him.’
The king did not speak for some time. Meggie crept closer to Josse, in need of his stolid strength. She was afraid, and she did not yet understand why.
Eventually, the king closed his eyes and, with a wince of pain, leaned back on his pillows. ‘Be careful how you break the news to my companion,’ he said quietly. ‘He is Olivier de Brionne, and he is Hugh’s brother.’
Josse and Meggie were outside the infirmary. Sister Liese, coming to check on her patients, had observed the king’s pallor, and his obvious fatigue, and sent them away. The other man — Olivier de Brionne, they now knew — was still unconscious.
Josse took hold of Meggie’s hands. ‘This is very grave,’ he muttered, frowning deeply. ‘We must find Ninian and help him get right away. No accusations have yet been made against him, but two men lie wounded and one of them is the king.’ He looked down at his daughter. ‘I am sorry that I crushed your foot,’ he said with a faint smile.
‘You did no lasting damage,’ she replied. ‘But, Father, why did you not wish me to speak of my mother’s court connections?’
He frowned thoughtfully, trying to find the right words. ‘Daughter, your mother had no reason to treasure the memory of what happened to her; far from it. A cousin of hers, considerably older than she was, took her to King Henry’s Christmas court one year, because she was young, innocent and very lovely and the cousin wished to impress the king and his lascivious friends with new blood. Then-’ He stopped. This was not his story to tell. If Joanna had not revealed to Meggie the truth of what had happened to her, then it was not up to Josse to do so. ‘My love, it may be that one day you will be told,’ he said. ‘There is a connection between our family and the king, but, if he has forgotten it or did not know of it, then I do not want to bring it to his mind.’ He studied her face. ‘Is that enough?’
Slowly, she nodded. She was thinking hard, he could tell. ‘It is,’ she said presently. ‘I trust you, Father.’
But Josse hardly heard. His mind had gone back to a day more than eighteen years ago when Joanna had first told him about herself. They had lain together beside the fire, in the house where Josse now lived with his extended family. The memory was so vivid, bringing both overwhelming joy and sudden sharp pain, that for a moment he felt faint.
Meggie was looking at him anxiously. ‘What is it, Father?’ she asked. ‘Are you unwell?’
‘No, no!’ He hastened to reassure her. The day he was remembering was around the time of her conception. Such things were not for a daughter to hear, although he yearned to tell her. They all said she was so like him, this beloved child of his, and such remarks always made his heart glow with pride. But, sometimes, he wished she looked more like her mother…
He was aware of Meggie beside him, concerned for him and gently rubbing her fingers across the back of his hand. ‘It’s cold out here, Father,’ she said. ‘You are shivering. Won’t you go inside?’
He turned to her, shaking himself out of his reverie and trying to summon a smile. There was enough to worry about in the here and now without mourning over things he could not control. ‘Dearest, I must think what to do,’ he said briskly. ‘I sense some dreadful threat hanging over me — hanging over all of us — and I am fearful.’ He attempted a laugh but it was a miserable failure. ‘You will think I am being foolish, no doubt, and-’
But she took his hand and tightened her fingers around it. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said. ‘For one thing, I hardly ever think you’re foolish, and for another, I feel exactly the same.’
He met her eyes. He did not know if to be relieved that she so readily gave him her support or even more worried because she shared his fears. On balance, the latter won.
‘We should-’ he began.
Just then one of the nursing nuns appeared in the infirmary doorway, looked around and caught sight of them. Hurrying over, she said, ‘I am glad to find you still here, Sir Josse! Sister Liese sent me to fetch you. The second man brought in earlier has recovered consciousness. Sister Liese says you must come.’
With the sense that he was going to some fateful encounter, Josse squared his shoulders and, with Meggie beside him, went back into the infirmary.
The young man had awakened to fear so intense that his first instinct was to leap out of the strange bed with the worn but clean sheets and run. The smallest movement, however, caused such a fire of agony in his right side and his left forearm that he quickly changed his mind. Paralysed by his pain and his terror, he quickly closed his eyes again, taking refuge in the pretence of continuing unconsciousness.
He wondered where he was. Risking a quick look, he saw curtains and, in the narrow gap between them, a glimpse of more beds and a well-scrubbed stone-flagged floor. He saw a woman in black, then another. He closed his eyes once more. He must be in the infirmary at Hawkenlye Abbey. It was the obvious place to bring a wounded man.
He thought about the fight. He saw again the blue-eyed man with the knife and the long sword. He recalled the ferocity of the attack and the terrible moment when he had believed he was about to die. Then there had been three of them, grappling together in a painful knot of fists, elbows, knives… Somehow he had defended himself and, as the hot blood rush had coursed through him, he knew he had made a strike. Against who, he was not so sure.
He heard voices. His lord’s, speaking to a woman who sounded calm and composed as she answered the questions. He listened. They did not seem to be discussing anything of great note.
Then his lord spoke a name, and suddenly the young man was fully alert. ‘Hugh de Brionne is dead, they tell me,’ the lord was saying, ‘and his body lies here at the abbey.’
Hugh was dead. Dead. The young man began to shake.
‘-must break the news as soon as he wakes up,’ the lord went on. ‘He will take it hard.’
A tear rolled out of the young man’s eye.
After a moment, he called out in a weak voice for water, and almost immediately a black-clad nun appeared in the recess to tend him.
Josse watched as Olivier de Brionne’s bed was carefully lifted by a quartet of lay brothers and carried across to where the king lay reclining against his pillows, in the opposite recess. There were matters to discuss, matters that could not be yelled out loud over the width of the large room. Turning to Meggie, gently Josse told her to wait outside. Then he went into the recess and drew the curtains.
The king said, ‘Josse, this is Olivier de Brionne. Tell him, if you will, about Hugh.’
Josse turned to look at the young man. He saw straight away the resemblance to Ninian that Meggie had seen. The blue eyes were unmistakable. ‘I am very sorry to inform you that your brother Hugh is dead,’ he said gently.
Olivier opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, licked his dry lips and said, ‘I heard them say so. How did he die?’
‘From the bruises and abrasions to his face and his knuckles, it appears he was in a fight,’ Josse replied. His heart ached with pity for the young man’s evident anguish. ‘His opponent drove him backwards, or perhaps pushed him, and he fell, crushing his skull against a stone.’
‘Crushing his skull,’ Olivier repeated in a whisper. Then he screwed his eyes up tightly, as if trying to shut out the dreadful image.
Josse wished there were some comfort that he could offer. He had been informed — by Hugh and Olivier’s own mother — of the relationship between her sons. The brothers are not close, she had said. Yet, observing Olivier’s evident grief and distress, he wondered if she had misread her sons.
‘I do not think that he suffered,’ Josse said, looking down at the pale, strained face. ‘The blow would have knocked him out instantly.’
Olivier said nothing for some time. Then his eyes opened and he stared at Josse. ‘Who killed him?’ he whispered. ‘Have you any idea?’
‘No,’ Josse admitted. ‘Gervase de Gifford, who is sheriff of Tonbridge, is on his way here.’ A messenger had been sent urgently to find him as soon as the identity of Olivier’s companion had been revealed. ‘He is an efficient and resourceful man, and he does not give up. He will bring your brother’s murderer to justice, have no fear.’
Momentarily, Olivier closed his eyes again, and Josse, respecting his grief, bowed his head.
But then Olivier spoke. ‘I have a suggestion,’ he said.
Josse glanced at the king, who nodded. ‘We would hear it, if you please,’ Josse said.
Olivier was silent for some time, as if collecting his thoughts. Then he said, ‘I must first apologize most
