The Rose Of The World Part 12

Josse's heart was thumping very hard. The madman. Ninian. Dear Lord, this man was suggesting that Ninian had killed Hugh de Brionne!

He hadn't, he could not have done, Josse told himself over and over again.

But then, as if in a waking dream, he seemed to hear his own voice speaking.

I fear we must face the possibility that the man who fought the dead man is the one person who ought to be here and isn't. Whom none of us has seen since the evening we discovered that Rosamund was missing.

Ninian.

The king lay back and closed his eyes. He was alone; a state so rare in his life that he was tempted to simply relish the moment. It would not last, for the old knight Josse d'Acquin had just been informed that the sheriff had arrived and so had hurried away to inform him of the recent developments. Soon both of them would be there, and undoubtedly they would very quickly be joined by the gaggle of self-promoting lords and lordlings that habitually flocked in the king's wake like seagulls after a fishing boat. Not to mention his bodyguards . . .

The curtains that enclosed the recess had been left partly open, and he looked out at the infirmary. He usually had an instinctive reaction against all abbeys: the result of having spent the first years of his life a virtual prisoner in his mother's beloved Fontevrault. They had thought to make a monk of him, but even as a child he had summoned the means to demonstrate in no uncertain terms that, no matter what they did, that was never going to happen. He had escaped the cloister, yes, but those early experiences had left him with a deep-seated revulsion against the soft footfalls and the sombre robes of the avowed.

It was strange, then, he mused, that this Hawkenlye Abbey did not make his skin crawl. Quite the opposite, in fact; against all expectations, he was enjoying himself. The wound in his shoulder was not severe, and it was pleasant to be fussed over. In addition, that glorious woman was here and, whatever happened, he was determined to see her again, preferably alone.

Meggie. Her name was Meggie.

She had raised her sword to him, and normally that was a hanging offence. They would call it treason, in fact, and so the means of death would be longer drawn out and decidedly more painful. For a moment he thought of her suffering. Dying. It was not a good thought. He would spare her, he decided. He would make no accusation against her. She would be so very grateful, but he was sure he could come up with a way in which she could demonstrate that grat.i.tude.

He thought about that, too.

Presently, his breathing slowing once more, he recalled that she had said her mother's name was Joanna de Courtenay. She'd had a distant cousin at court. He let his mind wander freely, and after a while a memory surfaced.

It had been one of those wild, rollicking Christmas celebrations when it seemed that almost all the rich and the powerful in the land gathered together, determined to have a good time. It had been at Windsor; he thought hard and tried to recall the year. It had been soon after his elder brother Henry, the Young King, had died, succ.u.mbing to a terrible attack of dysentery following his hare-brained looting of the holy shrine at Rocamadour. The Young King died in 1183, so the Christmas in question must have been 1184. And a laughing, dashing, daredevil of a man called Denys de Courtenay had brought a young cousin to court, and the king had bedded her every night for almost a fortnight.

King John smiled at the memory. He'd had his fair share of women that Christmas, but he hadn't been invited to share any of his father's. He remembered Joanna de Courtney, though; she had been gorgeous, and they'd all envied King Henry and grumbled because a bandy, randy old man had won the best pickings of the season.

If she had borne a child following the rampant days of that Christmas, he had never heard tell of it. Meggie was too young to have been conceived so long ago and, besides, Josse d'Acquin had said she was his daughter and the resemblance between them supported the claim.

Yet there had been a child; a son. He was certain of it, for the evidence had been right before his eyes only a matter of hours ago. A young man had stood challenging him, a sword in one hand and a knife in the other, and for a weird, disorienting moment John had thought he was looking at his own father, as he had looked in John's earliest memories.

If he was right and in his mind there was no shadow of a doubt then his opponent in that short and ferocious struggle up by the chapel had been his half brother.

A slow smile spread across the king's face. He did not care to have stray half brothers loose in the land; you never know when some hothead might decide to make such a man a rallying point for insubordination. Well, this particular b.a.s.t.a.r.d brother had just attacked his king and gravely wounded one of his close companions, which had effectively signed his death warrant.

It was just a matter of catching him.

There was the sound of booted feet coming into the quiet infirmary; it appeared that Josse had located the sheriff. Swiftly, the king turned his mind to the orders he would issue, and then it would only be a matter of time before his blue-eyed half brother was screaming out his death agony.

The king's smile broadened, and he gave a soft laugh.

ELEVEN.

Josse and Gervase stood outside the recess where the king lay. The king had just finished issuing his orders to Gervase. The sheriff was to gather together as many men as he needed and send them out searching for the man who had attacked the king and Olivier de Brionne in the clearing by the chapel. The man was accused of gravely wounding Olivier, of causing the death of Hugh de Brionne and, most serious of all, of raising arms against the king. The king had given a detailed description of the wanted man and curtly commanded Gervase to circulate it among his men.

Several favourites from the king's inner circle had gradually insinuated themselves into the recess, and they were joined by a quartet of bodyguards and a couple of servants. As soon as the king announced he was ready, they would organize a litter or a cart and take him back to one of his London residences, where he could be nursed and fussed back to health by his own team of physicians. Josse, Gervase and everyone at Hawkenlye were redundant.

Gervase looked at Josse and silently jerked his head towards the infirmary door. They walked quickly away, only stopping when they were out of earshot of the building and the many men loitering outside it.

Josse waited. He was all but certain Gervase had recognized Ninian from the king's description. If so, he appreciated that the sheriff was in an impossible position. His duty to his monarch was indisputable, for he had been given a direct order to find the wanted man and bring him to justice. But this wanted man was the adopted son of his oldest friend, and Josse was well aware that Gervase himself had grown to like, trust and admire Ninian.

After a moment, Gervase sighed and said, 'Josse, I have to go. There are things I must do . . .' He raised his head and stared into the distance, his expression deeply grave and his eyes narrowed, as if the tasks awaiting him were too awful to bear contemplation. Then he turned back to Josse. 'I am going to Tonbridge to organize my search parties, and to begin with I intend to concentrate on the main roads to London and the coast. Only when we have explored the most obvious escape routes will I start on the tracks and the byways.'

Just for an instant, Josse wondered why Gervase was explaining in such detail. Then he realized. He could have embraced his friend, but that would have been unwise for there were far too many pairs of suspicious and unfriendly eyes watching.

'Very well, my lord sheriff,' Josse replied stiffly and in a voice audible to the king's men by the infirmary. 'I will detail whatever men I can summon to begin searching in the vicinity of the abbey.'

Gervase hurried away towards the stables, calling for his horse as he ran. Very quickly he and his men were clattering across the courtyard and out through the gates. The king's men were watching and, taking advantage of their distraction, Josse slipped away, out through the small rear gate, around the side of the abbey and up the slope to where the trees began. He had had to leave Alfred in the Hawkenlye stables for a lay brother to take home later he could not have fetched him without being seen but he would do as well on foot, for he was going into the forest.

As he made his way along the tracks under the trees he wondered where Meggie was. He had hoped she would be waiting when he was finally dismissed from the king's presence, but there had been no sign of her down at the abbey. He told himself she would have gone to the hut, or perhaps on ahead of him to the House in the Woods. He prayed he was right.

He turned off the track along the path that led to the hut. The clearing around the hut was empty, but he could hear voices from within and there were wisps of smoke floating up from the roof. He tapped on the door, and Helewise's voice called out, 'Come in!'

As he entered she turned a joyful face to him and said, 'Josse, dear Josse, Meggie told me the wonderful news! Tiphaine and I have been giving thanks.'

His mind was so preoccupied with Ninian's peril that, again, he forgot for a moment. Then, quickly, he returned her radiant smile and said, 'Aye, Rosamund is safe and well, and by now Dominic will no doubt be at the abbey and preparing to take her home to New Winnowlands and her mother's arms.'

He glanced at Tiphaine. The old herbalist's deep eyes met his and, just for an instant, he had the strange sensation that she already knew the news he was about to break to them. He shook his head, dispelling the thought. He had to be mistaken. His eyes went back to Helewise and he said, 'But I'm afraid there is more trouble.' Then he told them.

They left Tiphaine at the hut. She had volunteered to keep watch down at the abbey and come straight to Josse if there was any news concerning the hunt for Ninian.

Josse and Helewise went as quickly as they could through the wildwood to the House in the Woods. After a while he reached out and took her hand. He knew there was nothing she could do just then to help his terrible anxiety there was nothing anyone could do but all the same her touch was infinitely comforting.

Back at the house, Meggie was waiting. She ran to him, and he embraced her, holding her tight against him. She said softly, 'They will not catch him, Father. He has known the forest for the last ten years of his life. No king's man will find him.'

Josse stroked her hair. She was probably right, but there were two flaws in her argument. For one thing, it was not only the king's men who were hunting for Ninian, but also Gervase's men, who, being local, knew the area far better. For another, Ninian could not live out in the wildwood for the remainder of his life. One day he would have to emerge. The king's memory was long and phenomenally accurate, and he never forgot a grievance.

Josse did not mention either of these facts to Meggie. Instead, with his daughter on one side and Helewise on the other, holding both of their hands, he led them inside.

The household was a.s.sembled to greet him, and Geoffroi rushed over to stand close by his father. 'They all know what's happened,' Meggie said. 'I told them Rosamund's safe, and I also described what happened by the chapel.'

Josse nodded. Turning to address his loyal people, he said, 'You should all know that Ninian is a wanted man. He will be tried and probably put to death if he is caught. Anyone found helping him in any way will also be arrested, for he is a fugitive hunted by the king.' His eyes fell on Gus. 'If any of you with responsibilities for wives and children wish to slip away now, go with my blessing.'

n.o.body moved, except that Tilly leaned closer to Gus and whispered something. Gus nodded. 'We'll take our chance, Sir Josse,' he said. 'This is our home and we're a family. We want to help, if we can.'

Josse was deeply moved. He looked at Will, and his servant's deep eyes in the lined old face looked steadily back.

'Me and Ella are staying too,' Will said briefly.

Josse cleared his throat a couple of times then, with an attempt at a smile, said, 'Well, then, we'd better decide what we're going to do.'

As if she had been waiting for the chance, Meggie said, 'I've been thinking. He's got to get away, but there are two reasons why he won't go immediately. The first is that he'll know he's going to have to go a long way and be absent a long time, and I'm quite sure he wouldn't go without saying goodbye to the people he loves. That's us, obviously ' she glanced around 'but there's someone else, isn't there? Someone who doesn't live here.'

Helewise gasped. 'Of course,' she breathed.

Josse, too, knew instantly who Meggie referred to. Ninian was in love with Leofgar Warin's daughter, Little Helewise. She adored him too, and were it not for the interdict, they undoubtedly would have been wed a year or more ago. Little Helewise lived with her family at the Old Manor, the ancestral home of the Warins, which her father, being the elder of the two brothers, had inherited.

Josse felt his heart clench with fear. The Old Manor lay to the north of Tonbridge, and one of the roads to London pa.s.sed close by. And Gervase was sending his search parties out along the main routes to London and the coast . . .

'We must stop him,' he said, faintly surprised at how calm and authoritative he sounded. 'Roads to London are going to be searched.'

Meggie's cool hand touched his wrist. 'Yes, all right, Father. We'll stop him, or at least warn him, for I do not think he will be stopped.'

'But we have to-' Josse began.

Meggie turned to smile at him. 'I said there were two reasons why he couldn't leave instantly, remember?'

'Aye,' he said cautiously.

'The second one,' she said, her smile widening, 'is that he's on foot. He'd be a fool to walk all the way to the Old Manor, and I know perfectly well that Garnet's munching hay out in our stables because I brought him back with me and I've just been out to him.'

Josse closed his eyes and said a quick but heartfelt prayer of thanks. As the image of Ninian apprehended on the road north out of Tonbridge and taken in irons to some dirty cell receded, he opened his eyes and whispered to Meggie, 'Thank you, clever girl.'

He waited for a moment and then said, 'We have to think where he's gone. Meggie has already pointed out that he knows the forest extremely well, and it's likely he'll be hiding somewhere nearby, since he's got to acquire a horse and the obvious place to get one is from here.' He paused. There was something nagging at him, something he knew he ought to remember, but it remained vague and would not come into focus.

Geoffroi was tugging at his sleeve. 'Father?' he asked tentatively.

Josse looked down at him. 'What is it, son?'

'Why doesn't Ninian just come here? He knows we all care about him and that none of us would betray him, no matter what they did to us.'

It was a sensible question and deserved, Josse thought, a proper answer. 'Remember what I said just now to everyone?' he asked, crouching down so that he and Geoffroi were eye to eye. 'That if anyone wishes to avoid the risk of being accused of helping a wanted man, they must leave straight away?'

'Yes, of course.' Geoffroi's worried frown cleared. 'I understand now. Ninian knows about that too, and he doesn't want to get us into trouble.'

'That's right,' Josse said.

'It's really quite simple, isn't it?' Helewise said. 'Ninian won't come to us for the help he so desperately needs, so we shall have to take it to him.'

'Aye,' Josse agreed heavily, 'and first we'll have to find him.'

Josse gathered his household together for the evening meal and, before they sat down to eat food for which n.o.body appeared to have much appet.i.te, Helewise stood up and rather shyly asked if she might say a prayer.

He looked at her, studying her face in the candlelight. She was pale and drawn, and he wished he could take her in his arms so that each could take comfort in the other. Not yet, he thought. 'Of course,' he said with a smile.

'I know we are faced with a grave problem,' she said hesitantly, 'but we should not forget that, because of Meggie and Ninian, who refused to give up, Rosamund has been restored to her family. We should give thanks to G.o.d that she was unharmed.' Closing her eyes, she made a brief, eloquent and clearly heartfelt prayer. Then, with barely a pause, her tone changed. 'Dear Lord, we beg you to look after Ninian, wherever he is,' she said earnestly. 'Keep him safe and warm this night and, in the clear light of tomorrow's dawn, let him find a way through his difficulties.' She paused. 'Let him know that we who love him will not condemn him without cause, and remind him that we believe every man has a right to defend both himself and those he cares for.' She added some more, but Josse could not make out the words. Then she began the paternoster, and most of the household joined in.

Josse sat in his chair by the hearth. One by one everyone else had gone to bed, but he was restless, his mind too full to allow him to sleep. He had to do something positive to help Ninian, but unless and until the young man came home, there was little he could do. He wondered if Meggie had been right when she said with such conviction that Ninian would not flee without saying goodbye to his loved ones. He hoped so.

His thoughts were going round in circles. It was now very late, and he was exhausted; worn out with the exertions and the stress of that long day. Finally, he got up and, trying to move quietly, he set about preparing a pack containing everything a fugitive might want. He raided the battered old chest where Ninian kept his belongings, rolling up a woollen tunic, a close-fitting felt cap, a spare undershirt and two pairs of hose inside a warm cloak. He folded Ninian's heavy leather tunic around the bundle, fastening it with a belt. He went out to the kitchen, tiptoeing so as not to disturb Gus and Tilly and their children, asleep in the room beyond, and fetched a small, sharp knife suitable for food preparation. From his own experiences, he knew how tricky it was to skin a hare or cut a cabbage when you had nothing smaller than your sword and your dagger. He inspected the family's food supplies being largely self-sufficient, they had plenty and cut off generous slices from the cured shoulder of a pig that Gus had recently slaughtered. He found some apples and half a loaf, then filled a leather skin with fresh water. He packed everything up in his own old campaign bag and set it by the door with the bundle of clothes.

Meggie had reported that Ninian's horse was in the stable. By morning, he would be well rested, well watered and stuffed with food. Josse thought he might just go out and check that Garnet's saddle and bridle were to hand, and before he slipped outside he fetched a thick wool blanket from his own bed and rolled it up neatly, tying it with a generous length of fine rope. He took the packed bag with him, to leave ready out in the stable.

He was on his way back across the courtyard when he heard a tiny sound. He stopped instantly, standing utterly still, barely breathing, all his attention concentrated into his hearing. The sound came again. It was a very faint clink of harness; as if someone had hastily bound the metal pieces of their horse's bridle and not done quite thorough enough a job.

In an old soldier's reflex, Josse reached down for his sword. It was not there. It was, as he instantly recalled, in its usual place, in the far corner of his hall, stuck into a barrel of sawdust to keep away the rust. He had his hunting knife in its scabbard on his belt, but it was some days since he had honed it. Nevertheless, he drew it and felt a little more confident for the familiar shape of its horn handle in his hand.

He waited. Despite the chill night air, sweat broke out on his back.

Somebody else had been wakeful that night.

Up at the Old Manor, where Rohaise and the servants had been busy for days preparing for a lightning visit from the king and his party, the mood between Leofgar and his wife was delicate. One of Gervase de Gifford's senior deputies had arrived late in the evening with the news that Rosamund was safe and on her way home. He had also reported that the king had been injured in an attack and now lay in the Hawkenlye infirmary with one of his companions, whose wound had been more serious.

'Are we still to expect the king?' Leofgar had demanded. 'My wife has made everything ready, as you see.'

The deputy shrugged. 'I don't know.' He grinned briefly. 'They don't tell the likes of me about the doings of kings, sir.'

'Where did this attack take place?' Leofgar asked.

'Close by St Edmund's Chapel,' the deputy said. He leaned closer, eyes bright with the thrill of spreading a juicy tale. 'They say it was a madman with a mighty sword and a knife, and he's also wanted for the murder of some other lord. He had a woman with him, and the pair of them vanished into the wildwood like a pair of spirits!' Mastering his excitement, he added in a more sombre tone, 'Seems this madman was trying to defend the little la.s.s.'

'He escaped?' Leofgar said.

'He did,' the deputy replied grimly. 'The sheriff's organizing a manhunt, and tomorrow my lads and I will be searching the road from Tonbridge up northwards over the downs. Keep your eyes open, sir, and make sure to lock and bar your doors. If you hear or see anything suspicious, we'll be back in the morning and you can report it then. Your family and your household are all safe indoors, I a.s.sume?'

'Yes. My son and my daughter are in bed, and the servants are in their quarters. What does the man look like?' Leofgar asked.

The deputy shrugged. 'We don't have much of a description. He's in his twenties, quite tall, lightly built, but strong. Bareheaded, brown hair down to his shoulders.' He let out a gusty sigh. 'Could apply to a hundred men.' He turned to go. 'Don't forget to lock up, now.'

Left alone, Leofgar and Rohaise had rejoiced for Rosamund and her family. They discussed the attack on the king, reluctant to come to the conclusion that both of them suspected.

'You told me that Ninian and Meggie were missing,' Rohaise said slowly. 'Then Rosamund turns up, in the company of the king and this other man who was also wounded, and the two men are attacked by a man who has a woman with him.'

'So you're saying this madman, as the deputy called him, must therefore be Ninian?' Leofgar made an impatient sound. 'It's quite a conclusion to draw on slim evidence, Rohaise.'

Rohaise was pacing up and down. 'Yes, I know,' she snapped. 'But you must admit that the description could be him.'

'It could be a hundred men, as the deputy pointed out!' Leofgar flashed back. Then, seeing his wife's distraught face, he went over to her and took her in his arms.

'I'm probably wrong,' she whispered, 'but what if I'm not? If it is Ninian, and if he's on the run because he attacked the king and his companion, then there's one place he might come . . . and that's right here.'

Leofgar nodded. 'Because he wouldn't leave without seeing Little Helewise.'

'They love each other, Leofgar!' Rohaise said pa.s.sionately. 'She lives and breathes for him, and I pray he does come to see her! It would break her heart if he went without a word.'

Leofgar knew she was right. He had watched the love grow between his daughter and Josse's adopted son and, until this day, he had welcomed and encouraged it. Ninian was a fine man and, as Rohaise had just said, Little Helewise, mature for her sixteen years, adored him.

Yes, Ninian if the fugitive was in fact Ninian would almost certainly come to the Old Manor. Oh, dear Lord, and tomorrow the deputy and his men would be searching the very route a man travelling from Hawkenlye to the Old Manor would follow!

Another thought struck him and he groaned aloud.

'What is it?'