The Rose of the World

by Alys Clare

  They have followed me all the way from Acquin, Ninian thought. He was surprised at how calm he felt. He could understand how the king’s men had tracked him to Yves’s manor, for anyone who knew of Ninian’s relationship to Josse would have guessed that he might well flee to seek refuge with Josse’s family. However, it seemed an extraordinary piece of ill fortune that the pursuers had unknowingly guessed correctly as to the direction that Ninian had taken when he left Yves.

  But, of course, they hadn’t. He smiled grimly as the realization dawned. The king had many men at his disposal. There would be a group hunting for Ninian along roads leading away from Acquin in each direction.

  He wondered if he should try to overpower the man. He baulked at any stronger word, even in his own mind; he could not contemplate killing someone purely because that person was following orders. Could he somehow imprison the man, but in such a way that he would be found and released once Ninian was far enough away?

  No, no! He was angry with himself. There would be no point in such an action, for this man would be expected to report back to the rest of his group and, when he didn’t, they would instantly become suspicious and the whole lot of them would come swooping down on Ninian like crows on a corpse.

  There was only one thing to be done: Ninian would have to disappear. So far, for the sake of speed he had been travelling on the roads and the better-maintained tracks. At night, tired, dirty, hungry and with money in his purse, he would lodge at small, out-of-the-way inns. Well, now all that would have to change. He would set out across country, checking his direction by the sun and the stars, and at night, when he and Garnet could go no further, he would sleep out in the open.

  The weather was very cold, especially at night. Silently, Ninian blessed Yves, for providing him with extra clothes and wrappings.

  Down on the road, the man had stopped. He sat leaning forward over the pommel of his saddle, one arm up to his head as if he were wiping sweat off his face. That was odd, for the day was chilly. Perhaps he had been riding hard.

  It did not matter. What was important was that, for the moment, he had come to a halt. Ninian crept backwards, away from the cliff top, and moved quickly and quietly back through the undergrowth to where he had tethered Garnet. He mounted, checked the sun and then, branching away from the road, set off.

  The man on the horse was in agony. He did not think he could ride any further, and he did not know what inner strength had kept him going this far. Fire raced through his body. It hurt abominably to move, but the pain barely lessened when he stayed still.

  He was trying so hard to follow orders. Find him.

  He had done what the voices had commanded. He had found his man, tracking him to the place where he had guessed he would go, then paying that fool of a groom for information. He had paid lavishly but, even so, the greedy young man had demanded more, whining about having an elderly mother and a prospective wife to please. It had been so easy to stop him, although the man wished now that he had removed the bag of coins from the dead hand. The voices were really cross with him about that.

  It was sheer luck that had enabled him to pick up his quarry after leaving the little village. He had stood at a place where four roads came together and, shutting his eyes, spun round a few times. When the dizziness forced him to stop, he happened to be facing in the right direction.

  The orders had gone on echoing in his head. Catch him. Silence him. He had tried; God knew how hard he had tried, riding on, ignoring his increasing pain, ignoring the demands of common sense that told him to stop, find help, creep away somewhere and rest until he felt well again.

  Every time he thought about giving up, they began again with their nagging and their haranguing, warning him, shouting at him, until he barely knew what he was doing.

  He must be stopped, they insisted. He carries the blame for your crime. If ever he is permitted to speak in his own defence, the truth will come out.

  Do not let him get away.

  He had come to a halt. He wondered vaguely how long he had been standing there, with his lathered horse growing cold beneath him. He must go on. Feebly, he tried to kick his heels into his horse’s sides, but the gesture had no effect. He put his hand down to his side. Then, alarmed, he slid his fingers inside his tunic and under his shirt. He felt wetness. When he withdrew his hand, his fingertips were stained with blood and pus.

  His head ached so much that he could barely see.

  He closed his eyes. Presently, he slid off his horse and fell with a thump down on to the road. His horse ambled away, put down its head and began to tear at the thin grass on the verge.

  Some time later, a miller returning home from market with an empty cart came across him. He caught the horse, which had wandered some way along the road, and then went to the huddled shape lying motionless right in his path.

  The man was dead. The miller crossed himself, muttered a few words and then raised the body with powerful arms and laid it in the cart.

  Olivier de Brionne, son of Lady Béatrice and bastard of the king of England, was taken away to be laid out by an elderly village midwife and, when she was done, buried in a small churchyard somewhere in the middle of France.

  EIGHTEEN

  Josse and Gervase got back to the sheriff’s house late in the evening. Josse, who was exhausted by the long day and beginning to think he was getting too old for such exertions, gratefully accepted when Sabin asked if he would like to stay again. He slept deeply and dreamlessly, and when at last he woke, it was to be told by Sabin that Gervase was already out giving orders to his men that the hunt for Ninian had been called off.

  The long sleep and a large plate of breakfast did much to restore Josse. Impatient to get home and tell them all the news, he left as soon as he decently could and set off up the hill towards the forest. Arriving back at the House in the Woods, he assembled the household and told them what had happened up in London. Meggie, back from her stay out in the hut, came up to him and quietly hugged him.

  Later, sitting by the hearth with Helewise, he finally gave voice to the thought that had been gradually firming in his mind since the previous day. ‘Now that it is safe, we – you and I – could go and fetch him home,’ he said.

  She did not answer at first. He wondered what she was thinking. There were many reasons why she would not want to go with him. Autumn was rapidly turning into winter, and the weather was unremittingly cold. Crossing the Channel was a gruelling experience that, in November, most people avoided if they could. If it turned wet or snowy, the roads would soon become impassable. He shied away from what he thought was probably her real reason for refusing: that such a journey would mean many days alone with him, and she was not ready – might never be ready – for that.

  Eventually, she smiled and said, ‘I have always wanted to see your home. I will go and ask Tilly to prepare food for us. How soon shall we leave?’

  They crossed to Boulogne the next day, finding an adequate inn at the port where they spent the night. The inn was full, and the only accommodation was in the big communal sleeping area. Helewise, wrapped up warmly in her robe and her cloak, tried not to think about the hundreds of people who had slept on the bed before her. Meggie had given her some lavender bags against the busy insects and, as far as she could tell, they appeared to work.

  They made an early start and reached Acquin as the sun was setting. Josse, as excited as a boy, pointed out to her the tall watchtowers and the strong wall that surrounded the house and the outbuildings. There was a note of pride in his voice. Even though he had left his ancestral property in the care of his brothers many years ago, she reflected, still the homecoming clearly meant a great deal to him.

  She reined in her horse and let him ride ahead of her into the courtyard. He called out, ‘Halloa, the house!’ and a round-faced, brown-haired man emerged from a door at the top of a short flight of steps.

  Helewise recognized Yves, for he had once come to Hawkenlye to seek out his elder brother. She watched a
s Josse leapt off his horse and the two men embraced. But then, almost immediately, Josse broke away and, his hands on his brother’s shoulders, said, ‘Where’s Ninian?’

  She knew, even before Yves spoke. She saw his face fall as he shook his head. He said something she did not catch.

  ‘How long?’ Josse demanded and, when Yves muttered his answer, Josse spun away from him and violently punched his fist into his opposite palm.

  He came to stand by her horse. ‘He’s gone,’ he said. ‘We missed him by just a few days.’

  She felt his crushing disappointment as if it were a fever in him. She put out her hand and gently touched his face. ‘Josse, dearest Josse, we will go after him,’ she said. ‘We will not give up. Not yet.’

  Yves came over to them, greeting her with a low bow. Straightening up, he frowned in puzzlement. ‘My lady?’ he said.

  ‘No longer an abbess, as you rightly surmise, I think.’ She smiled down at him, and he held out his hand, helping her to dismount.

  Yves was far too polite to question her, although she saw the interest and curiosity in his face. ‘Whatever your condition, lady, it is a pleasure to welcome you here,’ he said.

  Josse, clearly impatient with his brother’s good manners, could contain himself no longer. ‘He was here, then? Ninian reached Acquin safely?’

  Yves turned to him. ‘He did. He was here for a couple of days, and then something happened.’ Briefly, he told them the stark details of how his own stable lad had sold information concerning Ninian to the man who had come looking for him. ‘We fully believed more men would follow, for if one knew to look for him at Acquin, others would surely do so too. I took steps to protect my family, for we had seen one death already. But nobody else came!’ He raised his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of amazement. ‘We could not understand it.’

  ‘I believe I can,’ Josse said grimly. He looked at Helewise. ‘We know that Olivier de Brionne is missing. Whoever it was who came here hunting for Ninian appears to have been alone. It is likely, I would suggest, that the man was Olivier.’

  ‘Why would he be hunting Ninian?’ Helewise asked, very aware of Yves watching, his face screwed up in incomprehension.

  ‘He tried as hard as he could to make everyone believe that Ninian was responsible for Hugh’s death,’ Josse replied. ‘He must have realized that Ninian would protest his innocence and, all the time he was alive, there was always the chance that he would succeed. Then, as indeed has happened, we would look round to try to see who else might have killed Hugh.’

  Helewise, horrified, whispered, ‘You think he has come here to kill Ninian?’

  ‘What better way is there of silencing a man?’ Josse said bitterly. ‘We know why Ninian had to flee but, for someone trying to implicate him in a crime he did not commit, the fact of his flight could be used to argue his guilt. We must go—’

  ‘You will go nowhere this evening but into the great hall of Acquin, where we will do all we can to refresh and restore you,’ Yves said firmly. ‘Yes, I know you want to turn round and set off right this instant, Josse, but it’s getting dark and it will be a cold night.’ He looked at Helewise, smiling. ‘You will persuade him, my lady, to be sensible?’

  Despite everything, she laughed. ‘I have rarely been able to do that,’ she said. ‘But I do think you are right, Yves. Josse?’

  To her relief, he grunted his agreement.

  Helewise was very impressed by the speed with which Josse’s family made arrangements for a feast. Only a short time after their arrival, she and Josse found themselves the guests of honour in the great hall at Acquin, seated on sturdy chairs padded with cushions and set either side of Yves and his wife Marie at the top of the table. Dish after dish appeared, borne along the passage from the kitchens by a line of servants. The wine was French and a great improvement on anything that was available to all but the very wealthy back in England. It was a shame that neither she nor Josse felt much like eating. For the sake of these kind and generous people who were clearly so delighted to have the head of the family back with them, they accepted everything they were offered, but Helewise could see Josse did not really want to be there. He wanted to be off on the road, following Ninian.

  Josse waited until the rest of the household had retired for the night and only Yves remained. The brothers were finishing the last of the wine. Josse turned to Yves and said, ‘Helewise and I will leave early in the morning. We will—’

  But it became apparent that Yves was not going to pass up this chance of a private conversation. ‘When did she leave Hawkenlye?’ he demanded. ‘And where does she live now?’

  Josse sighed. He did not want to discuss the thorny question of Helewise but, on the other hand, his brother had a right to ask. ‘She has her own quarters in my household,’ he said. ‘She left the abbey in the summer, although she was allowed to stand down as abbess some years before that. For her final years as a nun, she lived in a little cell and tended a chapel close to the abbey. And, before you ask, I’m not going to discuss exactly why she left, for I am not entirely sure I understand.’

  ‘She loves you,’ Yves murmured. ‘And I know you love her, too.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse said heavily.

  Yves, ever sensitive and tactful, thankfully did not press him further.

  After a while Josse said, ‘Where has Ninian gone, Yves? We’ll go to him, wherever he is, and take him home.’

  Yves looked down at his hands, slowly turning the empty wine goblet. ‘He would not tell me. He said it was better for all of us if nobody here knew where he was heading.’

  Josse nodded. ‘Aye, I can imagine why. But, Yves, surely he gave some hint?’

  Now Yves looked slightly happier. ‘As a matter of fact, I was able to extract a clue from him. I asked him what I was to do if ever you came looking for him, and I pointed out that I should feel wretched if I could offer you no help in finding him.’

  ‘And he saw the sense of that?’

  ‘He did. He told me to tell you that he’s going to the place you suggested. He said you’d know what he meant.’

  ‘The place I suggested,’ Josse repeated. He thought hard. ‘But I suggested that he came here. I didn’t—’

  Then he remembered. It had not originally been his suggestion; it had come from Gervase. Relief flooded him, accompanied by a sinking of the heart. The place that Gervase had mentioned was a very long way away.

  ‘I think I do know,’ he said softly. He gave his brother a rueful grin and told him.

  He had not expected such a reaction. Yves’s face paled, his eyes expressed his shock and he breathed, ‘But he can’t go there!’

  And he told Josse why.

  Josse leapt to his feet. ‘I must go and get him back! I must leave now – there’s no time to waste!’

  Yves grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down again. ‘You can’t go after him, Josse! You won’t find him – it’s just impossible. Go home. Take Helewise and return to England. Only God can protect him now.’

  Josse barely heard. He was filled with just one desire: he had to talk to Helewise, and it would not wait. As soon as he decently could, he detached himself from his brother’s anxious presence and went to find her.

  In the morning, Josse found he simply could not set out for the coast before at least trying to find a trace of Ninian. Helewise, looking at him out of anxious, loving eyes, agreed that they would follow the road south for just one day. As she pointed out, if they failed to pick up his trail very soon, then there was little hope they would stumble across it later.

  They said their goodbyes to the family. Yves, who had a little knowledge of the south-east of England, promised that he would come to find them back at the House in the Woods. In a bleak leave-taking, it was the one consolation.

  They rode south all day. They stopped soon after dark in a small town, and Josse found lodgings for them in the house of the priest. He was happy to offer them hospitality in exchange for news of the outside world and,
when he discovered they came from England, he was overjoyed.

  It was late in the evening, and the priest was more than a little drunk when he revealed the one item out of the ordinary run of small town life that had recently happened. A body had been found on the road leading south out of the town, stone dead. The body bore grave wounds, one of them swollen with suppuration. A fine horse had been grazing nearby.

  Josse’s fuddled brain instantly cleared. ‘Who was this person? Man or woman?’

  The priest, clearly gratified at having such an interested response, elaborated. ‘A man, in his twenties, with brown hair and a square-jawed face. He was well dressed, and his horse was most handsome: black, with a star-shaped mark on his brow.’

  There seemed nothing else to do but turn for home, although it took half a day of Helewise’s most eloquent reasoning to persuade Josse of that painful fact. ‘Ninian is gone, Josse,’ she said, aching for the pain she saw in his eyes, ‘and although we know where he is heading, it is far away. Yves has told us what is happening there and—’

  ‘There’s danger there!’ he interrupted. ‘We must stop him, catch him before he gets there and—’

  ‘Josse, he has many days’ start on us!’ she interrupted in her turn. ‘How are we to find him in all of the vast heart of this land? By some wonderful chance we found this place, and we can return with the huge blessing of knowing that, with Olivier de Brionne’s death, the greatest danger to Ninian no longer exists.’

  ‘There’s no need for him to be a fugitive now!’ Josse cried. ‘He can come home!’

  Home. The word undermined her, and for a moment she could not speak. Then, reaching for his hand and folding it between both of her own, she said softly, ‘He will come home, Josse. But not through any action of ours.’

  He pulled his hand away. ‘You go back if you like,’ he said coldly. ‘I’ll go after him on my own.’

  His words cut right into her heart. Tears filled her eyes, and surreptitiously she wiped them away. When she could trust her voice she said, ‘Your daughter, your son and all who love you have already borne the pain of seeing Ninian ride away. Will you put on them the further burden of knowing you have hared off after him because that action, risky and futile though it is, is easier for you than gathering your courage and your resolve and going home?’