My Lord, the Hermit Page 27

  ‘Lady Joanna!’ That was Floria, deeply shocked.

  ‘Joanna!’ Julian tried to take her arm.

  Joanna went on tiptoe and locked her arms around Amory’s neck, burying her face against him. His eyes met Julian’s. Julian’s face expressed shock and the beginnings of grief, but Amory looked ruefully amused.

  ‘Couldn’t you have prevented the boy telling her?’ He did not wait for an answer, but picked Joanna up, at which she wound her arms more tightly than ever around him. ‘The shock has been too much for her,’ said Amory, to no one in particular. ‘I will take her into the herb garden, if I may. Perhaps the lady Joyeuse will attend her cousin. My lord Julian, will you come with us, too?’

  Without waiting for a reply, he led the way into the enclosed herb garden, and sat down on the bench with Joanna still in his arms. She was alarmingly still, and her grip on him too strong to break without the use of force. He said nothing, but held her tightly as she held him. Julian and Joyeuse stood beside the bench, looking embarrassed and miserable. There was a babel of comment from the other garden, stilled by Lady Floria’s raised voice.

  Presently Joanna loosed him and sat up. ‘It is not true,’ she declared. ‘The boy lied, to tease me.’ Her eyes were tearless, her face white.

  ‘It is true. You must accept it. It is the end.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Her lower lip came out. ‘I do not give up as easily as that.’

  ‘What can we do, against that?’

  Her tone was hard. ‘I don’t care. Nothing shall stop me. I will still come to you.’

  ‘Even if I ask you not to do so?’

  She flung her head back. ‘Will you let such a small thing break you?’

  ‘It is not a small thing.’ Amory tried to smile, but didn’t make a good job of it. ‘It is an appropriate punishment, don’t you think? You know perfectly well that I am not to be trusted to keep my vow of silence. I have not kept it in the past, I am breaking it even now, and if you were to come to me in the hills, no doubt I would break it again.’

  ‘Julian.’ She turned to him with pleading hands. ‘You must tell Father Hilarion that this is not to be. It is too harsh a punishment.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Julian kicked gravel. ‘I did try, but Father Hilarion has an answer to everything. Even the clothes which Amory is wearing … they’re not his, you know, and he’s supposed to live in poverty, and go barefoot.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Amory. ‘I am, I fear, somewhat vain. I like good clothes, and I did hate wearing homespun. When Peterkin put these clothes out for me, I did not think to object. I took them and was glad to wear linen and wool for a little while. I did not think of it then as breaking my vow, but I see now that it was so.’

  Joanna began to pace the walk, biting on one of her plaits.

  Amory continued to address Julian. ‘I am sorry that you should have been hurt by this – this foolish girl. She is warm-hearted, and believes herself under an obligation to me because I healed her arm. …’

  ‘I shall scream,’ remarked Joanna.

  Julian looked from Joanna’s angry face to Amory’s calm one, and then looked for help to Joyeuse. But Joyeuse could only wring her hands and shrug.

  ‘My lord Julian,’ said Amory, ‘I know you are fond of your cousin Joanna, even though she is a headstrong girl, and somewhat shrewish of disposition. …’

  ‘I shall certainly scream,’ said Joanna, with emphasis.

  ‘… which will perhaps make it hard to marry her off suitably. Now that your father is more ready to listen to you than before, do you not think you might suggest a more suitable husband to him, for the Lady Joanna?’

  ‘But if you win tomorrow, then I can still marry her.’

  ‘Do you still want to? Look at her, lashing her tail like a wild animal … think of the benefits the Lady Blanche would bring you. Not only does she have a fine dowry, but she also has a compliant disposition.’

  ‘I should certainly drive you insane if you married me, Julian,’ said Joanna.

  ‘I believe you,’ said Julian. ‘You’ve changed so much, Joanna.’

  ‘But I’ll not marry at all, unless I can have Amory,’ said Joanna.

  ‘You will be pleased to marry the man I have in mind for you,’ said Amory.

  Joanna screamed, and then said, ‘I don’t want to hear.’

  ‘My cousin, Fulk’s father,’ Amory explained to Julian. ‘He is a widower, and much like me, they say. Joanna would respect him, and he would be gentle with her. I did tell Father Hilarion that he would be a good husband for Joyeuse, but I believe he is the only man Joanna might consider as a husband, and so … let it be.’

  Tears sparkled on Joanna’s cheeks. ‘You would do that for me? You would take the chance that I might forget you, if I married a man who is like you?’

  Amory swallowed but said nothing. Joyeuse, seeing Joanna in tears, felt it was safe to approach her. Joanna accepted her cousin’s arms around her, and even leant against her for a moment.

  Then Midge pranced through into the garden, and bowed low.

  ‘Good morrow, merry fools all. On this our last day of life, should we not be merry, remembering that tomorrow we are to die?’

  ‘Peace, fool!’ said Julian. ‘Leave us! This is no place for you.’

  ‘Ah, but it is,’ said Amory, holding out his hand to Midge. ‘Thank you, friend. You were listening, of course. Yes, I needed your reminder. Come, what folly have you in mind for us, to make the day pass more quickly?’

  ‘Why, what else but that we should perform our pageant tonight in the great hall at supper? St George and the Dragon is a very apt legend to retell on the eve of the great battle between our knight here, and the giant in the valley. What say you, mummers all?’

  ‘Midge, there is mischief in your eye,’ said Amory. ‘How can the Lady Joanna think of such things, at this time?’

  ‘Why not, if the right man play St George to her princess?’

  Julian slapped his thigh. ‘A hit! Midge, I do love thee for that, even though it is a hit against myself. You are right, Amory. I should never have thought of marrying Joanna, if it had not been put into my mind. I will play the dragon, as I have always wanted to do.’

  ‘And the lady Joyeuse must play the Saracen lady,’ said Midge. Joyeuse blushed and shook her head, but Midge persisted. ‘We have no other lady pretty enough to take the part, and it will be easier for your cousins if you act with them.’

  Julian looked at Joanna. ‘Well, cousin? Will you play your part opposite Amory?’

  ‘I am dying a little, I think,’ said Joanna.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Amory, more to himself than to her. ‘The death of self is a wearisome business. There is always something more. …”

  Midge took Joanna’s hand. ‘Is it not better for all of us, than sitting and thinking about what cannot be helped?’ He led her over to Amory, and put Joanna’s hand into his.

  ‘If you can smile,’ said Joanna, ‘then so can I. Or at least, I can try.’

  Amory had said he could not remember all the words after so long a time, but that he would agree to rehearse the pageant, provided they were not expected to give a public performance. With this the other performers were in agreement, except for Julian, who took to the role of the Dragon with gusto, and secretly felt that his acting deserved to be seen by a wider audience than pages and waiting-women.

  The boy Amory had disappeared; someone said he had gone to help prepare rooms for the abbot, who was due to arrive any minute. One of the squires took the part of the doctor, with many a sidelong glance in the direction of the new Saracen Lady, whose diffidence and charm made a very different character out of a part which her cousin Anne had portrayed as something of a whore.

  Midge started off by saying that there was no time to rehearse the songs which Amory and Joanna ought to sing, and ended by seizing a pipe and teaching them the tunes. He was here, there, and everywhere; coaxing Joyeuse out of her shyness, prompting Amory, bullying Alice and Kate int
o providing costumes, and restraining Julian from rolling all over the floor in his death throes. Joyeuse began to smile, and Joanna and Amory, understanding that the onus was on them to make or mar the performance, thrust their weight of care aside for the moment. Amory’s laughter was infectious, and his gentle wit could bring a smile to most lips. Now and then, when he caught Joanna’s eye, the words faltered on his lips, and his smile vanished, for he read that she also was holding back fear; but on the surface he played the jester well enough to deceive those who came to watch the play.

  No one, except perhaps Julian and Midge, was quite sure how it came about that what had started out as only a rehearsal gradually became a rehearsal for a performance. It was when Amory was being dressed in Julian’s armour and surcoat that he realized what he had agreed to do.

  ‘Try not to tear the surcoat,’ begged Peterkin, ‘for it is what you have to wear tomorrow, and I don’t think there is enough white silk left in the castle to make another one for you.’

  His helmet, too, was the one he would wear on the morrow, although his sword was made of wood, as was his shield. Peterkin draped a long red mantle over Amory’s shoulders. ‘This is the Count’s,’ he explained. ‘Both he and his mother will be watching.’

  Amory was pale. ‘I fear I may catch my sword in it. Peterkin, do I have to wear full armour? It is heavy, and I am somewhat tired already.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Father Ambrose, waddling in with a jug of wine in one hand and a manchet of bread in the other. He had put on weight recently, and it suited him, but his cassock was in worse condition than before, owing to an accident with some ale. ‘Father Hilarion has declared that under no circumstances will he grace the performance with his presence if you are to act in it. The news of his absence, I may say, has been greeted with relief in almost every quarter. Of course you must wear the armour. What else would St George wear? They tell me you sing, too. I cannot wait!’ He sat down, and beamed at Amory.

  ‘But,’ said Amory, ‘this has gone beyond. …’

  ‘My dear boy, just get on with doing whatever it is that you have to do, and let the morrow take care of itself. Act the part of St George, and maybe some of his valour will rub off on you. Or something. I’ll be there, praying you won’t forget your words; just as I’ll be there tomorrow, praying.’

  ‘I would rather you were up in the hills,’ said Amory. ‘I’m caught, but you are still free to come and go as you wish.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been telling myself, every day for a week, every time I cross that drawbridge; yet somehow nightfall always finds me back in the buttery, drawing my measure of ale. I always said gluttony would be my downfall. Besides, you don’t really want me to go, or you’d have done something about it besides talk.’ He drained his jug of wine, and sighed with contentment.

  Amory scowled at his old friend, and went down into the great hall where the tables were being set up so that everyone in the castle might watch the pageant. Joanna was there, dressed in a long shimmering gown of silvery cloth, with white roses twined with silver ribbons in a wreath on her head. He thought she had been crying, but since she did not mention it, neither did he. She pinned one perfect white rose on his mantle.

  She said, ‘I am not beaten yet. I will speak to the abbot when he arrives.’

  ‘Alternations between hope and despair can break a man’s spirit. Leave it alone, Joanna. I think I can bear it, if I must.’

  She shook back her hair, which was hanging loose today, ‘You are tired, or you would not give up so easily.’

  ‘I am also much older than you. Joanna, when my wife died, you were only nine years old.’

  ‘Aren’t you lucky? She would probably have looked an old hag by now, whereas they say I am just coming into my best looks.’

  He touched the curve of her cheek. The thought was in his mind that, wearing a scold’s bridle, he would not be able to eat properly, and, cut off from mankind, and heartsick for Joanna, he would not live long. Such was his fatigue that he did not reject the idea, but let it lie beside his conviction that he would not live to place another stone on his church.

  The performance was a riotous success. Everyone tried their hardest, but Julian outdid himself. Amory and Joanna played their parts quietly, but their love for each other was so plain to be seen that a hush fell over the hall when they were together, and more than one tear was wiped from the corner of an eye at the conclusion of the performance.

  Even the old Countess was affected, and leaned over to her son to whisper that it was a pity, wasn’t it? The Count sighed. Perhaps he was calculating the value of Amory as a connection by marriage, if things had been otherwise. Then he struggled to his feet. ‘I am too near death to interfere in the affairs of the Church, Mother. Come, we have an early start to make tomorrow.’

  Joanna and Amory stood at the side of the hall, their hands entwined, not speaking, but very close together. The Lady Floria beckoned Joanna away. The girl clung to Amory, and he folded his arms around her. They did not speak. Then he let her go, and she left the hall without looking back.

  Julian took Amory to his own room, where they were served with food and drink before the fire. Amory unpinned the rose, and the brooch which Joanna had given him, and laid them on the table.

  ‘My lord, will you return these to your cousin? I shall not be allowed to keep them, I am sure.’

  ‘Why, man: you can keep them until after … well, after the fight, anyway. And will you not call me Julian?’

  ‘I don’t want them to fall into Father Hilarion’s hands. Please, take them.’

  ‘If you will call me friend, and Julian?’

  ‘As a friend, then: may I ask you a favour? I have no money. As you reminded me today, I do not even own the clothes I wear. No, I do not wish to borrow from you. But will you protect my friends, when I am gone?’

  ‘Joanna? Well, of course. You were quite right about her. I see that now. If you had never come down from the hill, I dare say I might have married her, and it would have been the wrong thing to do. I ought to have married that confounded girl Blanche at the beginning. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I’ll marry her, whether you overcome Sir Bevil or not.’

  ‘Good lad. Father Ambrose – if ever you want any gossip, ask him – he says Blanche is a pleasant, capable creature, with brown eyes and plaits almost to the ground.’

  ‘I am half in love with her already.’ Julian raised his goblet in a toast. ‘To the Lady Blanche. Let me refill your cup.’

  ‘Thank you, no. I am only drinking water.’

  ‘By’r Lady, why?’

  ‘It is one part of my vow I can keep.’

  ‘If Father Hilarion knew … shall I tell him?’

  ‘It would not make the slightest difference. Julian, we stray from the subject. I am worried about the other friends I have to leave without protection. It is true that Father Ambrose is nothing but a hedge-priest, but his whole life has been spent in helping other people and he lives in the utmost poverty. He thinks of himself as a great sinner, yet he is the wisest man I know. He is growing old and dreams of a roof over his head at nights, and someone to give him a good meal now and then. Yet if he stays till the abbot arrives, he will be taken up as a vagrant, and sent to the bishop to be unfrocked.’

  ‘Then why does he not fly now, before the abbot comes?’

  ‘He has a thousand excuses, but I fear he stays out of love for me. He thinks it will stiffen my resolve if he stays. And therein he is right. He also knows that though a hundred lashes may not kill a man, neglect of such injuries frequently does. He does not think Father Hilarion is a good physician, and therein I agree with him. And so he stays, to serve me, and I am too weak to force him to depart.’

  ‘I have said it before, and I say it again: this punishment is monstrous.’

  ‘It is harsh, but it is just. There is Peterkin, too. He is a freedman, who served a lord lately dead of the fever. Sir Bevil killed his family and burned their house. He would li
ke to serve me still, but of course that is impossible. Would you see whether Sir Bevil can be forced to pay him compensation for the loss of his family and farm? Then he will have some money and can go out into the world to look for another master. The others are bondmen and bondwomen, bound to the soil. They belong either to your father, or to the abbot, and will have to return to their places of birth when the present unrest is over. But Dickon wishes to marry Elena, and she belongs to the abbot, and he to you. Then there is the child Bethany who belongs to the abbot, but whose people were slaughtered by Sir Bevil, and who is being nursed by one of your women. And Rob, who will not tell me where he came from, but I think was living illegally off your deer in the woods. And Col, and Alice and Kate … although I think Joanna will look after Alice and Kate. …’ He pressed his hand to his eyes. ‘The abbot owes you something, in that he has broken his agreement to pay indemnity to Sir Bevil, and you have borne the brunt of the attack. It may not be hard to persuade him to co-operate with you in these matters … or then again, it may. I am putting a heavy burden on you, I fear.’

  ‘You make me ashamed. You have given me my manhood. You have shown me how to redeem my inheritance, you have fought in my quarrel, and yet you have to beg for help for others. It is not right.’

  ‘Friend?’ Amory offered his hand, and Julian grasped his arm, elbow to elbow.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Julian, and now he stammered with embarrassment. ‘D-did you k-kill her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I have never known. I think not. But you see, it doesn’t matter whether I did or not; I made a vow, I broke it, and I must pay the price for it. And so, goodnight.’

  Amory strode through the castle, carrying a torch to light him on his way. He knew he was being followed, but he did not bother to turn his head to see who the follower might be. Did Father Hilarion really think it was necessary to set one of the monks to act as watchdog? Was the priest so afraid that Amory might run away, even at this last minute?