brightened into an eager smile, and she said, ‘Come on, then!’
He took her little hand and hurried on to where he had tethered his horse earlier in the day. His horse was standing half-asleep, grass trailing from its mouth. He tightened the girth strap and helped her up, settling her behind the saddle, then he mounted. ‘Put your arms round my waist,’ he said and felt two slim, strong arms snake round him. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes!’ she cried.
It was some time before she told him to turn back. When he refused, she became first upset, then angry, then, finally, afraid. ‘Where are we going? Where are you taking me? I want to go home!’ she cried, over and over again until he thought he would go mad.
He found a desolate spot where a stand of trees grew in a bend of the river. He drew rein, dismounted and helped her on to the ground. He kept a firm grip on her wrist.
He looked down into her face. Night was advancing fast, and he could only just make out her features.
‘I’m afraid we’re lost,’ he said, with some truthfulness since, in the darkness, he only had a vague idea where they were and he knew he would be lucky to find his destination if they rode on. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’
She studied him, her eyes narrowed in concentration. He sensed she half-believed him. ‘What should we do?’ she asked.
‘We’ll stay here,’ he said decisively. ‘I have a thick blanket in my pack and you can have that. I’ll put on my heavy cloak. We’ll light a small fire — ’ if he made sure to stay within the trees, nobody would see — ‘and we’ll have our own little camp. How does that sound?’
She looked at him dubiously. ‘Is there any food?’
He had some dried meat and a couple of apples in his pack. ‘Yes.’
She sighed. ‘Very well, then.’
That had been last night. This morning it had been much, much harder. In the end, he’d resorted to telling her where they were really going. She was both excited and afraid, but most of all worried because her family didn’t know where she was and what she was doing.
He had to lie about that, too. He had told so many lies that his head was spinning. She was clever, too clever, and once or twice she had caught him out. That had led to more lies, all of them echoing around in his mind and competing with the voices that were shouting at him now.
He would have liked to pull his head off and throw it away. In a rare moment of rational thought, he wondered what on earth he was doing. Sometimes he thought he was quite, quite mad.
Now he really did not know what to do…
Finally, he made up his mind. They would go on, just as he had planned.
They were about to set off when he heard the sound of fast hoof-beats drumming on the ground. His head shot round, and he saw a hard-ridden horse pounding towards them. The rider was shouting and wildly waving an arm.
He looked at the girl and read alarm in her face. ‘Hide in the trees with Star,’ he said urgently, and to his surprise she obeyed. Perhaps she had already made up her mind that he was not going to harm her, whereas whoever was approaching in such a hurry was an unknown quantity. There was no time to dwell on it.
He put his hand on his sword hilt and turned to face the horseman.
FOUR
Tiphaine had spent the night in the herbalist’s hut at Hawkenlye Abbey. It was dry, fragrant and adequately comfortable. She had arranged some sacking on the wooden work bench and slept as soundly as she usually did.
The hut had been her workplace for many years. She still went there regularly. Abbess Caliste knew about her discreet visits and did nothing to prevent them, for Tiphaine was a herbalist with a rare gift and without her hard-working hands those who visited the abbey in need would have been greatly the poorer. Nobody, including Tiphaine herself, was exactly sure of her present status. She had asked to be released from her vows but, unlike Helewise, she had not felt the need to have her departure from the abbey formally recognized. Besides, also unlike Helewise, Tiphaine was still involved in its day-to-day affairs. She just did not want to be a nun any more, for the church was changing and, even if she still loved the Lord who had come to earth as a man to save the world, she no longer cared for the mortal men who were in charge.
Her status, Tiphaine had decided, really did not matter. It was immaterial to her and, as for the men of power, they had far greater things to worry about in this time of interdict than a half-pagan woman who wished to return to her true self…
There was no real hurry to quit her night’s lodging, for it was unlikely that anybody would visit the herbalist’s hut that morning. As Tiphaine knew only too well, there was not the same demand for medicines and remedies because people did not flock to Hawkenlye now as they always used to. Tiphaine did not bother her head with the intricacies of the political debate that raged through the land. She simply saw two great men, one of them a king and one of them a pope, who ought to be able to do better than plunge a whole nation into confusion, uncertainty and hardship.
Tiphaine got up, stretched, tidied away her makeshift bed and put more wood on to the small fire that smouldered in the brazier. She filled a pot with water and set it to boil, then reached up to the shelves with practised hands and mixed herbs for a drink. She set out a dry crust of bread and a strip of salted meat, eating the food slowly while she arranged her thoughts. When she had finished, and the herbal concoction was coursing through her body, she made sure the fire was dying down, packed up her bag and left the hut.
She moved swiftly and silently and kept to the shadows. Dressed in black as she was, with her hood over her head, anyone glancing at her would have taken her for a nun. She crossed the cloister and walked along to Abbess Caliste’s room, tapping softly on the door. Invited to enter, she went in and shut the door behind her.
‘Tiphaine!’ Abbess Caliste’s face lit up. The big table in front of her was, Tiphaine noticed, strewn with pieces of vellum, each covered in tiny rows and columns of figures and what Tiphaine assumed were words. ‘How good it is to see you. Is there any news? Will you sit down?’
Tiphaine shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. It is possible that some visitor to Hawkenlye may have heard or seen something concerning Rosamund’s whereabouts, and-’
‘And you wish to go among them and ask,’ Abbess Caliste finished for her. ‘Of course you must! Oh, Tiphaine, the family must be beside themselves with anxiety!’
Tiphaine nodded. ‘Aye, for she is young and vulnerable.’
Abbess Caliste looked down with a frown at the work spread before her. ‘I would help if I could, but the king’s agents were here yesterday and I have a great deal to do.’ She sighed. ‘Their demands are all but impossible.’
‘It is a heavy burden that you bear, my lady abbess,’ Tiphaine said.
Caliste looked up at her. Tiphaine did not often address the abbess by her formal title — there were old and profound ties between the two of them that made their relationship unique — but just then she had done so deliberately, intending to remind young Caliste exactly who she was and encourage a little confidence. ‘You can do it, if anyone can,’ Tiphaine added, her voice so low that she was not sure Caliste heard.
Caliste closed her eyes and her lips moved in a silent prayer, then, looking at Tiphaine, she said, ‘Tell me if you discover anything. May God help you all in your search.’
Tiphaine nodded. Then she turned and quietly let herself out of the room.
Next, Tiphaine went to the infirmary and spoke to Sister Liese. Sister Euphemia had at last acknowledged her years and now spent her days in Hawkenlye’s home for aged monks and nuns. Although she was always willing to offer help and advice, her legs and feet were swollen from decades of hard work and she found standing painful. She liked to sit in her chair by the door or, when the weather was warm, outside in the sunshine, watching and thinking. Sister Liese was a woman of middle age who had come to Hawkenlye on the death of her husband and had quickly proved to be a dedicated healer with a particular gift with the young. She had calmly acknowledged that taking over from Sister Euphemia was a hard task and, during her early years in the abbey community, she had been modest and self-effacing. Now that Sister Euphemia had finally retired, Liese had stepped into the role to
