formidablystrong face and exceedingly direct brown eyes, that studied hervisitor from head to foot in one piercing glance as he made hisreverence to her.

“You asked for me, I am told. I am here. How can I helpyou?”

“Madam,” said Nicholas, trembling for awe of whatmight come, “I was well north, in Shropshire, when I heard ofthe sack of Wherwell. There was a sister there of whose vocation Ihad only just learned, and now all I want is to know that she livesand is safe after that outrage. Perhaps to speak with her, and seefor myself that she is well, if that can be permitted. I did ask inWherwell itself, but could get no word of her—I know only thename she had in the world.”

The prioress waved him to a seat, and herself sat down apart,where she could watch his face. “May I know your own name,sir?”

“My name is Nicholas Harnage. I was squire to GodfridMarescot until he took the cowl in Hyde Mead. He was formerlybetrothed to this lady, and he is anxious now to know that she issafe and well.”

She nodded at that very natural desire, but nevertheless herbrows had drawn together in a thoughtful and somewhat puzzledfrown. “That name I know, Hyde was proud of having gainedhim. But I never recall hearing… What is the name of thissister you seek?”

“In the world she was Julian Cruce, of a Shropshirefamily. The sister I spoke with in Wherwell had never heard thename, but it may well be that she chose a very different name whenshe took the veil. But you will know of her both before andafter.”

“Julian Cruce?” she repeated, erect and intent now,her sharp eyes narrowing. “Young sir, are you not in somemistake? You are sure it was Wherwell she entered? Not some otherhouse?”

“No, certainly, madam, Wherwell,” he said earnestly.“I had it from her brother himself, he could not bemistaken.”

There was a moment of taut silence, while she considered andshook her head over him, frowning. “When was it that sheentered the Order? It cannot be long ago.”

“Three years, madam. The date I cannot tell, but it wasabout a month after my lord took the cowl, and that was in themiddle of July.” He was frightened now by the strangeness ofher reception. She was shaking her head dubiously, and regardinghim with mingled sympathy and bewilderment. “It may be thatthis was before you held office…”

“Son,” she said ruefully, “I have beenprioress for more than seven years now, there is not a name amongour sisters that I don’t know, whether the world’s nameor the cloistered, not an entry I have not witnessed. And sorry asI am to say it, and little as I myself understand it, I cannotchoose but tell you, past any doubt, that no Julian Cruce everasked for, or received the veil at Wherwell. It is a name I neverheard, and belongs to a woman of whom I know nothing.”

He could not believe it. He sat staring and passing a dazed handonce and again over his forehead. “But…this isimpossible! She set out from home with an escort, and a dowryintended for her convent. She declared her intent to come toWherwell, all her household knew it, her father knew it andsanctioned it. About this, I swear to you, madam, there is nopossible mistake. She set out to ride to Wherwell.”

“Then,” said the prioress gravely, “I fear youhave questions to ask elsewhere, and very serious questions. Forbelieve me, if you are certain she set out to come to us, I am noless certain that she never reached us.”

“But what could prevent?” he asked urgently,wrenching at impossibilities. “Between her home andWherwell…”

“Between her home and Wherwell were many miles,”said the prioress. “And many things can prevent thefulfilment of the plans of men and women in this world. Thedisorders of war, the accidents of travel, the malice of othermen.”

“But she had an escort to bring her to her journey’send!”

“Then it’s of them you should be makingenquiries,” she said gently, “for they signally failedto do so.”

No point whatever in pressing her further. He sat stunned intosilence, utterly lost. She knew what she was saying, and at leastshe had pointed him towards the only lead that remained to him.What was the use of hunting any further in these parts, until hehad caught at the clue she offered him, and begun to trace thatride of Julian’s from Lai, where it had begun. Threemen-at-arms, Reginald had said, went with her, under a huntsman whohad an affection for her from her childhood. They must still bethere in Reginald’s service, there to be questioned, there tobe made to account for the mission that had never beencompleted.

The prioress had yet one more point to make, even as she rose toindicate that the interview was over, and the late visitordismissed.

“She was carrying, you say, the dowry she intended tobring to Wherwell? I know nothing of its value, of course,but… The roads are not entirely free of evilcustoms…”

“She had four men to guard her,” cried Nicholas, onelast flare in desperation,

“And they knew what she carried? God knows,” saidthe prioress, “I should be loth to cast suspicion on anyupright man, but we live in a world, alas, where of any four men,one at least may be corruptible.”

He went away into the town still dazed, unable tothink or reason, unable to grasp and understand what with all hisheavy heart he believed. It was growing dark, and he was too wearyto continue now without sleep, besides the care he must have forhis horse. He found an alehouse that could provide him a rough bed,and stabling and fodder for his beast, and lay wakeful a long timebefore his own exhaustion of body and mind overcame him.

He had an answer, but what to make of it he did not know.Certain it was that she had never passed through the gates ofWherwell, and therefore had not died there in the fire.But—three years, and never a word or a sign! Her brother hadnot troubled himself with a half-sister he scarcely knew, believingher to be settled in life according to her own choice. And never aword had come from her. Who was there to wonder or question?Cloistered women are secure in their own community, have all theirsisterhood about them, what need have they of the world, and whatshould the world expect from them? Three years of silence fromthose vowed to the cultivation of silence is natural enough; butthree years without a word now became an abyss, into which JulianCruce had fallen as into the ocean, and sunk without trace.

Now there was nothing to be done but hasten back to Shrewsbury,confess his shattering failure in his mission, and go on to Lai totell the same dismal story to Reginald Cruce. Only there could heagain hope to find a thread to follow. He set off early in themorning to ride back into Winchester.

It was mid-morning when he drew near to the city. He had leftit, prudently, not by the direct way through the west gate, sincethe royal castle with its hostile and by this time surely desperategarrison lay so close and had complete command of the gate. Butsome time before he reached the spot where he should, in the nameof caution, turn eastward from the Romsey road and circle round thesouth of the city to a safer approach, he began to be aware of aconstant chaotic murmur of sound ahead, that grew from a murmur toa throbbing clamour, to a steely din of clashing and screaming thatcould mean nothing but battle, and a close and tangled anddesperate battle at that. It seemed to centre to his left front, atsome distance from the town, and the air in that direction hunghazy with the glittering dust of struggle and flight.

Nicholas abandoned all thought of turning aside towards thebishop’s hospital of Saint Cross or the east gate, and rodeon full tilt towards the west gate. And there before him he saw thetownsfolk of Winchester boiling out into the open sunlight withshouting and excitement, and the streets within full of people,loud, exultant and fearless, all clamouring for news or impartingnews at the tops of their voices, throwing off all the creepingcaution that had fettered them for so long.

Nicholas caught at a tall fellow’s shoulder and bellowedhis own question: “What is it? What’shappened?”

“They’re gone! Marched out at dawn, that woman andher royal uncle of Scotland and all her lords! Little they caredabout the likes of us starving, but when the wolf bit them it wasanother story. Out they went, the lot of them—in good order,then ! Now hark to them! The Flemings at least let them getclear of the town before they struck, and let us alone.There’ll be pickings, over there!”

They were only waiting, these vengeful tradesmen and craftsmenof Winchester, hovering here until the din of battle moved awayinto the distance. There would be gleanings before the night. Noman can ride his fastest loaded down with casque and coat of mail.Even their swords they might discard to lighten the weight theirhorses had to bear. And if they had retained enough optimism tobelieve they could convey their valuables away with them, therewould be rich pickings indeed before the day was out.

So it had come, the expected attempt to break out of the ironcircle of the queen’s army, and it had come too late to haveany hope of success. After the holocaust of Wherwell even theempress must have known she could hold out here no longer.

North-west along the Stockbridge road and wavering over therising downs, the glittering halo of dust rolled and danced,spreading wider as it receded. Nicholas set off to follow it, asthe boldest of the townsmen, or the greediest, or the mostvindictive, were also doing afoot. He had far outridden them, andwas alone in the undulating uplands, when he saw the first tracesof the assault which had broken the empress’s army. A singlefallen body, a lamed horse straying, a heavy shield hurled aside,the first of many. A mile further on and the ground was litteredwith arms, pieces of armour torn off and flung aside in flight,helmets, coats of mail, saddle-bags, spilling garments and coinsand ornaments of silver, fine gowns, pieces of plate from nobletables, all expendable where mere life was the one thing to bevalued. Not all had preserved it, even at this cost. There werebodies, tossed and trampled among the grasses, frightened horsesrunning in circles, some ridden almost to death and gasping on theground. Not a battle, but a rout, a headlong flight in contagiousterror.

He had halted, staring in sick wonder at such a spectacle, whilethe flight and pursuit span forward into the distance under itsshining cloud, towards the Test at Stockbridge. He did not followit further, but turned and rode back towards the city, wanting nopart in that day’s work. On his way he met the first of thegleaners, hungry and eager, gathering the spoils of victory.

It was three days later, in the early afternoon,when he rode again into the great court at Shrewsbury abbey, tofulfil the promise he had made. Brother Humilis was in theherb-garden with Cadfael, sitting in the shade while Fidelis chosefrom among the array of plants a few sprigs and tendrils he wantedfor an illuminated border, bryony and centaury and bugloss, and thecoiled threads of vetches, infinitely adaptable for framing initialletters. The young man had grown interested in the herbs and theiruses, and sometimes helped to make the remedies Cadfael used in thetreatment of Humilis, tending them with passionate, still devotion,as though his love could add the final ingredient that would makethem sovereign.

The porter, knowing Nicholas well by this time, told him withoutquestion where he would find his lord. His horse he left tetheredat the gatehouse, intending to ride on at once to Lai, and camestriding round the clipped bulk of the tall hedge and along thegravel path to where Humilis was sitting on the stone bench againstthe south wall. So intent was Nicholas upon Humilis that he brushedpast Fidelis with barely a glance, and the young brother, startledby his sudden and silent arrival, turned on him for once a headuncovered and a face open to the sun, but as quickly drew aside inhis customary reticent manner, and held aloof from their meeting,deferring to a prior loyalty. He even drew the cowl over his head,and sank silently into its shadow.

“My lord,” said Nicholas, bending his knee toHumilis and clasping the two hands that reached to embrace him,“your sorry servant!”

“No, never that!” said Humilis warmly, and freed hishands to draw the boy up beside him and peer searchingly into hisface. “Well,” he said with a sigh and a small, ruefulsmile, “I see you have not the marks of success on you. Nofault of yours, I dare swear, and no man can command success. Youwould not be back so soon if you had found out nothing, but I seeit cannot be what you hoped for. You did not find Julian. Atleast,” he said, peering a little closer, and in a voicecareful and low, “not living…”

“Neither living nor dead,” said Nicholas quickly,warding off the worst assumption. “No, it’s not whatyou think—it’s not what any of us could havedreamed.” Now that it came to the telling, he could onlyblurt out the whole of it as baldly and honestly as possible, andbe done. “I searched in Wherwell, and in Winchester, until Ifound the prioress of Wherwell in refuge in Romsey abbey. She hasheld the office seven years, she knows every sister who has enteredthere in that time, and none of them is Julian Cruce. Whatever hasbecome of Julian, she never reached Wherwell, never took vowsthere, never lived there—and cannot have died there. A blindending!”

“She never came there?” Humilis echoed in anastonished whisper, staring with locked brows across the sunnygarden.

“She never did! Always,” said Nicholas bitterly,“I come three years too late. Three years! And where can shehave been all that time, with never a word of her here, where sheleft home and family, nor there, where she should have come torest? What can have happened to her, between here and Wherwell?That region was not in turmoil then, the roads should have beensafe enough. And there were four men with her, wellprovided.”

“And they came home,” said Humilis keenly.“Surely they came home, or Cruce would have been wonderingand asking long ago. In God’s name, what can they havereported when they returned? No evil! None from other men, or therewould have been an instant hue and cry, none of their own, or theywould not have returned at all. This grows deeper anddeeper.”

“I am going on to Lai,” said Nicholas, rising,“to let Cruce know, and have him hunt out and question thosewho rode with her. His father’s men will be his men now,whether at Lai or on some other of his manors. They can tell us, atleast, where they parted from her, if she foolishly dismissed themand rode the last miles alone. I’ll not rest until I findher. If she lives, I will find her!”

Humilis held him by the sleeve, doubtfully frowning. “Butyour command… You cannot leave your duties for so long,surely?”

“My command,” said Nicholas, “can do very wellwithout me now for a while. I’ve left them snug enough,encamped near Andover, living off the land, and my sergeants incharge, old soldiers well able to fill my place, the way things arenow. For I have not told you the half. I’m so full of my ownaffairs, I have no time for kings. Did we not say, last time, thatthe empress must try to break out from Winchester soon, or starvewhere she was? She has so tried. After the disaster at Wherwellthey must have known they could not hold out longer. Three days agothey marched out westward, towards Stockbridge, and William deWarenne and the Flemings fell on them and broke them to pieces. Itwas no retreat, it was headlong flight. Everything weighty aboutthem they threw away. If ever they do come safe back to Gloucesterit will be half naked. I’ll make a stay in the town and letHugh Beringar know.”

Brother Cadfael, who had gone on with a little desultory weedingbetween his herb-beds, at a little distance, nevertheless heard allthis with stretched ears and kindling blood, and straightened hisback now to stare.

“And she—the empress? They have not takenher?” An empress for a king would be fair exchange, andalmost inevitable, even if it meant not an ending, but stalemate,and a new beginning over the same exhausted and exhausting ground.Had Stephen been the one to capture the implacable lady, with hismad, endearing chivalry he would probably have given her a freshhorse and an escort, and sent her safely to Gloucester, to her ownstronghold, but the queen was no such magnanimous idiot, and wouldmake better use of a captive enemy.

“No, not Maud, she’s safely away. Her brother spedher off ahead with Brian FitzCount to watch over her, and stayed torally the rearguard and hold off the pursuit. No, it’s betterthan Maud! He could have gone on fighting without her, butshe’ll be hard put to it without him. The Flemings caughtthem at Stockbridge, trying to ford the river, and rounded up allthose who survived. It’s the king’s match we’vetaken, the man himself, Robert of Gloucester!”