you had to keep safe?’
Will frowned. ‘If there was not one single person I could ask for help, I reckon I’d find some out of-the-way place and build a shelter. I’d cut stout poles,’ he went on, warming to his theme, ‘and fix bracken and branches of evergreen over them to keep out the rain and the wind. I’d find stones and make a hearth, then I’d scour the land for firewood. I’d risk a bit of poaching to feed myself and when night fell I’d barricade myself in and hope for the best.’
It was a long speech from the usually taciturn Will and, amused at the romantic, imaginative streak in his servant that had created such a colourful and optimistic image of life in the wilds, Josse hid a smile. ‘You may be right, Will,’ he said seriously. ‘Perhaps our former guest has done just that.’
‘You’ll never find him if he has,’ said Will sagely. ‘There’s a whole forest full of out-of-the-way places not five miles from here. If he’s gone to ground in there, that’ll be that.’
Josse sighed. Although it was an unwelcome conclusion, he had a suspicion that Will might well be right.
Will excused himself and went back outside. Josse finished his food and drained the jug of wine and as the nourishment and the fire’s warmth relaxed him, he found his optimism beginning to creep back.
Fadil and the monk might well have done what Will suggested and hidden themselves away deep inside the forest. But they could not stay there for ever. If they were going to hide for the rest of their lives they could have done so out in Outremer. No: the monk had a clear purpose in coming to England, a purpose that was not going to be fulfilled by sleeping rough in the depths of the Great Wealden Forest. If Josse was right, the Hospitaller was aiming to get both his prisoner and the ransom safely to the headquarters of his Order at Clerkenwell. While he waited for them to emerge, there were other things that he could do and he intended to set about one of them immediately.
He stood up, brushed down his tunic and gathered up his cloak from where Ella had spread it to warm in front of the fire. Wrapping it round him with a dramatic flourish, he went outside, called for his horse and set off for Robertsbridge.
Part Four
Fourteen
As he rode Josse thought how best to make his approach to Gerome de Villieres. If Thibault had been telling the truth about a dispute between Gerome’s erstwhile knight and the de Villieres family out in Antioch — and, unless this was a ruse to keep Josse away from the Robertsbridge manor, there was no reason for him to lie — then there was no point in posing as a friend or relative of the missing monk. If they were not prepared to receive the man himself, they would not welcome one of his relatives. It was not much of an idea in any case, Josse decided, since the subterfuge would become evident as soon as they asked him what his supposed kinsman’s name was or what he looked like, Josse having absolutely no idea of either.
I will say that I am from Hawkenlye Abbey, he thought in the end, the appointed representative of the Abbess. That was the truth. He would say that two Knights Hospitaller had been badly burned and were in the infirmary; that too was true. He would explain how he had offered to take on the Hospitallers’ search for a missing monk but he would make out that he did not know Thibault had already visited the de Villieres family. He would give the impression that Thibault could barely speak. He would let Gerome de Villieres assume that enquiries were being made at every manor in the vicinity, implying that he did not know of Gerome’s connection with the runaway.
Satisfied, he kicked Horace into a canter.
He obtained directions for the de Villieres manor and found it quite easily. The house was generously sized and attractive, set in a fold of land to the west of Robertsbridge. Tree-clad slopes sheltered it from the prevailing south-westerly winds and orchards grew on south-facing hillsides. The huddles of peasant dwellings seemed in good condition and the bare earth in the fields looked fertile and rich.
The house and courtyard were enclosed by a stone wall in which there was an arched gateway. Riding in, Josse called out and almost immediately a lad came to take his horse and an older man to ask his name and his business. He listened to Josse’s carefully prepared reply and invited him to come up into the house. Josse was ushered into an imposing hall with a wide central hearth and a raised dais on which there were a long table, two chairs and a couple of benches. A thin-faced woman of perhaps forty sat at the table, an embroidery hoop in her hand; a younger woman of about twenty sat beside her.
They watched as he approached the table and bowed. The older one said politely, ‘My brother will be with us presently. Will you take some refreshment?’
‘Aye, my lady, thank you.’
She nodded to the serving man who had brought Josse in and he bowed and went out through a doorway at the far end of the hall. Josse, beginning to feel slightly awkward beneath the two women’s scrutiny, gave a diffident smile and said, ‘Lovely bright day, isn’t it?’
‘It is,’ the older woman agreed. She did not venture any further remark that might have picked up the conversation and helped it along. It was a relief when the sound of footsteps came from the passage and the manservant and his master came into the hall. While the servant poured mugs of wine, the master strode up to Josse and said, ‘I am Gerome de Villieres. This is my sister, the lady Maria, and this is my daughter Editha.’ The younger woman gave Josse a shy smile. ‘How can I help you?’
Gerome was a short, stout man who had probably once been strong but whose body was running to fat. Under his remaining grey-streaked brown hair his round, ruddy face wore a smile that creased up his light hazel eyes.
‘I have come from Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Josse began.
‘Yes, so my manservant tells me,’ Gerome replied. ‘We hear great things of the Abbey, Sir Josse.’
‘I am sure that they are all true,’ Josse said. Then: ‘There are two wounded Knights Hospitaller lying in the infirmary, Sir Gerome. They have come to England from Outremer searching for a runaway monk of their Order. Since neither is able to leave his sickbed, I have volunteered to search for the missing monk.’
‘Two Hospitallers,’ Gerome said, his eyes narrowed. ‘They have already been here.’ His sister made as if to say something but with a gesture of his hand Gerome silenced her.
‘They came to Hawkenlye,’ Josse said, ‘and then on to the priory at Tonbridge, where a fire in the guest wing killed a third monk who had joined them on the road after they left Robertsbridge.’
‘How terrible!’ Gerome seemed shocked. Then, his worried eyes meeting Josse’s, he said, ‘And was this fire an accident, Sir Josse?’
It was, Josse thought, a strange question. ‘Why do you ask?’
Gerome eyed him candidly. ‘Because there is much more to this tale of a missing Hospitaller than you know.’ He turned to the dais and gave his sister and his daughter a bright smile. ‘We will not further disturb your sewing, my dears — our male chatter may make you misdirect your needles!’
‘You do not disturb us, Gerome,’ said his sister, ‘and indeed we should prefer to hear-’
But Gerome, it seemed, had made up his mind and was not going to allow anyone, even his sister, to be a party to a conversation that he deemed unsuitable for their ears. ‘Sir Josse and I shall take a turn in the walled garden,’ he said firmly, ‘for it is sheltered there and we will not be interrupted.’
The final five words, Josse thought with a private smile, had the force of an order. He bowed to the women and followed Gerome across the hall and down the steps into the courtyard. They went through an arch in the wall and along a path, then through an opening in a second wall, on the far side of which was an area of low hedges and beds, the latter at present just bare earth. The sun shone on the far wall and there was a bench set in a recess. Gerome strode over to it, invited Josse to be seated and then settled himself beside him.
‘I am sorry I had to bring you out here,’ he said.
