by Alys Clare
Melusine stepped forward and, perching on the bed, took her daughter’s hands in hers. She muttered something in French: It’s true, yes, he is dead, and his body was taken to Hawkenlye Abbey, where I have just returned from seeing it.
She added something more – perhaps a word of comfort – but whatever it was, Helewise could not hear over the torrent of hysterical sobbing that rose in a crescendo of dreadful sound from the stricken Primevère. Melusine patted her daughter’s hands, offered a handkerchief, a drink of water, but Primevère, eyes squeezed shut and leaking a flood of tears, batted her blindly away. She tried to speak, eventually getting the words out: ‘Dead! Florian is dead! Oh, and here I lay, wasting time in polite pleasantries with my neighbour’s fussy old serving woman, all the time not knowing that my beloved husband was lost to me!’
Helewise, affected by the girl’s outpouring of grief, moved over to the bed and crouched down beside Primevère. ‘My dear, you were not to know that anything was amiss,’ she said. ‘Your mother told me that you had convinced yourself all was well and that Florian’s absence was merely because he was too busy at the tomb to come home.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s what I thought!’ sobbed Primevère. ‘But I was wrong, wasn’t I?’ She had opened her eyes and was staring fixedly at Helewise. ‘All the time he lay dead and I did not know!’ Then, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she asked plaintively, ‘When did he die, my lady?’ She took a sobbing breath. ‘And how? Did he have an accident? A fall?’
Anxious to help in any way, even if it meant answering painful questions such as this one, Helewise quickly said, ‘We think it happened about four days ago. I spoke to a guard at the tomb, who told me that Florian was heading for home late in the day bearing bags of coins. He did not do as he usually did and detail one of them to ride with him because all the guards had their hands full looking after the overnight guests. But, as the guard pointed out, Florian rode a fast horse and he must have been confident that he could escape from any attempt to waylay him and rob him.’
‘Is that what happened?’ Primevère whispered.
Helewise glanced at Melusine. Was it, she wondered, the right moment to tell this poor, grieving young woman the brutal details of her husband’s death? Would it not be better to reveal the nature of his murder in a day or two, when she was over the first terrible shock?
But Primevère caught the look and, before Melusine could respond, she fixed Helewise with a stare and said in a surprisingly authoritative voice, ‘You must answer my question, my lady. I have a right to know how my husband met his death.’
‘Indeed you do,’ Helewise said soothingly, ‘and I thought only to spare you further pain at this dreadful time.’
‘I wish,’ said Primevère, the tears falling freely, ‘to be told.’
‘Somebody was lying in wait for him,’ Helewise said, agonising for her. ‘It appears that his habits were well known and presumably some opportunist had discovered that, on that particular night, Florian was to ride without a bodyguard.’ It suddenly occurred to her in a flash of illumination that perhaps one of the guards had been paid for that very information – perhaps, contrary to what she had been told, it had been the guards themselves who had stated that they were too busy with the overnight guests for any of them to accompany their master home . . .
But that was not a thought to share with anybody just yet, particularly poor Florian’s shocked and weeping widow.
Who was now staring at her with wide eyes in a deathly pale face, waiting for her to go on. ‘They attacked him and stole the money?’ she whispered.
‘They did,’ Helewise confirmed.
‘Could they not have just robbed him?’ Primevère murmured pathetically. ‘When they had got what they wanted, could they not have just left him there? Oh, but to kill him!’ She dropped her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving with the extremity of her pain.
‘I am so very sorry,’ Helewise said softly. ‘I shall pray for you, my dear, and for Florian.’
‘Florian,’ Primevère said, slowly raising her head. Then she wailed, ‘Oh, oh, what am I to do? What is to become of me?’
‘You have your home and your husband’s wealth,’ Helewise said, wanting nothing more than to make the poor young woman realise that things could be worse. ‘Believe me, my dear, I see many women who, on the death of a husband, lose everything else as well and must henceforth depend on charity for their daily bread. It is no comfort now, I know that, but in time it will be and you will be reassured by having the blanket of your husband’s fortune to shelter you from the cold.’
‘She speaks true,’ Melusine added. Her voice taking on an unexpected and not entirely convincing sugary tone, she added, ‘Listen to her, Primevère, and tell yourself that poor Florian would be deeply distressed to see you thus, he who so loved to look into your lovely eyes and admire your pale beauty.’
Primevère dropped her face in her hands again and sobbed even harder. Catching Helewise’s eye, Melusine said quietly and with cool dignity, ‘Thank you, my lady, for all that you have done. I will look after my daughter now.’
She bent her veiled head over her daughter’s wild hair. Helewise got to her feet and, with one last glance, left the room and tiptoed away.
It was a great relief to rejoin the two monks and get away from Hadfeld. The brothers knew better than to question her but she told them briefly what had happened. Saul, his own eyes moist with sympathetic tears, said it was dreadful, quite dreadful, and he didn’t know what the world was coming to. Augustus said nothing. When, a little later, Helewise caught his eye, he said, ‘Saw someone ride away after you went into the house, my lady, although we only got a quick glimpse.’
‘Yes. I was informed that there was a visitor. It was the serving woman of a neighbour of theirs called Ranulf of Crowbergh.’
‘A serving woman?’
‘Yes.’
‘Hm. She rode a fine horse for such a person. It was a bay gelding. Seems such horses are two a penny hereabouts.’
Helewise thought about that. Then, for in her experience bay geldings were two a penny almost everywhere, she put it from her mind and, urging the cob on, set a pace sufficiently fast to ensure that they would arrive back at Hawkenlye well before the long summer daylight began to fade.
Chapter 13
In the Brocéliande forest, Josse and Joanna made their way steadily northwards. It was the morning after the storm; the weather was once more fine and hot and the rain had given everything a shine as if newly painted.
That morning they had set out before the sun had climbed far into the sky. The rain having driven them to seek shelter so early the previous day, they had turned the setback into an advantage and all had had a long night’s sleep; Meggie had wakened them soon after sunrise saying there was something moving around in the forest below the shelter and oh, please could she have something to eat because she was starving?
While the child had been preoccupied with eating, in between mouthfuls sipped from the hot herbal infusion that Joanna had prepared, Josse, speaking very quietly into Joanna’s ear, asked if the mysterious something moving was likely to be real or a product of Meggie’s half-awake, half-dreaming mind.
Joanna had shot him a keen glance. ‘I’d say she imagined it, mainly because she doesn’t seem at all frightened. Only . . .’ She hesitated.
‘Only what?’
Joanna’s eyes on his were wide and wondering. ‘Only I thought I heard something too.’
‘What sort of something?’ he demanded, the rush of adrenalin making him speak more sharply than he intended. ‘And why,’ he added softly, ‘did you not wake me up and tell me?’
Her face melted into a smile. ‘So you’re determined to be our bodyguard, bless you,’ she murmured. ‘Josse, it’s all right. I’m quite used to taking care of Meggie and myself all on my own, you know. And the reason I didn’t disturb your exceptionally deep sleep to tell you I’d heard noises was that I wasn’t sure if I was dre
aming. And when, wide awake, I listened again, there was nothing.’
He pondered that. ‘Do you often wake in the night when sleeping in the open?’
‘Hardly ever. We – my people usually feel safe when out in the wilds and the depths of the forest. Safer than when we have to be close to civilisation,’ she added wryly.
‘Is it because you all seem so—?’ No, he thought. Now was not the moment to question her about the dangers that the outside world might or might not present for her, even given that such dangers really did exist. And, he added honestly, given also that I really want to know about them when, all the time she is apart from me, I do not see what I can do to protect her.
No. There was a more pressing matter.
‘D’you think, then, that these nocturnal noises – if they were real and you and Meggie didn’t dream them – were made by something that your sleeping mind perceived to be a threat? Not, for example, by a natural source such as some animal that is active in the dark hours making its way back to its burrow?’
‘A threat?’ She shrugged. Then, considering what he was suggesting, said thoughtfully, ‘If there really was a noise, then yes, I’d agree with you and say that, for all that I did not truly feel afraid, it was made by something or someone that does not belong in the forest at night.’
Her words went through his head over and over again as they rode under the increasingly hot sun of the July day. They were still deep in the forest – Joanna estimated that they should reach its northern fringes that evening – and the trees provided welcome shade. They also provided a thousand places where someone following the little party with evil intent could hide himself. Josse kept his hand close to his sword hilt. As ever, the dual presence of a sharp dagger in its scabbard on his belt and a sword by his side was enormously reassuring. Whoever he is, just let him try, he thought grimly. I’ll be ready.
They stopped for the night in a shallow dell just beneath the summit of the rounded hump of a low hill. Birch trees grew; there was a trio of them set almost exactly so as to give a roughly circular space in their midst. Joanna, recognising a place where the spirit forces waxed strong, knew that by pitching their camp in the birch-circled dell she would be able to call on unseen helpers for aid should it become necessary.
All day she had felt eyes upon her. Perhaps on Meggie or Josse; she could not really say. But she had been puzzled by her own reaction, for sometimes she felt that the eyes were kindly and benevolent, sometimes that they held at best hostility, at worst . . . She had not let herself dwell on that.
The trouble was that she had now guessed who might be behind this stalking presence in the woods. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. But having solved the mystery brought no relief whatsoever: quite the contrary, for the man she had in mind was vicious, ruthless, had no respect for the law and was out for her blood.
All the time they had been on the outward journey and at Folle-Pensée, her delight in being out in the wildwood with Josse had been overwhelming, so that practically everything else had been drowned out. But now that they were once more close to the outside world, she had remembered that disturbing scene in the inn at Dinan.
It’s too many years that my poor brother has gone unavenged, he had said, but at last the day of reckoning has come.
And was he – no, not him; more likely some hired killer – now out there in the undergrowth, biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike? She had been terrified on that awful night in the inn that he meant to have her arrested and thrown into jail so that they could accuse her of murdering her husband and hang her. But in truth, all that she recalled of Césaire told her that it was not really his way to act according to civilisation’s rules. It was surely far more likely that he would just have her quietly killed. After all, what honest man would simply accept Césaire’s word that she had had a hand in Thorald’s death? It just did not seem possible that she could be arrested, tried, convicted and executed on such slim evidence. Nothing could be proved against her and, with Thorald rotted in his grave these many years, he wasn’t going to speak out against her and back up Césaire’s accusations by confirming that yes, his wife had loathed him and had in all likelihood been behind his death.
No. If Césaire wanted her dead, then this was the only sure way.
She frowned, for still her reasoning did not satisfy her. If indeed whoever was out in the forest following them, spying on them, was indeed Césaire’s hired killer, then why did she not feel afraid all the time? Why did her moments of alarm always seem to be tempered with another thought? A thought, moreover, that did not arise from her own mind but one that seemed to say, loud and clear like someone speaking quietly in her ear, Do not worry, you will be safe.
Perhaps it’s the spirits of this forest, she thought. Perhaps they read in the very fabric of time and place what will happen. They see the threat and the danger, yet they also see that Josse and I together will defend ourselves and our daughter and emerge unharmed. They know I can and will fight if I need to and they are aware of Josse’s strength and courage, of his great protective love for me and for Meggie.
She was still not totally happy with the explanation. But she had a feeling it was the best she was going to come up with.
In the dell between the birch trees, Josse built a small fire and Joanna prepared food. Aware that they would be back in inhabited regions tomorrow and able to purchase supplies, she was lavish with the portions and shared out the last of the victuals given to them by the people at Folle-Pensée. It was a feast and soon Meggie was drowsy and yawning, lying relaxed in her father’s lap, one thumb in her mouth and the fingers of her other hand delicately pulling at and twiddling the hairs on Josse’s forearm.
She adores him, Joanna thought. And as for his feelings for her, well, I have rarely seen a man so love a child. Mind you, she reminded herself, I have few examples of fatherly love by which to judge. But then she did not really feel she needed such comparisons; Josse, she knew full well, would be equal to the very best of them.
She got up, moving quietly so as not to disturb Meggie, and set about packing up the remains of their supper. She made sure that, apart from the blankets that they would use overnight, everything was neatly stored away ready for the morning.
At the back of her mind – and steadily making its way to the front – was the unwelcome thought that whatever noise she had heard the previous night was quite likely to come again; perhaps from closer at hand this time. And if she was right, and the source of the noise really was what she believed it to be, then it would be as well if they were able to take to their heels just as fast as Josse could remove the horses’ hobbles and saddle up.
She returned to the little camp among the sheltering birches. Looking up at the trees, she selected the largest of the trio and went to stand close beside the beautiful trunk. Guard us, Lady of the Woods, she said silently, you whose powerful spirit is present in these graceful, silvery trees. Stay with us, please, and let no harm come to Josse, to Meggie or to me. Then she took the sharp knife from its sheath on her belt, nicked the flesh on the inside of her elbow and allowed seven drops of her blood to fall to the ground at the roots of the tree. She stood for a few moments, head bowed, her concentration profound. Then, feeling the warm flow of reassurance, she went back to Josse and Meggie.
The child was asleep already, rolled up in her soft blanket and snoring gently. Josse looked up with a smile. ‘You missed story time,’ he remarked.
‘What tale did you tell her this evening?’
‘One about a little girl riding through the woods on an enormous horse that was very special because, if he had to get away from his enemies, he could grow wings and fly high up above the treetops.’
‘Did she like it?’
‘Aye, she did. She wanted to know if Horace could grow wings.’
Joanna felt a chill run down her back. Trying to sound casual and unconcerned, she said, ‘Does she think he’s going to need them?�
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Josse met her eyes. ‘No, Joanna. She feels no threat at the moment, I’m certain of that. In fact—’ He stopped.
‘What?’
Josse was looking perplexed. ‘Well, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but when she was riding with me this afternoon, she said there was someone following us but that we couldn’t see him because he was magic and therefore invisible.’
Joanna was horrified. ‘Do you think there really was someone there? Oh, and Meggie saw him?’
Josse put out his arms and she sank against him. As ever, the sheer bulk of his broad chest and the steady thump of his heart did much to reassure her. ‘No, she saw nothing,’ he murmured into her hair, kissing her to punctuate the words. ‘She said, as I just told you, that he was invisible.’
‘Then how could she have known he was there?’ she whispered.
Josse shrugged. ‘It was just a game, Joanna. Didn’t you have imaginary friends when you were little?’
‘Yes, but it’s different for Meggie.’
‘How is it different?’
She baulked at the enormous task of explaining how Meggie’s extraordinary heritage made her a child who had a power to see, hear and sense things that were undetectable to others. But then she is his child too, she reminded herself. Doesn’t he have the right to know? ‘Because,’ she said slowly, ‘Meggie’s imaginary friends are in all likelihood inhabitants of the spirit realm. Oh, Josse, don’t look like that’ – his expression was aghast – ‘they wouldn’t harm her for all the world! They wish only to protect her – she’s very special, you know.’
He relaxed again, but she sensed that he was only partly reassured. ‘So you keep telling me,’ he grunted. Then, his tone still gruff, he added: ‘We have another long day’s riding tomorrow. We should sleep.’
She settled down beside him. He had turned his back and she read his mood: he was emanating distress and she was sure it was because she had just been speaking of that other world that was her and Meggie’s true home. The world of the forest people, with all its magic, mystery and secrecy.
