ways of not only defending herself but also attacking her enemy that might come as quite a surprise to Akhbir.
But on a visit to the house she’d undoubtedly have Meggie with her…
Grim now, he pressed on.
The faint ribbon of track broadened into a well-defined path, then into a road wide enough for a horse and rider. Josse was certain now: the old house was about a quarter of a mile ahead. He had Akhbir in view as the Saracen climbed a slight rise and stepped out into the clearing, then hurried towards the paved courtyard, overgrown with tufts of grass and weeds.
Memories of being here with Joanna flooded Josse’s mind despite his efforts to keep them at bay. It was to this house, her secret hiding place, that she had brought him when he had been wounded. Here she had told him her poignant tale; here she had wept and he had taken her in his arms. Here, on fur rugs in front of the fire, he had intended only to comfort her but comfort had turned into mutual passion and they had made love for the first time.
Joanna.
He closed his eyes and suffered the mingled joy and pain of his memories. Then, ordering himself to get on with his present imperative task, he opened his eyes again. But memory was still in command. He thought he saw her, clad in her heavy, enveloping woollen cloak. Just for an instant she seemed to shimmer there on the path beside the house.
Then the vision was gone.
Less out of his sense of duty than to rid himself of the anguish of remembering, he took a calming breath and began to creep carefully forward.
It looked as if Akhbir and Kathnir had been living in the undercroft, for whereas the heavy wooden door to the hall was fast shut and had a strand of wild rose growing across it, the arched door beside the steps was ajar and there were signs that feet had been treading through the doorway.
There was a group of holly trees where the track joined the open space in front of the house and Josse crouched behind it. He was thinking hard. Someone was living here, or had been very recently. Had it been the two Saracens? Or did Akhbir know that someone else was here — Fadil, perhaps, or the runaway monk; both, maybe — and was he even now about to burst in on them?
He stood up and stared after Akhbir.
Whoever was in the house, Akhbir was wary of them; he had drawn his long, curved knife. He held it firmly in his raised right hand.
He broke into a run.
And then suddenly he stopped, skittered to a halt and collapsed on the ground, an arrow in his chest.
Josse broke cover and raced to the fallen man. The arrow had been fired at short range and the shot had been devastatingly accurate. The missile had gone straight through Akhbir’s body and its evil head was sticking a hand’s breadth out of his back.
He was dead.
Josse knelt by his side, Akhbir’s warm blood soaking into the cloth of his hose. He reached out a hand and gently closed the wide eyes. He muttered a prayer; although he had no idea what a Saracen would wish said over his dead body, Josse was familiar with the Christian ritual and he did his best.
I must get his body away and back to Hawkenlye, he thought. I cannot carry him. I shall have to hurry back and fetch help. But before I go I must find something to cover him. Akhbir’s cloak was bunched up beneath his body and Josse began to roll the corpse from side to side to free it. He pulled out a section of the hem and was just attempting to move the body again when he heard a whistling sound above him.
He looked up to see a second arrow flying in a lobbed trajectory high over his head. Losing momentum, it fell to earth and embedded itself in the ground about a foot from where he knelt.
Hurriedly he shoved Akhbir off his cloak, then draped the cloth over the dead man’s face and chest. Another arrow struck the ground, slightly closer to him. With a cry of alarm, he grabbed at it, wrested it free and leapt to his feet. His hands and arms covering his head in a futile gesture of self-defence, he ran for the path that led away under the trees.
The longer track that ran around the forest might have been the wiser road to take but Josse had received a bad scare and, in addition, he knew he had to face Gervase as quickly as he could with the news that the sheriff’s prisoner was dead. Consequently he took the direct route that led straight through the old forest.
He muttered under his breath as he hurried along, a random string of words such as please and sorry and short little sentences such as I would not intrude but for dire necessity. He was not quite sure who he was addressing: the forest people; the trees; the numinous presence that dwelt in the heart of this strange place. Whoever it was, it heard him and he was not only left alone but, as if by magic, he found his way along the swiftest tracks and paths without one wrong turning.
All too soon he was back at the Abbey.
The community was emerging from the church after tierce. The Abbess saw him and walked up to him. Wordlessly he inclined his head in the direction of her room and, with a nod, she led the way there.
‘Akhbir is dead,’ he said without preamble. ‘I let him go in the hope that he would lead me to either Fadil or the runaway monk.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘And did he?’
‘He led me to someone,’ Josse answered grimly. ‘That someone shot Akhbir through the heart and warned me off with two more equally well-aimed shots.’
‘It is exactly what happened when you and Gervase found the makeshift shrine to the dead Turk!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whoever shot at you then has already murdered Kathnir and now they have killed Akhbir too.’
‘But-’ he began.
‘I shall send word immediately for Gervase,’ she announced, striding over to the door. ‘Sister Ursel!’ she called loudly. ‘Sister!’ She hurried out into the cloister and Josse, following, saw the porteress run towards her. There was a brief conversation, Sister Ursel nodded then hurried away in the direction of the stables.
‘One of the young lay brothers is mucking out for Sister Martha,’ the Abbess explained as she came back into the room. ‘Sister Ursel is going to dispatch him down to Tonbridge immediately.’ She looked sympathetically at Josse. ‘Have you had breakfast?’ He shook his head. ‘Then come with me to the refectory, and while we wait for Gervase I shall order food and a warming drink for you.’
When he had finished Sister Basilia’s excellent breakfast and expressed his thanks, he and the Abbess returned to her room. She seemed disinclined to question him further until the sheriff was with them, and as they settled down to wait he said, ‘Someone has made a temporary camp out at the old house where Joanna’s great- aunt and uncle lived.’
She knew straight away why he had told her that. ‘Any sign of her?’ she asked quietly.
‘No. The door into the hall looked as if it hadn’t been opened in months. Whoever is living there is using the undercroft.’
‘I wonder why?’ She was, he thought, doing her best to distract him from thoughts of Joanna by presenting a small puzzle. ‘If you’re going to borrow someone’s house without permission, why not do it in style? He — or they — could have lit a fire in the hall and there must be furs and rugs and so on and-’
She must have noticed his expression. He had very precious and extremely intimate memories of fur rugs and a roaring fire in Joanna’s hall.
‘Well, it’s odd to use the undercroft instead,’ she hurried on. Her cheeks had flushed a little, as if she were aware of her error. ‘Perhaps whoever it is knew they were doing wrong and were keen to keep the offence to a minimum…’
Silence fell. Although Josse was not keen to face Gervase and explain why he had released Akhbir and positively encouraged him to run away, still he found himself almost looking forward to the confrontation. Anything would be better, he thought miserably, than sitting here feeling the Abbess’s sympathy coming at him in waves and being unable to do what he longed to do.
Which was to share with her the less personal of those precious memories. To open his heart and pour out all the pain that he was suffering.
But she was Abbess of Hawkenlye and they were trying to find out why two people — three now — had been murdered. He kept his peace.
When Gervase arrived, Josse gave him his reasons for having let Akhbir go succinctly and honestly. The
