The Rose of the World

by Alys Clare

  ‘I said no visitors, Stephen,’ she said in a low voice made husky by grief.

  ‘Beg pardon, my lady, but this is the sheriff and this is Sir Josse d’Acquin, a friend of the master,’ the servant muttered. He added something in a whisper that sounded like they found the body.

  It was not strictly true, but it was no time to quibble.

  Lady Béatrice stared at them. She pushed back the veil, and Josse saw that she was perhaps in her late thirties. He also observed that, haggard with sorrow as she now was, she was still very beautiful. Her smooth brown hair was drawn back from a centre parting, and her large eyes were almost black. Her skin was good, her nose straight and delicate, and her mouth wide and shaped for laughter.

  She was far from laughing now.

  Greatly affected, Josse approached her and, bowing, took her cold hand in his. ‘You have my deepest sympathy, lady,’ he said. ‘You and I have not met before, although, as your man here says, I know your husband from our service together under King Richard.’

  She nodded. Josse was about to go on, but Gervase interrupted. Stepping forward to stand beside Josse, he said, ‘I apologize for my abrupt manner, my lady, but it is my duty to discover how your son died. May I ask how you know of the tragedy? Sir Josse and I came here to tell you, but it seems to me that you have already been informed.’

  She studied him. ‘Leofgar Warin came and broke the news last night.’

  ‘Leofgar,’ Gervase breathed. Turning to Josse, he murmured, ‘He did say he knew the family. I would have asked him to come and tell them, only I understood he was in haste to return home.’

  It had been a kindness, Josse reflected, for Leofgar to put aside his own pressing needs in order to perform such a sad task. He wondered how Felix had taken the news.

  He considered how best to ask her. He said, ‘Lady Béatrice, is your husband not with you? Has he, perhaps, retired to bed to nurse his grief?’

  The dark eyes met his. ‘You would ask me, I believe, if my husband is able to comprehend what has happened. If his fast-failing wits have grasped the fact that his son is dead. My answer is that I do not believe so.’ She dropped her head.

  Then you face this tragedy alone, Josse thought. You poor woman.

  ‘My lady, may we speak to Sir Felix?’ Gervase was asking.

  ‘You may,’ came the quiet reply. ‘He is in the chamber through there.’ She pointed to where an arched doorway gave on to a passage.

  ‘Come with me, Josse,’ Gervase hissed. Josse bowed again to the still figure in the chair and followed him through the arch.

  Felix de Brionne lay in a high bed under heavy covers. He had aged greatly in the years since Josse had seen him. His face was a yellowish-grey colour, the cheeks so sunken that the large nose stood out like the prow of a ship.

  Josse stepped up to the bed, bent over the old man and said softly, ‘Felix? It’s Josse.’ The eyes fluttered open and Felix looked up at him. Josse smiled, and Felix’s dry lips stretched in an answering smile.

  ‘Josse,’ he breathed. ‘I remember you.’

  Gervase, close beside Josse, leaned down and said, ‘Your son is dead, Sir Felix, and we are very sorry. I am sheriff of Tonbridge, and I will do my best to discover how he died.’

  The old man’s brows drew together in a frown. ‘My son,’ he said. He stared at Josse, reaching out to grasp his hand. ‘Hugh is my son. The other one, no.’ Straining forward, he beckoned Josse nearer and said in a cracked whisper, ‘I forgave her, long ago. I love her, you see, and she’s young, much younger than me.’ He lay back on the bank of pillows, panting slightly from the brief exertion. He closed his eyes. Josse exchanged a glance with Gervase and was about to suggest they tiptoe away and leave the old man to sleep when he spoke again.

  Quite clearly, he said, ‘There is something wrong with the other one.’ Then his breathing deepened and presently he emitted a soft snore.

  Josse led Gervase out of the chamber and back to the hall.

  ‘Well?’ Lady Béatrice asked as they came to stand before her.

  Josse, embarrassed, was about to make some innocuous comment and nudge Gervase into taking their leave. Gervase, however, was not ready to depart.

  ‘My lady, I am sorry if this is painful and appears to you insensitive,’ he said, ‘but, as I said, it is my duty to discover all that I can about your son’s death. In pursuit of that, there are questions that I must ask.’

  Josse watched her reaction. She gave a faint sigh – perhaps of resignation, as if she knew what was coming – and nodded. ‘Ask your questions,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Can you suggest any reason why Hugh would have been in the area in which we found him?’ Gervase asked. ‘It was out to the west of Hawkenlye Abbey, on a rise above the river.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Does he have friends who live nearby? Kinsmen, perhaps?’

  She looked at him levelly. ‘Our family is small. My husband has one elderly cousin, but she is unmarried and childless. I am an orphan and have no brothers or sisters. I have three children: Hugh, a daughter who lives with her husband close to Canterbury, and another son.’

  There was a long pause. Then Gervase said, ‘And where does the other son live? Could Hugh have sought him out or gone to visit him?’

  Her gaze did not falter. ‘He lives here with Felix and me. He is not here at present. He is a grown man and keeps his own friends. It is not for his mother to question his comings and goings. As to whether Hugh was seeking him out, I doubt it. The brothers are not close.’

  She closed her lips very firmly, as if determined to say no more. But Gervase was not satisfied. ‘Will you elaborate, my lady?’

  She gave a small sound of exasperation. ‘Brothers are natural rivals, my lord sheriff. From childhood, sibling boys will always wish to be the first in the affection of their mother and their father.’ She gave a brief shrug. ‘My sons are no exception.’

  Josse watched as, slowly and inexorably, her stiff face dissolved and the tears formed in her eyes. ‘My sons . . .’ she whispered. Then, squeezing her eyes shut, she said, ‘Now I have but the one.’

  Josse went to her, sensing from a pace away her struggle to hold on to herself. ‘My lady, we will leave you,’ he said. He glanced around for the servant, but the man was already hurrying over to his mistress. ‘Look after her,’ Josse said.

  The servant’s expression implied very clearly that he did not need Josse to tell him.

  Josse had expected Gervase to head straight back to Tonbridge, or possibly the abbey, for his duty was surely to resume the search for Rosamund and, now, the hunt for who was responsible for Hugh de Brionne’s death. With a painful effort, Josse turned his mind away from that. To his surprise, however, Gervase suggested they go to the House in the Woods. ‘We are quite near,’ he said, ‘and perhaps I may impose on you for some food and drink.’

  ‘Aye, of course,’ Josse replied. It made sense, he supposed, although something in Gervase’s manner was disturbing him. Did the sheriff share Josse’s awful suspicions about Ninian? Was his strange, abstracted air because he knew he would have to arrest Josse’s adopted son and charge him with murder?

  With a shiver of dread, Josse put his spurs to Alfred’s sides and hurried after Gervase.

  They rode hard, covering the miles swiftly and without speaking. At the House in the Woods, Josse asked Will to tend the sweating, blowing horses, and he led Gervase inside the hall, where a very welcome fire burned in the hearth. He was about to call out to Tilly to bring food and drink when Gervase, with a hand on his shoulder, spoke.

  ‘Josse, while I am here let me do as I said I would and check on your valuables,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t care about my valuables!’ Josse burst out. ‘Dear God, this is no time for that, Gervase!’

  Gervase’s face hardened. ‘I am doing all I can to find the girl, Josse,’ he said coldly, ‘but please remember that I have other obligations, one of which is to prevent theft. It may be a minor matter
to you, but it is not to me.’

  Josse waved a hand. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said grudgingly. Gervase was right, and he knew it. Forcing himself to concentrate, he looked around the wide hall, and his eye fell on the big oak chest that stood beside the door leading to the kitchen. He strode across to it and flung back the lid, revealing some tarnished silver vessels that had belonged to his mother and a wickedly-curved blade that his father had brought back from Outremer. ‘Hardly worth a thief’s trouble,’ he remarked as Gervase knelt to look into the chest.

  Gervase did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Your daughter has a jewel.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse breathed. He had forgotten the Eye of Jerusalem, the great sapphire that had also accompanied his father home from crusade. ‘Follow me.’

  He strode across the hall and, twitching aside a heavy hanging on the opposite wall, revealed a small wooden box set into the stonework. He reached inside his tunic and withdrew a small but heavy key, unlocking the little door. ‘We keep the stone in here,’ he said.

  Gervase was right beside him, staring over his shoulder into the dark recesses of the box. ‘The jewel is your daughter’s, yet you have the key?’

  ‘Meggie has her own key,’ Josse said shortly.

  ‘How many people know about this hiding place?’

  Josse shrugged. ‘Most of my household, I suppose, might know, although I don’t think—’

  Suddenly, Gervase stiffened. ‘What was that?’

  ‘What?’ Josse felt alarm course through him.

  ‘I heard voices . . .’

  Josse didn’t hesitate. Spinning round, he ran across the hall and down the steps into the cold air. Seeing nobody, he hurried on to the stable yard, where Will was calmly rubbing down Alfred’s damp coat while Gervase’s horse, its nose in the water bucket, awaited its turn. Other than Will, there was nobody there either.

  ‘Has anyone just arrived?’ he panted.

  ‘Not since you and the sheriff,’ Will replied, not turning from his task.

  Puzzled, Josse trotted back to the hall. Gervase was still standing by the secret box, arms folded, a frown on his face. ‘Seems you were mistaken,’ Josse said.

  Gervase raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Perhaps it was your servants, back there.’ He nodded towards the door to the kitchen. Then, before Josse could reply, he went on, ‘This seems reasonably safe, Josse, although since you say most of your household know of its existence, I suggest you get a stonemason to make a new one and this time keep its location to yourself.’

  ‘I trust my people,’ Josse said shortly.

  ‘I’m sure you do.’ Gervase’s tone was terse. ‘Nevertheless, a secret known to many is no secret.’

  ‘But I—’ Josse began.

  Gervase put up a hand to stop him. ‘I must go back to Tonbridge,’ he said. ‘I need to speak to my deputies and learn if they have anything to report.’

  ‘You will not stay and eat?’ Josse was surprised at his sudden decision to leave.

  ‘No, thank you. I will return to the abbey later today, and I hope to see you there, Josse.’

  With the briefest of bows – a mere nod of the head – the sheriff turned and strode away.

  The woman sank to her knees, her joints cracking and protesting as they made contact with the cold, hard stone. She closed her eyes, shutting out the view of the snow-clad mountains through the small window.

  News had come to the lonely village; terrible news. When, she reflected bitterly, was there any other kind? Another stronghold had fallen, one they had all believed would stand for ever, unassailable as it was but to the nimble-footed goats. That devil in armour who led the enemy had somehow managed to bring a siege engine within range, and the usual brutal result had swiftly followed. Hangings, burnings, mutilations, terrible deaths.

  The woman pressed her fists into her eyes, trying to blot out the vivid images. People bled when they burned. She hadn’t known that . . .

  She began to pray, at first saying the words silently, then gradually moving her lips until finally she was speaking out loud, her voice waxing in strength. Slowly, as if it were some grace given to her because of the fervour of her prayer, she began to feel comforted. At first, it was no more than the softest of touches, as if an angel’s wing had brushed in a loving gesture against her cheek. She thought she heard a tiny snatch of music. Keeping her eyes closed, maintaining the fierce concentration, the sensations intensified, and suddenly it was as if a brilliant arrow of rich, golden light flashed across her vision.

  Deep within her grieving heart, hope was born.

  She opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to face the north.

  EIGHT

  Meggie and Ninian began their vigil early. Concealed in the gorse bushes and intent on the hunting lodge, Meggie reflected that the men within must be wealthy. In that time of privation, the feasting had gone on late into the night and, this morning, the servants had been up and about soon after first light, lighting fires and preparing yet more food and drink. Smoke curled lazily up from the roof of the lodge itself, and from the smaller building beyond, which must surely be the kitchen, a veritable blaze appeared to have been lit. Whatever was for breakfast – and Meggie’s mouth watered as she thought about food – was going to be tasty and, more important, abundant.

  She and Ninian, when they woke, had eaten exactly the same meal they had consumed last night: some strips of dried meat and half an apple.

  Presently, men started to emerge from the lodge. In ones and twos, they went round to the back of the lodge, presumably to where some servant had dug a latrine ditch, and then crossed to where the horses had been tethered overnight in a lean-to. Even the horses were well cared for, Meggie observed. There was a generous layer of straw between them and the cold ground, and the hay nets were stuffed to bursting. The sound of metal clinking on metal floated out from the lean-to as the men tacked up their mounts.

  Halfway along the line of horses there was a big chestnut gelding with two white socks on his forefeet. Even from the distance that separated them, Meggie could see he was a wonderful animal, with the gracefully arched neck, small ears and slightly concave nose that told of Arab blood. He would go like the wind. Beside him was a big black horse with a star on its brow. He, too, had the exotic look that came when an English bloodline had been infused with the fast, deft-footed horses that the crusaders had brought back with them.

  As if he knew her attention was lapsing, Ninian nudged her. ‘They’ll be off soon,’ he said into her ear. ‘They’ll leave the servants to clear up and bring the kit.’

  He seemed very knowledgeable about the habits of the great. She smiled to herself. Well, he’d spent the years between eight and fourteen in the house of a knight, learning how to be a squire, so it was hardly surprising. ‘I’m ready,’ she whispered back. ‘The horses are packed, and we can be away in a moment.’

  He nodded. They went on watching.

  When all the other men were mounted and ready, the leader came out of the hunting lodge. He stopped in the doorway, took a deep breath of the clean forest air and looked at the rolling country all around.

  Meggie’s eyes were drawn to him. He was a strongly-built man of medium height and looked to be in his early forties. His thick hair sprang in waves and curls from his head, dark reddish-brown in colour and tinged with grey at the temples. He was barrel-chested, perhaps running to fat, although it was difficult to tell his true shape beneath the heavily padded tunic. It was a gorgeous garment, Meggie noticed, made of expensive russet-coloured cloth and with costly embroidery at the neck. He wore a wide belt of beautifully tooled leather, and from it hung a jewelled scabbard that bore a sword. He also carried a short knife.

  He called out something to the men, and they all laughed. Then he turned and spoke to somebody behind him, still within the lodge. Meggie clutched Ninian’s hand, but he had seen, too, and together they watched as Rosamund stepped daintily out into the soft morning sunshine.

  ‘S
he is – oh, I truly believe she is unharmed,’ Meggie whispered. ‘Ninian, she’s smiling.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I can see,’ he whispered back. ‘She must be—’

  Whatever he had been about to say, he stopped. Following the direction of his eyes, Meggie watched as another man emerged from the lodge. He was about Ninian’s height and build, and he wore a brown leather tunic, and over it a short cloak with a hood.

  She stared at him. Seeing him now, she understood exactly why she had let Rosamund run after him in the woods near to Josse’s house. He really did look very like Ninian.

  She dug her elbow into her brother’s ribs. ‘See?’ she hissed. ‘Do you wonder that Rosamund and I both mistook him for you? Especially when he was where we were expecting to see you, near to the House in the Woods.’

  Ninian was watching the man. ‘He’s younger than me,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, but not by more than three or four years.’ The man was now helping Rosamund up on to the black horse. Once she was secure, he sprang up behind her. ‘He even moves like you,’ Meggie added.

  Ninian turned and grinned at her. ‘I never blamed you anyway for Rosamund’s disappearance, but if I did, I wouldn’t any more. All right?’

  She grinned back. ‘All right.’ Then, her eyes on Rosamund: ‘Ninian, can’t we just ride over to them and take her back?’

  ‘I’ve been wondering the same thing.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve no idea why the man who looks like me abducted her, but for some reason he’s now joined up with all those others, and I can’t believe that they’re all in it. It seems most likely that the – that their leader would see by Rosamund’s reaction that she knows us and would readily let her go with us. But, Meggie, what if that didn’t happen? What if they were determined to hold on to her?’

  ‘We’d fight!’ she hissed. ‘I have my sword, and so have you, and we’ve got our knives!’

  He sighed. ‘I appreciate how you feel, but there are just too many of them. We can’t fight ten well-armed men, and that’s not counting however many servants there are milling around over there.’