Scrivener’s Tale. Fiona McIntosh

Gabe said, ‘it’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Reynard said.

      Gabe left without another word, unaware of how Angelina’s gaze followed long after most people’s vision would have lost him to the blur of street life.

      Brother Josse opened the door to the calefactory and felt the change in temperature. It was the only chamber, other than his private room, where a fire was permitted. But he invariably went without setting a fire in his living quarters as he believed in leading by example, and though his bones were weary — when he lay down these nights his muscles seemed to lock themselves without his permission, then the aches and pains would arrive — and his eyesight failing, he would not capitulate and give himself more comfort than the rest of the Brothers.

      The warmth enveloped him like a blanket and he sighed with silent pleasure. He regarded the back of his visitor, who was looking out of the window onto the herb gardens. Spare and small-framed, the man turned at the sound of Josse closing the door.

      ‘I didn’t hear you arrive,’ the stranger said, soft of voice but with a warm and ready smile.

      ‘That’s the point, I believe,’ Josse replied, equally genially. All in the Brotherhood could move in silence. ‘It has been a very long time.’

      ‘It has,’ came the reply. ‘You were not much more than a lad last time we met.’

      Josse nodded. ‘And you said one day you would need my help, that you would come,’ he said, taking in his guest’s straight bearing beneath the simple grey robe, the neat hair shot through with silver, but the face surprisingly unlined for one so old. How could that be?

      ‘I have kept my promise,’ the visitor said gently.

      Josse knew he was staring, trying to make sense of the man’s presence. He finally gathered his wits. ‘Er, will you break bread with me?’

      ‘Thank you. My tastes are uncomplicated though, Brother Josse. I eat no meat.’

      ‘Ah, that’s right. No living creature; I remember you telling me all those years ago.’

      The man smiled again, the echo of its brightness sparkling in his eyes. ‘I think the fruits and vegetables forgive me though,’ he said with a shrug.

      ‘I have followed in the same steps.’

      Surprise registered on the man’s face. ‘Truly? I’m impressed.’

      Josse laughed. ‘I believe I’ve been in awe of you since childhood.’

      ‘I don’t know why,’ came the reply and even the tone was modest.

      Josse shook his head. ‘Even now you surprise me with your own humility and yet I know that you are —’

      ‘Please,’ the man said, ‘do not treat me with any deference. I am, as you see, a simple soul with simple needs.’

      ‘May I offer you a cup of gleam?’

      ‘Certainly, it would be a treat. I haven’t tasted the spicy wine in many years. It will loosen our tongues for we have important matters to discuss.’

      Josse felt a thrill of excitement. He didn’t know why this man had taken such an interest in his life when he’d been brought to the priory at the age of nine. He remembered him not much differently than how he stood here now: the hair was a little less silvered perhaps, but beyond that the eyes were still sharp and bright, pierced by a curious shot of gold around the pupils.

      The jug of gleam arrived, and although they seated themselves by the fire, Josse was sure that his guest did so only out of cordiality rather than need. Josse had asked for them not to be disturbed, and so now they sat opposite one another, but not really in a comfortable silence — because Josse felt nervous.

      Josse grabbed his opportunity. It was now or never. ‘May I ask, um … forgive me, I don’t know what to call you. I have never known your name.’

      The man smiled and it was as though new warmth filled the room. ‘How remiss of me. My name is Fynch.’

      ‘Brother Fynch,’ Josse repeated the name, as though testing it on his tongue.

      ‘Just Fynch,’ his guest said mildly.

      Josse took a breath. ‘May I ask another question, er, Fynch?’

      ‘By all means.’

      ‘You were a friend of our great King Cailech.’

      ‘I was.’ He paused to smile in private memory. ‘And of his queen, Valentyna,’ Fynch added.

      ‘Yes, indeed.’ Josse hesitated, but then decided he had to clarify this or he would die wondering. ‘Um, and yet I am in my winter years and you look like spring.’

      They both chuckled at the metaphor.

      ‘Looks can be deceiving, Brother Josse. I can assure you I am much older than you.’

      ‘But —’ and something in the look Fynch gave him told Josse to leave it. There was no reprimand, no irritation in Fynch’s expression, just a soft glance that seemed almost painful to behold, so Josse looked away and accepted that the mystery would always remain so. ‘Well, you are an inspiration.’

      Fynch smiled. ‘I’m sure you would like to know why I’m here after all this time.’

      Josse sat forward, placing his half-full cup of gleam on the small knobbly table that sat between them. He noticed Fynch’s gleam was untouched. ‘Yes, I would. I’m intrigued.’

      ‘I need the aid of the Brotherhood.’

      Josse looked surprised. ‘But you know we are here only in the service of the Crown?’

      ‘I do.’ Fynch eyed him now and the golden glints in his eyes seemed to glow even brighter. ‘Tell me about the man in the forest.’

      ‘Cassien? Of all our men, why him?’

      ‘Because you were asked to prepare him.’

      Josse looked astonished. ‘But those were secret instructions, from the desk of —’

      ‘The royal chancellor. Yes, I know and I’m sorry for the stratagem. It would have prompted too many questions had I approached you directly on this matter when you took over as Head Brother.’ Fynch gave a small shrug of a shoulder. ‘I know it’s confusing, Brother Josse. Tell me all you know about him. And then I’ll tell you why he is so important to me.’

      Josse sat back and took a deep breath. ‘All right. Cassien came to us as an infant … an orphan. His mother was a slattern.’ He paused as Fynch smiled tightly at the polite word. Josse cleared his throat. ‘She was nonetheless incredibly beautiful, and it was said rich men from far and wide would journey to see and partake of this woman’s … er …’

      ‘Services?’ Fynch offered.

      ‘Yes,’ Josse agreed, relieved to discover that his guest was not stuffy about these things, even though he’d always thought of him as something of a holy man. ‘She lived and worked in Pearlis, not far from the cathedral. She died neither young nor old — in her prime perhaps you might say, ravaged by a disease that no-one had any knowledge of, or cure for. It is believed the sickness was brought from across the oceans, and her body was burned as it frightened everyone so. Cassien knows none of this. He believes his mother died soon after childbirth. She gave him to us when he was little more than nine months. I have to say her attitude sounds cold, but I met her and she was a warm, laughing individual who wanted the best for her son, which she knew she could not give him. I never visited her. She accepted no money for him, asking only that she be allowed to glimpse him from time to time.’

      ‘And did she?’

      ‘Every moon until she died. We would take Cassien through the market and past a designated spot where she would be watching him from a close distance. I always felt sorry for her, even though