The Rose of the World (31 page)

‘Yes?' The one cold syllable seemed to hang in the air. Josse sensed Gervase go tense, and he could all but hear the sheriff's warning:
take care!

‘Sire, Ninian was deeply concerned for the little girl, Rosamund Warin, who Olivier had brought to you. He had followed your party from the hunting lodge to Hawkenlye, and when he saw two of the group break away and take the child up towards the woods, he was very afraid for her safety.'
Steady
, he told himself. He wanted to put it into the king's mind that Ninian's anxiety had been justified but, if he went too far and hinted that the king had been about to seduce an eleven-year-old child, then the king would lose his temper and he and Gervase would probably end up in the grim dungeons all those floors below.

He eyed the king, trying to gauge his reaction, but John was giving nothing away. ‘I do not know the details of what occurred,' he plunged on, ‘but, from Ninian's point of view, he believed Rosamund was in danger, and he launched himself against the two men who were with her. He did not know your identities,' he said, ‘and had no idea that one of the men in the clearing was his king.'

John watched him intently. ‘Do you think,' he said silkily, ‘it would have made any difference if he had?'

That, Josse realized, was the point on which his whole defence of Ninian really hung, and it was typical of the king to have pinpointed it. He made himself meet the king's eyes. ‘I do not know, sire,' he said. Then – for it was not wise to treat the king like a fool – ‘Probably not.'

There was a long silence, broken only by the swish of thick, costly silk as the king resumed his pacing. Finally, he stopped, turned and faced Josse once more. ‘I am of a mind to be generous,' he said. ‘You speak with passion and eloquence for your son, Josse – yes, very well, your
adopted
son – and, indeed, your picture of a man rushing in to take on two armed men because he fears for the safety of a young woman has echoes of the deeds of the chivalrous knights in the tales so beloved by my late mother.' He paused, clearly thinking hard. Then he said quietly, ‘Rosamund was as safe in my company as in that of her mother, whoever she is. But I will not pretend that I am unaware of the wagging tongues; indeed, one of my close circle believed he would greatly please me by his gift of this pretty child.' His expression hardened, and he said icily, ‘I will not add fuel to this particular fire; I want this matter to remain between those few people who are already aware of it.'

It was a direct order. Josse and Gervase both bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

‘Revenge would have been singularly sweet,' the king murmured, ‘but, perhaps, unjustified. Besides,' he added after a moment, ‘my wound is, as I said, all but healed, and, in the melee before the chapel, I cannot put my hand to my heart and swear it was Ninian who inflicted it. It seems, Josse –' some change in the king's voice made Josse look up and meet his eyes – ‘that your son is safe.'

Gervase said, ‘Sire, have I your permission to send for Olivier? There is no reason to delay the resolution of this sad business, and faced with our suggestion of what really happened, he may realize that there is no point in protesting his innocence.'

‘Well he might,' the king replied, ‘and I would not prevent your summoning him, except that it would serve no purpose. He is not here.'

‘Not here!' Josse exclaimed. ‘But he left Hawkenlye when you did, sire, and we thought he had ridden here to London with you.'

‘He may have left with us, although I do not recall seeing him,' the king said. ‘He certainly did not arrive with us.'

‘Then where is he?' Josse was looking wildly around.

‘Stop that, Josse, he's not hiding behind the wall hangings,' the king said sharply. ‘I do not know where he is. I will send word that I wish to see him and, when he arrives, I will let you know. Is that good enough for you?' The irony was unmistakable.

‘Aye, my lord king, of course,' Josse muttered.

There was an awkward pause. Then Gervase cleared his throat nervously and said, ‘Hugh de Brionne paid a high price for his insolent scheme, and—'

‘You think the plan was Hugh's?' the king interrupted.

‘Well, Olivier claims it was,' Gervase said. Josse nodded his agreement.

The king sighed. ‘Hugh would never have come up with anything as dangerous and misguided as abducting a child as a present for his king,' he said softly. ‘Everything about this matter smacks of Olivier. He is unbalanced, you see.' He sighed. ‘We should have taken better care of him, but he was tucked away down there in the house on the downs and it was all too easy to forget his existence. By the time I invited him to come and join the circle of my close companions, it was already too late.'

Josse did not understand. ‘Sire?'

‘Hugh de Brionne was already of my company,' the king said. ‘His father, as you will know, Josse, was a friend of my brother's, and, indeed, of my father's as well, and it followed, as these things do, that Hugh in turn would be one of my companions. Then, later, Olivier came too.'

‘But Olivier is not Felix's son,' Josse whispered. Despite everything, it was still hard to speak Lady Béatrice's secret out loud.'

‘No,' the king said softly. ‘He is mine.'

Ninian wondered how far he would have to ride before he felt safe. The exhilaration of escaping from Acquin kept his spirits high for many miles but, as the hours went on, he began to be haunted by the feeling that someone was following him.

He decided that, reluctant as he was, it was time to put his fears to the test. In a stretch of wooded, hilly country, he kept an eye out for a suitable location and soon found one. He dismounted, led Garnet under the cover of the trees and then took up the position he had picked out. It was on top of the steep side of a long stretch of the road that ran almost straight – Ninian had heard it said that such roads had been left by the Romans – and thus afforded a good view back the way he had come. The road was enclosed on the east by the high stone cliff on the top of which Ninian now stood. On the opposite side, the ground fell away to a valley where a river ran, its water glinting silver in the thin light.

He waited.

Some time later, he saw what he had dreaded: a horseman was approaching. He was still a long way off, but it was clear even from a distance that he was following a trail. He would ride a few paces, then draw in his horse and bend over towards the ground. Ninian guessed he was checking for the marks of Garnet's hooves.

They have followed me all the way from Acquin
, Ninian thought. He was surprised at how calm he felt. He could understand how the king's men had tracked him to Yves's manor, for anyone who knew of Ninian's relationship to Josse would have guessed that he might well flee to seek refuge with Josse's family. However, it seemed an extraordinary piece of ill fortune that the pursuers had unknowingly guessed correctly as to the direction that Ninian had taken when he left Yves.

But, of course, they hadn't. He smiled grimly as the realization dawned. The king had many men at his disposal. There would be a group hunting for Ninian along roads leading away from Acquin in each direction.

He wondered if he should try to overpower the man. He baulked at any stronger word, even in his own mind; he could not contemplate killing someone purely because that person was following orders. Could he somehow imprison the man, but in such a way that he would be found and released once Ninian was far enough away?

No, no! He was angry with himself. There would be no point in such an action, for this man would be expected to report back to the rest of his group and, when he didn't, they would instantly become suspicious and the whole lot of them would come swooping down on Ninian like crows on a corpse.

There was only one thing to be done: Ninian would have to disappear. So far, for the sake of speed he had been travelling on the roads and the better-maintained tracks. At night, tired, dirty, hungry and with money in his purse, he would lodge at small, out-of-the-way inns. Well, now all that would have to change. He would set out across country, checking his direction by the sun and the stars, and at night, when he and Garnet could go no further, he would sleep out in the open.

The weather was very cold, especially at night. Silently, Ninian blessed Yves, for providing him with extra clothes and wrappings.

Down on the road, the man had stopped. He sat leaning forward over the pommel of his saddle, one arm up to his head as if he were wiping sweat off his face. That was odd, for the day was chilly. Perhaps he had been riding hard.

It did not matter. What was important was that, for the moment, he had come to a halt. Ninian crept backwards, away from the cliff top, and moved quickly and quietly back through the undergrowth to where he had tethered Garnet. He mounted, checked the sun and then, branching away from the road, set off.

The man on the horse was in agony. He did not think he could ride any further, and he did not know what inner strength had kept him going this far. Fire raced through his body. It hurt abominably to move, but the pain barely lessened when he stayed still.

He was trying so hard to follow orders.
Find him.

He had done what the voices had commanded. He had found his man, tracking him to the place where he had guessed he would go, then paying that fool of a groom for information. He had paid lavishly but, even so, the greedy young man had demanded more, whining about having an elderly mother and a prospective wife to please. It had been so easy to stop him, although the man wished now that he had removed the bag of coins from the dead hand. The voices were
really
cross with him about that.

It was sheer luck that had enabled him to pick up his quarry after leaving the little village. He had stood at a place where four roads came together and, shutting his eyes, spun round a few times. When the dizziness forced him to stop, he happened to be facing in the right direction.

The orders had gone on echoing in his head.
Catch him. Silence him.
He had tried; God knew how hard he had tried, riding on, ignoring his increasing pain, ignoring the demands of common sense that told him to stop, find help, creep away somewhere and rest until he felt well again.

Every time he thought about giving up, they began again with their nagging and their haranguing, warning him, shouting at him, until he barely knew what he was doing.

He must be stopped
, they insisted.
He carries the blame for your crime. If ever he is permitted to speak in his own defence, the truth will come out.

He had come to a halt. He wondered vaguely how long he had been standing there, with his lathered horse growing cold beneath him. He must go on. Feebly, he tried to kick his heels into his horse's sides, but the gesture had no effect. He put his hand down to his side. Then, alarmed, he slid his fingers inside his tunic and under his shirt. He felt wetness. When he withdrew his hand, his fingertips were stained with blood and pus.

His head ached so much that he could barely see.

He closed his eyes. Presently, he slid off his horse and fell with a thump down on to the road. His horse ambled away, put down its head and began to tear at the thin grass on the verge.

Some time later, a miller returning home from market with an empty cart came across him. He caught the horse, which had wandered some way along the road, and then went to the huddled shape lying motionless right in his path.

The man was dead. The miller crossed himself, muttered a few words and then raised the body with powerful arms and laid it in the cart.

Olivier de Brionne, son of Lady Béatrice and bastard of the king of England, was taken away to be laid out by an elderly village midwife and, when she was done, buried in a small churchyard somewhere in the middle of France.

EIGHTEEN

J
osse and Gervase got back to the sheriff's house late in the evening. Josse, who was exhausted by the long day and beginning to think he was getting too old for such exertions, gratefully accepted when Sabin asked if he would like to stay again. He slept deeply and dreamlessly, and when at last he woke, it was to be told by Sabin that Gervase was already out giving orders to his men that the hunt for Ninian had been called off.

The long sleep and a large plate of breakfast did much to restore Josse. Impatient to get home and tell them all the news, he left as soon as he decently could and set off up the hill towards the forest. Arriving back at the House in the Woods, he assembled the household and told them what had happened up in London. Meggie, back from her stay out in the hut, came up to him and quietly hugged him.

Later, sitting by the hearth with Helewise, he finally gave voice to the thought that had been gradually firming in his mind since the previous day. ‘Now that it is safe, we – you and I – could go and fetch him home,' he said.

She did not answer at first. He wondered what she was thinking. There were many reasons why she would not want to go with him. Autumn was rapidly turning into winter, and the weather was unremittingly cold. Crossing the Channel was a gruelling experience that, in November, most people avoided if they could. If it turned wet or snowy, the roads would soon become impassable. He shied away from what he thought was probably her real reason for refusing: that such a journey would mean many days alone with him, and she was not ready – might never be ready – for that.

Eventually, she smiled and said, ‘I have always wanted to see your home. I will go and ask Tilly to prepare food for us. How soon shall we leave?'

They crossed to Boulogne the next day, finding an adequate inn at the port where they spent the night. The inn was full, and the only accommodation was in the big communal sleeping area. Helewise, wrapped up warmly in her robe and her cloak, tried not to think about the hundreds of people who had slept on the bed before her. Meggie had given her some lavender bags against the busy insects and, as far as she could tell, they appeared to work.