Josse waved a hand. ‘Oh, very well,’ he said grudgingly. Gervase was right, and he knew it. Forcing himself to concentrate, he looked around the wide hall, and his eye fell on the big oak chest that stood beside the door leading to the kitchen. He strode across to it and flung back the lid, revealing some tarnished silver vessels that had belonged to his mother and a wickedly-curved blade that his father had brought back from Outremer. ‘Hardly worth a thief’s trouble,’ he remarked as Gervase knelt to look into the chest.
Gervase did not speak for a few moments. Then he said, ‘Your daughter has a jewel.’
‘Aye,’ Josse breathed. He had forgotten the Eye of Jerusalem, the great sapphire that had also accompanied his father home from crusade. ‘Follow me.’
He strode across the hall and, twitching aside a heavy hanging on the opposite wall, revealed a small wooden box set into the stonework. He reached inside his tunic and withdrew a small but heavy key, unlocking the little door. ‘We keep the stone in here,’ he said.
Gervase was right beside him, staring over his shoulder into the dark recesses of the box. ‘The jewel is your daughter’s, yet you have the key?’
‘Meggie has her own key,’ Josse said shortly.
‘How many people know about this hiding place?’
Josse shrugged. ‘Most of my household, I suppose, might know, although I don’t think-’
Suddenly, Gervase stiffened. ‘What was that?’
‘What?’ Josse felt alarm course through him.
‘I heard voices…’
Josse didn’t hesitate. Spinning round, he ran across the hall and down the steps into the cold air. Seeing nobody, he hurried on to the stable yard, where Will was calmly rubbing down Alfred’s damp coat while Gervase’s horse, its nose in the water bucket, awaited its turn. Other than Will, there was nobody there either.
‘Has anyone just arrived?’ he panted.
‘Not since you and the sheriff,’ Will replied, not turning from his task.
Puzzled, Josse trotted back to the hall. Gervase was still standing by the secret box, arms folded, a frown on his face. ‘Seems you were mistaken,’ Josse said.
Gervase raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Perhaps it was your servants, back there.’ He nodded towards the door to the kitchen. Then, before Josse could reply, he went on, ‘This seems reasonably safe, Josse, although since you say most of your household know of its existence, I suggest you get a stonemason to make a new one and this time keep its location to yourself.’
‘I trust my people,’ Josse said shortly.
‘I’m sure you do.’ Gervase’s tone was terse. ‘Nevertheless, a secret known to many is no secret.’
‘But I-’ Josse began.
Gervase put up a hand to stop him. ‘I must go back to Tonbridge,’ he said. ‘I need to speak to my deputies and learn if they have anything to report.’
‘You will not stay and eat?’ Josse was surprised at his sudden decision to leave.
‘No, thank you. I will return to the abbey later today, and I hope to see you there, Josse.’
With the briefest of bows — a mere nod of the head — the sheriff turned and strode away.
The woman sank to her knees, her joints cracking and protesting as they made contact with the cold, hard stone. She closed her eyes, shutting out the view of the snow-clad mountains through the small window.
News had come to the lonely village; terrible news. When, she reflected bitterly, was there any other kind? Another stronghold had fallen, one they had all believed would stand for ever, unassailable as it was but to the nimble-footed goats. That devil in armour who led the enemy had somehow managed to bring a siege engine within range, and the usual brutal result had swiftly followed. Hangings, burnings, mutilations, terrible deaths.
The woman pressed her fists into her eyes, trying to blot out the vivid images. People bled when they burned. She hadn’t known that…
She began to pray, at first saying the words silently, then gradually moving her lips until finally she was speaking out loud, her voice waxing in strength. Slowly, as if it were some grace given to her because of the fervour of her prayer, she began to feel comforted. At first, it was no more than the softest of touches, as if an angel’s wing had brushed in a loving gesture against her cheek. She thought she heard a tiny snatch of music. Keeping her eyes closed, maintaining the fierce concentration, the sensations intensified, and suddenly it was as if a brilliant arrow of rich, golden light flashed across her vision.
Deep within her grieving heart, hope was born.
She opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to face the north.
EIGHT
Meggie and Ninian began their vigil early. Concealed in the gorse bushes and intent on the hunting lodge, Meggie reflected that the men within must be wealthy. In that time of privation, the feasting had gone on late into the night and, this morning, the servants had been up and about soon after first light, lighting fires and preparing yet more food and drink. Smoke curled lazily up from the roof of the lodge itself, and from the smaller building beyond, which must surely be the kitchen, a veritable blaze appeared to have been lit. Whatever was for breakfast — and Meggie’s mouth watered as she thought about food — was going to be tasty and, more important, abundant.
She and Ninian, when they woke, had eaten exactly the same meal they had consumed last night: some strips of dried meat and half an apple.
Presently, men started to emerge from the lodge. In ones and twos, they went round to the back of the lodge, presumably to where some servant had dug a latrine ditch, and then crossed to where the horses had been tethered overnight in a lean-to. Even the horses were well cared for, Meggie observed. There was a generous layer of straw between them and the cold ground, and the hay nets were stuffed to bursting. The sound of metal clinking on metal floated out from the lean-to as the men tacked up their mounts.
Halfway along the line of horses there was a big chestnut gelding with two white socks on his forefeet. Even from the distance that separated them, Meggie could see he was a wonderful animal, with the gracefully arched neck, small ears and slightly concave nose that told of Arab blood. He would go like the wind. Beside him was a big black horse with a star on its brow. He, too, had the exotic look that came when an English bloodline had been infused with the fast, deft-footed horses that the crusaders had brought back with them.
As if he knew her attention was lapsing, Ninian nudged her. ‘They’ll be off soon,’ he said into her ear. ‘They’ll leave the servants to clear up and bring the kit.’
He seemed very knowledgeable about the habits of the great. She smiled to herself. Well, he’d spent the years between eight and fourteen in the house of a knight, learning how to be a squire, so it was hardly surprising. ‘I’m ready,’ she whispered back. ‘The horses are packed, and we can be away in a moment.’
He nodded. They went on watching.
When all the other men were mounted and ready, the leader came out of the hunting lodge. He stopped in the doorway, took a deep breath of the clean forest air and looked at the rolling country all around.
Meggie’s eyes were drawn to him. He was a strongly-built man of medium height and looked to be in his early forties. His thick hair sprang in waves and curls from his head, dark reddish-brown in colour and tinged with grey at the temples. He was barrel-chested, perhaps running to fat, although it was difficult to tell his true shape beneath the heavily padded tunic. It was a gorgeous garment, Meggie noticed, made of expensive russet-coloured cloth and with costly embroidery at the neck. He wore a wide belt of beautifully tooled leather, and from it hung a jewelled scabbard that bore a sword. He also carried a short knife.
He called out something to the men, and they all laughed. Then he turned and spoke to somebody behind him, still within the lodge. Meggie clutched Ninian’s hand, but he had seen, too, and together they watched as Rosamund stepped daintily out into the soft morning sunshine.
‘She is — oh, I truly believe she is unharmed,’ Meggie whispered. ‘Ninian, she’s smiling.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I can see,’ he whispered back. ‘She must be-’
Whatever he had been about to say, he stopped. Following the direction of his eyes, Meggie watched as another man emerged from the lodge. He was about Ninian’s height and build, and he wore a brown leather tunic,
