The Joys of My Life

Two

The Hawkenlye party were treated with every courteous consideration during their brief stay at the Chateau d’Oleron. To Helewise’s surprise, that evening Sister Caliste and the lay brothers were, like herself and Josse, invited to dine at the queen’s table. Observing Helewise’s amazement, Eleanor took her to one side and said, ‘My dear, this, as I believe you perceive, is my retreat. I do not have to follow the rules of the outside world here and it is my wish to have a merry gathering. Let your good Sister Caliste and the brethren enjoy some luxury while they may.’

The queen had her wish. The simple diet of the Hawkenlye community did not include delicious and deceptively strong French wines and very quickly Brother Augustus and Sister Caliste emerged from their overawed shells and were laughing and joking as if they had known Eleanor all their young lives. Brother Saul, older and more conditioned to his lowly status, took longer to relax and it was only when the queen requested a song that he finally joined in the merriment. Helewise had never heard him sing solo before and the rich baritone that emerged from his thin, wiry frame was as much a revelation to her as it clearly was to Queen Eleanor.

When he finished — he had performed a faintly ribald song about a maid and a boy falling in love and the absurd course of the lad’s courtship — the queen clapped her hands with delight, said she had heard nothing so good since she had been a girl in the sunny, romantic south and did Brother Saul know any more?

In the middle of the following morning, Helewise was ready to depart. The letters from the queen were safe in a small satchel that Helewise wore at her waist, and the parchments bearing the plans for the new chapel had been carefully rolled and stored inside protective lead cylinders. Brother Saul had been assigned the responsibility of getting them safely back to Hawkenlye.

Having taken her farewell of the queen, Helewise made her way down to the stables, where the others were waiting for her. Sister Caliste and the lay brothers were already mounted; Josse stood beside Horace.

‘Ready, Sir Josse?’ She smiled at him. ‘We should make haste, for our business here is done and we must be on our way.’

‘My lady, I am not coming with you.’

‘Not…? But, Sir Josse, why ever not?’

He hesitated and she thought he looked awkward. ‘I have… The queen has asked me to fulfil a mission for her. It is a private matter.’ He hurried on as she made to comment, ‘Something that she confided in me yesterday.’

‘When she called you back into the hall,’ Helewise breathed. ‘Of course.’ Then a sudden flash of inspiration hit her and she realized that the queen had planned all this. Knowing Helewise, knowing the special place held by Sir Josse d’Acquin in the hearts of everyone at Hawkenlye, Eleanor had been fully aware who Helewise would ask to accompany her on this journey into the unknown. She reached out and caught hold of Josse’s sleeve. ‘Sir Josse, a word,’ she muttered.

They walked a few paces away from the others. ‘My lady?’ Josse asked in a whisper.

‘I realize that this matter must be sensitive and confidential, and that you are sworn to secrecy,’ she whispered back, ‘and I would not dream of trying to make you divulge any details. However, sensitive secrets habitually bring danger with them. Whatever you have to do, dear Josse, and wherever you have to go, take Gussie with you.’

‘Gussie!’ Josse exclaimed — too loudly, for the young man heard and his head shot up in alarm.

‘It’s all right, Brother Augustus,’ Helewise called. Then, lowering her voice, she said to Josse, ‘I insist. I appreciate that you may not be able to tell him what you’re doing but, please, at least accept him as a travelling companion.’ Sensing that Josse was weakening, she added craftily, ‘You would advise the same thing yourself, would you not?’

He laughed briefly. ‘Aye, my lady, so I would.’ He paused, frowning. ‘Very well. I’ll take the lad with me and I’ll do what I’ve been commanded to do. I’ll join you at Chartres if I can — I do not know how long my mission will take, but you, I imagine, will be in the city for a few days while you go about the task of engaging your workmen. If I miss you there, then I will meet you back at Hawkenlye.’

She looked at him. It all seemed very uncertain. It was undoubtedly a long way even to Chartres, never mind back to England, and suddenly the thought of all those miles, all those days, without his cheery, reassuring company seemed hard to bear. However, he had his orders and so did she.

She squared her shoulders and said, ‘Very well, Sir Josse. God’s speed, and may He keep you safe in His care until we meet again.’

She could tell he was touched by the same emotion — she read it in his eyes — but then he bowed low, saying gravely as he straightened up, ‘And you too, my lady. Good luck.’

Then there was nothing else to do but give Brother Augustus his new instructions, remove two portions of the supplies and the spare clothing from the packhorse and, with Sister Caliste on one side and Brother Saul on the other, ride out of the courtyard, over the stone bridge and away.

Queen Eleanor planned to leave later that day. Well, that was understandable, Josse reflected, standing in a corner of the great courtyard and watching as the queen’s luggage train was prepared. She had had her private talk with him and her business here was therefore done. Now she could go on to attend to some of the myriad other matters clamouring for her attention in these uncertain times as her youngest son, King John, took his brother’s place. According to stable-yard gossip, Eleanor was heading first for Rochefort, then on to Saint-Jean-d’Angely and Saintes. ‘She’s got enemies all around her,’ one of the grooms muttered to Josse, ‘and she needs to make sure her own people will help her if she needs them.’

It seemed as good a summing-up of the position as any, Josse thought. Eleanor’s situation — indeed, King John’s situation — was the one thing every fighting man tried to avoid: facing two enemies at once. Now it was Arthur of Brittany over in the north-west and Philip of France in his heartland around Paris who threatened. Josse did not blame the queen in the least for hastening to ensure the support of her own loyal vassals.

Finally Eleanor’s party was ready to leave and the queen descended into the courtyard. She was helped on to her horse and, as she turned to ride out across the stone bridge, she cast her eyes around as if for one last look. It seemed, though, that she had a more immediate purpose: spotting Josse, her tense expression relaxed and she beckoned him over.

He approached and made a low bow. Straightening, he said, ‘Madam?’

Eleanor leaned down and said, ‘Do you see the squat, swarthy guard at the far end of the bridge? Don’t let him see that you are looking!’ she added in an urgent hiss.

Slowly Josse ran his eyes all around the crowded courtyard as if assessing the number of people in the procession. Finally looking over at the bridge, he instantly picked out the guard to whom the queen referred. ‘Aye, my lady,’ he said softly.

‘When all is quiet and the castle is abed tonight, seek him out. He lodges in a small house close to the port. On its door there is an iron hoop in the shape of a dolphin.’

Josse bowed again. ‘I will, madam.’

She glared down at him for a long moment. Then she gave an abrupt nod, kicked the sides of her horse and set off at a smart trot across the courtyard and over the bridge. The long train of her attendants and her baggage snaked after her, leaving behind, when the last of them had gone and the dust had settled, a sudden silence in the courtyard that seemed almost unnatural.

Josse decided that there was no need to involve Gussie yet, since there could surely be no danger in simply walking down to the harbour to have a chat with one of the castle guards. Accordingly, after supper that night Josse dismissed the young man with the suggestion that he turn in early and catch up on his sleep. Gussie did not need much persuasion; he was already yawning widely as he and Josse said goodnight.

Josse found a quiet corner at the end of the stable block and sat patiently watching and waiting. Guards came and went on their patrols and, as darkness fell, only a handful were left on watch. He had noticed the previous evening that they did not seem to be in the habit of lowering the great portcullis at night; presumably they felt that the narrow stretch of water between the island and the mainland was defence enough. Anyway, the queen would not have ordered him to slip out under cover of the dark if an iron portcullis stood in the way.

He noticed that the patrolling guards passed the bridge less frequently now. If he ran, he ought to be able to get out of the castle without being observed. Not giving himself time to worry about what might happen if they did see him, he stepped softly out of his corner, sprinted across the courtyard and over the bridge. Then he was racing down the winding approach to the castle, keeping to the shadows, and he knew by the silence that they hadn’t spotted him.

He slowed to a walk, panting from exertion. The road led straight to the little harbour, where more of the sort of craft that had carried Josse and his party across the straits lay tied to the jetty. Opposite the water, there was a row of mean-looking dwellings that seemed to lean against the low cliff behind them. Some still showed a light, and Josse could hear the sound of voices. He walked slowly along the row and came to a door whose handle was decorated with a hoop in the shape of a leaping fish. Whether or not it was a dolphin did not seem important and he was prepared to take the queen’s word for it.

He tapped on the door. Nothing happened. He tapped again, a little more forcefully, and suddenly the door opened. A fist closed on his tunic, he was dragged inside, and the door was closed quietly behind him. The room smelled dank, as if it were hewn from rock, and the air within was chilly. It was pitch black. The hand on Josse’s tunic eased and there was a muttered apology. There came the scratch of a flint and a tallow lamp flared. In its light Josse saw that he was face to face with the swarthy guard.

‘Did they see you?’ the guard said, fear very evident in his low voice.

‘No,’ Josse said shortly. ‘You know, then, why I have come.’ It seemed the only explanation for the guard’s furtive, frightened manner.

‘Oh, yes,’ the dark man said. Then, wearily, ‘Wish I’d had the sense to keep my mouth shut.’

‘But you didn’t,’ Josse said, ‘and now I am tasked with hearing what you have to say.’ And deciding whether or not you speak the truth, he could have added.

As if the man heard the unspoken thought, he said, ‘It’s true. It’s all too true.’ He sank down on to a roughly made bench that stood beside a flimsy table — those items and a low, narrow cot appeared to be the room’s only furniture — and rubbed his face with both hands. A muffled sob escaped him, an unexpected sound in a man of his tough appearance, and he said, ‘God help me, I wish I could say I made it all up, but I can’t. As God is my witness, I saw what I saw and I would swear it before the highest authority in the land.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘And that’d be just what the new king would want to hear!’

Josse folded his arms, leaned back against the door and said, ‘You’d better explain.’

The dark man shot him a suspicious glance. ‘What have you been told?’

‘They say — ’ Josse thought it better not to mention the queen — ‘that there is a group of knights on the island and that they are involved in foul practices. Devil worship, apparently, and the abuse of young boys.’

The man was rigid with tension. ‘What else?’ he demanded.

Josse hesitated. Then, for there seemed to be no choice, ‘It is said the late king is involved.’

Now the man relaxed. Nodding, looking knowingly up at Josse with a sardonic smile, he said, ‘And she’s sent you to find out if it’s true.’ Josse did not reply. ‘Oh, it’s true all right.’

Josse said, ‘Tell me.’

The man did not speak for some moments. He got up and stepped over to the door and, as Josse moved aside, opened it the merest crack and peered out. Satisfied, he shut it again, barred it and resumed his seat on the bench. Then, as if he had to get on with his tale before his resolve evaporated, he said in a low, swift mutter, ‘There’s this knight, Philippe de Loup. He’s got a stronghold on the island, a castle that’s more like a fortress, right up on the north-west tip, where the winds blow and the sea frets come up like will-o’-the-wisps and hide the evil that’s done there. They call it World’s End and I tell you, they’re right. Nobody goes there unless they have to — it’s haunted, it is, and we all avoid the place like it were the devil’s own.’

‘I was told there was a group of them,’ Josse said. ‘This de Loup’s companions must go there.’

‘Oh, they do,’ the guard agreed. Leaning closer, he said, ‘They call themselves the Knights of Arcturus, although other folk refer to them as the Thirteen Nobles. They keep themselves to themselves, I’ll give them that, but it’s the way of it that people who make a dead secret of their comings and goings are always the subject of far more gossip and speculation than those who live their lives in the open for all to see.’

‘I’ve never heard of either title,’ Josse said.

‘No, well, they’re secret, like I say,’ the guard said testily. ‘Few folk have heard of them, for all that they’ve been around for a hundred years or more.’ His voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. ‘They guard something too terrible to be spoken aloud.’

‘I see.’ Josse wondered exactly where accuracy stopped and fear-fuelled local folklore began. ‘So how does all this involve… er, involve the important person who is recently deceased?’

The guard frowned momentarily, as if working out what Josse meant. Then, the cynical smile back on his face, he said, ‘Oh, him. Well, they were here, de Loup and his knights, back in March. Towards the beginning of March, as I recall.’ A few weeks before King Richard died, Josse thought. ‘They came by night and the weather was foul, with a westerly blowing hard and seas as high as they come around here. I’ll give those knights credit for their seamanship and their courage, I’ll tell you that — you wouldn’t have caught me crossing the straits on a night like that. Anyway, they landed safely and set off at a fast pace out across the island to de Loup’s fortress. Something terrible happened that night. Screams were heard coming from the tower, dreadful, horrifying, agonized screams, enough to make a man’s blood freeze in his body, and through the arrow slits in the room above that great fortified entrance there poured a brilliant, unearthly blue light that suddenly changed to blood red.’ He sat back with a nod, as if to say, what do you make of that?

Josse was thinking hard. Screams were heard, he repeated to himself. Who heard them? But perhaps now was not the moment to ask. ‘Go on,’ he said neutrally.

The guard blinked in surprise. Josse wondered if he had expected a more awed response to his tale. ‘Later that night, three men were seen riding away,’ he said. ‘One was tall and thin, fairish, like; one was short and lightly built; the third was broad in the shoulder, a big man. All three wore dark cloaks and pulled their hoods forward to conceal their faces. They raced across to the lee side of the island, where a small boat was waiting, abandoned their horses and climbed in. The boat set out instantly and they were rowed out to a larger craft standing off in the sheltered waters at the northern end of the straits. As soon as they were safely aboard, she raised her anchor, set sail and swiftly disappeared off into the night.’ He fixed Josse with intent dark eyes. ‘The broad-shouldered man was King Richard.’

Dear God in heaven, Josse thought. For this man to state such a frightful thing with absolute certainty, he must be very sure of his facts. He said, ‘You tell me that screams “were heard”, and three men “were seen”. Who heard? Who saw? Is this witness truthful?’

The guard grinned. ‘I guessed you’d try that,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you who heard the screams and saw that dreadful, unnatural light: it was my brother. He gets supplies in for de Loup and he’d done so that day. He went to 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.