The Rose of the World (18 page)

She took her father aside to speak to him privately. ‘Father, there was a fight up by the chapel,' she said quickly. ‘Ninian and I were trailing the men who had Rosamund. He struggled with two of them and both were wounded, one badly.'

Josse's face had paled. ‘Will he live?'

‘I do not know. Both are in the infirmary.'

‘And Ninian?'

‘He was unhurt, at least I believe so. But, Father, these men are important lords, men of wealth and power! They are richly clad – at least, one of them is – and they ride fine horses. They were hunting on the Ashdown Forest, and only men of high position are allowed to do that. If Ninian has killed one of them – even if the man lives, Ninian inflicted a grave wound – then they won't rest till he's caught and hanged.'

Josse watched her, pain darkening his eyes. ‘He has fled?' he asked.

She nodded. ‘I told him to. It seemed the only thing he could do.'

Josse did not speak for some time. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. ‘I don't know, my love, if what you did was sensible,' he said. ‘It could be argued that Ninian would have been wiser to stand his ground and defend his actions – you say there were two of them, so he could surely have been forgiven for defending himself when they attacked.'

‘But—' she began.

He stopped her. ‘Dearest, I said your action might not have been sensible,' he murmured. ‘What I was going to say was that, sensible or not, it's what I would have done too.' He bent to put a kiss on her forehead. ‘Better to have fled than take the terrible risk of a trial going against him.'

They stood together for some moments and, as she had always done, she took strength from him and from the great love she knew he had for her. Then he took her hand and, with a brave attempt at a smile, said, ‘Come on. We had better visit these two important lords of yours.'

The men had been installed at the far end of the infirmary, a little away from the other patients. Josse, still holding his daughter's hand, walked the length of the ward, aware of many pairs of curious eyes on them. He smiled to himself. The average humble peasant coming to Hawkenlye with a broken wrist or a chesty cough was not normally treated to the spectacle of two of the lordly class borne in on stretchers, and the story would no doubt soon be spreading far and wide.

Josse glanced at Meggie. She was biting her lip, a sign that she was feeling anxious. She loved her half-brother dearly, Josse reflected. If she sensed that she had advised him ill, she would not forgive herself.

We shall have to make sure he is safe
, Josse thought.

They had reached the far end of the infirmary. Sister Liese stood waiting for them. Greeting Josse, she drew back the curtain to the recess on her right. ‘This is the more seriously injured man,' she said, standing back to allow Josse and Meggie into the cubicle. ‘Your daughter did well,' the infirmarer added. ‘The care she gave him immediately after he received his wound probably saved his life.'

Josse gave Meggie's hand a squeeze, which she returned. There would be time later to tell her how proud he was of her.

‘How is he?' Josse asked. He studied the young man. He was around twenty, with a square face and brown hair, although the stubble of beard on his jaw was closer to red than brown. He recalled that the man who had taken Rosamund had been mistaken for Ninian, but under the present circumstances, with this man lying in bed and unconscious, it was hard to tell how strong the resemblance was. ‘Do we know his name? Has anyone asked his companion?'

‘I do not believe so,' the infirmarer replied. ‘As yet, Sir Josse, we have been fully occupied with tending the two men, and there has not been time for such matters.'

‘No, I understand,' Josse said. He took another look at the still figure. This man had a great deal to answer for. ‘Sister, please will you inform me when he can speak to me?'

She bowed her head. ‘I will.'

‘Now, if you please, I would like to see the other man.'

Sister Liese led the way out of the recess, across the infirmary and into the cubicle on the opposite side. Here there was another narrow bed and, in it, a man dressed only in his undershirt, a clean sheet drawn up to his waist. The blood had been washed away from his shoulder, and now the wound was covered in a neat bandage that wove across his broad chest and around his arm.

Josse stopped dead and stared at him.

As the shock receded a little and he began to think he might be able to breathe again after all, the one thought that filled his head, loud and insistent as a war cry, was:
Thank God Meggie persuaded Ninian to flee!

For the man in the bed was no ordinary lord . . .

Josse dropped on one knee, dragging Meggie down beside him. He waited.

‘Josse d'Acquin,' the man said. ‘It must be near twenty years since I have set eyes on you.'

Josse looked up to meet the intense blue stare. ‘Eighteen years, if I may say so, sire.'

‘I wondered if I would be seeing something of you,' the man went on conversationally, ‘when the child mentioned that she lived at New Winnowlands. Your place, I believe.'

‘Indeed it – er, that's so, lord.'

The man nodded slowly. ‘I do not forget, you see, Josse,' he murmured. ‘The little girl is kin to you?'

‘Not to me. She is the granddaughter of Helewise Warin, once abbess here.'

‘Ah, yes.' His eyes strayed to Meggie. Watching intently, Josse could have sworn his lips twisted into a quick smile. ‘And who is this?'

Josse took a deep breath. There was a correct way of doing this, but he had quite forgotten what it was. Well, since memory had failed, common courtesy would have to do. He stood up, pulling Meggie with him. ‘My lord, may I present my daughter Meggie?' He took her hand and put it into that of the man in the bed. ‘Meggie, make your curtsey to King John.'

TEN

M
eggie rose from her deep bow and found the bright blue eyes studying her intently. ‘So that is who you are,' he said softly. He glanced at Josse. ‘Who is her mother?'

Meggie did not know if it was against etiquette to address a king when he had not first spoken to you, but she did not let it stop her. ‘My mother was Joanna de Courtenay,' she said.

His blue gaze had returned to her. ‘De Courtenay,' he repeated. ‘I believe I have heard the name before. Did she have connections at court?'

Meggie opened her mouth to speak, but even as she did so, Josse trod on her foot, quite hard. ‘A distant cousin, I believe, my lord,' he said easily. ‘That is probably why the name is familiar to you.'

The king studied Josse. Meggie could see that he was not entirely convinced. A warning sounded in her head.
This is a man to watch
, she thought.
He is intelligent and cunning, and he will not easily be deceived.

She wondered why her father did not want her to reveal Joanna's connection with the court . . .

Josse had edged forward so that now he stood between Meggie and the king. ‘My lord, I regret greatly the mischance that has brought you here, but might I be permitted to ask if you can help us with another grave matter?'

The king waved a hand in assent. ‘You may.'

‘You have been in the area for a few days, sire?'

‘Yes. My agents came here to the abbey, and I took the chance to visit the chapel which my revered and lamented mother built in remembrance of my brother, the late king. From there I went on to the hunting lodge on the Ashdown Forest.' A smile quirked the side of his mouth. ‘The sport was excellent.'

‘I am glad to hear it, my lord,' Josse muttered. ‘Did you – may I ask you if a man by the name of Hugh de Brionne was of your company?'

The languid air vanished as the king heard the name. ‘Hugh de Brionne was with me when we reached the abbey,' he confirmed. ‘I know him well. He is a sound man.' Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Josse as if he were trying to read his mind. ‘You have news of Hugh; I see it in your face. Tell me.'

‘He is dead, sire,' Josse said simply. ‘His body was discovered early yesterday, by a bend in the river between here and Hartfield.'

‘How did he die?' The words rapped out like a stabbing knife.

‘It appears he was in a fight. There were the marks of fists on his face, and his hands were bruised and swollen. There was a wound to the back of his head, presumably where he fell, and this is probably what killed him.'

The king did not speak for some time. Meggie crept closer to Josse, in need of his stolid strength. She was afraid, and she did not yet understand why.

Eventually, the king closed his eyes and, with a wince of pain, leaned back on his pillows. ‘Be careful how you break the news to my companion,' he said quietly. ‘He is Olivier de Brionne, and he is Hugh's brother.'

Josse and Meggie were outside the infirmary. Sister Liese, coming to check on her patients, had observed the king's pallor, and his obvious fatigue, and sent them away. The other man – Olivier de Brionne, they now knew – was still unconscious.

Josse took hold of Meggie's hands. ‘This is very grave,' he muttered, frowning deeply. ‘We must find Ninian and help him get right away. No accusations have yet been made against him, but two men lie wounded and one of them is the king.' He looked down at his daughter. ‘I am sorry that I crushed your foot,' he said with a faint smile.

‘You did no lasting damage,' she replied. ‘But, Father, why did you not wish me to speak of my mother's court connections?'

He frowned thoughtfully, trying to find the right words. ‘Daughter, your mother had no reason to treasure the memory of what happened to her; far from it. A cousin of hers, considerably older than she was, took her to King Henry's Christmas court one year, because she was young, innocent and very lovely and the cousin wished to impress the king and his lascivious friends with new blood. Then—' He stopped. This was not his story to tell. If Joanna had not revealed to Meggie the truth of what had happened to her, then it was not up to Josse to do so. ‘My love, it may be that one day you will be told,' he said. ‘There is a connection between our family and the king, but, if he has forgotten it or did not know of it, then I do not want to bring it to his mind.' He studied her face. ‘Is that enough?'

Slowly, she nodded. She was thinking hard, he could tell. ‘It is,' she said presently. ‘I trust you, Father.'

But Josse hardly heard. His mind had gone back to a day more than eighteen years ago when Joanna had first told him about herself. They had lain together beside the fire, in the house where Josse now lived with his extended family. The memory was so vivid, bringing both overwhelming joy and sudden sharp pain, that for a moment he felt faint.

Meggie was looking at him anxiously. ‘What is it, Father?' she asked. ‘Are you unwell?'

‘No, no!' He hastened to reassure her. The day he was remembering was around the time of her conception. Such things were not for a daughter to hear, although he yearned to tell her. They all said she was so like him, this beloved child of his, and such remarks always made his heart glow with pride. But, sometimes, he wished she looked more like her mother . . .

He was aware of Meggie beside him, concerned for him and gently rubbing her fingers across the back of his hand. ‘It's cold out here, Father,' she said. ‘You are shivering. Won't you go inside?'

He turned to her, shaking himself out of his reverie and trying to summon a smile. There was enough to worry about in the here and now without mourning over things he could not control. ‘Dearest, I must think what to do,' he said briskly. ‘I sense some dreadful threat hanging over me – hanging over all of us – and I am fearful.' He attempted a laugh but it was a miserable failure. ‘You will think I am being foolish, no doubt, and—'

But she took his hand and tightened her fingers around it. ‘No, I don't,' she said. ‘For one thing, I hardly ever think you're foolish, and for another, I feel exactly the same.'

He met her eyes. He did not know if to be relieved that she so readily gave him her support or even more worried because she shared his fears. On balance, the latter won.

‘We should—' he began.

Just then one of the nursing nuns appeared in the infirmary doorway, looked around and caught sight of them. Hurrying over, she said, ‘I am glad to find you still here, Sir Josse! Sister Liese sent me to fetch you. The second man brought in earlier has recovered consciousness. Sister Liese says you must come.'

With the sense that he was going to some fateful encounter, Josse squared his shoulders and, with Meggie beside him, went back into the infirmary.

The young man had awakened to fear so intense that his first instinct was to leap out of the strange bed with the worn but clean sheets and run. The smallest movement, however, caused such a fire of agony in his right side and his left forearm that he quickly changed his mind. Paralysed by his pain and his terror, he quickly closed his eyes again, taking refuge in the pretence of continuing unconsciousness.

He wondered where he was. Risking a quick look, he saw curtains and, in the narrow gap between them, a glimpse of more beds and a well-scrubbed stone-flagged floor. He saw a woman in black, then another. He closed his eyes once more. He must be in the infirmary at Hawkenlye Abbey. It was the obvious place to bring a wounded man.

He thought about the fight. He saw again the blue-eyed man with the knife and the long sword. He recalled the ferocity of the attack and the terrible moment when he had believed he was about to die. Then there had been three of them, grappling together in a painful knot of fists, elbows, knives . . . Somehow he had defended himself and, as the hot blood rush had coursed through him, he knew he had made a strike. Against who, he was not so sure.