undercroft. He reached up for the key, turned it and, pushing the door open, looked inside. Almost instantly he closed and locked the door again, replacing the key. Then he ran round to the outbuilding and quickly reappeared.
‘She’s gone,’ he said. Then, in a tight voice suggesting he was controlling his emotions only with great difficulty, ‘Where is she?’
‘She may have gone to Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Josse said reassuringly. ‘She would not have felt safe here after Akhbir came to the house and she would have realized the Abbey was a place that you knew too and where you might reasonably expect her to go.’
‘Yes, that makes sense,’ John agreed. Mounting up, he said, ‘Is there a way through the forest?’
Josse hesitated. There was a way and he was fairly confident of finding it; he knew the forest better than most Outworlders. But the forest people did not like people tramping through their territory, and for personal and very good reasons he did not wish to offend them.
But a young woman’s life could be in danger.
‘Aye, there is,’ he said decisively. ‘Follow me.’
It was difficult riding through the heart of the forest, although progress was easier than it would have been when the trees were in full leaf. The sense of trespass — of assault — was increased by riding a large horse through the secret, sacred groves. Josse’s senses were heightened. Very aware that the forest people knew he and John Damianos were there, he maintained a careful watch ahead, around and, at first, behind him. Then John, obviously realizing the need for caution even if he did not understand the reason, said very quietly, ‘I will guard our rear.’
They rode on.
They were deep in the forest now, riding a path where nobody went save the forest dwellers. Joanna’s hut was away to the left.
Josse wondered if she was there. Did she know he was there, riding stealthily through her domain on a mission in which a young woman’s life was at stake? He spoke to her silently. Help us, Joanna. We do not come here for any frivolous reasons but to look for Paradisa. If you find her, look after her. Please, Joanna, help us all. Do not let any harm come to us.
And he thought he heard her voice. She said, Ahead, on your right!
He jerked Horace’s head to his left, and the arrow that would have pierced Josse’s throat embedded itself harmlessly in a birch tree.
Josse slid off Horace’s back and ran for the meagre shelter of the stand of birches, drawing his sword as he ran and yelling out to John, ‘Enemy on the right! Arrow fire!’
John was already off his horse and crashing through the undergrowth to join him. ‘Get behind me,’ he panted, ‘it’s me they want, not you!’
But Josse had scented the fight and would not stand down. ‘We’ll face them together,’ he replied.
John gave him a quick, flashing grin and then side by side they turned to face their enemy.
It would be a fight to the death: Josse knew it instinctively. There were only two men who would have attacked them there in the forest and he knew who they were before a glance at the arrow confirmed it.
‘William and Tancred,’ hissed John. He pointed to two dark, cloaked outlines, just visible through the trees. ‘William is on the right — he is the taller and the better shot.’ Two more arrows came whistling towards them. ‘They are pinning us down,’ John said softly. ‘They are probably unsighted, merely making sure we stay where we are.’
‘What weapons have you?’ Josse asked.
John held up his sword. ‘This, and my knife. You?’
‘The same. No bow, unfortunately.’
They waited.
They could hear the sound of stealthy movement. The Frankish mercenaries were coming closer.
Josse moved very quietly until most of his body was sheltered by a birch tree; John did the same. ‘Keep them in sight,’ Josse said, ‘and keep the tree trunk between you and them. If we can frustrate their attempts to kill us by arrow shot, eventually they will have to close in and then we shall have our chance.’
It was dreadful, he thought, to listen to arrows fly past. The narrow birch trunk was not as wide as his shoulders and he tried to stand sideways. An arrow grazed the top of his arm; almost instantly the blood began to flow. He made himself ignore the sudden burning pain. The Franks were closer now. Did they know exactly where he and John were? Had they lined up their sword points on the very two trees behind which they were hiding?
He leaned forward very, very cautiously and looked.
The shorter of the two Franks stood ten paces away. He was not looking at Josse’s tree; he, like his companion, was closing on the one John stood behind. Both had drawn their swords.
They are going for him, Josse thought. They know precisely where he is and they will lunge at him, one on each side, and he will not stand a chance.
He let the two men come closer. Closer. He did not dare keep a constant watch in case they saw him, for then he would lose the advantage of surprise.
Six paces away now. Five. Four.
With a yell Josse leapt out from behind his tree, his sword in his right hand and his long dagger in his left. The two Franks spun to face him and as his weapons met their swords John rushed out and leapt in to the attack.
They were wrongly paired, Josse thought. He was the heavier and slightly taller man and should have taken on the bigger of the two Franks, but it was too late now. John must look after himself; very soon Josse realized that he had more than enough in his hands with the smaller Frank. He knew he was matched with a swordsman who was at least his equal.
Again and again Josse defended himself from the savage swipes. There just did not seem to be an opportunity to turn defence into attack. Josse felt his enemy’s sword slice into his arm just below where the arrow had scorched it and hot agony shot through him. He was losing blood fast now and he could feel himself weakening… Then, lunging forward for the kill, the Frank trod on the end of a dead branch and flipped its oppos ite end up into his face; it did no more than halt him for a split second, but it was enough. Josse dropped his knife, took his sword in both hands and, raising it high in the air, brought it down on his opponent’s head.
The skull sliced open under the huge assault and the Frank fell dead on the ground.
Swiftly Josse turned towards John. He was hard-pressed, but he was skilled and he was fighting like a bear. Steadily he pushed his adversary back.
The Frank risked a glance over to where his companion had been fighting. His eyes widened as he took in the dead body and the ghastly wound to the head.
Then, with a howl, he turned and ran.
‘We must run after him! Come on!’ shouted John. Josse had slumped against a tree; John tried to pull him up.
Josse looked up at him. He had a long cut above his left eye and blood was pouring down his face. He had also taken a wound across the front of his right shoulder and that too was streaming blood. Already his face was ashen.
Josse felt in no better shape. He was intensely grateful that their opponent had not appreciated how weakened both of them were, for he knew that neither he nor John was capable of fighting even one determined assailant.
And he also knew that he couldn’t run anywhere.
He clutched at John’s wrist as the young man attempted to get him to his feet. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, John. We are both hurt and we must seek help before we hunt for him.’
‘He will go after Paradisa! We have to find him before he gets to her!’ John shouted.
‘Aye, I know that and we will go after him, you have my word, as soon as we stop bleeding.’
John’s pallor had increased and suddenly he sat down beside Josse. He put up a hand to wipe his face and then looked in amazement at it; it was covered in blood. Then he glanced down at his tunic, saturated with glistening red. ‘Oh, God,’ he muttered.
‘Can you mount your horse?’ Josse asked.
‘Yes.’ John sounded determined.
