by Alys Clare
The hot blood was racing through her, and for an instant she wanted to ignore him and rush out to rescue Rosamund all by herself. She took a deep breath and then another, deliberately calming herself. He was right. Tempting as it was to act right now, the risk was too great.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We’ll follow at a safe distance and see where they go.’
He did not speak, but the sudden hard hug he gave her was answer enough.
Josse was down in his habitual place with the Hawkenlye monks in the vale. When Gervase had so abruptly hurried away from the House in the Woods earlier, he had felt guilty about remaining there doing nothing but working his way through a platter of Tilly’s excellent cooking, so without pausing for food he had fetched a disgruntled Alfred and ridden back to the abbey. His stomach growling with hunger – for the day was now well advanced and he had eaten nothing since early morning – he had sought out Brother Saul and asked if he could spare something to eat.
As if he, too, were recalling so many previous occasions, Brother Saul appeared with a hot drink and a bowl of thin, watery gruel and commented, ‘Just like old times, eh, Sir Josse?’
Josse took the wooden bowl, setting the mug carefully down beside him on the ground. He smiled at the old lay brother. ‘Thank you, Saul. Aye, it is. There’s many a morning I’ve scrounged a meal from the monks.’
He did not say so, but he could not recall a time when the gruel had contained quite so little oatmeal. Nevertheless, he still felt guilty about eating it, when there were so many far needier than he.
Brother Saul watched as he ate and drank. ‘Anything more I can do for you?’ he asked.
Josse shook his head. ‘No, Saul, thank you.’ Realizing that Saul was undoubtedly hovering for another reason than tending to Josse’s needs, he said, ‘No news yet, I’m afraid.’
Saul’s face fell. ‘The dead man’s kin were not able to provide any clue in the little girl’s disappearance?’
‘No. We still do not know that there’s any connection between Hugh de Brionne’s death and Rosamund’s disappearance.’
He had finished his meagre meal, and Saul took the empty vessels from him. ‘I’ll go and pray for the lass,’ he said. He smiled briefly. ‘If dear old Brother Firmin was still with us, he’d be doing the rounds with his precious holy water to keep our hopes up. Set a store by that water, did Brother Firmin.’
Josse watched him walk away. He was, Josse mused, far too thin . . .
It was no good sitting here lamenting everything that was wrong with the world. Standing up, he brushed the worst of the dust and the creases out of his tunic, tightened his belt over his hungry stomach and strode out of the monks’ quarters. Gervase had promised to return later, he recalled, once he had seen his deputies to hear their reports and issue the day’s orders. Josse decided he would suggest they resume the search for Rosamund by heading off to the north-west. It would save time if Josse was ready for Gervase when he arrived. Leaving the vale behind, he strode off up the path to the abbey.
In the hut in the forest, Helewise could not settle. She moved restlessly about, first inside, then out in the glade, striding to and fro, always straining to hear the slightest sound that might indicate Meggie was coming back. Despite Tiphaine’s calm reassurances of the night before, she was increasingly worried about her.
Tiphaine made a simple noon meal for them. Helewise found it hard to eat. The food was not very appetizing, and anxiety had taken away her appetite. She wondered how she was going to endure another day and, when Tiphaine put on her cloak and announced she was off down to the abbey, Helewise went with her as far as the edge of the woodland.
‘Will you come down with me, my lady?’ Tiphaine asked.
‘No, Tiphaine,’ she replied. ‘I think, however, that I shall stay here, by St Edmund’s Chapel. I—’ She shrugged. There was no need to explain.
‘Your prayers will be heard,’ Tiphaine said. Very quietly, she added something else, which sounded like the Lady will hear you. Then she turned and headed on down to the abbey.
The group from the hunting lodge set off along a track going roughly north-east. Meggie and Ninian found it easy to follow them, for the men were understandably confident of their safety, riding as they did in a large group, and nobody bothered about keeping a watch on the road behind.
On the road to the west and above Hawkenlye Vale, the party drew rein and halted. Meggie and Ninian swiftly left the track and, dismounting, lead their horses into the trees and hurried back to the road to observe.
‘They’re separating,’ Ninian said. ‘Look, one lot are heading off north, and the others seem to be going down towards the abbey.’
‘The young man who has Rosamund is in the second group.’ Meggie was watching closely. ‘The man in the russet tunic is going with them, and a couple of others too. They’ve stuck close by him all the way,’ she added. ‘They look like his bodyguards.’
Ninian did not comment. She turned to him, a question framed, but he leapt up and hurried back to their horses. Soon they had remounted and were following the smaller group on the road to the vale. After a couple of miles, it became clear they were not going down into the vale, for they had taken a narrow track that swung round to skirt it to the south.
‘I think,’ Ninian said, ‘they intend to go round to the east of the abbey and enter through the main gates.’
‘Too grand to trot up the path that leads to the little west gate?’ Meggie suggested.
‘More likely because the main gate’s more suitable for horsemen. Come on –’ he kicked his horse to a canter – ‘they’re getting too far ahead. Even if we’re fairly sure where they are bound, we don’t want to lose them.’
They hurried on. Meggie could make out the members of the group quite clearly now. The leader, in his russet tunic. The man who looked like Ninian, Rosamund sitting in front of him on the black horse. The two burly men who she thought were bodyguards. What were they going to do? Would they ride into the abbey and say that they had found Rosamund wandering and so had brought her to that place of safety so that the nuns could look after her until she could be reunited with her family? It seemed likely. Perhaps the man in the russet tunic had been angry with the young man who’d taken Rosamund – Meggie recalled the furious, shouting voice last evening – and wanted to put a wrong to rights as quickly as he could. If he was the young man’s lord, as he seemed to be, then it would be up to him to inflict punishment and—
The group had split again. The bodyguards were riding away northwards along the track to the abbey gates. The man in the tunic and the man who looked like Ninian, with Rosamund still sitting in front of him, were heading off to the east.
They were not heading for the abbey at all.
Meggie felt sick with dread. A loud warning alarm was ringing inside her head. Something was about to happen, something terrible. She knew it was, and she did not know how to prevent it.
The two horses were cantering up the gentle slope towards the dense woodland. Just up there, directly ahead of them, was St Edmund’s Chapel. Filled with horror, Meggie looked at Ninian.
There was no time to explain, and, indeed, she had no idea what she would have said. All the strange skills that she had inherited from her mother and her grandmother seemed to coalesce, and she felt as if her skin were tingling. She did not know if Ninian felt it too; just then it did not matter. She kicked her horse and yelled, ‘Hurry!’
Rosamund was worried. They had told her they were going to Hawkenlye Abbey, and she had been very relieved because she knew lots of the nuns and the monks there and they would look after her. She did not understand what had happened. The man – his name was Olivier – had been kind to her and she quite liked him, but he had told her quite a lot of lies. He’d said there was going to be a party, and that she must not tell her family because it was meant to be a surprise. Well, that amounted to a lie because although there had been a sort of party at that lodge place last night, none of her family ha
d been there, so it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d told them after all.
She did not know what to make of the lord. He was kind, too, and he had made her laugh. He’d made sure she had a nice private place to sleep – as private as possible, anyway, in a lodge full of men – and he had come over himself to make sure his orders had been carried out. Rosamund thought he was quite a grand lord. For one thing, he had been hunting and stayed at that lodge, and for another, it seemed to her that he was used to issuing a lot of commands and having them instantly obeyed. Olivier and the other men called him my lord and most of them seemed really in awe of him.
Rosamund was worried because now it looked as if they were not going to the abbey after all. It might still be all right if instead they were going where she thought they were . . . She felt Olivier kick his heels into Star’s sides to encourage him up the long slope, and, looking to her right, she saw the lord’s lovely chestnut gelding cantering easily along beside them. The horse was so light on his feet that he almost looked as if he were flying.
They reached the place where a semicircle of land jutted out from the dense woodland, almost opposite the abbey gates below. Olivier drew Star to a halt, and the chestnut stopped close beside them. Olivier was talking to himself. It frightened Rosamund, and she twisted round to look at him.
His eyes looked odd. They were wild and darting from side to side as if he was trying to watch several people all at once. That was peculiar too, because Rosamund could not see anyone in the clearing except the lord on the chestnut horse. She listened, trying to make out what Olivier was saying.
‘I did it,’ he whispered. ‘Yes I did, and you can’t tell me I didn’t. This time I got it right and I haven’t made any mistakes.’
Whoever he thought he was talking to must have replied. He was quiet for a few moments, as if listening, then he hissed, ‘I did! I did do it right!’
She did not know what to do. Every instinct told her to get away from him. He scared her. He still had an arm around her waist, but it did not feel as if he was holding her very tightly. Without giving herself time to think too much – she knew her nerve might fail if she did – she wriggled out of his grasp and slid down to the ground, landing with a thud and jarring one ankle.
‘Ow!’ she cried.
Olivier leapt down after her and was just about to grab her when the lord said curtly, ‘No.’
He, too, was off his horse. He walked across to her and, bending down, smiled at her. ‘You know this place, do you not, Rosamund?’ he asked.
She eyed him warily. ‘Ye–es,’ she said slowly. There seemed no harm in agreeing.
‘You’ve been here before,’ he went on. He reached out and took her hand, clasping it lightly in his. ‘I would guess that you come here quite frequently.’
‘It’s St Edmund’s Chapel,’ Rosamund said. Everyone knew that. ‘It was built by Queen Eleanor, and it’s where people go to pray for the soul of King Richard.’ Everybody knew that, too. She wasn’t giving anything away.
There was only one thing that was secret. Rosamund swore to herself that nothing on earth would make her reveal it.
He still held her hand. There was a pause while he looked right into her eyes. His were so blue, so very blue. She waited. ‘I think you come here with someone else,’ he said. He was panting, she noticed, as if he had been running hard.
‘Sometimes I come with my grandmother,’ she said. Was that what he wanted to know?
‘No, not your grandmother!’ For an instant he sounded impatient and the nice smile vanished, but then quickly it was back. ‘You come with a much younger woman, a very pretty girl with brown, curly hair and eyes that dance with light.’ His mouth was open, and his thick tongue came out like a darting snake and licked his lips.
Rosamund knew who he meant. She did not understand why this man with the hungry eyes and the wet mouth wanted to find Meggie, but she knew enough to realize that it would not be good if he found her.
She opened her eyes wide and said, ‘I come here with the nuns. Some of them are young but, of course, you can’t see what colour their hair is because they’re veiled.’
He let go of her hand. His arms shot out, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. His fingers were hard, pushing into her flesh, and they hurt. She knew then how dangerous he was.
She was not without courage. She said, very clearly, ‘You are hurting me.’
Instantly, his grip relaxed. He gave a short laugh, which sounded as if he was putting it on. Then he drew a couple of breaths and said, very nicely, ‘I saw you here three days ago. You were with her then. I watched you.’
She said, ‘What do you want with her?’
Then she understood, child though she was. She knew what men and women did together. She knew that when they wanted to have a baby they mated just like the animals did. She tried not to think about it, for it disturbed her.
This man wanted to do those things with Meggie. And Rosamund would have willingly gone into the chapel and sworn before God that Meggie didn’t want him to.
She stood up straight, wishing her knees were not trembling so much. ‘I don’t know who you mean.’
He shook her hard. ‘Oh, yes, you do,’ he said, his voice cold and menacing, ‘and you will tell me, even if I have to wring it out of you.’
Then a lot of things happened at once. Rosamund heard the sound of racing footsteps coming up behind her and, spinning round, she saw Ninian leap on Olivier’s back and grasp him tightly, pinning his arms to his sides.
And in front of her, a cool voice said, ‘You will not do that. I am here to stop you.’
Twisting back again, Rosamund saw Meggie standing before her. She had a sword in her hand.
Meggie and Ninian had left their horses on the forest fringe, tethered out of sight of the chapel. They had crept through the dense trees on tracks that Meggie knew as well as she knew the lines on her own hands, coming out behind the chapel. They watched as the two horses came to a halt out on the open ground, and they listened, as best they could, to what was being said.
Meggie had misinterpreted the threat. She believed, in the first horrified moments, that the lord in the russet tunic was hunting for the chapel’s secret: for the Black Madonna that her own mother had sent back here from the goddess’s former place of concealment in the cathedral at Chartres. She thought that the power surging through her came straight from Joanna, and that it was commanding her to defend the goddess and keep her safe from this man, whoever he was. Carefully, deliberately, she placed herself between him and the chapel.
Now she watched as he shook Rosamund. He will make the poor child tell him what he wants to know, she thought. She heard his furious words: ‘You will tell me, even if I have to wring it out of you.’
Ninian had gone around behind the other man. Meggie did not even stop to think whether he was still a threat, or whether Ninian would succeed in holding him off. Drawing her sword, she stepped out from her hiding place in the underbrush and walked across the clearing.
Even as Meggie made her calm announcement, Rosamund was already pulling herself out of the lord’s grasp and running over to her, calling out her name. Meggie put out her left arm and drew the girl fiercely to her side. ‘Are you all right?’ she whispered.
‘Yes!’ Rosamund breathed. Then: ‘He wants you, Meggie. He wants to bed you.’
Meggie opened her mouth in amazement. For an absurd moment she wanted to laugh. He was not after the Black Madonna. He was after her. Then she saw that the younger man had wrestled himself out of Ninian’s arms. Even as she watched, he pushed Ninian away and drew his sword.
Slowly, the man in the russet tunic stood up. He was looking right at her. ‘It’s you,’ he said. It felt to Meggie as if the fire in his blue eyes was searing against her bare skin. He took a step towards her and instinctively, still clutching Rosamund, she moved back. Slowly, he shook his head in wonder. ‘Against all expectation, this fool’s plan –’ he nodded in direction of the man – ‘ha
s achieved the right result.’
She stared at him. She could sense his fierce lust; she could smell it in the beads of sweat on his flushed face. He extended his hands to her. ‘My lady, will you not approach and—’
She did not wait to hear any more. She raised her sword and brought it down in a wide, sweeping curve . . .
. . . only to have it blocked by his. He had reached down and drawn it from its scabbard with a speed she would not have thought possible.
She did not know what would have happened next had a sudden, piercing cry not rung out across the clearing. Rosamund shrieked, the lord spun round and, with the strong pressure his sword had been exerting on hers suddenly gone, Meggie stumbled and fell.
Ninian’s opponent had a long cut on his left forearm and the blood was pouring down his hand. The cut was no mortal blow, however, and Meggie watched in horror as, with a howl of rage, the young man raised his sword and lunged at Ninian. Ninian, sword in his right hand and knife in his left, waited, poised on his toes, and Meggie could see the tension in him. The lord was already hurrying up behind him; Ninian was surrounded.
She pushed Rosamund away from her and launched herself after the lord. He spun round and snarled at her and, just for an instant, both Ninian and the young man were staring at her too. The blood pounded through her body, and she saw a red mist before her eyes; through it came the sudden, sharp awareness that all three men had bright blue eyes.
They all turned inward to face each other. Three swords were held high, and then, as the young man closed on Ninian and the lord launched himself on them both, the long weapons became useless and the knives were drawn.
For the blink of an eye she watched the struggle, then she ran over to join in.
She did not see exactly how it happened, but all at once the young man lay still on the ground, the lord was kneeling down clutching both hands to his shoulder and Ninian stood alone, a bloody knife in his hand.
She met his eyes. There was triumph in his face. But he was wrong to feel jubilant, for now the danger was even greater. ‘Run!’ she yelled.
