by Alys Clare
He and Ninian searched the path up to the track and the undergrowth on either side, and then they separated, he following the road towards the turning down to Tonbridge and, beyond it, Hawkenlye Abbey, while Ninian went east around the great bulge of the forest. When Josse returned to the place where the path branched off to the sanctuary, Ninian was waiting for him.
‘Nothing,’ Ninian said. ‘Well, nothing on the road or beside it. I called and called, but, if there’s a man lying gravely wounded in there under the trees, either he didn’t hear me or he chose not to answer. Either way, we cannot hope to find him tonight.’
‘Aye, I agree,’ Josse replied. ‘I did consider going on to the abbey, in case he has somehow managed to get himself there, but they’ll have locked up for the night.’
‘If he is there, they’ll take care of him,’ Ninian observed.
Josse grinned. ‘The voice of reason,’ he said.
He heard Ninian chuckle in the darkness. ‘D’you think Helewise will see it that way?’
She looked up as they quietly let themselves into the sanctuary, her eyes bright with expectation. Seeing their expressions, her face fell. ‘Oh.’
‘We will search again once we have light to see by,’ Josse said, crouching beside her and taking her hands in his.
She did not need to speak, for the look in her eyes said all too clearly: It’ll be too late by then.
‘Come on,’ he said gruffly, pulling her to her feet. ‘It’s time we were heading home.’
But she resisted. ‘You two go,’ she said quietly. ‘I shall stay here.’
‘You’ll be all alone,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t like the thought of that.’
‘I’ll be quite safe,’ she replied serenely. ‘This place is protected, you know.’
‘I wish I could be sure of that,’ he said, not quite sufficiently under his breath.
‘Oh, you can be.’ Her tone held utter confidence.
‘But—’ he began.
She interrupted, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Dear Josse, I am staying, and that is final,’ she said firmly. ‘I do not want to leave this poor young man alone. He probably has family – people who love him – and when we find out who he is and, hopefully, I meet those people, I wish to be able to tell them that he did not lie unattended the night he died.’
‘Then I’ll stay with you.’
‘No, Josse, you won’t. There is absolutely no need. I am perfectly safe here, and you should be at home, so that you can organize the search as soon as it is light.’
He held her eyes for a long moment. Then, recognizing that he was not going to win, he nodded his acceptance.
‘It’ll be a corpse we’ll be hunting for in the morning,’ Ninian said as he and Josse strode back along the well-worn track from the sanctuary to the House in the Woods.
‘Aye, I fear you’re right,’ Josse agreed.
‘He’ll be somewhere close at hand,’ Ninian went on, ‘assuming he was attacked in the same place as the man Helewise found.’
‘Because the dead man in the sanctuary couldn’t have gone far in that state,’ Josse added. ‘I reason the same way.’
‘Unless, of course, he was mounted,’ Ninian went on. ‘In which case he—’
‘Enough,’ Josse said firmly. ‘It’s late and I’m tired.’ He was also deeply anxious about having left Helewise alone, and wishing now that he had insisted on staying with her.
Ninian touched his arm. ‘She wouldn’t have let you,’ he murmured.
It was quite uncanny, Josse reflected, how the lad occasionally read his mind so accurately.
The House in the Woods was in darkness save for one lamp left burning, and Josse, assuming everyone had gone to bed, bade Ninian goodnight, heading for his own quarters. But as he set off along the passage, a soft voice called out, ‘Father!’
Spinning round, he headed back into the hall. Lying on the thick fur rug beside the hearth was Meggie, propping herself up on one elbow and rubbing her eyes.
He hurried to her side. ‘I didn’t see you there!’ he exclaimed.
‘I fell asleep,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t wake till I heard you and Ninian saying goodnight.’
He sat down on the furs beside her, not wanting to speak for a moment, content simply to be close to this beloved child. She reached out and took his hand, leaning against him, and he put his arm round her, bending to kiss the top of her head.
After a while he said, ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’
‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she replied. ‘Where have you been? Why weren’t you here when I got in? And where’s Helewise?’
‘She was still at the sanctuary when night fell, and Ninian and I went to find her,’ he said. ‘She’d found a young man, dying, on the path leading into the forest from the road.’ He told her what little information he had, concluding with Helewise’s firm decision to stay with the body overnight.
‘She’s sitting vigil,’ Meggie said softly. ‘Keeping his departing spirit company. It’s a difficult time,’ she added, ‘the transition between life and death.’
‘Er – aye,’ Josse muttered.
‘Never mind, Father,’ Meggie said, and he heard in her voice that she was smiling. ‘Nobody’s forcing you to confront things you’d rather leave alone.’ She twisted round so that she could look into his face. Her smile faded. ‘You do look tired.’
‘I am,’ he admitted. ‘And I have to organize a search party in the morning.’ He told her about the dead young man’s companion.
‘I’ll help,’ she offered. ‘I’m good at tracking. You know I am.’
‘Aye, sweeting, I do. Thank you.’ Slowly, painfully – he was sure he could hear his bones creaking – he got up. ‘Bed. Now,’ he said, heading for the door. But then, remembering, he spun round. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me.’ Sudden anxiety flooded through him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Watching her closely, he thought perhaps her smile was a little forced. ‘Nothing,’ she said brightly. ‘It’ll wait till morning.’ She too was on her feet, straightening the pile of furs, checking the fire in the wide hearth. She came up to him, kissing him. ‘Goodnight, Father. Sleep well.’
In the morning, Josse and his household assembled early. Gus and Will set off for the sanctuary, Will pushing a handcart with which to transport the dead body to Hawkenlye Abbey. Out in the yard, Josse prepared to set off on horseback to search further along the road, while Meggie, Geoffroi and Ninian drew on stout boots in preparation for venturing into the forest around the sanctuary. Eloise, with Inana in her arms, came out to see them off, and Tilly distributed hot bread rolls which she had cut open to insert a slab of freshly fried bacon.
Josse rode first to Hawkenlye Abbey. He nodded to the nun on duty at the gate, left his horse in the care of the sister busy in the stables, and hurried along to Abbess Caliste’s room.
She looked up with a smile when she saw who was disturbing her in her work. ‘Sir Josse!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s good to see you. How may we help?’
Swiftly he told her about the dead man, describing briefly where and how he had been found, adding, ‘Will and Gus are bringing him here this morning, my lady. It seemed best.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘I will send word to the infirmary that he is on his way.’ She got up, crossing to the door and summoning one of the nuns working nearby.
When she was seated once more, Josse went on to explain how he and his household were now hunting for the companion who had been with him when he was attacked. ‘It seems almost certain the other man is dead,’ he added, ‘for, just before he died, the man at the sanctuary said he watched as his cousin was slain.’
‘His cousin,’ the abbess repeated thoughtfully.
‘Aye. His name was Symon. And, even if this Symon didn’t die immediately, he’d have been lying out in the open all night, badly wounded. I don’t hold out much for his chances, my lady.’
‘No, I understand,’ she said. ‘We shall pray for him; for
both of them.’
‘I did wonder if the other one – Symon – might have made his way here, but I imagine not, or you would have told me?’ He couldn’t help turning the statement into a question.
‘Indeed I would,’ the abbess agreed. ‘No, we have received no new admissions into the infirmary, either yesterday, overnight or this morning. And, among our existing patients, there is none with the sort of wounds inflicted when someone is trying to kill a man.’ Her lips moved silently, and Josse guessed she was praying.
Aye, he thought, picturing the dead man and recalling his words: It’s a horror that’s worthy of a prayer. He glanced around the little room, feeling awkward about watching the abbess in prayer.
When at length he turned back to her, he found she was looking at him. ‘We do not have your missing man here, Sir Josse,’ she said, ‘but, nevertheless, I believe I may be able to offer you some assistance. Indeed, you are already aware of what I’m about to tell you, for I have mentioned it to you before.’
He stared at her. His mind raced back over all that had happened in the last day or so. Yesterday (only yesterday!) he’d come to see dear old Saul, and called in for a chat with the abbess on the way, and they’d spoken about Benedict de Vitré’s death, and she’d mentioned that there seemed to be rather a lot of important visitors to the area, and …
Aye. Of course! Memory returned, vivid and powerful, and he couldn’t think why he had failed to make the connection before. Eyes on hers, he said, ‘Your two bright young men. You think one of those is our dead man, and the other, his cousin Symon.’
‘It is possible, Sir Josse.’ She got up. ‘Wait here, if you will, and I shall fetch the sister who actually saw the pair.’
He heard her hurrying footsteps as she hastened off along the cloister. Quite soon she returned, and with her was the nun who had admitted him through the abbey gates. She was in the middle years, tall and thin, and something about her suggested wiry strength. She watched him with steady hazel eyes, her face expressionless.
‘This is Sister Madelin,’ Abbess Caliste said, ‘who has recently finished her novitiate and joined the fully professed.’ One of those, Josse thought, who takes the veil later in life. ‘Sister, this is Sir Josse d’Acquin, a good and long-time friend of Hawkenlye.’
Sister Madelin ventured a quick smile, there and gone in an instant. ‘Sir Josse,’ she murmured.
‘Sister,’ he replied, bowing his head.
‘Please, Sister,’ the abbess said, ‘will you tell Sir Josse what you told me, concerning the two young men who asked you for directions?’
If Sister Madelin was surprised at the request, it did not show in her impassive face. She paused briefly, as if collecting her thoughts, then spoke. ‘It was the day before yesterday,’ she began, her voice low and pleasant to the ear. ‘Quite late in the day.’ She paused again, frowning slightly. ‘Some time after nones and a little before vespers.’ Still light, then, Josse thought, but not long to go before it began to get dark. ‘I was watching the gate and, hearing the sound of horses approaching, I stepped outside on to the road,’ Sister Madelin continued. ‘There were two of them, both young men, mounted on fine animals. Bays,’ she added, ‘well-groomed and glossy-coated, and the saddles and bridles were of high quality. One horse had a star on its brow and a white off-front foot.’
An observant woman, Josse mused. He wondered fleetingly what roads her life had led her down before she had come to Hawkenlye.
‘Both men were dressed in costly garments,’ the nun went on, ‘and I caught a glimpse of vividly coloured tunics beneath their heavy travelling cloaks. One man’s was light crimson, and the other’s was emerald green. Their cloaks were trimmed with fur and, the day being sunny, they had thrown back their hoods and wore caps with feathers in them. One man’s hair was fair, stylishly cut – the lad in the emerald-green tunic – and the other’s was dark, with a curl to it. I remember remarking to myself that he’d have had to cram his hat down hard on that hair, or the cap would blow away.’
‘They spoke to you, I believe you said?’ Abbess Caliste prompted.
‘Yes, my lady,’ Sister Madelin replied. ‘As soon as they were near enough to speak without shouting, one of them whipped off his cap, polite as you please, and asked me if I could tell him how to find Wealdsend, adding that it was the dwelling of Lord Robert Wimarc.’
‘Were you able to help?’ Josse asked.
She turned to him, the calm hazel eyes on his. ‘Yes, my lord.’
He was not quite satisfied. ‘You know this area, then, Sister Madelin? You’d heard of Wealdsend?’
Again, her reply was brief: ‘Yes, my lord.’
She did not elucidate and, much as Josse would have liked to press her, he refrained.
‘What exactly did you say to them, Sister?’ Abbess Caliste asked.
Sister Madelin turned back to her. ‘I said, “Go on westwards along this track, and in time it’ll peter out to a path, not easy to determine. Head for the higher ground that rises up to the south, and after some five or six miles, look out for a cleft between two wooded ridges that slope down towards the valley. Between them lies Wealdsend.”’ She paused, considering. ‘They might not have been my exact words, my lady, but they’re near enough to make no difference.’
‘Thank you, Sister,’ said the abbess. ‘You may return to your duty at the gate.’
Josse added his thanks, and the tall, black-clad figure, with a swift bow to each of them, quietly let herself out of the room.
When the steady footfalls had faded, the abbess spoke. ‘One of the pair was your dead young man, Sir Josse?’
‘Aye, there can be little doubt, my lady. Sister Madelin’s precise description accords with our man. Costly garments, emerald-green tunic, fair hair fashionably cut. He was no longer wearing his cloak or hat, and there was no sign of his bay, but I believe we have found one of the pair who asked directions two days ago.’
‘Where, I wonder, is the other one?’ the abbess said softly.
Josse, who had been thinking deeply, started. ‘I should return to the search,’ he said. ‘I’ll ride on along the track, following the directions which Sister Madelin gave. Perhaps the attack occurred there; it’s a little-used path, and quite likely the sort of place where thieves might lie in wait for unsuspecting passers-by.’
‘Those two bright young men would be an attractive target,’ Abbess Caliste agreed. ‘But I wonder, Sir Josse, whether robbers would in fact wait under cover by a path on which so few travel?’
Her words echoed in Josse’s head as he set off from the abbey. He had hoped to detect hoof prints that he might identify as those of the two young men’s horses, but he quickly appreciated it was a vain hope. The main track was littered with foot, hoof and other animal prints, far too numerous to pick out those of two particular horses; and the path, when he came to it, was carpeted with the sort of deep leaf mulch on which it was hard to spot any kind of mark. Nevertheless, he followed it doggedly, searching for indications of a fight, a struggle, a fatal attack.
There was nothing. Was there any point, he wondered as he emerged into the cleft between the two ridges, in going much further towards Wealdsend? He knew that, some time in the near future, someone – probably him – would have to visit Lord Wimarc and break the sad news that his would-be visitors were not going to arrive. But it was better, surely, to wait until they had found the other young man. ‘Alive or dead,’ Josse muttered, trying to keep hope alive.
In his heart, he was quite sure it would be dead.
He got back to the House in the Woods as the sun was setting. Both he and Alfred were tired, filthy, hungry – or, at least, Josse guessed his horse was hungry – and decidedly out of sorts. Added to that, although Josse had ridden for miles, he had found no sign of any young man, or, indeed, of either of the bays.
He rode into the yard to find Will waiting. He slid down off Alfred’s back, handing over the reins, and heard Will’s quiet, reproving tut as he saw t
he state of the horse.
‘I know, Will,’ Josse said. His tone was sharper that he had intended, but his feet were frozen and his back ached.
‘I dare say it was necessary, sir,’ Will said, already running gentle hands over Alfred’s muddy, sweaty coat. ‘Nothing that a hard rub down and a bucket of feed won’t put right.’
Josse hoped the same could be said for him.
He was heading off towards the house when Will said, ‘A horse turned up. Found up on the road. Bay. Blood all over the saddle and the horse’s neck.’
Josse stopped. ‘Where is it?’
Will nodded towards a stall at the end of the line. Hurrying, Josse went to have a look.
The bay was indeed a beautiful horse. It was a gelding, and had a white star between the eyes. Glancing down, Josse saw a glimmer of light in the darkness of the stall: a white forefoot. Will, typically, had tended both the horse and its tack, and no trace of blood remained on either the animal’s neck or its saddle.
‘They found a body, too,’ Will called out.
Aye, Josse thought, I thought they would.
‘Can’t say where,’ Will added, vigorously rubbing at Alfred’s coat. ‘They’ll tell you, indoors.’
Once again, Josse set out for the comforts of home.
He found his family gathered around the hearth. He allowed them to fuss round him, removing his muddy boots and cloak, escorting him into his big chair right by the fire, thrusting a mug of hot, spiced wine into his hands. He enjoyed every moment. When Tilly appeared with a pie oozing with meat, root vegetables and thick gravy, fragrant steam issuing from cracks in the pastry crust, he willingly obeyed her directive not to say a word till he’d eaten it all up.
Sometime later, warm, well-fed, and with a replenished mug in his hand, Josse looked round at the circle of faces illuminated by the firelight. Helewise, Ninian, Eloise, Geoffroi, Meggie. Meggie … Now what did the sight of her bring to mind?
