The Song of the Nightingale (34 page)

Meggie was well aware that such visions were a common symptom of delirium. Nevertheless, she knew that Joanna had been with her, in some form or another. If her welcome presence was a product of Meggie's memory and emotions, then that didn't make it any less valuable. And Joanna's magic touch, together with the nuns' skills, meant that Meggie was now almost well enough to leave.

She was restless. The nuns had put her in a little room apart from the main ward, which had been nice when she was sick and in pain and just wanted to be left alone, but was not so good now, when she was bored and would have welcomed the moving tapestry of a constantly busy infirmary.

To occupy herself, she thought about the others. Her father, she was all but sure, had had some encounter with her mother. Meggie hadn't asked him about it, nor would she. Josse had loved Joanna profoundly, and Meggie understood that a part of him always would. If Joanna had somehow appeared to him, reassured him of her love and persuaded him that the time had come for him to get on with his life, then that was wonderful. It was what Meggie suspected, for she had noticed a new gentleness between her father and Helewise. They, too, loved each other. Perhaps, at long last, Helewise was going to be able to forget she'd been a nun and remember she was also a woman.

Meggie's thoughts moved on to Jehan and Ninian. Josse had told her they were camping out in the place where Joanna and her people had once stayed; he'd also told her she had been there too, back then when she was a very small child, although Meggie had only a very vague memory of it. It had been wise of Josse to get both young men out of Chartres. Had there been any sort of enquiry into the deaths of King John's men, both of them would have been in danger.

She wondered how they were getting on. She hoped that the ferocity of their initial encounter would have formed a bond between them; they had, after all, been on the same side, and both had fought to the death, although fortunately not their own.

She had discovered, lying there, just how important it was that her brother – and her father – should like Jehan. Now that she was absent from him, for the first time in days, she had come to appreciate just how much he meant to her.

She was content, for now, to keep her tender new feelings for him locked away inside her, a delicious secret to take out and dwell on whenever she felt inclined. When she was with him again, she would be able to see whether he reciprocated her love. She smiled. She believed she already knew.

She thought back to the moment when she had rushed into the cathedral and the terrible frustration she had felt when the clerics, far from hurrying to help her, had been angry because her raised voice and frantic demeanour had been disrespectful and irreligious.
Irreligious!
She fumed all over again. Wouldn't anyone be irreligious, when someone they cared about was trying to fight off three tough men determined to kill him? Then, glory of glories, Ninian had come barging through the midst of them. Ninian, the one man she would have chosen to come to her aid, and there he was, tanned, slimmer than she remembered, his garments showing signs of hard wear but cleaner than she would have expected. No matter how he had looked, he'd been the answer to her prayer.

She was pretty sure her mother had had a hand in that, too.

She turned to plump up her pillows – the movement barely hurt her shoulder now – and, leaning back again, thought about her brother. She must speak to him, soon. He ought to know . . .

She closed her eyes and slipped into a doze. She was awakened by a gentle touch on her hand and Sister Marie-Joseph's soft voice telling her she had a visitor.

She knew who it would be even before he came in. ‘I will leave you in peace,' Sister Marie-Joseph said with a smile. ‘Don't tire her, now!'

‘I won't,' Ninian said. He drew up the little stool set by the door and came to sit beside Meggie's bed. For some moments he said nothing, simply stared intently into her face, then he nodded. ‘You're on the mend,' he said.

‘I am.' She reached out and took his hand, holding it between her own.

‘I'm so sorry you were hurt.'

She waved the apology away. ‘It wasn't your fault. You and Jehan had your hands full.' She hesitated. ‘What do you – er, how are you getting on, out in your camp?'

Ninian's quick grin indicated he knew perfectly well what she had almost said. ‘We're getting on fine. He's a handy person to camp out with, I must say. Very skilled in all the useful crafts for keeping yourself fed, watered, warm and generally comfortable.' The grin was back. ‘He's fine, Meggie. I like and admire him.'

She felt she ought to come clean. ‘He came to England on a mission,' she said quietly. ‘He and some other Bretons were going to—'

But Ninian put up a hand and stopped her. ‘I know, Meggie. He told me.' Leaning closer, he said in a very soft voice, ‘He felt he should explain about the men who were trying to kill the two of you. But we shouldn't speak of it again.'

‘I think Father should know,' she protested.

‘He already does,' Ninian replied. ‘Jehan told him too.'

Oh no. Josse, Meggie knew, had long been a king's man, although, admittedly, that had been the previous one. Had Jehan been sufficiently diplomatic? ‘How did he react?'

Ninian met her eyes. ‘His response was, to sum it up:
I can't say I blame you, but don't tell me any more.
Nothing if not honest, dear old Josse, is he?'

‘No.' Meggie thought about her big, strong, decent father. Honest he most certainly was, and, she realized, he was not the man to condemn another for an action he fully understood, even if he couldn't approve of it.

Ninian shifted on his seat, and she sensed he was about to speak again. ‘I have something to tell you,' he began.

‘No, wait.' Whatever it was, she felt she had to reveal her secret to him first. It was now or never, for she knew she must tell him while they were alone, and it might be ages before that happened again. Meeting his brilliant blue eyes, she said, ‘Are you looking forward to seeing Little Helewise?'

A broad smile spread over his face. ‘Meggie, if that's your delicate way of asking me if I've been faithful to her while I've been away and if I still love her, the answers are yes and yes.'

She was very surprised, for it had not even occurred to her that he could have fallen for someone else. She was, she realized, very, very glad he hadn't.

He was speaking: ‘. . . men I was with referred to her in their version of her name, which is Eloise, and I've begun to think of her in that way,' he said.

So Little Helewise had turned into Eloise, she thought, and wasn't Little any more. She found she was smiling. ‘Perhaps that's just as well,' she said gently.

‘What do you mean?'

‘Referring to her as
little
isn't very appropriate at the moment and won't be for a while,' she said, still smiling.

‘You're saying she's put on weight?' he asked. ‘I shan't mind, she'll be lovely just as –
oh
!'

She gave him a few moments to absorb the news. Then, holding his hand again, she said, ‘July, we believe. She is very well, and, once she had plucked up her courage and told us, also very happy.'

‘I wish I'd been there,' he muttered. Then, as his face took on an expression of awe, he whispered, ‘I've been seeing visions and images of mothers and babies all the way here! They've led me on and, when I've doubted myself, persuaded me I was on the right path. Do you think this is why, Meggie? Because I had to be brought north again, to meet my responsibilities?'

‘I do,' she said gravely.

‘But how—?'

She squeezed his hand. ‘Don't think about it too much,' she advised. ‘Some things we can't ever know, and it's probably better that way.'

There was silence in the little room, both of them occupied with their own thoughts. Then, rousing herself, she said, ‘You were about to tell me something?'

‘I was.' He withdrew his hands and, reaching inside his tunic, took out a small, silk-wrapped package. He laid it on her bed, unwrapped it and spread out a set of images, beautifully painted on card.

She picked one up. It depicted an intricately-carved stone doorway, with a heavy wooden door set in it. The door was open just a crack, and a small figure was peering round it into a scene, just glimpsed, of beautiful countryside illuminated with shining light. She reached for another: a woman robed in the vestments of the church, her face stern, unforgiving; almost brutal. She picked up a third card, then, quickly now, two more, her heartbeat racing as she went swiftly from one to another until she had looked at each one. Then, stunned, shocked, she carefully put the cards on the white bedcover, the images facing downwards. They were just too powerful, and she did not think she could bear to look at them for long.

‘I was given them by Alazaïs de Saint Gilles,' Ninian said. ‘She's one of the elders of their religion, and a very revered woman. She asked me to bring this set of images out to safety – they all seem to carry similar sets, although few that I saw were as fine as these. They—' His brow creased in a frown. ‘They're a sort of aid to memory, symbolizing the very basis of the bonshommes' beliefs. They tell the story of a journey,' he added, ‘and, although Alazaïs explained it to me, I can't say I understand.'

Meggie felt ready to look at the images again. She picked them up, slowly arranging them until she was satisfied. ‘I don't know if I've got it right,' she said, ‘but it makes sense to me this way. The journey starts in fear and uncertainty, and the traveller has to face hardships and ordeals until he reaches his goal, which I suppose is paradise.'

He looked amazed. ‘How can you possibly know that?' he demanded.

She smiled. ‘You forget what I've been learning since I was small,' she said. ‘All belief systems have a story at their heart – a journey of the soul, if you like – and the things I was taught, by our own mother and by the elders of her people, have similarities with these.' She placed a gentle, respectful hand on the images.

‘I don't begin to understand.' He shook his head violently, as if to rid it of the puzzling things that perplexed him. She hid a smile; he was a man of logic and action, her dear brother, and he did not have all that much imagination. Even she, who loved him profoundly, had to admit it. ‘I've got to hide them and keep them safe,' he went on. ‘Alazaïs and her people fear, with justification, that the crusaders will destroy every last one of these precious images, and she asked me to bring this set out to safety. Where should I hide it, Meggie? I've thought about it endlessly all the way home, and I've come to no conclusion.'

She had tidied the images together into a neat rectangle, and now she wrapped them up in their silk. She was thinking; trying to decide if the idea that had sprung so abruptly into her head was the right thing to do.

She believed it was.

Looking up, she said, ‘Ninian, do we know anyone who can draw well?'

‘Er – there are probably nuns at Hawkenlye who copy manuscripts, and they are often illustrated.'

‘Yes, and there's a beautiful Hawkenlye Herbal done by someone called Sister Phillipa,' she agreed, ‘but I wasn't actually thinking of a nun.'

‘Eloise draws very nicely,' he suggested. ‘What about her?'

‘Hm.'

‘What do you want drawn?' he demanded. Then, as understanding dawned, he said quietly, ‘Why?'

‘Ninian, I agree that we should find a very secure place to hide these, for they are beautiful and beyond price. But I also think we ought to try, somehow, to perpetrate these images. They are too – too—' She tried to think how to explain. ‘They depict the basic truths,' she said eventually, ‘and are part of our very humanity. I believe we should keep them in the world.'

‘But we only occupy a very small space in the world,' he pointed out.

She met his eyes, grinning. ‘Well, we have to start somewhere.'

When Josse and Helewise led Ninian, Meggie and Jehan through the gates of Acquin, there was somebody waiting for them.

Josse felt the tears form in his eyes as, with a cry, Ninian leapt off his horse, ran across the yard and swooped up the young woman standing alone, staring at him. For a moment, Little Helewise was hidden, enfolded in Ninian's arms and his swirling cloak, but then, as if appreciating that he was handling a woman all at once as fragile as glass, he let her go and stepped abruptly away from her.

She burst out laughing. ‘Idiot!' she said, swatting at him. ‘I'm not going to break, and the baby's as strong as an ox, to judge by the way it keeps kicking me!' She threw herself back into his arms and, before them all, pulled down his head and kissed him, firmly and thoroughly, on the mouth.

Now Josse noticed Yves step forward, their brothers Patrice, Honoré and Acelin beside him, their wives a pace behind. ‘Welcome, Josse! Welcome, my lady, and you youngsters, too!' Yves opened his arms as if to embrace them all. ‘We received word that you were on your way and have had plenty of time to prepare the celebrations, as you see!' With a delighted smile, he indicated Little Helewise, now standing hand in hand with Ninian and looking slightly abashed.

‘She didn't come all the way here to Acquin by herself, surely?' Josse demanded.

‘Of course not,' a quiet, firm voice said, and Leofgar stepped out of the shadows. It was Helewise's turn to give a cry of delight; leaping down from Daisy's back, she ran to her son and into his arms.

The shortages which Josse and his family had been suffering for so long back in England apparently did not affect Acquin, and the feast which the brothers, their wives and servants had prepared was all the better for being such a welcome change. The spring evening was warm and fine, and a trestle table had been set up in the courtyard, illuminated along its extensive length by candles and lanterns. Josse thought he counted twenty-five tucking into the endless succession of dishes, but Yves had a generous hand with the wine and he admitted to himself that he could have been wrong, especially since on a couple of occasions his count came to twenty-seven and once, well into the evening, thirty.