Authors: Felicity Pulman
She took hold of Sister Anne's hand, and held it tight. 'You have been like a mother to me,' she said, her voice husky with emotion for it was only now, at the leaving, that she was fully aware of just how much she owed the infirmarian, and how close they had become. 'I am more grateful to you than I can say, but I . . . I have to go. I'm searching for my unknown father, you see, and I know now what the next step of my journey must be.'
'And that is?' Sister Anne's voice was harsh with disappointment.
'To go to Ambresberie.' Janna hesitated. 'It seems my mother, Eadgyth, was once the infirmarian at the abbey there.'
'The infirmarian at Ambresberie?' Sister Anne's eyes widened. 'Emanuelle!' she breathed. The hard lines of her face softened into reminiscence. 'You spoke of "Eadgyth", but your mother would have left her own name behind when she entered the abbey and took her vows. If you go there, you must ask for information about Sister Emanuelle. She was your mother, Johanna. She was also legendary as a healer, and as something of a free thinker.' The infirmarian's lips twitched upwards with amusement as she looked at Janna. 'It certainly explains a lot!'
Sister Emanuelle! Giving her mother a new name made her mother's past seem even more real to Janna, although it was hard to think of her in any other way than as Janna herself remembered her. 'What else have you heard about my mother?' she asked eagerly.
Sister Anne closed her eyes, the better to summon up memory. 'I know that the infirmarian at Ambresberie died quite suddenly, and that the convent was without anyone to physic them for quite some time,' she said slowly. 'I was told it by one of their own sisters, who was forced to come here for help. That was a long time ago; I'd only just arrived here myself. But I heard later that a
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had come to the abbey saying that she had a gift for healing, which she wished to dedicate to God.'
'My mother?' breathed Janna.
Sister Anne nodded briskly. 'She was said to have no formal training, but she obviously told you all she knew. For certes, you have inherited her gift for healing, and now you have the knowledge to go with it.'
'Thank you, Sister Anne,' said Janna. 'I'm truly grateful to you for telling me that, and for everything you've taught me. And I'm sorry, so sorry to let you down now.'
'Searching for your mother isn't going to change anything, prove anything,' Sister Anne said, determined not to be thwarted in her plans. 'You know now who she is. Was. And you said before that you know nothing of your father. How do you hope to find him?'
'I don't know. I can only take one step at a time,' Janna answered honestly.
Sister Anne sighed in frustration. 'Why not leave the past in the past, and think about your own future, Johanna? A young woman travelling the road on her own . . .' She clicked her tongue, tutting her disapproval. 'If you take your vows, you can live here as one of us. You'll be doing something no-one else here can do. You'll have a roof over your head, a bed to lie on, and regular meals to fill your belly. You will have a home and a family. More, you will be serving God. Are you really prepared to throw all this away, your life here with us, to chase after someone who has never known or acknowledged you, and who may well even be dead by now?'
It was a fair question. In fact, Sister Anne made a compelling argument for Janna to stay, both for her own comfort and her conscience. She recognised her debt to the infirmarian; she hated to disappoint her. She hesitated, torn between wanting to honour her debt while staying in the safety of the abbey, and honouring her promise to her mother that her death would be avenged. She remembered, then, her words to Agnes: 'Surely it's better to take action, risk everything, than to live your life knowing that you had not the courage to follow your heart and find happiness?' She would do well to follow her own advice, she thought.
'I would stay if I could, you know that, but I have to go,' she said, adding, 'And I am sorry for it, Sister Anne, for I wish I could stay to help you. I shall miss you. I shall miss everyone here at the abbey.'
It was not quite true. The whining gnat, and Sister Catherine and her awful dog . . . she certainly wouldn't miss them! But Sister Anne, and Agnes and Ursel . . .
'I'm sorry,' she said again, and truly meant it.
'I'm sorry too.' The infirmarian nodded, accepting that Janna's mind was made up. 'One good thing about your coming here,' she said, determined to look on the bright side. 'I've realised how much I need a knowledgeable assistant, and I shall waste no time in finding a replacement for you, Johanna.'
It was somewhat humbling to think she could be replaced so quickly and so easily! But, meeting the infirmarian's rueful glance, Janna understood then the truth behind Anne's brisk words. She wondered who her replacement would be, and hoped that she would prove worthy, for she'd come to have great respect for Sister Anne's knowledge, as well as her kind ways with her patients and her skill in dealing with their many aches and ills.
'When do you plan to leave?' The infirmarian's question broke into Janna's thoughts.
'Soon.' As soon as Agnes's future was assured, Janna thought. 'Quite soon,' she amended.
Sister Anne gestured towards the plants Janna had laid on the table. 'Then I must make good use of you while you're still here,' she said, and set her to work.
Restless, unable to sleep, Janna rose early the following morning. Her heart felt leaden at the prospect of leaving the abbey, leaving behind the friends she had made there – and elsewhere, she thought, recognising that part of her reluctance to leave was the thought of never seeing Hugh or Godric again. She would never know, now, if Hugh had found someone worthy to marry, someone with a large dower and land of her own. Nor would she know if Godric and Cecily had found happiness together. There was grief in her heart, as well as a faint stir of excitement at the thought of the challenge ahead.
How would she travel on the road to Ambresberie? Janna looked down at her habit. Emma's gift had been generous; it would pay for food and lodging on the journey. But she could not travel alone, not dressed as she was. Could she reclaim her smock and breeches from Sister Grace? By now they could well have been donated to a good cause but it was worth asking the sister for help. She would also have to take leave of the abbess. Janna's spirits sank at the prospect.
Remembering her vow, she visited the garden first to pick sunturners. Clutching hold of the small flowers, she went through the cloister then, stopping along the way to pick the lily, the first to unfold its petals and show off its pristine beauty. It was fitting, she thought, that Agnes should carry the first of the blooms to Will. If the lay sister hadn't lost her courage overnight. If Will came. If they hadn't entirely misread the situation and what it meant.
So afraid was Janna of missing Will, she decided to miss the morning bread and ale with which the nuns broke their fast, and go straight to the shrine. Early as she was, Agnes was there before her, and she greeted Janna with a gasp of relief. 'Thank you.' She took the single lily from Janna. She was about to lay it on the shrine beside the other two but changed her mind and kept on holding it instead. She waited while Janna placed the marigolds on the casket and closed her eyes to murmur a brief prayer of thanks to the saint.
'I have news for you,' she whispered, once Janna had returned to her side. Although reluctant to disturb the sanctity of the saint's shrine, Agnes was eager to pass on what she'd learned. 'Some pilgrims are staying here, visiting the hand as well as the shrine of our own saint on their journey home. They've come from Santiago de Compostela. I heard them speak of their pilgrimage to the shrine of Saint James, and their desire to see the missing part of the saint that is now kept here.'
'So?' Janna wondered why Agnes sounded so excited. Pilgrims often lodged at the abbey. They may have travelled from as far away as Spain, but pilgrims often made long journeys to important shrines.
'They come from Oxeneford, and that is where they are going now,' Agnes said breathlessly.
'So?' Janna was still at a loss to understand.
'So, I heard them say they plan to seek food and shelter at Ambresberie Abbey on their way home.'
'Ah.'
'You could travel with them,' Agnes pressed on. 'It would keep you safe if you had company, especially the company of pilgrims. There are women as well as men among them, so you won't need to defend your honour.'
'Defend my honour against pilgrims? Surely not!'
'Never forget that they are men first, pilgrims second.'
Janna was amused by Agnes's cynicism, until she remembered that the girl had grown up in the abbey and must have observed the antics of countless pilgrims in her time. She should remember Agnes's remark, for it might well stand her in good stead for her travels in the future, she thought. 'When do they leave?' she asked.
'Today, after they've attended Mass and visited the saint's relic one last time. You'll have to hurry to speak to them before they go.' Agnes clutched Janna's hand, suddenly aware of her impending loss. 'I shall miss you so much,' she said. 'The abbey won't be the same without you.'
'You might not be here for much longer yourself.' Janna hoped, with all her heart, that her words were true.
'I'm afraid. I'm so afraid.'
'Have courage. If he doesn't come, you are no worse off than if you'd never taken action at all. But at least, now, you have the chance to find out what might be, or you'll know for sure what might have been.' Janna wasn't sure if she was being much comfort to Agnes. Beside her, Agnes tensed, and held a finger to her mouth in warning.
Someone was walking down the nave. They could hear the click of boots on stone. They glanced at each other. Agnes's grip on the lily tightened. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, a faint creak, then the low murmur of voices.
'I'll make sure I lock the gate behind me when I leave, Sister.' A man's figure came into view, silhouetted dark against the bright sunlight slanting through the window to the east. Janna squinted at the figure, almost sure it was Will. Beside her, Agnes took a frightened breath.
The man stepped into the small chapel. His face was lit now in the soft light from the candles around the saint's shrine, and they could see his features clearly. It was Will. In his hand, he carried a single lily. His eyes widened when he noticed he was not alone. He stopped abruptly. His gaze settled on Agnes's face. He smiled, and held out the lily to her.
Frozen with terror, Agnes stayed where she was. Will's smile slipped a little. Janna stuck out her elbow and gave Agnes a hard shove, propelling her forward. With a small cry, she catapulted towards Will, who opened his arms to her and enfolded her tight.
Janna held her breath as she watched them, watched Agnes cling to the bailiff, shaking with fear; watched him patting her shoulder, gentling her as he would a nervous palfrey. 'I came to ask our blessed saint to intercede on my behalf, to speak to you when I could not,' he murmured.
Agnes was still for a moment. Then she raised her face to gaze at him. 'I heard you,' she said, and held out the lily.
Keeping one arm around her, Will took the lily from her. He placed the two flowers on the reliquary, muttering a brief prayer of thanks as he did so. He turned back to Agnes. With gentle fingers, he stroked the rough scars that criss-crossed her cheek. Agnes closed her eyes and stood quiet under his touch.
Knowing it was safe to go, knowing Agnes no longer needed her, Janna silently crept away, walking on tiptoes so as not to disturb the pair or remind them of her presence.
She carried on her person all that she meant to take away with her from the abbey, but she still had no answer for the clothes she might wear on the journey. A moment's reflection sent her scurrying to the refectory, where the sisters were still assembled to break their fast. She waited until they had finished, then approached Sister Grace with her request.
'I'm leaving the abbey today, and I must return my wimple and habit before I go, but I have naught else to wear. Can you help me, please, Sister?'
Sister Grace's mouth twitched. 'Do you wish to go forth as a youth once more, or are you planning another disguise?' she asked gravely.
'No!' Janna thought about it. 'Yes.' Even in the company of pilgrims she would be safer travelling as a youth than a girl, she decided.
The nun looked at her thoughtfully. 'Your smock and breeches are gone. The wardrober gave them to the cowherd's eldest son. But there's a nice new gown that would fit you. It belonged to one of our young postulants who has decided she wishes to take the veil.'
A nice new gown! Janna liked the sound of that. 'If you can spare it, I would be grateful, Sister Grace,' she said humbly.
'Then come with me now.' Sister Grace turned and, without ado, led the way from the refectory to the storeroom where Janna had first met her. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Reluctant to waste a costly kirtle on a lowly lay sister, the wardrober argued with Sister Grace, trying instead to persuade her to take a ragged robe that had been left behind by the family of a dying woman. Neither realised that Janna could understand Norman French and, once she realised what was happening, she was too embarrassed to enlighten them. But she was grateful to Sister Grace, who would not take the ragged garment from the wardrober but, instead, snatched up the beautiful blue kirtle and refused to give it back. 'She deserves it,' Sister Grace insisted. 'I heard she came here with a full purse, and our abbess took every last coin from her. At the very least, we can give her this.'
'Thank you. It's beautiful.' It was all Janna could say without betraying her secret, but Sister Grace gave a pleased nod, satisfied with her successful transaction. Even the wardrober gave Janna a grudging smile as she took the wimple and habit in exchange.
'You may also take the matching slippers,' she said, adding in French, ''Tis true she has worked hard while here. Sister Anne says she has her mother's skill with healing, and has given our convent the best of care.' Janna ducked her head to hide her pleasure.