The Winter King (21 page)

He knew it was foolhardy, but he could not stop himself. He edged Alfred on, gently, cautiously, until he was near enough to make out the buildings within the paling fence. As before, all looked deserted; the rider must already have led his horse into whatever stabling was provided, for there was no sign of the bay. The man, too, was nowhere to be seen.

Then, just as Josse was about to turn and ride away, through the gloom and the ever-increasing rain there was a brief flash of brightness: as if someone had opened a door and slipped inside a lighted room.

The rider had been admitted.

Josse was all alone, out in the rain.

J
osse looked down at his sodden cloak. It would be today, he reflected, when he was dressed in his best, that he would be in for a soaking. Turning Alfred, he rode back down the valley until, in the shelter of a stand of pine, he drew rein. He unrolled the rain cape that Will had given him and, removing his rain-soaked cloak, replaced it with the cape. He pulled the hood up over his head. It did not afford much warmth but it did deflect the rain, as Will had obviously known it would.

Which, Josse thought glumly, was just as well. Having uncovered a link between Medley Hill and Wealdsend, he knew what he had to do next: go back to Medley and find out the identity of the horseman, and the nature of his urgent errand with Lord Robert Wimarc of Wealdsend.

As Josse rode back along the track, vainly hoping it would take his mind off his bodily discomfort, he tried to work out what might link the inhabitants of the two manors. Benedict de Vitré had worked for the king – and, judging by the wealth evident in every aspect of Medley and those who dwelt there, had done very nicely out of his association with his monarch. Was Lord Wimarc, then, also a king’s man? Had the unknown rider been hurrying to Wealdsend to take news to its master of arrangements for the funeral feast? For the redistribution of power, now that Lord Benedict was dead?

Josse shook his head. He did not know: the only thing he could do was try to find out.

He was riding past the turning to Tonbridge when, coming towards him, a horse and rider materialized out of the driving rain. Uneasy, Josse put his hand to the hilt of his sword. The rider was almost upon him.

‘Who’s there?’ he called out. ‘Show yourself!’

He did not know what he feared; he only knew that he
was
afraid. That, among the many and varied happenings of the day, something had quietly warned him:
Be careful.

He waited.

Shapes materialized on the track. There were two of them, in single file: a young man rode in the lead, mounted on a very familiar mare, and behind him came a lad on a friendly looking brown pony.

Josse let out a yell. He hurried towards the young man who, grinning widely, said, ‘It’s good to see you! Helewise was worried, so, since the mare was saddled, I borrowed Daisy and came to look for you.’ He glanced behind him. ‘Geoffroi insisted on coming, in case I managed to lose myself in this appalling weather.’ He rolled his eyes, his grin widening.

‘I’m very glad to see you, too –
both
of you,’ Josse said. ‘As you see, I am perfectly safe. But now I must hurry on, since I need to go back to—’

His son and his adopted son, Josse realized, had taken up positions either side of him. ‘She – Helewise – was worried about that, too,’ Ninian said cheerfully. ‘To quote her exact words: “The silly old fool will no doubt have some plan to rush off somewhere else, and you are not to allow it.” So, we’re not. Allowing it.’

‘Father, you’re soaked!’ Geoffroi said anxiously. ‘You must come home. The wind’s getting up –’ the lad was right, Josse realized – ‘and you’ll take chill if you stay out.’

An image of his own hearth floated before Josse’s tired eyes. Food. Wine. Dry clothes. Warmth.

Medley and its inhabitants will not vanish overnight
, he told himself. ‘Very well,’ he said aloud. And, with vast relief, Ninian and Geoffroi riding either side of him, he set off for home.

In the morning, the effects of the previous day’s drenching were all too evident. Josse was shivery, his joints ached and his throat was sore, so that it hurt to swallow. His family urged him not to go out; they had all congregated round the hearth in the main house, and Helewise, Tilly and Eloise – even the usually reticent Ella – told him, with varying degrees of bluntness, that he was foolish even to contemplate it.

Helewise knew they were all wasting their breath.

‘I have to go to Medley,’ Josse repeated for the third time. ‘I must ask that condescending steward the identity of the hooded rider. Don’t you see?’ he cried in frustration. ‘There’s a link between Medley and Wealdsend, and if I can discover what it is, it may help us find Lilas!’

‘You’re not the only person looking for her,’ Ninian pointed out. ‘The Hawkenlye nuns and monks may well have found her by now.’

But Josse shook his head. ‘No. Someone’s taken her. I know it.’

Silently Helewise handed him a heavy wool tunic, lined with linen and with a padded interlining, and his old travelling cloak. ‘Wrap up warmly and don’t stay out too long,’ she said calmly. If he was set on going out, she had reasoned, she could at least try to limit the potential harm to him. ‘Once you’re home again, settle down beside the hearth and don’t move.’

He looked up at her. His eyes were full of gratitude.

He really doesn’t look very well
, Helewise thought, her heart going out to him. Before her emotions could undermine her, she hurried on. ‘Ninian, you and I will ride over to Hawkenlye, and ask if there are any reports of Lilas. If Eloise can spare you, that is?’ She looked enquiringly at her granddaughter, sitting with Inana on her lap.

‘Yes, of course,’ Eloise replied. She was frowning. ‘But I thought – er – you always said you’d never go back to the abbey? You said you thought your presence might remind the nuns and monks of your time in authority there, and that wouldn’t help Abbess Caliste.’

And I still think exactly that
, Helewise thought.
But, if I do not go, Josse will set out for the abbey the instant he returns from Medley Hall
. She met Eloise’s eyes and, hoping the girl would understand, said simply, ‘Needs must.’

Eloise opened her mouth to speak and then, as comprehension dawned, she nodded. She gave Helewise a very sweet smile.

Helewise and Ninian took the forest path to Hawkenlye. Although the morning was dry and cold, the previous day’s rain had left the main track that ran around the forest perimeter sodden and muddy. Now, in late autumn, it was possible to ride along the path through the forest, since the vegetation that clogged and narrowed it in summer had died back.

If any of the forest people were nearby and observed them, Helewise reassured herself, quelling her slight unease, it was unlikely they would be perceived as intruders. Ninian, after all, was Joanna’s son.

As they emerged from beneath the trees and rode down the long slope to the abbey, Helewise drew her hood forward to shadow her face. The fewer people who recognized her, the better.

They dismounted in the forecourt, and Ninian took their horses off to the stables. Keeping to the shelter of the walls, Helewise hurried along the cloister and tapped softly on the door of the abbess’s room.

A voice called, ‘Enter!’

Helewise went in.

It felt so disturbingly strange to be back there that she almost turned and ran.

Don’t you dare
, she told herself.

She pushed back her hood, and Abbess Caliste gasped.

‘Forgive me,’ Helewise said quickly. ‘I ought not to be here. But there is a reason.’ Hastily she explained. ‘So, if you can just tell me if there is news of Lilas, I’ll be on my way,’ she concluded.

Abbess Caliste had risen and come towards her. Now, as Helewise finished her apology, she opened her arms and took her former superior in a close hug. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she murmured. ‘You have been away too long.’ She released her. ‘Now, sit down, and I will send for a hot drink to warm you after your ride.’

‘Ninian is with me,’ Helewise said.

‘Then he shall join us. The drink, I warn you, will be watery and tasteless, but it will at least be hot.’

Before Helewise could protest, Abbess Caliste had gone to the door and issued her order. With a wry smile, Helewise accepted the inevitable and sat down in the visitors’ chair.

It was some time before Ninian arrived. The abbess had informed Helewise regretfully that, despite extensive searching, Lilas had not been found. She was describing what they planned to do next when, after a cursory tap on the door, Ninian came in.

He was not alone. Behind him, holding a beautiful scarlet cap with a fox-fur trim between nervous hands, was an expensively dressed young man.

Ninian bowed to the abbess. ‘Good day to you, my lady.’ Obviously impatient to explain, he wasted no more time on the courtesies. ‘On my way out of the stables, I witnessed the arrival of this man.’ He indicated his companion, who also bowed. He shot a glance at Helewise, then turned back to the abbess. ‘He wants to know how to find Wealdsend.’

Helewise shot to her feet. With an apologetic glance at the abbess, she addressed the young man.

‘You want to go to Wealdsend?’ she asked.

‘I
have
to!’ the young man said fervently. ‘You can’t stop me – you don’t understand!’ His voice had risen.

‘Such a visit may not be wise,’ she said. ‘May we know your purpose?’

He looked at each of them in turn. Studying him, Helewise wondered if this show of passion might be disguising another emotion: fear. The youth was pale, and his forehead and upper lip were beaded with sweat. The beautiful scarlet cap was steadily being twisted out of shape by his anxious, busy hands. ‘I … there’s a …’ He stopped. He took a deep breath, and went on: ‘I have to find two friends. I know they were going to Wealdsend, and I must follow them. We said we’d go together,’ he added, ‘and I could not find the courage to accompany them when they set out. Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’ve made up my mind, and I’m going to join them.’

Helewise went to stand beside him. She said gently, ‘I am very much afraid that your friends may be dead.’

He stared at her, his expression horrified. ‘
Dead!
No, oh, no – they can’t be! Symon’s strong, and he’s a fine swordsman – oh, you are mistaken, my lady.’

Helewise reached out and put a hand on his. ‘One was called Symon?’

‘Yes – Symon de St Clair, and his cousin Guillaume was with him. He’s a St Clair too – they are the sons of two brothers. It’s a great family, long renowned for their prowess, with many knights among their ancestors who have earned distinction on the battlefield …
Dead?
’

Gently, Helewise described how she had found the young man at the sanctuary, too late to save him, and how the body of his companion had subsequently been discovered. She told him how they were dressed and what they had looked like. When she had finished, the young man doubted her no longer.

He was so pale now that he seemed on the point of fainting. ‘Help me, Ninian!’ Helewise said, and together they led the youth to the visitors’ chair and sat him down.

Abbess Caliste poured a mug of the drink for him, holding it while he sipped. ‘Thank you, my lady abbess,’ he said, trying to rise to his feet. Gently the abbess pushed him back.

He has been raised in courtly circles
,
Helewise thought
.
He knows how to address an abbess, and he has good manners.
She wondered how old he was; younger than she had originally thought, she now decided. Fifteen? Fourteen? She crouched in front of him.

‘May we know your name?’ she asked.

He met her eyes. His, she noticed, were dark brown. They held a wounded look, giving him an air of vulnerability.

‘Luc Jordan.’

‘Luc. Thank you. I am Helewise, this is the Abbess Caliste, and the man there is Ninian.’ Luc muttered a response. ‘We need to ask you to do something for us,’ she went on, keeping her voice calm and level. ‘There can be little doubt that the dead men are indeed your friends, but it would be better to be absolutely sure, for then their names can be recorded and, in time, their kinsmen notified. Would you, Luc, be willing to view the bodies?’

He seemed to grow even paler. ‘They – they are here?’

‘They are in the crypt, beneath the abbey church.’ Helewise wasn’t sure of this, but a quick glance at the abbess earned a nod of confirmation.

‘Are they …’ Luc swallowed and tried again. ‘Are they very damaged?’

Abbess Caliste came to crouch beside Helewise. ‘My nursing nuns have prepared them for burial,’ she said gently. ‘They look now as if they are merely asleep.’

Luc looked up at Ninian, who was standing by the door, one shoulder leaning against the wall. ‘I’m sorry to seem so weak,’ Luc said. ‘It’s just that – well, I’ve never seen a dead person before.’

Helewise gave him a moment to find his courage. Then she said, ‘Will you do it?’

The soft brown eyes met hers. ‘Yes.’

‘He bore himself well,’ Helewise murmured to Abbess Caliste as the four of them returned to the abbess’s room. ‘It cannot have been easy, viewing the friends he last saw riding off with such high hopes lying on trestles and waiting for the grave.’

‘No indeed,’ Abbess Caliste agreed. ‘Oh, but I am so relieved we now have names for those poor young men – I will send word to Brother Saul immediately that he can now make the arrangements for interment.’

‘You will put them in the abbey’s burial ground?’

‘I will. And,’ the abbess added with some force, ‘in the absence of a priest,
I
shall say the words to accompany them before their heavenly father.’

Back in the abbess’s room, it seemed to Helewise that, in facing the challenge of viewing his dead friends, Luc had found some strength. And, having accepted that the worst had indeed happened, he seemed more willing to open up to them.

‘How did you come to know Symon and Guillaume?’ Helewise asked him.

‘The three of us were squires together, in the household of Sir Eustace of Hazelgrove,’ he replied. ‘We began our training at the same time, and our friendship grew.’