Early the next morning, Josse left the warmth of his hall and went outside to the stables to fetch his horse. He had asked Will to prepare Alfred, announcing to the household his intention of riding down to Tonbridge to seek out Gervase de Gifford. His optimism of the previous day seemed, however, to have deserted him, and now he was pretty sure that going to ask the sheriff about some weird and highly unlikely means of passing a message from England to the Midi was going to be a complete waste of time.
He was, however, stuck for any other ideas.
As he entered the stables he heard voices and thought at first it was Will passing the time of day with Alfred and the other horses. One of the voices was indeed Will’s, but the other was a woman’s. Rounding the partition between two stalls, he saw Helewise.
‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, realizing straight away that, as a greeting, it was neither polite nor cordial.
‘Looking for you,’ she replied calmly. ‘I thought I’d ride with you, if you do not object.’ She inclined her head, and he saw that Daisy, her grey mare, was also saddled and bridled.
‘Why?’ he asked.
She took the mare’s reins from Will with a murmured thank you, leading her outside to mount up. Josse followed, swinging up on to Alfred’s back. Together they rode out of the yard and off down the track.
‘Why?’ she repeated. ‘Because I thought it was high time Daisy had some exercise.’
‘Aye,’ he said impatiently, ‘and what’s the real reason?’
She turned to look at him. ‘Dear Josse, isn’t it obvious?’
‘Not to me.’
‘To the best of our knowledge, Ninian is still far away, and there has been no word from him. Now Meggie, too, has left, racing off on this mission of hers with a man we know nothing about.’
His heart gave a twist. ‘I know,’ he managed. ‘There is no need to remind me.’ Bracing himself, he added, ‘I still don’t know what you’re doing here.’
Her expression very tender, she said, ‘I’ve no idea where you’re off to and what you plan to do, but it doesn’t really matter.’ She hesitated, then went on in a less certain tone: ‘Little Helewise can manage perfectly well on her own at the chapel for one day. I – I just thought you might be glad of some company.’
Amid the pain and the worry, briefly he felt very happy. She had been thinking about him and, perceiving his need, had come to offer the help he would have asked for had he known it was available. Not sure if he could speak without the emotion showing, he merely nodded.
Her smile suggested that she understood.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked presently. He told her; to his relief, the moment of weakness was past and he sounded just as he usually did. Her eyebrows went up in surprise. ‘Do you really think we might get a message to Ninian in this way? Oh, Josse, I do hope you are right, although—’ She did not finish.
‘Aye, it seems unlikely to me, too,’ he admitted. ‘But I have to do something. I can’t just sit in the house waiting for—’ He, too, found he could not complete the sentence. Just then, he didn’t want to contemplate receiving news of his daughter or adopted son, because, in his present low state, he could only think it would be bad.
‘We shall try, anyway,’ she said stoutly. ‘And then, if Gervase either cannot or will not help, you and I will put our heads together, as so often we have done before, and think of something else.’
The thick fog of Josse’s gloom shifted, just a little, and it seemed to him that the thinnest ray of sunshine glowed down on him.
They were nearing the place where the road turned down to the right, towards Tonbridge, when there came the sound of clattering, hurrying hooves and shouting from behind them. Josse and Helewise drew rein, moving to the side of the road to allow the group past.
There were perhaps eight or ten of them: burly, rough-looking men, some mounted on inelegant but serviceable horses, some on foot. All were armed, with knives, clubs, stout sticks and, in one case, a crossbow. With a sinking heart, Josse thought he recognized who they were.
‘Get off the road and let us pass!’ yelled the man riding in front, waving an arm holding a club. He was clad in a worn leather tunic and, despite the cold, his brawny arms were bare. ‘Move!’
Josse thought that, since he and Helewise had already positioned their horses one behind the other beneath the low bank on the left of the road, the man was being unreasonable. ‘We can hardly get further out of your way, unless you’re suggesting we climb the bank,’ he protested.
The man in the leather tunic reacted as if Josse had just insulted him, letting out a stream of insults and kicking his horse so that it raced towards Josse, foaming at the bit, its eyes wild.
Josse held his ground. ‘Watch your foul tongue,’ he said coolly. ‘There is a lady here.’
The man glared at Helewise. He opened his mouth as if to add another crudity, then thought better of it. ‘You’re obstructing an officer of the law in the fulfilment of his duty,’ he said grandly.
Josse wondered where he’d picked up the phrase. Although he thought he already knew, he said, ‘What officer are you, and what duty are you carrying out?’
The man’s chest swelled under the dirty leather tunic. ‘Tomas is my name,’ he pronounced, ‘and Lord Benedict gives me my orders.’ It was as Josse feared. ‘As to my duty, if it’s any of your business, we’re taking this here violent criminal to that there abbey, which is the nearest place as is likely to have a secure prison. We’re going to put him safely under lock and key till Lord Benedict can come to collect him.’ He grinned, revealing a few stained teeth in otherwise bare jaws.
He raised his arm, the hand in a fist, and made a gesture to his men, who were gathered behind him. With a mocking bow, he turned to the figure now revealed in their midst.
He was dressed in the colours of the earth, predominantly brown, and the coarse cloth of his garment was stained as if from living rough. He was tall and slim, standing proudly with his shoulders held stiffly. There was a dignity about him, Josse thought, despite the sacking hood that had been thrown over his head, tied around his throat with a length of rope and completely concealing his face. His hands were bound behind his back.
‘Why is he hooded?’ Josse demanded.
Tomas shot him a sly look, his eyes full of malice. ‘My men don’t like the way he stares at them.’
Horrified, Josse was trying to think. Oh, dear God, if this was who he thought it was, then where was Meggie? Had she managed to escape when Tomas and his men had encircled and taken this Brown Man? Had she abandoned him to his captors – surely not! – or was she even now close by, awaiting the chance to try to help him?
She must not do that, Josse thought desperately, terrified for his beloved daughter. There was nothing she could do against so many, even with Josse and Helewise there to help, and if she showed herself now, it was highly likely they would take and imprison her too . . .
He must do something.
‘Why have you taken him prisoner?’ he demanded. ‘What evidence is there against him, that you should treat him like this?’
Tomas glared at him. ‘Evidence enough for us,’ he growled. ‘A witness saw him fleeing like the cesspit rat he is after he drowned our poor Rufus, and she described him to us. Good friend she’s been to us, and she’ll have her reward.’ He gave a twisted grin. ‘It’s him, all right, and she’ll swear to it.’
‘Whatever you believe this man to have done,’ Josse said, speaking loudly so that Meggie might hear, ‘he is entitled to a fair trial, and I will not stand by to see him roughly treated.’ There was a snigger from one of the men; another grabbed the bound man’s arm, turning him so that his back was towards Josse. The brown robe was torn, and there were the raw, bleeding marks of a whip across his shoulders.
‘Oh, you won’t?’ taunted Tomas. ‘Well, whoever you are up there on your fine horse, this bastard’s responsible for at least four deaths, including that Rufus from down Tonbridge way, and he flogged our poor old Matthew.’ He put on an expression of mock regret. ‘I’m not at all sure as how I can stop my men taking a bit of revenge, them being a tad cross on old Matthew’s behalf, not to mention Rufus’s, only he’s not here any more to appreciate it.’ There were mutterings from behind him and sounds of feet scuffling in the dust.
Josse urged Alfred forward. ‘I shall accompany you to the abbey,’ he stated firmly, ‘and I shall make quite sure that no further harm comes to your prisoner.’ It was not the moment for further discussion, so he waved for Tomas to lead his party on ahead, falling in behind.
‘I do not care for this,’ Helewise muttered, riding close beside him. ‘Should we not fetch Gervase?’
‘He claims he cannot stand against Lord Benedict,’ Josse replied tersely.
‘But Gervase is sheriff here!’
He glanced at her. ‘Lord Benedict is a close friend of the king.’
There was nothing more to add.
He could sense Helewise’s unease, and suddenly realized that, as well as feeling distress at the prisoner’s capture, she must also be anxious not to go inside the abbey. Catching her eye, he said, ‘Go up to the cell. I’ll find you there.’ She nodded. Her eyes held his and he tried to get across the unspoken message: find Meggie! Don’t let her do anything foolish!
Helewise nodded again, then kicked her horse and turned away towards the forest and the short cut that led across to the clearing.
Someone at the abbey must have seen the horsemen approaching, for Abbess Caliste was there at the gates as they rode in. Tomas leapt down from his horse, tossing the reins to one of the abbess’s escorting group of nuns, and he stood facing her, a swagger apparent in his stance.
‘I require use of a secure cellar, Sister,’ he began, ‘where I can lock up my prisoner till Lord Benedict of Vitré gets here. He—’
Josse, also off his horse, pushed past Tomas and his men and went to stand before the abbess. ‘Good morning, my lady abbess,’ he said, making a courteous bow.
Abbess Caliste turned to him, frowning. ‘Sir Josse? Are you involved in this business?’ She looked very doubtful.
‘Only by chance, my lady. I encountered this man and his companions on the road, where they overtook me on their way here.’ He paused, thinking hard. ‘They claim to have caught the man responsible for the recent assault and deaths hereabouts.’ He laid careful emphasis on claim.
Abbess Caliste’s eyes were on him, and she said softly, ‘What would you have me do, Sir Josse?’
He took her arm and, turning away from Tomas and moving off a few paces, out of Tomas’s earshot, he muttered, ‘We have to do as he asks, my lady, for I understand that Lord Benedict has jurisdiction in this matter. Have you a place where he can be locked up?’
‘There is the punishment cell,’ she said uncertainly.
Josse knew of it. It was a small, windowless chamber built into the stones of the undercroft below the nuns’ dormitory. It was always cold, the walls often running with water, and, once the door had been locked, totally dark. It was so small that only someone of less than average height could stand or lie down stretched out.
It was a terrible place.
‘Is there nowhere else?’ he muttered.
‘Nowhere that is truly secure,’ she whispered back. ‘We do not usually expect to lock people up.’ He went to speak but she forestalled him. ‘Sir Josse, if I suggest some less harsh alternative, they will surely reject it and hunt around until they find what they are looking for.’
Aye, he thought, she’s right.
Abbess Caliste stepped past Josse. Fixing Tomas with cool, assessing eyes, she said, ‘Follow me.’
Josse, walking behind the men roughly dragging the hooded man along, felt the abbess’s distress as acutely as he did his own. This penning up of a man within such a foul place was wrong, surely, whatever he had done.
With a lay brother now leading the way, the party went in through the low archway into the undercroft. Someone pushed the prisoner’s head down to prevent him bumping it on the lintel. They half-pushed, half-dragged him along the passage to the tiny door at the end. Someone flung it open, and the prisoner was hurled inside. They heard a thump as he fell, hard, on to the stone floor.
Abbess Caliste’s voice rang out, firm and authoritative: ‘Remove the hood and unbind his hands. You will not leave him lying there unable to help himself.’
There was an instant’s silence, and Josse was sure Tomas would argue. The man stood facing the abbess, eyes fixed to hers, mouth open for some crudely-worded refusal. But Hawkenlye Abbey appointed its abbesses wisely; in this her own place, Abbess Caliste was not to be gainsaid. After a short, tense moment, Tomas turned away, nodding curtly at one of the men who had shoved the prisoner inside the cell. The man went down the low steps, and there was the sound of a knife sawing through rope. Then he emerged once more, slamming the door behind him, and Tomas rammed the bolts home. Then he turned the big iron key in the lock, removing it and swinging it on its ring.
He turned a triumphant face to Josse. ‘Let’s see him try to get out of that,’ he said.
Shocked and horrified, Josse stood looking at the door. There was so little space in the tiny room.
And the prisoner was tall.
Tomas was rubbing his hands, his delight palpable. ‘I’m leaving my best men here to watch over him,’ he announced, ‘while two of the others come with me to fetch Lord Benedict.’ He leered at the abbess. ‘Don’t you or your ladies go getting any ideas about handing in some little treats, Sister, because my men won’t approve of that.’ Then, chest thrust out, he strutted away.
Josse and Abbess Caliste were ushered back along the passage.
As the sound of their receding footsteps rang out, for the first time there was a reaction from the man in the punishment cell: a thin animal howl of anguish, swiftly cut off.
Josse went with the abbess to her room, both of them deeply shaken by what had just happened.
‘I am not at all easy in my mind that the prisoner’s fate is to be decided by Lord Benedict,’ the abbess said as she sank into her chair. ‘Sir Josse, we must inform Gervase de Gifford, who surely will not stand by and allow a man to be condemned without trial?’
‘I do not know, my lady,’ Josse replied. ‘In these times, it is not easy to stand up to a man who has the favour of the – er, of those in very high places.’
She understood; he could tell by her suddenly wary expression. ‘I see,’ she said neutrally. Then, passionately, she cried, ‘But, Sir Josse, even if the man in the undercroft is indeed he who carried out the revenge killings, he should be allowed to explain himself and give his reasons! Many people, I believe, would applaud his actions, not punish him for them. Yet I fear that, as soon as Lord Benedict arrives, our poor prisoner will be dragged out and hanged from the nearest suitable tree.’
Josse had the same fear. His mind was working frantically, trying to think of a way either to get the prisoner out of the cell or find some argument that would make Lord Benedict see the sense and justice of a proper trial, but so far he could think of nothing. He had briefly wondered if it would be worth speaking to the witness, but, from what Tomas had said, it was clear she had been promised a hefty bribe. Times were so tough, for the vast majority of the population, that, although it was deeply upsetting to think that this woman would see a possibly innocent man hang for something he might not have done, it was hardly surprising.
Absently, he let his eyes roam around the room, going back in his mind to the many times he had sat here with Helewise. As if Abbess Caliste could read his thoughts – perhaps she could, for she was an extraordinary woman – she said softly, ‘Go and find her, Sir Josse.’
In the little cell by the chapel, Josse found Helewise and her granddaughter, huddled in quiet conversation with Tiphaine. Helewise got up to greet him as he went in.
‘There’s no sign of Meggie, Josse,’ she said, her worried eyes holding his. ‘Little Helewise and I have searched through the forest in a wide arc all around the clearing, and, unless she’s deliberately hiding from us, too, she’s not here.’
‘She’ll have gone to the hut!’ he cried. ‘We must—’
‘I’ve just come from there,’ Tiphaine said. ‘I’ve come to fetch herbs from the abbey, but there’s one or two things Meggie keeps that they don’t have, so I called in at the hut before I came here. Sorry, Josse, but she’s not there either.’
His legs felt suddenly weak. He sank down on to the nearest bed and dropped his head in his hands.
He heard the rustling of fabric and felt Helewise’s hands take hold of his, removing them from his face. ‘Dear Josse, if we can’t find her, then there is little chance anyone else can,’ she said gently. ‘If she was with him when he was taken—’
‘No if about it,’ he protested.
‘If she was,’ Helewise repeated, ‘then she had the good sense to realize that she could help him far more if she remained free than by hurling herself impotently at a company of men and demanding they release him.’
It made sense, as far as it went, but he could see one big objection. ‘Then why isn’t she here, setting about helping him?’ he asked.
Nobody seemed to be able to answer him.
After a pause, Tiphaine spoke. ‘Seems to me someone ought to tend to the man,’ she remarked. ‘Helewise said he’s been whipped, and that punishment cell’s a dirty place.’
Josse looked up at her. ‘Tomas’s men are guarding the door,’ he said. It sounded feeble, even to his own ears.
Tiphaine grinned. ‘There’s a pretty young nun I’m training in the use of herbs,’ she said. ‘Reckon if the two of us go along and she bats her long eyelashes at the guards, they’ll see their way to allowing us to tend their captive.’ She crossed to the door. ‘Worth a try, anyway.’
Josse watched her stride away down the long slope towards the abbey. His mind seemed to overflow with anxieties: uppermost was the need to protect his daughter.
But he did not know how.
Helewise was still crouched beside him, and he was tempted simply to lean against her, close his eyes and rest. She, however, had other ideas. ‘Josse?’ she said, giving his shoulder a nudge. ‘Josse, we were on our way to see Gervase, weren’t we?’
‘Aye,’ he sighed, recalling. The problem of finding Ninian seemed very far away just then.
‘No matter what you say about Lord Benedict taking control in this matter, I still think Gervase should know what is going on,’ she went on.
‘He probably does already,’ he replied.
‘In that case, he should be here,’ she said with spirit. ‘He is sheriff of Tonbridge, and he cannot just absolve his responsibility like this.’
‘He’s not doing that, he . . .’ But Josse found he had no heart for the defence of Gervase that he’d been about to present. In essence, she was right. Maybe it was time someone pointed it out to Gervase.
He got up, straightening his tunic. ‘Come on, then.’
The surprise in her face suggested she had expected to have to work harder to make him agree. Quickly recovering, she wrapped herself in her cloak and followed him out.