The Enchanter's Forest (10 page)

     ‘
Primevère, que fais-tu là au plein soleil?
’ demanded the older woman. Primevère, Josse thought. Primrose. A singularly unfitting name for Florian’s haughty wife, whose looks and nature were far removed from the simple prettiness of a primrose. ‘
Tu seras bronzée comme une rustre!
’ The older woman spat out the pejorative word like an oath.

     ‘I am not in the sun,
Maman
,’ the younger woman called back. ‘There is no danger whatsoever that I shall start to look like some rustic lout, so there is no need to make such a fuss.’

     The older woman had just noticed Josse.

     ‘
C’est qui, lui?
’ she demanded of her daughter, jerking her chin in Josse’s direction.

     Primevère turned to stare at Josse. ‘His identity is not important,’ she said dismissively. ‘He is just leaving.’ Then she climbed down gracefully from her mounting block, took her mother’s outstretched hand and went with her back into the house, slamming the door behind her with a loud and eloquent bang.

The second part of Josse’s mission was less straightforward: there did not seem to be any obvious way of discovering where Florian had found the bones that he had transported to the clearing in the forest. Where, Josse wondered as he rode along in the sun, trying to distract himself from his growing thirst, would a man go to find bones? A burial ground? Some grave sunk beneath the aisle of a church? A wealthy family’s private vault? He had no idea which suggestion, if any, might be the right one.

     He caught sight of a small church ahead, set beneath trees to one side of the track. He saw as he drew nearer that someone was sitting on the step of the open door; the priest was taking his ease in the cool shade with a mug of beer and a thick hunk of dark and dryish-looking bread.

     ‘Greetings!’ the priest called out as Josse rode up. He waved the mug. ‘Will you take a drop? It’s as cold as my subterranean cellar can make it! There’s water in the trough for your handsome horse, too.’

     Deciding that this was probably not the happy priest’s first mugful, Josse willingly dismounted, tethered Horace in the shade beside the trough and went to seat himself on the doorstep.

     ‘A-a-ah!’ he said with deep pleasure as his buttocks encountered the cool stone.

     ‘Good, eh?’ the priest said with a smile. ‘Here.’ He handed over a second mug and Josse drank gratefully.

     ‘That’s worth a long, hot ride,’ Josse said when he had taken the edge off his thirst.

     ‘You’ve come far?’ asked the priest.

     ‘From Hawkenlye Abbey.’

     ‘I see.’ The priest eyed him shrewdly. ‘Come to have a look at the rival attraction?’

     ‘Aye.’ There seemed no point in denying it.

     ‘Do you believe what is being claimed for those particularly large bones?’

     Josse paused. ‘I do not
want
to believe,’ he said, ‘but I am forced to admit that there is a power to the place – to the bones, perhaps – that I cannot explain.’

     The priest sighed deeply; all happiness had abruptly left his cheerful face. ‘That’s what they all say,’ he muttered glumly.

     ‘Father,’ Josse began tentatively, ‘let’s say for argument’s sake that those are not the bones of Merlin but that Florian of Southfrith found them elsewhere and took them into the forest, then claimed to have unearthed them there and to have discovered that they are miraculous.’

     ‘That would amount to fraud, which is a very serious allegation,’ the priest said warningly.

     ‘Oh, I make no allegation’ – Josse spoke swiftly – ‘I merely outline a hypothesis.’

     ‘Go on.’ The priest sounded guarded.

     ‘Well, if it happened that way, I’m asking myself where on earth such bones might have been found? Are there any such within your church and its immediate surroundings, for example?’

     Now the priest was studying him closely. ‘There are, but no grave has been disturbed.’ The smile breaking out again, he said, ‘I checked.’

     Josse laughed briefly. ‘You have entertained the same thought, then, Father?’

     And the priest said very quietly, ‘Yes.’

     After a thoughtful pause, the priest spoke again. ‘You ask where a man might find a skeleton. Sir knight, such a task is difficult but not impossible. The chalk downs to the south of us were long inhabited by our forebears and, like all men, in their due time they died. Now it is an interesting thing, but it is my observation that sometimes our ancestors burned the bodies of the dead, for I have seen for myself how some graves contain burned bones bundled up in small spaces, accompanied by offerings to the pagan gods that the people worshipped.’

     ‘The bones in the tomb are not burned,’ Josse put in.

     ‘No, no, I am told not, but I was about to say that there are also to be found upon the Downs burial sites and barrows that contain whole skeletons, carefully laid out as if with reverence. In much the same way, indeed, as we bury our own dead, save that it was the custom of our forefathers to lay bodies north-south and not, as we do, with their feet to the east so that they can rise up and face the Holy City on the Day of Judgement.’

     ‘You have seen such skeletons on the Downs?’ Josse demanded eagerly; if this priest had come across such a thing, then why should not Florian have done so too?

     ‘Yes,’ the priest admitted. ‘Yes, I have.’

     A thought struck Josse. ‘The burial place that you speak of – is the skeleton still within?’

     ‘Yes.’ Again, the disarming smile. ‘I checked that too.’

     ‘But that’s only one such grave,’ Josse said, determined not to have this exciting new possibility dismissed out of hand. ‘Florian could very well have found another similar grave and—’

     ‘—and robbed it of its occupant.’ The priest nodded slowly. ‘Yes, sir knight; that is exactly what I find myself thinking.’

     Josse shook his head, troubled and confused. A thought struck him, one that he had not considered before. ‘Has it actually been stated that the bones at Merlin’s Tomb are capable of working miracles?’ he asked. ‘And if so, was the word spread by Florian of Southfrith or by popular rumour?’

     The priest eyed him steadily. ‘That I cannot say,’ he murmured. ‘What I will tell you, sir knight, is this: it was those ruffians now doing guard duty at the tomb who first emerged to tell of the wonderful discovery in the forest. I saw them and I heard what they had to say, and their words made me angry for they were sacrilegious. They spoke of Lazarus being brought back from the dead and of the raising of Jairus’ daughter; of the healing of the blind and the dumb, of the man who took up his bed and walked, of the release of those possessed by devils.’ He leaned forward and, in case Josse had missed the point, said vehemently, ‘Those are the miracles of Jesus Christ, sir knight, and of him alone! The ruffians had been well trained and none actually said that the new tomb could perform such feats, but then they did not need to, for the implication was there and more than enough to convince the simple and the desperate.’

     ‘I see,’ Josse said. If what the priest said was true – and there was no reason why it should not be – then this new information amounted to yet more damning evidence against Florian. To imply a miracle-working ability to his fraudulent tomb rather than to state its healing power outright – as the Hawkenlye community did about their holy water – was both cynical and clever and also typical of what Josse was coming to recognise as Florian’s nature.

   
You should warn him to watch his step and his back
, the woman at the roadside had said.

     How right, Josse thought, she was.

Helewise half longed for and half feared Josse’s return. She was keen to hear what he had to report of Florian of Southfrith’s home and household but she dreaded having to pass on to him what had been decided for him.

     It had not occurred to her that he would refuse the task. She thought about it now as she waited for him. After quite a short time she found she simply could not imagine him saying no.

     He arrived late in the afternoon and came into her room looking hot, tired and dusty from the road. His tunic and undershirt were unfastened almost down to the waist and she could see his strong neck and chest. As if he noticed her eyes upon him, hastily he straightened the garments and secured the leather lace.

     ‘I am sorry to appear before you covered in sweat and muck,’ he said, ‘but it has taken me some time to rub down and settle Horace and I did not want to make you wait while I saw to myself as well.’ He grinned. ‘I thought you might be impatient to hear how I got on.’

     She answered his smile but experienced a sudden surge of guilt; poor Josse, here he was, diligently trying not to keep her waiting longer than he must, yet in so doing, lessening the time between his present frame of mind, whatever that might be, and how he was probably going to feel once she had told him what had been decided. ‘Oh, I don’t mind a little honest sweat,’ she made herself say.

     His grin widened. ‘Quite a lot, actually.’

     ‘Hm?’ She wasn’t really listening.

     ‘Quite a lot of – oh, never mind.’ Approaching her and leaning with his hands on her table, he said excitedly, ‘I went to Florian’s house. He has a very decorative crosspatch of a wife upon whom he’s lavishing everything he’s making out at Merlin’s Tomb. She has a brand-new gown and slippers, her mother has moved in and they’re building themselves a solar!’

     Helewise said, ‘Oh, really?’, sounding pathetically uninterested even to herself.

     He noticed too. ‘Well,
I
thought it was relevant,’ he muttered. Then, before she could answer: ‘That’s not all. I met up with a priest down near Hadfeld and he reckons it’d be reasonably easy to locate a skeleton out on the Downs and transport it into the forest.’ Eagerness spilling out of him in spite of her lack of reaction, he said, ‘This is how I see it, my lady. Florian needs money – I’ve seen his wife and, believe me, a man with the misfortune to be wedded to such a creature will always need money – and, like everyone else, he’s been knocked back hard by what he had to pay towards the King’s ransom. His wife threatens to withhold herself unless he starts bringing home the little and the not-so-little presents that she’s used to and young Florian is racking his brains for a means of making some cash. He’s out riding on the Downs one day and notices a piece of bone sticking out of the ground – aye, all right, my lady’ – she had made an involuntary sound of disbelief – ‘I’m not saying it’s what
did
happen, I’m only saying it
could
have done – and, jumping down from his horse, he digs around for a while and discovers that he’s unearthed an intact skeleton, moreover that of a particularly large man. Now, this is where it becomes
really
interesting!’

     She could not help but catch the edge of his fervour. ‘Yes?’

     ‘My lady, you are familiar with what has happened at Glastonbury?’

     ‘The monks have found the bones of King Arthur and his Queen and now the Abbey is a place of pilgrimage.’ She spoke as briefly as she could, not in the least wishing to engage in a long discussion of the rights and wrongs of the issue.

     ‘Aye, that’s it! Well, you know of it, I know of it, so the likelihood is that Florian does too. You agree?’

     ‘Ye-es,’ she said. She had an idea she knew exactly where this was going.

     ‘An enterprising and unscrupulous young man desperate for money finds some unusually large bones. He thinks, why not claim that these belong to someone very famous? Why, you said yourself that everyone knows about Merlin, so maybe the old enchanter’s name was the first one to pop into Florian’s head. He digs up the bones, smuggles them by night into a suitably awe-inspiring and tucked away place in the forest, creates a realistic-looking tomb and makes a lead cross inscribed with suitably confirmatory lettering. He covers up the bones, allows a couple of weeks or so for the undergrowth to grow back – and at this time of year that wouldn’t take long – then back he goes to make his discovery. He hires a few strong men to fell some trees so as to make access easier and to build a couple of flimsy huts, presumably promising to pay them out of the proceeds. Then he spreads the word that Merlin’s secret and long-lost burial site has been found, and the rest we know.’