The Rose Of The World Part 17

A voice like cold water spoke in Meggie's head. It was a voice which, other than in dreams and visions, she had not heard for more than a decade. Her mother said, firmly and clearly: have no truck with kings, for they take what they want and do not give anything in return.

Meggie pulled away. The moment of weakness was gone. She knew her mother was right. He would not give up the pursuit of Ninian, even if she slept with him until he grew tired of her. More than that worse than that if she allowed him close to her, she might inadvertently give away some small fact that would lead him to the very person she was so desperate to protect.

He moved his hands so that he gripped her shoulders. 'You would give me the sport of forcing you, would you?' A cruel smile crossed his face. 'Oh, Meggie, and there I was believing you were about to yield to me right here in the sanct.i.ty of my late and much-mourned mother's chapel!' He gave her a shake. 'I will have you,' he said, his voice as soft and dangerous as a snake's hiss.

He released her briefly, dragging at the neck of her gown and at the lacings of his own tunic. She knew she had to act then or be lost. Grasping the leather bag, which hung from her belt, she loosed the drawstrings and took out the object within.

Then she held up the Eye of Jerusalem and, just as she had so desperately hoped, the light of the lamp burning on the altar shone on it, brought its incredible heart to life and flashed blue fire all around the chapel.

The jewel was her inheritance, coming to her from her father and her grandfather, accompanied by the prediction that she would be the first person in its incredibly long history to discover its full potential. She had worked with it as much as she dared, tentatively exploring its incredible power, nerving herself to push her experiments steadily further, even though she had frequently terrified herself and regularly caused herself at worst injury, at best a crushing headache that took days to dissipate. But magic was like that; she never complained.

One thing that she had discovered was that the great sapphire had the ability to send her into a trance. She had sat with it in the hut one night, idly swinging it to and fro so that the light of the fire burning in the heath caused it to flash intermittently. Transfixed by the sight, she had felt her eyes go unfocused and her mind empty itself of whatever she had been thinking about. She had only emerged from the Eye's spell when she had fallen over sideways on to the floor.

Few people knew about the jewel. Her father did; so did Helewise. So did one or two others. Josse and Helewise had reluctantly agreed to allow her to try out her discovery on them, and both had succ.u.mbed to the stone's trance-inducing power even more swiftly than she had done.

Now, when so much depended on it, she prayed to her guiding spirits that it would not let her down.

She swung it gently on its gold chain. He tried to grab it, but she flicked it up out of his reach. She went on swinging it, and the blue light flashed out so brightly that it was almost blinding. She remembered to look away; this was no time to entrance herself.

There was a change in him. His hands dropped to his sides, and the brilliant eyes followed the stone in its arc left, right, left, right their intense blue seemingly lit from within by the light radiating through the great sapphire.

She said, very softly, 'You do not want me. This place is hallowed, and to make love to a woman in it would violate its sanct.i.ty. There is a power here that you cannot comprehend, and it does not do to offend it.'

She went on swinging the Eye. He was deeply under its spell now, his face blank, his eyelids heavy. She knew she must stop soon. If he went right under, he would fall on to the hard stone floor and possibly injure himself. The noise of his falling might bring the guards running, and she would instantly be arrested and taken away in chains for a.s.saulting him.

'Leave this place,' she intoned, almost singing the words. 'Go away from here. I am not for you, for my fate is connected with the secret of this place and I would not have you risk its vengeance by taking from me what I do not freely give you.'

The trance was deepening. Slowly, she lessened the Eye's swing until it hung still. Then she enclosed it inside her palm, and its light went out. Now they were just two people standing face-to-face in a small, simple chapel.

His eyes opened fully. He seemed totally bemused. He looked around him, apparently searching for something. Finally, he turned to her. 'Meggie?' he said. He sounded as if he doubted even that.

'I am here, my lord,' she said calmly. The jewel was back in its bag, hidden in the folds of her skirt. 'What do you wish of me?'

He shook his head violently. 'Nothing! You are you are-' He frowned, clearly confused. Then, with the ghost of a smile, he said, 'You, my dear, are a vestal virgin. Keep your fire burning . . .' The frown deepened, and for a moment he spun round as if some memory stirred. 'There was a fire,' he muttered. 'A blue fire.'

'There is a lamp on the altar.' She pointed. 'I have observed myself how some trick of the light allows its flame to catch in the blue of the window there.' She indicated St Edmund on his horse, the sky blue above his head.

He did not look convinced. He was eyeing her suspiciously. 'I would believe there was magic here,' he murmured, 'and that you, my Meggie, were a witch, only I do not believe in magic and, whatever the ignorant peasantry may say, there are no such things as witches.'

She bowed her head. 'No, lord.'

His hand was under her chin. She raised her eyes and looked at him. 'I leave for London in the morning,' he said. He looked momentarily puzzled, as if half-recalling that he had already told her. 'I wish that I could take you with me.' He leaned forward and kissed her mouth, gently, affectionately. 'But you belong here, witch of the wildwood.'

He took one long, last look at her. Then he turned away and strode out of the chapel.

She made herself wait. She heard his voice, shouting out some command, and another man's raised in reply. There was the faint patter of conversation, quickly fading. When she was sure they had gone, she hurried over to the flagstone trapdoor and, raising it, flew down the steps into the crypt.

She did not bother with a light. She knew every inch of the place and, besides, the G.o.ddess's power drew her unerringly. She fell to her knees before the niche where she knew the Black Madonna sat, opening her heart and pouring out her grat.i.tude.

A long time later, she rose to her feet, went back up the steps and left the chapel. She looked down at Hawkenlye, most of its lights darkened now. She sent King John a silent good night.

Then she hurried off through the woods towards the hut and her bed.

SIXTEEN.

At Hawkenlye Abbey, the nun who had replaced Sister Martha in the stables was surprised one morning when a shabby-looking peasant brought in an extremely handsome horse. It was not in very good condition, for its coat was dull and matted, its ribs showed, and its expensive leather harness was dirty. The reins had broken, and the two ends had been clumsily knotted together. When Sister Judith asked the man what he was doing with such a horse, he shuffled his feet and said lamely, 'I found him.'

She guessed there was more to it than that. She suspected that the man had thought about keeping the animal, only to discover pretty soon that a fine riding horse is not very much use to a peasant. She knew she ought to report the man the dear Lord alone knew how long the horse had been in his keeping but something about his sad, defeated face and the dejected slump of his shoulders stopped her. If it were to be discovered that some time had elapsed between his finding the horse and bringing it to the abbey, they'd probably accuse him of trying to steal it, and horse thieves were invariably hanged.

Times were hard enough anyway without hanging a man. He might have dependants. Most men did. Sister Judith made up her mind. 'You did right to bring the horse here,' she said. Fixing the man with a hard stare, she added, 'I am not going to ask you to tell me how and when you found him. If there are sins on your conscience, I suggest you pray for forgiveness. Now, be off with you, before I change my mind.'

He grabbed her hand, squeezed it, muttered something and ran.

Sister Judith saw to the horse's immediate needs, removing the dirty saddle and bridle, giving him water and what she could spare of her meagre supplies of feed. Then she went to report to Abbess Caliste.

Abbess Caliste had had so many matters to occupy her mind since the drama of having a king in the infirmary that it was some time before she thought to connect the arrival of an unknown horse with recent events. It was a couple of days since the king had left, and she felt that the dust was still settling.

Abbess Caliste thoughtfully put down her stylus. She had been hard at work for hours, and a brief walk in the fresh air would do her good. She got up, put on her cloak and went outside, crossing the cloister and slipping out through the front gates. She hoped that one of the people she sought would be at the chapel; if not, she would have to send a messenger to the House in the Woods.

Helewise was on the point of leaving the chapel to go home. She would have left sooner, only a woman with a small child had appeared outside the tiny cell where Helewise had once lived, begging for food. The child, a little boy, had looked at Helewise with huge eyes in his dirty face. He was too weak to walk, and his mother had been carrying him.

Not for the first time, Helewise had raged silently against the men of power who cared not a sc.r.a.p for the people. She hurried off to Meggie's hut, where she heated water and prepared a thin soup, putting it in a pot and wrapping it in her cloak so that it would keep hot while she returned to the clearing. She also cut up the last of her small supply of bread so that the woman could dip it in the warm gruel and let the boy suck in the nourishment. She told them they could stay in the cell that night.

It was so little, but the woman fell on her knees in grat.i.tude.

Helewise had gone to pray, trying to find it within her to ask pardon for her inner fury against her king. The battle with herself was long and, ultimately, futile.

As she closed the door of the chapel, Abbess Caliste came up the rise and approached her. She made a reverence, but, as she always did, Caliste caught her up and gave her a hug. Then she told her about the horse.

Helewise thought hard all the way home, and her concentration was so intense that she was back sooner that she had thought possible. She could hear Josse's voice in the stable yard, and she hurried to find him.

'Josse, I think-' she began.

He took her hands and instantly exclaimed, 'You're freezing. Come inside. You can tell me whatever it is when you're sitting by the fire.'

She did as she was told, containing her impatience while he fussed around her, shouting to Tilly for hot food and tucking a blanket round her. She resisted the urge to scream at him to stop. It was, she had to admit, lovely to be looked after.

When finally he was seated beside her, she said, 'Josse, I want you to listen. I'm going to tell you a version of how Hugh de Brionne was killed, and I don't want you to interrupt. When I've finished,' she added as a concession, 'you can comment.'

He grinned. 'Very well, I'll do as you ask.' Putting a hand in front of his mouth to indicate that he would keep silent, he nodded for her to begin.

'We know that Olivier de Brionne took Rosamund from the track leading to this house,' she said, 'and carried her on his horse off towards the hunting lodge on the Ashdown Forest, spending the night on a rise above the river. As they were preparing to leave the next morning, they spotted a horseman approaching and Olivier ordered Rosamund to hide in the trees. He knew the horseman it was his brother, Hugh, who had contrived the plot to seek favour with the king by taking Rosamund to him.'

She could tell from Josse's expression that he had something to say but, true to his word, he did not speak.

'I don't know what Hugh wanted with Olivier, but the matter was urgent, for Rosamund said that he was in a hurry and yelling out to Olivier even as he rode towards him. Perhaps Olivier should already have been at the hunting lodge, and Hugh was anxious in case something was wrong. Whatever it was, the brothers had angry words, and then, according to Rosamund, Hugh rode off again, with Olivier still shouting after him.'

She paused. This was where fact ended and conjecture began. There was nothing to be gained by waiting, so she plunged on. 'Josse, Olivier talks to people who aren't there. Rosamund told me; it frightened her. What if it happened like this? Hugh and Olivier fought, and it was Olivier who left the marks of his fists on Hugh's face. In the course of the fight, Hugh stumbled and fell over backwards, striking his head and receiving the blow that killed him. Olivier, horrified, realized what he had done, but couldn't accept it. Perhaps acting on instinct, for I don't suppose he was capable just then of thinking rationally, he slapped Hugh's horse hard on the rump, cried out really loudly and frightened it into bolting. To Rosamund, hiding under the trees and unable to see what was happening, it would have sounded as if Hugh had ridden away. I don't think it ever occurred to her that he never left the place, or that Olivier killed him only a matter of a few paces away from where she crouched. Then, once Olivier had hidden the body and made sure the horse was no longer in sight, he went to fetch her and together they rode off on his horse.'

She stopped. She tried to judge from Josse's expression whether or not he agreed with her version of events.

'If you're right,' he said slowly, 'then what became of Hugh's horse?'

'According to Abbess Caliste, a rather fine horse has just turned up at the abbey.'

After a moment he said, 'There's one way to find out if you're right.'

Her heart leapt. 'What is it?'

He stood up. 'I'll ride over and have a look at Olivier's hands.'

Josse made the return journey to Hawkenlye more swiftly than Helewise had walked it, choosing to take his horse and keep to the main tracks. The distance was longer, but the going faster. Leaving Alfred at the gates, he sent word to the abbess to tell her what he was doing and hurried to the infirmary.

On hearing his request, Sister Liese shook her head and said simply, 'But Olivier has gone.' She indicated the two recesses where Olivier and the king had been treated. 'They have all gone, back to one of the king's London residences. His apartments in the Tower, I believe they said.'

Josse felt bitterly disappointed. But there was still one slim chance of finding out what he needed to know: 'Did you treat him yourself, Sister?'

'Yes, to begin with,' she said, 'and then I was called away to more pressing cases and I handed his care to one of my nuns.' She gazed out along the infirmary. 'Sister Bridget took over.'

'Will you describe his wounds for us?' Josse asked.

Sister Liese looked doubtful.

'Please, Sister!' he urged. 'It is very important.'

'Very well. He had a deep cut over his ribs, beneath his right arm, and a long cut down his left forearm, extending on to the wrist and the back of the hand.'

'Aye, I recall now that his left hand was heavily bandaged,' Josse muttered. 'Did you notice anything else, Sister Liese?'

Her eyes narrowed. 'I am trying to visualize him . . . Yes, there was extensive bruising to one of his hands. I remember asking the herbalist for a burdock poultice, and I did fear that a bone might have been broken, although in fact he had use of the hand and so that was unlikely.'

'Do you remember which hand?' Josse asked.

'The right,' she said instantly. 'I could not have put a poultice on his left hand, for the cut in it had been bandaged.'

Josse visualized the dead man. 'The damage to Hugh's face was on the left side,' he said quietly. 'Where a right-handed man would have hit him.'

At Acquin, Ninian was beginning to relax and enjoy himself. He had settled very happily with the family. Josse's brothers and their wives were avid for every last little detail of life in the House in the Woods, and in the evenings, when work was done for the day and the family relaxed together, they all plied him with endless questions.

'How I should love to see him again,' Yves sighed one evening, wiping away tears of laughter after Ninian had excelled himself in describing Josse's attempts at herding the household's small flock of sheep off Meggie's herbs and back into the sheep fold. One ewe, which Josse claimed was unique among the creatures of the earth in having been born without a brain, had frustrated him so severely that he had tried to pick her up by the back legs and drag her, upon which she had kicked him soundly in the groin. 'England is not so far away,' Yves went on sadly, 'yet the years pa.s.s, the days are so full and it is easier to sit here and reminisce than to get up and set out on a visit.'

'Josse would say the same,' Ninian replied. He had warmed to Yves and did not think it was fair for him to take all the blame on himself. 'Besides, there are four brothers here, and Josse is only one. It's up to him, really, to come to you.'

Suddenly, he experienced one of the strange moments which happened occasionally, when he saw something that was going to happen. He had learned not to worry about them; it was, he had decided, probably a gift inherited from his mother. He had also learned to trust them.

What he saw, as he sat across the fire from Yves, was a perfectly clear image of Josse sitting beside his brother.

He decided not to tell Yves. If he was right and he knew he was then the visit would come as a lovely surprise.

Yves insisted that Ninian be shown all over the Acquin lands. On several successive mornings, they saddled up their horses and, sometimes accompanied by one of the other brothers, sometimes just the two of them, they would set off on a long morning ride.

On the fourth day of Ninian's stay, he was riding back towards the house with Yves and Patrice and looking forward to the meal which would be waiting for them. Patrice was pointing down to the little river that ran through the valley, telling him where the best spots to fish for a trout or a perch could be found, when they heard voices on the road ahead. They were not far from Acquin and, up a narrow path that led up to the right, a group of alders grew around a pond. The voices came from under the trees.

Somebody was weeping, loudly and uncontrollably.

Yves spurred on his horse, Ninian and Patrice in his wake. They dismounted at the end of the path, tethered their horses and ran up the gentle slope to the huddle of people.

They were all local people; Ninian recognized quite a few of the faces. Seeing Yves approach, most of them stood back and some bowed their heads to their lord. As a gap opened up and the pond became visible, Ninian, just behind Yves, saw what was causing the commotion.

A body lay on the edge of the water. It was that of a man, clad in down at heel boots, darned hose and a jerkin that seemed to be made out of sacking. His dirty hair was pale blond. A woman was crouched over him, patting at his face, weeping, crying out a name: 'Stephan! Oh, Stephan!'

It was Yves's stable lad.

Yves was already on his knees in the mud beside the young man's mother. He had his hand on the lad's throat and, as Ninian watched, he bent down to put his cheek beside the open mouth. He glanced up, and Ninian saw him catch his brother's eye and briefly shake his head. Then he stood up, ran his eyes over the gawping villagers and, selecting a couple, told them to escort the wailing, shocked woman back to her home. Two more were sent to fetch a stretcher for the body. There were still four or five people hanging about and, with a swift, impatient gesture, Yves said, 'Get back to your work. There is nothing anyone can do for him now.'

When everyone had gone, Yves beckoned to Patrice and Ninian, and they approached the body.

'How did he die?' Patrice asked. 'Did he drown?'

'I do not think so, for his hair is dry,' Yves said. He was running his hands over the body, searching for the fatal injury. With a soft exclamation, he pointed to the neck. On the left side the side on which the body lay there was a short, deep cut beneath the ear. The young man's life blood lay in a great pool beneath it. 'See,' Yves said softly. 'A stab to the neck.' He touched the dead cheek with a gentle hand. 'Such a small wound, to bring about a man's death.'

Ninian had seen something else. The lad's right hand was tightly clenched, but the edge of a small leather bag was visible, sticking out between the thumb and the forefinger. He reached down and opened the fist, extracting the bag. Opening it, he saw that it was full of coins. Silently, he handed it to Yves, who quickly counted the coins, his eyes widening.

'There's several months' income here!' Yves whispered. 'However did Stephan come by so much money?'

'Perhaps he stole it,' Patrice suggested.

Yves frowned. 'I would have said Stephan was an honest man, but recently he has changed. He wishes to marry,' he went on, looking at Ninian, 'and he has not the means.'

'Someone desperate for money may turn from his former honest ways,' Ninian said.

Still Yves looked doubtful. 'Who could he have stolen from, though? We see few strangers here, and n.o.body local carries this sort of sum around with them.'

Patrice stood up. 'I will go and ask among the villagers,' he said. 'I'll take Ninian with me, unless you wish him to stay with you until they come for the body?' Yves shook his head. 'Then I would be grateful for your company,' Patrice went on, turning to Ninian with a smile. 'Your eyes are a lot younger than mine, and you may well spot something that I miss.'

Not many of the villagers had obeyed Yves's order to return to work. Stephan's mother had disappeared, presumably now pouring out her grief inside her house, and a group of the men who had stood around the body were gathered close to the church. They had been joined by several more. A man stood in the middle of the group, speaking urgently. Seeing Patrice, he fell silent. As one, the men turned to look at Patrice and Ninian.

'Stephan was murdered,' Patrice said. There was a low rumble of comment, although Ninian was almost sure the men had already known. 'He was clutching a bag of money. We don't know how he came by it. If any of you has anything to say that might help us find out what happened, you must tell us immediately.' One or two of the men exchanged glances. 'If you prefer to speak privately, come to the manor house.'

He waited. Ninian looked around the group. n.o.body made any move to speak. 'Very well,' Patrice said. 'We will return to the manor.' He paused. 'Remember, all of you, that a young man who was one of the Acquin community has been brutally slain. He leaves a widowed mother, who depended on him. He leaves a pretty young girl who was expecting to marry him. Both women will be heartbroken.' He turned his horse, nudged it and moved off, Ninian behind him.

'Do you think anyone will respond?' Ninian asked once they were out of earshot.