He had done what the voices had commanded. He had found his man, tracking him to the place where he had guessed he would go, then paying that fool of a groom for information. He had paid lavishly but, even so, the greedy young man had demanded more, whining about having an elderly mother and a prospective wife to please. It had been so easy to stop him, although the man wished now that he had removed the bag of coins from the dead hand. The voices were really cross with him about that.
It was sheer luck that had enabled him to pick up his quarry after leaving the little village. He had stood at a place where four roads came together and, shutting his eyes, spun round a few times. When the dizziness forced him to stop, he happened to be facing in the right direction.
The orders had gone on echoing in his head. Catch him. Silence him. He had tried; God knew how hard he had tried, riding on, ignoring his increasing pain, ignoring the demands of common sense that told him to stop, find help, creep away somewhere and rest until he felt well again.
Every time he thought about giving up, they began again with their nagging and their haranguing, warning him, shouting at him, until he barely knew what he was doing.
He must be stopped, they insisted. He carries the blame for your crime. If ever he is permitted to speak in his own defence, the truth will come out.
Do not let him get away.
He had come to a halt. He wondered vaguely how long he had been standing there, with his lathered horse growing cold beneath him. He must go on. Feebly, he tried to kick his heels into his horse’s sides, but the gesture had no effect. He put his hand down to his side. Then, alarmed, he slid his fingers inside his tunic and under his shirt. He felt wetness. When he withdrew his hand, his fingertips were stained with blood and pus.
His head ached so much that he could barely see.
He closed his eyes. Presently, he slid off his horse and fell with a thump down on to the road. His horse ambled away, put down its head and began to tear at the thin grass on the verge.
Some time later, a miller returning home from market with an empty cart came across him. He caught the horse, which had wandered some way along the road, and then went to the huddled shape lying motionless right in his path.
The man was dead. The miller crossed himself, muttered a few words and then raised the body with powerful arms and laid it in the cart.
Olivier de Brionne, son of Lady Beatrice and bastard of the king of England, was taken away to be laid out by an elderly village midwife and, when she was done, buried in a small churchyard somewhere in the middle of France.
EIGHTEEN
Josse and Gervase got back to the sheriff’s house late in the evening. Josse, who was exhausted by the long day and beginning to think he was getting too old for such exertions, gratefully accepted when Sabin asked if he would like to stay again. He slept deeply and dreamlessly, and when at last he woke, it was to be told by Sabin that Gervase was already out giving orders to his men that the hunt for Ninian had been called off.
The long sleep and a large plate of breakfast did much to restore Josse. Impatient to get home and tell them all the news, he left as soon as he decently could and set off up the hill towards the forest. Arriving back at the House in the Woods, he assembled the household and told them what had happened up in London. Meggie, back from her stay out in the hut, came up to him and quietly hugged him.
Later, sitting by the hearth with Helewise, he finally gave voice to the thought that had been gradually firming in his mind since the previous day. ‘Now that it is safe, we — you and I — could go and fetch him home,’ he said.
She did not answer at first. He wondered what she was thinking. There were many reasons why she would not want to go with him. Autumn was rapidly turning into winter, and the weather was unremittingly cold. Crossing the Channel was a gruelling experience that, in November, most people avoided if they could. If it turned wet or snowy, the roads would soon become impassable. He shied away from what he thought was probably her real reason for refusing: that such a journey would mean many days alone with him, and she was not ready — might never be ready — for that.
Eventually, she smiled and said, ‘I have always wanted to see your home. I will go and ask Tilly to prepare food for us. How soon shall we leave?’
They crossed to Boulogne the next day, finding an adequate inn at the port where they spent the night. The inn was full, and the only accommodation was in the big communal sleeping area. Helewise, wrapped up warmly in her robe and her cloak, tried not to think about the hundreds of people who had slept on the bed before her. Meggie had given her some lavender bags against the busy insects and, as far as she could tell, they appeared to work.
They made an early start and reached Acquin as the sun was setting. Josse, as excited as a boy, pointed out to her the tall watchtowers and the strong wall that surrounded the house and the outbuildings. There was a note of pride in his voice. Even though he had left his ancestral property in the care of his brothers many years ago, she reflected, still the homecoming clearly meant a great deal to him.
She reined in her horse and let him ride ahead of her into the courtyard. He called out, ‘Halloa, the house!’ and a round-faced, brown-haired man emerged from a door at the top of a short flight of steps.
Helewise recognized Yves, for he had once come to Hawkenlye to seek out his elder brother. She watched as Josse leapt off his horse and the two men embraced. But then, almost immediately, Josse broke away and, his hands on his brother’s shoulders, said, ‘Where’s Ninian?’
She knew, even before Yves spoke. She saw his face fall as he shook his head. He said something she did not catch.
‘How long?’ Josse demanded and, when Yves muttered his answer, Josse spun away from him and violently punched his fist into his opposite palm.
He came to stand by her horse. ‘He’s gone,’ he said. ‘We missed him by just a few days.’
She felt his crushing disappointment as if it were a fever in him. She put out her hand and gently touched his face. ‘Josse, dearest Josse, we will go after him,’ she said. ‘We will not give up. Not yet.’
Yves came over to them, greeting her with a low bow. Straightening up, he frowned in puzzlement. ‘My lady?’ he said.
‘No longer an abbess, as you rightly surmise, I think.’ She smiled down at him, and he held out his hand, helping her to dismount.
Yves was far too polite to question her, although she saw the interest and curiosity in his face. ‘Whatever your condition, lady, it is a pleasure to welcome you here,’ he said.
Josse, clearly impatient with his brother’s good manners, could contain himself no longer. ‘He was here, then? Ninian reached Acquin safely?’
Yves turned to him. ‘He did. He was here for a couple of days, and then something happened.’ Briefly, he told them the stark details of how his own stable lad had sold information concerning Ninian to the man who had come looking for him. ‘We fully believed more men would follow, for if one knew to look for him at Acquin, others would surely do so too. I took steps to protect my family, for we had seen one death already. But nobody else came!’ He raised his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of amazement. ‘We could not understand it.’
‘I believe I can,’ Josse said grimly. He looked at Helewise. ‘We know that Olivier de Brionne is missing. Whoever it was who came here hunting for Ninian appears to have been alone. It is likely, I would suggest, that the man was Olivier.’
‘Why would he be hunting Ninian?’ Helewise asked, very aware of Yves watching, his face screwed up in incomprehension.
‘He tried as hard as he could to make everyone believe that Ninian was responsible for Hugh’s death,’ Josse replied. ‘He must have realized that Ninian would protest his innocence and, all the time he was alive, there was always the chance that he would succeed. Then, as indeed has happened, we would look round to try to see who else might have killed Hugh.’
Helewise, horrified, whispered, ‘You think he has come here to kill Ninian?’
