meet the knights when they crossed by night from the mainland and he followed them up to World’s End.’
‘Why?’
‘He had his reasons.’ The guard, it seemed, was not to be drawn.
‘And your brother identified one of these fleeing men as King Richard?’
There was a pause. Then, as if he had not heard or was ignoring the question, the guard said, ‘That little boat was scarcely up to riding the waves, you know. It took someone who has known these waters man and boy to row her safely out to the ship. It was all very well at first, because close in to shore the bulk of the island kept off the worst of the gale. Once we were out in the straits, it was a different matter and all three of them had to start bailing if they wanted to save their own skins.’
‘“Once we were in the straits”?’ Josse repeated, pouncing on the word.
The guard gave him a quizzical look. ‘Paying attention, aren’t you? I like that when I’m telling a tale.’ Then, abruptly turning from sarcasm to fierce intensity, ‘It was me who saw the king. It’s not easy to bail and keep your face hidden, but he almost managed it. Then he straightened up — muscle pain, I guess, for he had a hand in the small of his back — and he’d got his foot on the hem of that great cloak. Just for an instant, the hood was pulled sideways and I saw his face as clear as I see yours.’
‘I thought you said it was pitch dark and a storm was blowing?’ Josse said. ‘How was it that there was light to see by?’
‘We were coming alongside the ship by then,’ the guard said smugly. ‘They were leaning down over the side with flaring torches so that I could see where the ladder had been lowered.’
Oh, God.
For some time there was silence in the cold, musty little room. Josse was struggling to absorb what he had just been told, wondering frantically if the man could be lying and then dismissing the idea; why on earth make up such a dangerous story? What would be the point? Suddenly he thought he might have answered his own silent question.
‘Where is your brother?’ he asked.
‘Hmm?’ The guard started out of his reverie. Then, with a scowl, ‘Dead.’
‘Dead?’
The man was shaking his head. ‘I told him not to!’ he moaned. ‘I said, “Don’t you mess with the likes of Philippe de Loup, for there’ll only be one outcome if you do,” but he didn’t listen.’
‘So you mean,’ Josse said slowly, thinking it out, ‘that your brother followed de Loup and the knights to this fortress of his that night because he suspected they were up to no good? He spied on them in the expectation of seeing something he shouldn’t and then attempted to make them pay for his silence?’
‘That’s about it, yes,’ the guard agreed. ‘For all the good it did him,’ he added miserably. ‘Now there’s his rat-faced wife and his snot-nosed brats for me to care for, as if my own weren’t enough.’
Josse hardly heard. ‘But surely de Loup knows of your involvement?’ he said. ‘Why has he not ensured your permanent silence too?’
The guard gave a deep sigh. ‘Because he doesn’t know I was there. He thought my brother would see to the arrangements, just like he always did. It was only ever him.’ Another sigh.
‘Yet it was you, not him, who rowed the boat?’ And you who saw the king’s face, he added silently.
‘Yes, well, I don’t reckon old de Loup knew anything about that little boat.’ His face creased in puzzlement. ‘It was odd, come to think of it, for all the others went back the same way they came out. It was a private arrangement, I believe, between those three knights and my brother.’
‘You don’t know for sure?’
‘No. See, my brother had cricked his neck that morning carrying a barrel of wine into de Loup’s fortress. There was no possibility of him rowing a boat anywhere, never mind in the middle of the night in a gale.’
‘So you acted as his substitute?’
‘Yes, that I did. Weren’t no need to tell anyone, so we didn’t. I rowed the boat; I had the fee.’
‘And de Loup never found out?’
‘No, don’t reckon he did. Like I just said, I’m not even certain he knew about it at all. As to who rowed it…’ He shrugged.
After a while Josse said, ‘I am sorry about your brother.’ There was no reply except for an aggrieved sniff. Josse reached into the leather pouch at his belt and his hand closed on some of the coins within. Removing them, he said, ‘You know, I believe, who sent me to you.’
‘I do.’
‘She commanded me to discover the truth.’
The man’s head shot up. ‘I’ve told you the truth!’
‘Aye, I believe you. This tale must not be told anywhere else.’ He spoke with all the gravity and authority he could muster. ‘Take these coins — ’ he held out a handful of gold and the guard instantly shot out his hands, palms up, to receive them — ‘in compensation for your brother’s death. What he did was both dangerous and wrong, but he has paid a terrible price, as have his wife, his children and you.’
‘That we have,’ the guard said heavily.
‘But with this money I am also buying your silence,’ Josse added softly. ‘You have not told your story to anybody else?’
‘No!’ The denial shot out of him. ‘Do you think I’m a fool? I dare not! Well, I told the queen of course. That secretary of hers admitted me to her presence, which is all but unheard of for a man like me, and we spoke alone. But I’ve not repeated my tale before this moment, I swear!’
‘Why?’ Josse asked suddenly.
The guard looked instantly suspicious. ‘Why what?’
‘Why tell anyone? Why bring this story to the queen’s attention?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ the guard said with a distinct sneer. ‘Queen Eleanor’s greatly loved here on the island. We may not see her very often but she’s our special lady.’ He sat up a little straighter. ‘I thought it right that she should know what her precious son got up to.’
‘I see.’ It was an answer, of sorts, although Josse could not help but think that the gold now in the guard’s hand was somehow more of a motive for having told what he knew than this alleged great love for the queen. ‘Very well. So it’s just the queen and you who know.’
‘And you,’ the guard pointed out.
Josse chose to ignore that. ‘So,’ he went on, ‘if ever I hear rumours of the late king’s presence here on the Ile d’Oleron on a certain stormy night in March, I shall know who is spreading them. Yes?’
‘Yes.’ It was a croak.
‘And I imagine you know full well what I shall do if that happens.’
‘Yes,’ the guard repeated. In the dim light his face looked pale and sweaty with fear.
Josse felt guilty; he was no Philippe de Loup, prepared to murder a man for spilling a secret, but this shivering, trembling man sitting before him did not know that. Which, for the sake of the late king’s reputation and Queen Eleanor’s peace of mind, was just as well.
Three
Josse and Brother Augustus were abroad very early the next morning. They made their quiet way to the stables, said to the grooms on duty that they were going to exercise their horses, and soon were riding down out of the castle. Josse had only the guard’s vague description, but he could see the sun rising over the mainland behind him and, aware that the place known as World’s End was on the north-west tip of Oleron, it was not difficult to find the right direction.
The May morning was bright but chilly, with a stiff breeze blowing out of the south-west bending the pine trees and setting the bright poppies in the grassy verges dancing. To begin with, there were a few huddled hamlets and solitary cottages dotted on either side of the rough track, but quite soon these dwindled, as did evidence that the islanders were using the land; within eight or ten miles of the settlement around the castle, cultivated fields were few and far between. The track grew steadily less distinct and it became clear that the dark guard had been
