Josse and Herbert made better time than anticipated, for once they had completed the long, steady climb up on to the downs, they found that the well-drained higher ground had not been as badly affected by the weather as the lowland. Musing on this, Josse remembered Joanna telling him about the old ways; the greenways and the ridgeways, the dry hill ways and the sweet ways which wound all over the country, and how they were as old as man’s occupation of the land and indicated that the earliest ancestors had shared a disinclination to get their feet wet unless there was no choice.
Josse had ridden along the downs with Joanna. He felt her presence acutely this morning.
As they topped the downs and began the descent on the north side, Herbert raised his arm and, pointing ahead, said, ‘That’s Henshaw, down beyond that patch of woodland. See? You can see the church, over by that big yew.’
‘Aye, I see,’ Josse said. He glanced at the sky, estimating that noon had not long passed. ‘We’ve done well, lad.’
Herbert grimaced. ‘We still have to get down this rather steep incline, and then we’ll have to find where Sir Godfrey lives, and it could be quite some way out beyond the village.’
Aye, and there might be a second Flood and a small plague of locusts, too, Josse thought. He hadn’t realized his cousin’s son was such a pessimist. ‘Well, let’s just hope for the best,’ he replied, grinning, ‘and maybe we’ll find the place is just past the church and we ride straight to it.’
In fact, both Herbert and Josse were half right. They found Sir Godfrey Hellingsham’s manor easily – the first person they asked gave clear, concise directions and, since it was easily the biggest house for miles, it would have been hard to miss – but it was a good five or six miles north-east of Henshaw, bordered by lush, gently sloping meadowland to the south and, on the valley side to the north, small fields and orchards.
They rode through wide-open gates into a big cobbled yard, bound on two sides by walls of small bricks interspersed with rows of flints, on one side by an elegant house, and on the fourth by a long row of stables, beyond which were several workshops and a smithy.
Hearing the sound of their mounts’ hooves, a dozen horses put their heads out over the stable doors, ears pricked with interest. Several stable lads looked up from their work, a brindled bitch came up and barked at them and a big man on a grey trotted over and wished them good day, dark, bushy eyebrows raised questioningly over round brown eyes.
‘Am I addressing Sir Godfrey Hellingsham?’ Josse asked, pulling Arthur up as the man approached.
‘Yes. Who are you?’
‘I’m Josse d’Acquin, and this is my cousin’s son, Herbert of Southfire Hall.’
Sir Godfrey stared at them both. ‘Southfire I believe I know. Down Lewes way?’ He glanced at Herbert, who nodded. ‘Acquin, now, that’s not a name I recognize.’
‘No, I’m not surprised,’ Josse said with a grin. ‘It’s where I come from but not where I live, which is the other side of the Great Forest, although I’m presently a guest at Southfire.’
‘Well, now that we all know who we are,’ Godfrey said, returning the smile, ‘why don’t you tell me what I can do for you?’ He looked over their horses, eyes darting about so that they seemed to be everywhere at once. ‘Nice enough creatures you have there,’ he remarked, ‘although many now say that you haven’t ridden till you’ve ridden a horse with the blood of the Saracen mounts.’
‘It’s about one of your horses we’ve come,’ Josse said, ‘but I’m afraid I’m not here to buy one.’
Godfrey’s smile widened. ‘Fair enough, but don’t blame me if I try to change your mind. Tib!’ he yelled suddenly, making them jump.
One of the lads came running over. ‘Yes, Sir Godfrey?’
‘Take our visitors’ horses and look after them,’ Godfrey ordered, ‘since they’ve come a fair step today. Oh, and take mine, too.’ He dismounted, handing his reins to the lad, and Josse and Herbert did the same. ‘Now, follow me into the house,’ Godfrey went on, leading the way, ‘and we’ll have a drop of ale while we talk.’
A short time later, seated on a padded settle before a good fire with a pewter mug of rather fine ale in his hand, Josse began. ‘An injured man was recently tended at Southfire Hall,’ he said, ‘both he and his horse having suffered a bad fall. We believed the man was on the mend, but the blow to his head must have been worse than we thought, and he died during the night.’
‘God rest his soul,’ Godfrey said reverently, and both Josse and Herbert muttered, ‘Amen.’
‘We know nothing of the man except his name, and we need to find out where he came from so that his household can be informed of his death,’ Josse went on. ‘We had no clue, until one of the grooms at Southfire happened to remark that the dead man’s horse was one of yours.’
Godfrey was nodding even before Josse finished speaking. ‘Yes, I had an idea that’s what you were going to say,’ he said. ‘They’re very distinctive, my horses. It was my grandfather who brought the first Saracen stallion to these parts – he was Sir Godfrey, like me and like my father, too – and he had the idea of—’ Josse gave a discreet cough and Godfrey, picking up the hint, said, ‘Well, you haven’t come here to hear me drone on about bloodlines and brood mares, have you?’
‘No,’ Josse agreed.
‘Go on, then,’ Godfrey said, smiling. Clearly, he had taken no offence at having his little lecture curtailed, and Josse, who had an idea that this might be something that happened quite a lot, guessed he’d probably had to become used to it. ‘Describe this horse to me.’ Leaning forward, his expression suddenly serious, he said, ‘Is it all right? You said it had a fall?’
‘It’s fine,’ Josse assured him. ‘My uncle’s groom has taken extremely good care of it. Him, I should say, as he’s a gelding. Chestnut, with a ginger mane, and white markings on his face that look like a crudely drawn cross. He has two white feet, the front left—’
‘And the back right,’ Godfrey finished for him. Then, with utter certainty, he sat back and said, ‘That’s Mickle.’
‘Mickle?’ Josse echoed.
‘I know,’ Godfrey agreed, grinning. ‘He was born at Michaelmas, you see, and my little daughter reckoned we should honour the fact in the foal’s name, especially when she saw that great cross on his face. “He’s blessed, Father,” she says to me, “and should have a saint’s name.” “Well,” I says, “by rights the saint’s actually an archangel called Michael, so we should call him Michael,” and she said that was a daft name for a horse.’ His grin widened. ‘So the little fellow got stuck with Mickle, although I’m sure that’s not what he’s called now.’
‘I don’t know,’ Josse admitted. It wasn’t one of the things you asked a sick man, he reflected, not really having much importance when compared to concussion, a broken nose and a dislocated shoulder. ‘So you recall who you sold the horse to?’
Godfrey was frowning. ‘I’ve been trying to think,’ he said. ‘It was a good few years ago, and Mickle must be getting on for nine or ten now, so I’m that glad to hear he’s still fit enough to survive a bad fall.’ He fell silent.
‘Could you ask your little daughter?’ Herbert asked.
Godfrey looked up with a grin. ‘The small girl who named Mickle is now a happily married woman with a young daughter of her own,’ he said, ‘and she lives a fair few miles away. She’d remember, though; you’re right there. She loved Mickle, and it was hard on her, the day the stable lad took him away, for all that she knew very well the horse would go one day because that’s what we do here. Breeding and selling horses is what puts bread on the board and clothes on our backs, and—’ Abruptly his impressive eyebrows went up and his face brightened. ‘Stable lad!’ he repeated. ‘Yes, it’s coming back to me. Although the lad came and collected the animal, he came later. It was a lady who purchased that horse – she came riding by one sunny morning on a pretty little mare and said she wanted the best animal in my yard, and it had to be good-looking because it was going to be a gift for a handsome young man. Oh, yes, I remember her, all right!’
‘Tell us about—’ Josse began, but Godfrey didn’t need any prompting.
‘She was a lovely one, and no mistake!’ he said, smiling and misty-eyed at the memory. ‘She came in here with me, sat just where you’re sitting now, and we talked and talked till noon and beyond, and laughed! I’ve never known a woman make me laugh like that.’
‘What was her name? Could it have been Southey?’ Josse put in.
‘Southey? No, no, it wasn’t that. She was a beautiful woman – mature, shapely, bright-eyed and as sharp as a tack,’ he went on, ‘and I don’t mind admitting that morning with her was the best I’ve spent in many a long year, before or since, and, seeing as how I was a widower by then, I did no harm to anyone by appreciating that woman’s company like I did, though I can’t speak for her, although that’s her own business, and not for me to criticize.’ He paused for breath.
‘Where did she come from?’ Josse asked. If Godfrey either couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal the woman’s name, perhaps he would at least tell them where she lived.
‘Eh? Oh – north-eastwards of here, right over towards the forest. Place had a funny name and it stuck in my mind, so whenever someone mentioned it afterwards, I couldn’t help but think of her …’ They waited. ‘Pard’s Wood!’ he exclaimed triumphantly. ‘Told you it had stuck in my mind! That’s where she came from, my lovely lady.’ His eyes were dewy with memory.
‘North-east?’ Josse said after a while.
‘Hm? Yes, yes – like I said, it’s right on the fringe of the forest, although nowadays I dare say they’ve cut back the trees a bit, since that seems to be the way of it, with folk wanting to clear the ground to make space for fields and orchards and houses, still, they’ve a right to live, same as all of us, and—’
‘Could we ride over there by nightfall?’ Josse interrupted; you had to interrupt Godfrey, he had realized, otherwise he would talk all day.
‘Reckon so, if you got moving sharpish, even in these conditions,’ Godfrey said. ‘It’s not far, six, eight miles, maybe, but—’
Josse stood up, and Herbert did too. ‘Then we’ll take up no more of your time, and be on our way,’ Josse said. ‘Thank you for your help. I’m sure it’ll enable us to find our man’s household and, hopefully, his kin.’
‘I pray it will,’ Godfrey said, accompanying them out into the yard. The lad brought out their horses and, as they mounted, Godfrey gave them directions to Pard’s Wood: ‘Follow the track down into the valley, then go along by the stream and on to the forest road, and if you find yourselves in under the trees, you’ve gone too far!’
With the sound of his hearty laughter still ringing in their ears, Josse and Herbert rode out through the gates.
The route was quite easy to follow, although down there on the low-lying land, water from the partly melted snow had mingled with the heavy soil to make a gooey, sticky mud that slowed their speed and quickly tired the horses, who at times had to make huge efforts to raise their feet out of the mire. When finally the small outcrop of oak, beech and ash which they had been told to look out for came in sight – a sort of outlier group standing sentinel for the great forest beyond – the daylight was beginning to fade, and the temperature was dropping fast. Josse and Herbert looked at each other with expressions of relief.
They rounded a bend in the track and, in among the trees, saw a small manor house set within its own square courtyard. The front of the yard was bordered by a paling fence in which was set a pair of wooden gates, presently closed. The other sides of the courtyard were formed of thick hedges rising higher than a tall man’s height and comprised of mainly yew, hazel and a thick tangle of brambles.
They approached the gates. Above them rose a pediment, and in its apex there was a carved wooden figure … No, a face, Josse realized as he studied it; an animal’s face, a little like a very big cat but with slitted eyes and a wide-open mouth from which the canine teeth curved outwards and down like two vicious blades. The creature’s face was marked with faded paint and seemed to be spotted.
‘I do believe that animal’s a pard,’ Herbert said quietly. ‘It suggests we’ve come to the right place.’
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘I just hope there’s somebody here, because we can’t go any further tonight.’
‘We’ll have to go in and find shelter in some outbuilding if the place is deserted,’ Herbert said, sounding alarmed. ‘It’s going to be fearsomely cold once night falls.’
‘Let’s see, shall we?’ Josse said calmly.
He went up to the gates and, leaning down from the saddle, tried to open them. They were barred. Standing up in the stirrups and looking down into the yard, he yelled, ‘Halloa the house! Is anyone within?’
‘Can you make out anything?’ Herbert called anxiously.
‘No. There’s no light to be seen, and the stable door’s wide open, so I imagine they’ve—’
He stopped. As if, hearing him, someone within the house had struck a light to come and investigate, a faint yellow glow had appeared inside a tiny, square window. Moments later, there was the creak of hinges as a door opened and a quavery male voice demanded, ‘Who’s there and what do you want? The mistress and the master aren’t here and I don’t know when they’ll be returning, so it’s no use asking.’
‘I am Josse d’Acquin and my companion is Herbert of Southfire Hall, by the town of Lewes,’ Josse called back. ‘We seek the household of Peter Southey, who sought refuge at Southfire following an accident, but—’
‘Never heard of him!’ the old man replied. ‘Young master here isn’t called Peter Southey, and, like I said, he’s away.’
‘He had a chestnut gelding with a cross-shaped face marking and two white feet,’ Josse cried desperately, fearing the old man would bang the door and leave him and Herbert out in the cold night.
Silence. Then the old man said, ‘Sounds like Mickle, right enough. You’ve got him, then? The horse?’ He was advancing now across the yard towards them. ‘What’s he doing in Lewes?’
There was the sound of heavy bars being drawn back, and the gates opened. ‘You’d better come in,’ the old man said grudgingly.
Josse and Herbert rode into the yard and dismounted. Since the old man showed no intention of inviting them inside the house, Josse realized he would have to ask his questions out in the cold. ‘The horse is definitely your master’s Mickle,’ he said. ‘We’ve been to see Sir Godfrey Hellingsham – we’ve just come from there – and he confirmed that the horse was brought by the mistress of Pard’s Wood.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ The old man nodded. ‘Nine, ten years back, that was. Wanted him to have the best, she did, and she knew where to buy it.’
Aeleis was always generous, Josse thought. It was totally unreasonable, for he still had no proof, but he was convinced this was Aeleis’s house, and it was she who had purchased the best horse that money could buy for her precious son.
He came out of his brief reverie. Both Herbert and the old man were staring at him expectantly. ‘Er – what did your young master look like?’ he asked the old man. He was wondering if the dead man had given them a false name, and, as he thought about it, he remembered.
The scene was vivid in his mind. He had asked the young man what his name was, and he’d begun to say something – a single syllable sounding like Pa – and stopped. Then he asked where he was, and someone, Isabelle, probably, had said Southfire Hall. Then, some time later, after they’d asked if anyone would be worrying about him, and should they send word, Josse had asked him again what his name was, and he said Peter Southey.
But Peter didn’t start with Pa. And Southey … Isabelle had just said Southfire Hall, so was Southey the first name that came into the young man’s head, having just heard something similar?
You lied to us, Peter, Josse said silently.
‘What does he look like?’ the old man was repeating, scratching his head as if not sure how to respond to such an outlandish question. ‘Well, like any other young man, I reckon. Fair hair, long, down to his shoulders. Can’t say I approve, but it’s not for me to say, and the young make their own fashion.’
Josse thought hard, trying to make up his mind. The evidence was strong, but what if his conclusion was wrong? He glanced at Herbert, but Herbert seemed at a loss. He gave a faint shrug, as if to say, It’s up to you.
Turning back to the old man, Josse said, ‘I believe, from what you’ve just said and from your confirmation that the chestnut gelding belonged to your young master, that I have bad news. If the man who was tended at Southfire Hall and your master are the same man, then I’m afraid I have to inform you that he’s dead.’
The old man shook his head. ‘No, no, no, you’re wrong,’ he said confidently. ‘Reckon somebody must have stolen Young Master’s horse – this Peter Southey you mentioned – because Master’s nowhere near Lewes.’ He smiled smugly at them both.
‘You’re sure?’ Josse demanded. ‘Absolutely sure?’
‘I’m sure all right!’ He looked affronted, as if Josse had called him a liar. Then, leaning closer to Josse, he said, ‘Mistress took sick, see.’
Sick! Oh, no, no! But she might not be Aeleis, he reminded himself firmly. And, said a faint voice in his head, sick is better than dead … ‘Go on,’ he ordered.
‘Master, he sends for the healer down in the village, and she helped as she could, eased Mistress’s discomfort a bit, but then she says she reckons there’s no more she can do and Mistress needs better care than she can offer, which was honest of her, if nothing else.’ He sniffed. ‘Anyway, Young Master says what did she suggest, and she says, only one place as can help Mistress now, and that’s the nuns.’ He nodded encouragingly, his expression earnest. ‘Good, they are, see. Make the sickest of folk well. With God’s help,’ he added piously.
Josse felt a strange sensation in his chest. It was as if, somewhere deep inside himself, he had been aware all along that this was how it would be.
‘Your mistress is at Hawkenlye Abbey,’ he said tonelessly.
‘But, Josse, that’s just near where you—’ Herbert began.
‘Yes, of course she is!’ the old man said over him. ‘Rode off there – ooh, more than a week ago now, more like eight, maybe ten days. They had to wait, see, for a morning when it wasn’t too cold and Mistress had passed a good night, else the journey would have been too much for her, and even as it was, Master said they should have got a litter or a cart, only Mistress said not to fuss and she’d manage as it wasn’t far, and—’
‘How far?’ Josse barked. Surely the old man must be wrong.
‘Well, if you take the road that runs westwards round the forest and then bend north and east, it’s maybe fifteen miles,’ the old man said. ‘Only they didn’t go that way, see? Young Master, he says they’re taking the track through the forest, and that cuts a good seven, eight miles off.’
Josse shook his head, trying to understand. He had been so sure he’d broken through the veil of mist that Peter Southey had woven around himself, and identified him as Aeleis’s son. But what if he was wrong? If this old boy was to be believed, then Aeleis was ill and her son had taken her to Hawkenlye, and that was where they both were now. But if that was true, then why did Peter Southey have Aeleis’s precious Queen Eleanor chess piece?
Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Josse thought, He probably stole it, along with the horse, and Herbert and I have come all this way for nothing.
‘What should we do, Josse?’ Herbert asked.
Josse, realizing that the silence had gone on rather a long time, turned to him. ‘I think I may have seen connections where none exist, lad,’ he said heavily. The old man, he noticed, was listening intently, a fascinated expression on his face. ‘Maybe the woman and her son who live here at Pard’s Wood are two strangers. Maybe Peter stole the chestnut gelding from the Hawkenlye stables, and the chess piece was in the saddle bag. Maybe,’ he concluded heavily, ‘Peter Southey has no link with Aeleis.’
‘Aeleis is Mistress’s name,’ the old man said. Then, frowning, ‘Why didn’t you say?’
Josse felt a great shiver, running right through his body. Then he seemed to be filled with a warm glow, as if he had moved within the orbit of a blazing fire. Aeleis, he thought.
All at once it didn’t seem to matter much who Peter Southey was, or why he had the horse and the chess piece. Aeleis was at Hawkenlye, taken there by her son, and Josse was going to see her again, just as soon as he could get there.
He glanced up. Through a gap in the clouds, the western sky was still glowing, although the sun had set some time ago. He would cut through the forest, he thought, just as Aeleis and her son had done. He didn’t know the way, at least, not all of it, but if he headed off north-eastwards, sooner or later he was bound to come to a place he recognized, and after that it would be easy. The great forest trees were bare; it was always more straightforward to find your way among them in winter.
Having made his decision, he was desperate now to be off. ‘Herbert, you stay here tonight,’ he said, turning to the younger man. ‘If that’s all right?’ He looked at the old man, eyebrows raised.
‘Suppose so,’ the old man grumbled.
‘Thank you. Then, first thing tomorrow, I want you to ride back to Southfire and tell them what we’ve discovered.’
‘What have we discovered?’ Herbert asked plaintively.
‘That Peter Southey’s horse was purchased by Aeleis, for her son, but that Peter can’t be that son because he and Aeleis have gone to Hawkenlye Abbey because she’s ill,’ he said, all in one breath. ‘Tell them I’ve gone to Hawkenlye to see Aeleis –’ even saying the words made his stomach give an odd sort of flip – ‘and that I’ll find out from her son where and when the horse was stolen, and how he wants to go about getting it back.’ He frowned. It was very hard to think about anything other than the prospect of his imminent reunion with Aeleis.
Herbert put a tentative hand on his arm. ‘Josse, there are other women called Aeleis,’ he said gently. ‘Are you sure you’re not jumping to the wrong conclusion?’
Josse stared at him, something like fever pounding in his blood. ‘I’m not wrong!’ he whispered. ‘I can’t explain, but I know it’s her.’
Herbert looked very worried. ‘Very well, but won’t you at least wait till daylight before you go haring off to find her? The forest is perilous, Josse, especially at night.’
Josse was touched by the concern in Herbert’s face. ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ he said, smiling. It wasn’t the moment to explain about Joanna, and how, the forest having been her natural home, he knew he would never come to harm there. ‘I’ll be all right.’
‘But—’
Josse was already swinging up on to Arthur’s back. ‘I’ll return to Southfire as soon as I can,’ he called down. ‘Give Helewise my love.’ A stab of something that felt quite a lot like guilt went through him, but he ignored it. He put his heels to Arthur’s sides, the big horse sprang forward, and Josse clattered out of the yard and off down the track leading into the forest.