The Enchanter's Forest by Alys Clare

Author:Alys Clare [Clare, Alys]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781444716719
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2008-07-09T16:00:00+00:00

The directions were easy to follow and presently Helewise was leading her companions through the gate and into the courtyard of Florian’s Hadfeld manor house. There was a row of tethering rings set in the wall and, dismounting, Helewise tied her mount’s reins. Brother Augustus and Sister Caliste did the same. Then, turning slowly to look about her, Helewise took in the scene.

There was a new extension under construction and the half-built walls were keeping a team of men busy. She could hear them talking; occasionally someone would call out a request for some tool or item of building material, to which there would be a cheerful response. A happy work force, she thought, doing a skilful job in fine weather for good wages.

She crossed the courtyard to the steps leading up to the main building, sensing Augustus and Caliste falling in behind her. Mounting the steps while her companions waited at their foot, she knocked on the stout door. After quite a long wait – she was just about to knock again – the door opened.

The woman who stood on the step staring out at Helewise with hostile eyes and an arrogant tilt to her chin was dressed entirely in black. Her hair was drawn off her face and covered with a little close-fitting black silk cap, over which was pinned a long, dark, semi-translucent veil which fell forward over her forehead almost as far as her eyes. In a voice that had the harsh timbre of a cawing crow, she said in heavily accented English, ‘Yes? Who are you?’

Helewise announced herself. Then, feeling her way cautiously, she said, ‘I wish to speak to the wife of Florian of Southfrith, whom I understand to be master here.’

The woman made a sound that sounded as if she did not think much of this understanding. ‘He’s – not here,’ she said.

‘As I say, it is his wife to whom I wish to speak,’ Helewise repeated politely.

The woman studied her, dark eyebrows drawn down. Then: ‘You can’t. She has taken to her bed.’

‘Is she sick?’

‘She is . . .’ The formidable woman hesitated. ‘Sick, oui.’

‘I am sorry to hear that,’ Helewise said. ‘Perhaps we can help? Sister Caliste here is a nursing nun and skilled in the healing arts.’

‘My daughter can see nobody,’ the woman said firmly. ‘She is . . .’ Again, she seemed to be searching for the right words. It could be, Helewise thought, because she was unaccustomed to speaking English. Alternatively, it could be because she was weighing what she said extremely carefully so as not to give too much away . . .

I am not going to stand here on the doorstep like some pedlar trying to sell his wares, she decided. She drew in a breath and then said quietly, ‘The body of a young man has been brought to Hawkenlye Abbey. I have just come from Merlin’s Tomb, where I was told that Florian of Southfrith has not been seen for four days. The description

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