Girl In A Red Tunic (35 page)

     When Leofgar returned, it was well after midnight and the gates were shut fast.

     He was breathless and red in the face, his cloak bespattered with mud; noticing Josse’s eyes on him, he gave a quick smile and said, ‘I apologise for my appearance but I have been riding hard.’ Then, excitement bursting from him, he cried, ‘I think I know where she is! Will you ride with me to fetch her home?’

     Josse leapt to his feet and went to embrace the young man. ‘Aye, and gladly!’ he cried. ‘Give me but a moment to fetch my horse and collect my weapons, and I’ll follow wherever you lead!’

     The stables were night-dark but it did not take Josse long to put saddle and bridle on Horace; it was not the first time he had made a hasty departure in the small hours. He led the horse out to the gates, easing back the bar that held them fast and slipping out on to the track. Leofgar, behind him, fastened the gates again and soon afterwards reappeared on the track leading his own horse.

     ‘You have your own private means of access, I see,’ Josse remarked drily.

     ‘Yes.’ Leofgar grinned. ‘A convenient tree bough and a branch to which to tether my horse.’

     Both men mounted, then Josse said, ‘Right, lad.’ Excitement coursing through him, he added, ‘Lead on!’

Leofgar took them down the track towards Castle Hill but, before it began its descent into Tonbridge, he branched to the right along a narrower path that led off at an angle to the main track, entering an area of sparse woodland and then, after quite a time, emerging into the open. They had come down into the river valley – Josse could sense moisture in the air and there were dense pockets of low-lying mist – and were somewhat to the east of the town.

     Leofgar drew rein and Josse came up beside him. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, keeping his voice down.

     Leofgar turned to look at him. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse, I should have explained. Thank you for following where I have led, even though you did not know where we were bound.’

     ‘It is of no matter,’ Josse replied, ‘but I would like to know now.’

     ‘Of course.’ Leofgar considered, then spoke again. ‘Your speaking of my family’s past made me think of a person who is, I would guess, the best source of knowledge on that subject. She is, indeed, the person with whom Rohaise and Timus are now lodging, the good soul who understood our grave need and, without a single question, took us into her home.’

     Although he thought hard, Josse found he had no idea whom this could be. He asked, ‘Who is she?’

     ‘Remember Wilfrid, my manservant?’

     ‘Of course.’

     ‘Wilfrid is the son of the man who filled the same office for my father as Wilfrid does for me. This man – his name was Fithian – had as wife a woman named Magda, who had served the Warins all her life, being herself born to a servant of the household. Magda was housekeeper when my mother first came to the Old Manor and, so I am told, loved her from the moment she set foot through the door.’

     Frowning, Josse tried to work out why Leofgar was telling him this. ‘Had Magda and her husband other sons, then? Has one of them – one of their wives – taken you in?’

     Leofgar shook his head. ‘No. She has.’

     ‘
Magda?
’ Josse was astonished. ‘But if she was a mature woman when your mother wed Ivo Warin, then by now she must be elderly indeed!’

     ‘She is well advanced in years, yes, but her age has not made her feeble,’ Leofgar replied.

     Understanding at last, Josse said, ‘And she has been able to help you.’

     ‘Yes. She did not explain – I did not give her the time – but she told me where she believes my mother will have been taken.’

     ‘You are confident that she is right?’

     Leofgar smiled. ‘You don’t know Magda, for if you did, you would not have asked that. Yes, Sir Josse, I am quite confident.’

     ‘Then let us hurry and go there,’ Josse said with sudden impatience, ‘for your mother is waiting!’

     But Leofgar took a long time finding whatever path he was looking for. Trying to restrain his impatience, Josse held Horace on a loose rein and waited while the young man followed this track and that. The sky was clear and there was a bright moon; by its light, Josse was able to make out that some of the paths down which Leofgar was searching were surely no more than animal tracks.

     Finally he found the right one. Returning along it, beckoning silently to Josse, he said, as Josse approached, ‘The hut is down here. All is dark and I imagine they are asleep. We should leave the horses here, I think, and make our way quietly on foot.’

     They tethered the horses to the branch of a hazel tree and set off along the path. The ground was waterlogged and sometimes one of the men’s feet made a loud squelch as it was withdrawn from the mud. The air stank of foul, rotten vegetation and curls of malodorous mist seemed to attack nostrils and mouths. It was a desolate place.

     After some time they came to a clearing. Putting out a warning hand, Leofgar whispered, right in Josse’s ear, ‘There’s the hut.’

     Josse peered into the clearing and saw the hut at one side, its back to the encircling trees. Drawing his sword, he said, ‘Then let us break the door down and see what we shall find.’

     Together they strode across the wet grass and up to the door of the hut. There was a large stone set against it and they moved it away. Leofgar flung back the door and they both rushed into the room.

     The Abbess sat straight-backed on a bench, her skirts spread around her, calmly eyeing them. She said, ‘I have no idea how you found me, but I am most grateful.’ Standing up, she added, ‘My mare is somewhere close, I believe. Shall we find her and be on our way?’

     ‘My lady, are you hurt?’ Josse asked, taking her hands, just as Leofgar, an arm around her shoulders, demanded to know what Fitzurse had done to her.

     ‘I am quite unhurt and, beyond bringing me here and making me stay here against my will, they have done nothing to me,’ she said. ‘Nevertheless I wish now to return with all speed to the Abbey. I have been too long away and far too long preoccupied with matters that are not the business of an Abbess.’ She glared at them both as if it were all their fault.

     With a courteous bow, Josse said, ‘Aye, my lady. The sooner we have you back in your rightful place, the better.’

     They left the hut. Leofgar, staring about him, spotted a roughly made corral consisting of little more than a few rotten hurdles lashed together and, hurrying across to it, called out softly that he had found the Abbess’s mare; he brought her forward out of the concealing shadows and, tightening the girths, helped his mother into the saddle.

     ‘Where are your horses?’ the Abbess demanded in a carrying hiss. ‘I do hope we shall not have to return to Hawkenlye at a walking pace.’

     ‘No, indeed, my lady,’ Josse assured her. ‘We have left them up the track. We wanted to approach as quietly as possible, so as not to alert Fitzurse as to our intention.’

     ‘I do not believe that they are here,’ she said. ‘I do not know where they have gone, but they judged that barring the door of the hut was enough to keep me prisoner.’ With a sudden smile, she added, ‘They reckoned without the two of you. Thank you, both of you. You are—’

     But she was not to finish her remark.

     There was a sudden rush of sound, an impression of urgent speed, a wild cry. Then Arthur Fitzurse stood on the path before them, his sword tip at Leofgar’s throat freezing both Josse and the Abbess into immobility.

     When he saw this and knew that, for Leofgar’s sake, they would not rush at him, Arthur gave a slow smile. Then he said, ‘Did you think I should leave my bargaining tool unattended? Oh, but I should not be so careless!’ Then, turning, he called, ‘Mother, show yourself. They are all here now, the Abbess, the son and the knight. I have them safe – come out and finish the tale.’

     And as Josse watched, his eyes ever returning to the sword point that had now drawn a speck of blood from the flesh of Leofgar’s throat, a small and black-cloaked figure detached itself from the reeds lining the path and came to stand beside Fitzurse. Pushing back her hood, the bent and ageing woman looked first at the Abbess, then at Leofgar. She murmured something – it was, Josse thought, barely able to make out the words, an observation that now both she and the Abbess had their sons at their sides – and then she turned to Josse.

     As she stared at him, her black eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight. It was as if her gaze held him in a vice: for a frightening moment, he felt he could not move even if he tried. He seemed to hear her muttering, chanting, although when he put it to the test, there was no sound on the still night air. She tries to bewitch me, he thought wildly.

     And, despite the fact that she was tiny, old and probably as weak as she looked, he felt a terrible stab of fear.

Chapter 20

Arthur made the Abbess and Josse walk ahead of him back to the hut; the Abbess had been curtly ordered to dismount, and the old woman was leading the mare back to the corral. All the time that Arthur holds a blade to Leofgar’s throat, Josse thought – Arthur had exchanged his unwieldy sword for a short-bladed and wickedly-pointed dagger – we cannot risk disobeying his orders.

     Josse pretended a docility that was only superficial; beneath it he was tense, alert for the smallest opportunity. Should Arthur make the least mistake, then Josse intended to be ready  ...

     They entered the hut and, by the light of a couple of rush lamps, Arthur told the Abbess and Josse to sit down on the bench. He made Leofgar kneel in front of him, the knife blade still against his flesh. Presently the old woman joined them.

     ‘Sir Josse, this is my mother.’ Arthur nodded in her direction, keeping his eyes on Josse. ‘Her name is Sirida and I am the result of her union with Benedict Warin.’

     Leofgar’s head shot up and he met Josse’s eyes. Despite the situation, still he managed a look of triumph, as if to say, my grandfather! See, I told you my father begat no bastards!

     ‘So, Arthur,’ Josse said, looking at Fitzurse, ‘it is the identity of your father that is the reason for your pursuit of Leofgar’s family.’

     ‘
My
family,’ Arthur corrected him. There was a profound, black anger there not far beneath the surface, Josse thought; it showed in the man’s burning dark eyes. ‘I have been the outcast for too long, Sir Josse. It is time for this family of mine to make amends.’

     Josse looked across at the old woman. Standing in the doorway, she was a silhouette against the steadily lightening sky. It’s almost morning, Josse thought absently. He said, ‘Sirida, why have you waited so long?’

     She stepped down into the hut and approached him. The face that she turned up to his was painfully thin, so that the bones of the skull stood out with clarity. ‘I am dying,’ she said simply. ‘I have foreseen my own death and now it draws near.’

     ‘The time of our deaths is for God alone to know!’ the Abbess protested.

     Sirida turned to her. ‘Your God is not the only power in the universe,’ she said calmly. ‘And I tell you this, Helewise Warin: were I to describe to you the day and the circumstances of my end, when that time comes you would look back to this moment and know that I had spoken the truth.’

     Josse seemed to feel an icy finger on the back of his neck. Did she really have such power? he wondered, an awed fear filling his mind at the thought of being in the presence of one who saw the future with such certainty.

     The Abbess was saying something – telling the old woman again that such matters were not for humans to meddle with – but Josse thought her tone lacked conviction and he guessed that, even if she pretended indifference, she too was affected by the strange atmosphere inside the hut.

     With the intention of bringing them out of the realms of magic and back to the all too real – and menacing – situation they were facing, he said, too loudly, ‘But why, Sirida, does the prospect of your death force you to do what you are doing?’

     She gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Is it not obvious? Because I am the last person alive who can prove who fathered my son. This is my final chance. I am determined that the Warins recognise Arthur for who he is and act accordingly.’

     ‘What do you want of us?’ Leofgar demanded. Even on his knees and with a blade at his throat he managed, Josse observed, to sound fierce and unafraid.