The Song of the Nightingale (28 page)

So far, so good.

Abbess Caliste felt as if she were in a dream. The night just passed had been extraordinary. Her head buzzed with questions, although in her heart she understood, and already she was beginning to accept. Now she needed to decide how best to act and speak over the next crucial few hours.

She stood up and strode around her room. She felt strange, even now; as if she were still half asleep.

There was a quiet tap on the door. Caliste's heartbeat quickened; were they here already? Oh, and she had had no time to work out what she would say . . .

‘Come in!' she said loudly, with a confidence she was far from feeling.

The door opened, and Tiphaine entered, shutting it quickly behind her.
I might have known
, Caliste thought with a wry smile. It was unlikely that Lord Benedict and his men would even bother to knock, and if they did, it would not be quietly and considerately.

Caliste sank into her chair. Opposite her, Tiphaine stood quite still, watching her. Caliste waited. After a long pause, Tiphaine began to speak. She went on for some time, and Caliste did not interrupt.

‘How long had you known about him?' she asked when finally Tiphaine fell silent.

‘I'd suspected what was going on for some time,' she replied. ‘There's a group of them, but it was his idea and he's always been the leader. They look up to him. He's special, see.'

Caliste could readily understand what she meant.

‘They've been trying to protect the households on the forest fringes from these bands of brigands that have been preying on the defenceless. Someone's got to,' she added vehemently. ‘The forces of law and order don't seem prepared to do their job properly and look after the vulnerable, and, in addition, the lads from the forest take it as a personal insult when violence occurs on the fringes of their domain.'

‘I know,' Caliste said softly. She wasn't sure that Tiphaine heard.

‘They hoped that, by demonstrating what would happen to those who attack the weak and helpless and abuse their positions of power, it would discourage others from acting in the same way,' Tiphaine went on. ‘He's been the inspiration, and he's a fine leader, partly because he has quite a lot of the old magic about him.' Her eyes darted quickly to Caliste's, as if she wanted to check that this mention of magic was acceptable to the abbess of Hawkenlye. ‘He's fierce, and strong, and full of supernatural abilities – they say he can make himself invisible. Some folk even claim he's the Green Man come amongst us again.' Tiphaine gave a rather unconvincing laugh, as if to imply she had no time for such fanciful ideas.

Caliste smiled to herself.

‘It's on account of that they all follow him, I reckon,' Tiphaine added. Again, she shot that swift glance at Caliste.

‘Yes,' Caliste breathed. She understood.

‘Will you be all right?' Tiphaine asked.

Caliste shrugged. ‘I don't know.' It was the honest answer.

‘They're blaming the wine.'

‘How long will it be until he is safe?'

‘He is safe now,' Tiphaine replied quickly. ‘Already he'll be far away, deep in the forest. He's on his own territory now, and no man will find him unless he allows himself to be found.'

‘Will he continue in these acts of revenge?'

There was a long silence. Eventually, Tiphaine said, ‘What do
you
think?'

When Tiphaine had gone, Caliste sat gathering herself for what lay ahead. She got up, propped her door open and sat down again. She did not have long to wait, for presently she heard the sound of horses' hooves – a large group of mounted men, to judge by the volume – and, presently, loud, angry voices. Then there came heavy footsteps along the cloister outside, and a large, stout, red-faced man erupted into her room, followed by a second man close behind him; several others were pushing and shoving in the doorway.

The stout man came and leaned his hands on the table in front of Caliste, towering over her. ‘I am Lord Benedict de Vitré,' he announced.

‘I thought perhaps you were,' Caliste murmured.

A further suffusion of blood flooded the red face. Clearly, he had detected the faint irony. ‘What the hell have you done with my prisoner?' he demanded, spittle from his loose, wet mouth spraying over the table.

Caliste drew back. ‘I have done nothing with him, save permit my nuns to tend his wounds,' she replied coldly. ‘And I will inform you right now, Lord Benedict, to save you the trouble of asking to use it again: the punishment cell is to be destroyed this afternoon.' She had only just made the decision, but this purple-faced bully wasn't to know. ‘It will never again house anybody, be they clergy or layman. Is that clear?'

Her firm voice had an effect on Lord Benedict, for he stood up and took a pace away from the table.
It is true, then
, Caliste thought.
Stand up to a bully, and they step down.

But Lord Benedict was not deterred for long. ‘Do what you like with your damned cell,' he growled. ‘Where's my prisoner? I've a rope waiting for him and a gaggle of peasants lined up to watch him hang. Those ignorant, insolent bastards need to find out what happens to men who take the law into their own hands.'

‘I have no idea where your prisoner is,' Caliste said calmly and with almost perfect truth.

Lord Benedict was eyeing her with deep suspicion. ‘You took wine out to the guards last night,' he said, an accusing finger pointing at her heart like a dagger. ‘Funny thing for an abbess to do, wasn't it?'

She glared at him. Not prepared to dignify his second comment with a reply, she said, ‘I was working late into the night and my cellarer had provided spiced wine for me. I did not want it, so I took it out to the men on my way to the dormitory. We do not approve of waste, here.' She let her eyes rest on his fat stomach. ‘Nor of overindulgence; it is your men's own fault, Lord Benedict, if they act like gluttons.'

The man standing behind Lord Benedict stepped forward – Caliste recognized Tomas – and muttered something in his ear. Lord Benedict's anger blasted out of him and, turning to Tomas, he shouted, ‘And what bloody good will that do? You can whip 'em all you like, Tomas, and I dare say they deserve it, but it won't bring my fucking prisoner back!'

Caliste stood up. She was secretly enjoying the scene, quite unfazed by the bad language, but it seemed better not to let on. ‘Restrain yourself, my lord,' she said reprovingly. ‘Such words are not permitted within these walls.'

He rounded on her, about to yell at her too, but she held his eyes with her own and, somewhat to her surprise, he subsided.

‘That f— That prisoner got out of a locked, bolted cell,' he said with icy control. ‘Any ideas how he did it, my lady abbess?' He laid heavy, sarcastic emphasis on her title.

‘Absolutely none,' she replied. ‘According to my nuns, your guards think he used his magical eyes and his uncanny animal howl to summon supernatural assistance, so maybe that was it.'

Lord Benedict appeared to comprehend that she was making fun of him, and he clearly did not like it at all. One hand clenched automatically into a fist, and for a worrying moment Caliste seriously thought he was about to hit her. Fortunately, he reconsidered.

She nodded, slowly, thoughtfully, as if something had silently been agreed between the two of them. Perhaps it had . . . Then she said softly, ‘Hadn't you better get on with organizing your search parties and looking for him? He probably has quite a start on you already, my lord, and your chances of finding him must surely lessen with every moment you waste here.'

She thought she had gone too far. His face was maroon, his forehead bulging with veins like small, blue worms. He was covered in sweat, and a nerve pulsed beneath his right eye. Perhaps his heart will give out, she thought. She was quite surprised at how little the possibility worried her.

It was the moment to seize the initiative; before he did. She said pleasantly, ‘Now, Lord Benedict, I am, as I'm sure you can appreciate, a busy woman. If there is nothing else I can do for you . . .' She left the sentence unfinished.

There was a moment of stillness. Then the balance shifted as, turning abruptly on his heel, Lord Benedict stalked away.

She made herself wait until evening. It was perhaps the longest day of her life. Then, wrapping a dark cloak over the distinguishing black and white habit, she left her room, went quickly and quietly along in the shadows and slipped out through the abbey gates.

She went up the slope to the forest. She skirted round the glade beside the chapel, for she did not want to be seen. Once under cover of the trees, she began to breathe more easily and the tension of the day began to ease.

She knew where she had to go. It was many, many years since she had gone there, but she remembered.

She hoped there would be someone waiting for her in the distant glade. There was. She ran forward, and the slim figure dressed in grey took her in her arms.

The embrace lasted some time, for it was many years since last the two had met. Then Caliste broke away and, looking into her grandmother's face, said, ‘I believe I know how it was done.'

And the Domina replied, ‘Yes. I imagine you do.'

‘It
was
her, wasn't it?'

The Domina smiled her strange, distant smile. ‘You know it wasn't you, Caliste, and so that is the only explanation.'

Caliste allowed the Domina to lead her across the glade to a fallen tree, and they sat down side by side. ‘Why did she do it? I understand that what he and his companions were doing is important, in many ways, but to take such risks!'

The Domina turned to her, her eyes intent as if she were searching inside Caliste's very soul. ‘No, it is true, you do not know,' she murmured. ‘In that case, I will tell you.'

There was a pause, and, when the Domina spoke again, her voice had taken on the timbre of the storyteller. ‘Twenty years ago, a child was conceived who was destined to become a great man, born as he was from the very essence of his people. He was special, right from babyhood, for it became apparent that he had many unique gifts. As he grew through boyhood and became a man, his belief that he was in some way the protector of the forest, and of her people and those who live on her fringes, intensified. As conditions in the forest and the outside world became increasingly hard, and men in their desperation took to theft, to rape and to murder, he developed the idea of taking vengeance on the cruel and the brutal.'

‘The avenger of those who cannot defend themselves,' Caliste said softly. She felt a fierce joy flood up through her entire body, that this brave man had risked his life – had very nearly lost it – to right a wrong that nobody else was going to.

‘He killed the men who raped Melania and were responsible for her father's death and her mother's descent into madness,' the Domina continued. ‘He left a bind rune on the dead flesh of the most brutish of the three.'

‘Vengeance. Yes,' Caliste said. ‘Meggie translated it.'

The Domina nodded. ‘There were other acts of revenge: the flogger flogged; the man responsible for innocent lives lost by drowning left dead in the river. And then he was caught.' She paused, her face working.

‘He could not be left in that terrible cell until they took him out to die,' the Domina went on. ‘Tiphaine had recognized him, and it was her idea. She made the sleeping draught; it was very effective, apparently.' She turned to Caliste, an affectionate smile on her face. ‘Were there any after-effects?'

‘No.' Caliste was trying to work it out. She thought she had it all now. ‘She must have waited until it was dark to come inside the abbey,' she said slowly, ‘hoping I'd still be at work in my room.'

‘She knew you were,' the Domina said. ‘Tiphaine told her.'

Tiphaine again. Of course. ‘She must also have known that it is my cellarer's habit to bring me spiced wine when I work late; of inferior quality recently, I'll admit, but welcome just the same.'

The Domina nodded.

‘I remember falling asleep,' Caliste went on, ‘or I
think
I do – I had very vivid dreams, and it's hard to distinguish what was real and what was a dream.'

‘I imagine so,' remarked the Domina.

‘Then, when I woke up, I was amazed to find myself still sitting in my chair,' Caliste went on. She shook her head wonderingly. ‘She did it so well! I would never have guessed anything had happened, except I
know
it did, for how else did he escape?'

‘She looks just like you,' the Domina said gently, ‘which is no surprise, considering that you are twins. Once you were asleep, she removed your habit and put it on, leaving you wrapped up in her cloak. She filled up the jug of wine – Tiphaine had brought more – and took it across to the guards. When they too were asleep and hidden in the small room beside the undercroft door, she went along the passage and let the prisoner out. She saw him safely over the wall and away, then went back to dress you in your habit again and make sure you were comfortable.'

‘She was right there beside me,' Caliste said wonderingly, ‘and yet I did not know.' All at once it seemed so sad, such a lost opportunity, that she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Beside her, she sensed the Domina move; she raised her arm in a beckoning gesture. And Caliste saw her twin sister emerge from the trees and walk towards her.

That embrace was also long, and Caliste was aware of a deep, fierce joy as once again, after so many years, she held her sister in her arms. Then, breaking away, she stared into Selene's face.

‘It was such a risk!' she said softly. ‘What if one of the guards had woken up and caught you? You'd have hanged, too. Why would you take such a chance with your life?'

Selene smiled at her. ‘Can't you guess?'

‘
No
!'