Dark Night Hidden

17

As Josse rode back up the long, sloping flank of the hillside to Hawkenlye, it began to snow. At first it was nothing much; a flurry of light flakes swirling on the air and barely settling. But the afternoon was very cold and it was likely that this initial fall presaged something worse to come before dark. Josse longed for the simple comfort of the monks’ quarters in the Vale and a warm hearth to sit by. He did not envy any lost souls who were wandering out in the wild when night came.

Lost souls. His mind must subconsciously have been puzzling over the mystery of Father Micah’s death, for those were the words that the priest had used. When he died, he had been preoccupied with a noble lord who had forgotten God’s law — well, Josse knew now who that was; it was the Lord of the High Weald in his stronghold at Saxonbury — and with some lost souls who were to be condemned to the eternal fires.

Undoubtedly Father Micah had been referring to the Cathars. It seemed likely, in the light of all that Josse knew about him, that he had been thinking of an earthly version of hellfire to see the group on their way.

Where were they?

Pondering the question as, head down, he rode on up the track, Josse thought that de Gifford was probably right in assuming that they were still in the area. One of their number still lay sick at Hawkenlye, and all that Josse had just learned about the ways of the Cathars made him support de Gifford’s view that the others would not simply slip away and abandon her.

‘Arnulf, Alexius, Guiscard,’ Josse said aloud, ‘Benedetto who carried Aurelia to the Abbey, Frieda who died in the gaol. Who else? Oh, yes, Utta. About whose movements we know even less that we do about those of the rest of them.’

If they are waiting for Aurelia to be well enough to travel before coming to fetch her, he reasoned, then they must surely be fairly close at hand. They will have to find out how she fares, whether she’s recovering her strength, how soon she will be fit to travel. How will they do that?

He was very aware of the great forest, a silent, dark and brooding presence beside him as he rode. There were places within its secret heart where men — and women — had camped. Some people lived there permanently. Mag Hobson had done so, in her neat little hut with its herb garden and its fresh stream. The Forest Folk lived there too, although from the little that Josse knew about their life and their ways, he was pretty sure that they were constantly on the move, never staying in one location for more than a week or two.

Was that where the Cathars were hiding?

God help them, Josse thought with feeling, if so.

As Horace plodded on up the rise, Josse felt his mind wander. He felt, as he so often did, that there were unseen eyes within the forest watching him. He remembered suddenly standing with the Lord of the High Weald in his courtyard, knowing with some sense beyond sight that he was being closely observed.

Aye, it had been an unsettling place, Saxonbury. Out there on top of the ridge, ancient paths and earthworks all around it; hardly any wonder, really, Josse reflected, that he had been unnerved. And that was before the Lord had begun plying him so generously and enthusiastically with ale.

His vagrant attention suddenly entered an area of his mind that he had forgotten about. It was another memory of that visit to Saxonbury and it was also, Josse realised triumphantly, the little niggling thought that he had been trying without success to locate.

Until now.

He had remembered the voices. That voice speaking in a foreign language, the one that he had presumed belonged to the Lord’s Turkish wife, suffering pain, addressing her women. He had known there was something not quite right in his memory, and now he knew what it was.

There had been a man’s voice speaking that foreign language too.

Aye, Josse thought, kicking Horace and upping his pace, it might be that one of the Lord’s sons speaks his mother’s tongue. But it might just as well not be.

As he was contemplating the implications of his revelation, another one hit him with equal, if not greater, force. They had all been assuming that Father Micah had been referring to two different missions.

What if they had been one and the same?

He glanced up at the sky. It looked as if the snow clouds would bring darkness prematurely but, even so, surely he had time to get up to Saxonbury and back to Hawkenlye by nightfall. It was not very far. He kicked Horace again as they reached the top of the long climb, and the big horse broke into a canter. The ground was hard and the track now ran straight and level; if they hurried, they ought to be all right.

Whoever was on guard up at Saxonbury must have remembered the Lord’s order that Josse was to be admitted if he came calling; even as Horace, flanks heaving and sweating profusely, came trotting up to the gate, it was drawn back. A voice said, ‘Good day to you, Sir Josse d’Acquin. The Lord awaits you.’

The guard must also have been keeping a close watch on the path up to the hilltop, Josse thought. He was impressed by the diligence with which the Lord arranged for his lands to be watched over and protected.

The Lord was indeed waiting for him, standing in the middle of his courtyard with a heavy fur cloak around his shoulders.

‘You have been riding hard,’ he observed. ‘I am intrigued as to what pressing matter has brought you back here on a day of such bad weather. But, before we go inside and you tell me, I will call one of my men to attend to your horse.’ He put up a large hand and gave Horace’s damp neck a stroke and a pat; Horace nickered a soft response.

‘I would be grateful,’ Josse said, slipping off Horace’s back.

A youth had come running from what appeared to be a stable and he took Horace from Josse with a smile.

‘Your horse will be in good hands,’ the Lord murmured; looking at him, Josse noticed that he was smiling as if at some private joke. ‘Come in!’ He slapped Josse on the back. ‘Come into my hall and warm yourself. I will order some ale and-’

‘No!’ Josse protested. Then, remembering his manners, added, ‘Thank you, but on my last visit I found your ale too good, so that I did not know when to stop.’

‘Ah,’ said the Lord, a definite twinkle in his eyes.

The hall was empty. Again, though, Josse had the strong impression that he was being watched.

Now, though, he was almost sure that he knew why and by whom.

The Lord waved him to a seat by the fire, taking another one himself. He fixed bright blue eyes on Josse and said, ‘Well?’

As he had been riding up to Saxonbury, Josse had made up his mind that only the direct approach stood any chance at all of success with the Lord. Even then, that chance was not very good.

Still, he thought, now that I’m here I’ll do my best.

Meeting the Lord’s eyes he said, ‘When I was last here I heard voices speaking in a foreign tongue. I assumed that it was your wife talking to her womenfolk. I also heard a woman’s cry of pain and, again, assumed it was your wife, whom you had described to me as frail. I ask you now, my Lord, does she suffer pain?’

The Lord regarded him steadily. ‘No more than any other old woman. Or any other old man, come to that.’ He shifted in his seat, pressing a hand to the small of his back. ‘The cold weather brings out the pains in the joints, you know. Me, I suffer a niggle in my backbone when an easterly blows that feels like an imp with a pitchfork. And my wife was born and bred in warmer climes, so that our northern chill affects her worst than most. She keeps inside the house in winter.’

‘Ah. Aye, I see.’ Was that a confirmation or not? Deciding to plough on, Josse said, ‘It is quite possible, I know, that my first assumption was correct and that it was your wife whom I overheard. But I heard a man’s voice reply to her in that same foreign tongue. Do any of your sons or your manservants speak your wife’s language, my Lord?’

‘One of my sons has a word or two. But my wife rarely speaks her native tongue nowadays. Sometimes I think that she has all but forgotten it.’ Now the laughter in the Lord’s eyes was very evident and the smile that he tried to control was steadily getting the better of him.

‘Then, if you will allow it,’ Josse said, with more confidence than he felt, ‘I shall suggest another explanation for those mystifying voices that I heard, an explanation that would also, were it true, account for why it is that I feel hidden eyes closely watching my every move while I am in your hall.’

‘Please, proceed. I should be most entertained to hear you.’ The Lord waved a hand in an expansive gesture.

Josse took a deep breath and said, ‘I know that there is a group of heretics in the area. They originally numbered seven, but one was imprisoned and is dead and one has not been heard of for some time. Of the remaining five, one, a woman, is being treated by the nuns at Hawkenlye for severe wounds to her back and her forehead. She has been branded and flogged, as had the woman who died in prison. Now, unless they have perished, the four men of the group must have found themselves a refuge. Somewhere quite close to Hawkenlye, so that they can be kept informed of Aurelia’s progress and come for her when she is ready to travel.’ He paused, stared briefly up at the Lord’s impassive face and made himself go on. ‘Somewhere where the master of the house is not afraid of the law that states that he who shelters heretics shall have his house burned to the ground. It comes to me, my Lord, that on both counts Saxonbury fits the picture that I have drawn.’

There was a long silence, during which Josse became uncomfortably hot under the Lord’s intense scrutiny. He was beginning to regret his openness, and wish that he had taken the precaution of telling someone where he was going, when at last the Lord spoke.

‘You have been honest with me, Sir Josse,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘Wait here.’

Josse heard the Lord’s heavy footsteps cross the hall and recede somewhere in the distance. He stared into the fire, watching the dancing flames, trying not to think the worst. I have my sword, he thought, and maybe I’ll stand a chance if there are but the Lord and one or two of his kin at home. .

Then the Lord came back. He was no longer alone. Beside him walked a man dressed in a long black garment tied with a rope belt. He had a wound on his forehead and he held himself stiffly, as if some other hurt pained him when he moved. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, possibly a little older. He had a broad, chubby face, brown eyes and greying brown hair. He looked, Josse thought, very wary.

Standing up, Josse said, ‘I am Josse d’Acquin. If you are whom I believe you to be, please understand that I mean you no harm and that I will help you if it is in my power.’

The man came right up to him, staring into Josse’s eyes as if he were trying to see into his heart to judge whether he spoke the truth. After a moment, he said, in a heavily accented voice, ‘I am Arnulf. I am inclined to believe you and to put my trust in you for, as the Lord has explained, you have come here with your suspicions and not to some fierce priest.’

‘Father Micah is dead,’ Josse said quietly.

‘I know. The Lord told me. I did not kill him.’

‘I am told that your sect does not kill.’

‘That is largely true,’ Arnulf said cagily. ‘Although any man will kill to save his own life.’

‘Such a killing is not regarded as murder under the laws of this land.’ Josse was thinking of de Gifford. ‘When it is a question of kill or be killed, those with authority over us are reasonable.’

Arnulf ’s brown eyes regarded Josse steadily. ‘I do not know who killed your priest, Sir Josse. And that is the truth.’

‘I believe you,’ Josse assured him. ‘But that is not why I am here. I have come to help you.’

Arnulf ’s intense scrutiny continued for a moment or so. Then, with a sigh, he said, ‘I accept your help, Sir Josse. In truth, we have need of the assistance of good folk.’ He turned and gave a brief smile to the Lord. ‘Were it not for my Lord here, Alexius, Guiscard, Benedetto and I would probably have perished and Aurelia certainly would be in her grave. One of his sons came across us, sheltering in a ditch down below the hilltop. Aurelia was delirious and we were trying unsuccessfully to soothe her. The Lord himself came to fetch us and has protected our secret ever since.’

Josse nodded. ‘Aye, and do not think, Arnulf, that he revealed your presence here to me. I-’ He stopped. To claim to have worked it out for himself would sound immodest. ‘Well, he didn’t,’ he concluded abruptly.

Arnulf gave his quick smile again. ‘I was told that you are a man who keeps his eyes and ears open,’ he said. ‘When you were here before, you heard Aurelia crying out in her fever and her pain, and her husband trying to quiet her.’

‘I thought that you did not believe in marriage?’

Arnulf looked at him with interest. ‘You know about us?’

‘A little. If indeed you are Cathars’ — Arnulf nodded an affirmation — ‘then I am told that you are here on earth under sufferance, that you long to die and be reunited with your spirits, that you do not marry and that you abstain from — er, from things of the flesh.’

Now Arnulf’s smile was a positive beam. ‘In essence you have it,’ he said. ‘Although perhaps the bare bones that you present could do with a little fleshing out. As to marriage, Aurelia and Guiscard were husband and wife before they joined us. And, although it is indeed our main ambition to reunite with spirit, yet we are sufficiently human to retain emotions such as love and dependence.’ His eyes sober, he added simply, ‘Guiscard was not ready to lose his beloved wife. We therefore have done what we can to prolong her life a little.’

‘Are you all here, all four men?’ Josse asked.

‘Yes. Benedetto I believe you know of.’

‘Aye, I know that he brought Aurelia to Hawkenlye and then disappeared. She is doing well, by the way.’

Arnulf smiled. ‘I know. But thank you for telling me.’

Putting aside the interesting question of how he knew, Josse pressed on. ‘You and Alexius were in prison and rescued by Benedetto, yes?’

‘Yes.’

Lowering his voice, Josse asked, ‘Was it he who killed the prison guard?’

‘It was.’ Arnulf sighed. ‘It was such a case as we spoke of earlier. Alexius and I were to go to the stake. The Black Man — he who you call Father Micah — had ordained that I was too much of a threat to be allowed to live for, as he quite rightly judged, I had no intention of ceasing my evangelist mission.’ He stared earnestly at Josse. ‘Now I was quite happy to meet my death. But Alexius is still a youth and has not yet received the Consolamentum — you know what that is?’ Josse nodded. ‘I did not want him to die young and unprepared. Benedetto came for us and the guard tried to fight him. Benedetto does not know his own strength; he is a simple-minded man. He does not really understand our faith — any faith, I would say — but he is devoted to our group. We are, I believe, the closest to a family that he has ever known; his is a tragically sad story. He was a large, ungainly and slow-witted child, unloved by his harassed mother, tormented mercilessly by other children. On reaching adulthood he was employed by a man who used him like an animal. The one woman he ever encountered whom he hoped might return his feelings for her betrayed him. Then he met us.’ Arnulf paused, an expression of great sorrow on his broad face. ‘He would defend any of us with his life. He meant only to subdue that gaoler, but he squeezed too hard. Believe me, Sir Josse, Benedetto has suffered an agony of remorse.’

‘I see.’ All the remorse in the world would not bring the guard back to life, Josse thought. ‘What happened to Guiscard?’

‘After punishment, he and Aurelia were turned out to fend for themselves,’ Arnulf said tonelessly. ‘I imagine that the Black Man did not reckon they would last long for both are frail. But, again, Benedetto tracked them down and took them under his care. He had managed to herd us all together and find for us the relative shelter of a bank beneath the Lord’s lands when we were discovered.’

‘There were two other women with you. What about them?’

‘Utta and Frieda were friends who joined our sect together in their home town of Liege. That was where I met them, and young Alexius too. I am also from the Low Countries, but I had been away on a long journey to the south. I met Benedetto in Verona; Aurelia and Guiscard joined us when we were on our way north again. They had been sent to find other Cathars and try to persuade them to make for the Midi. Their home is in the region.’

‘Where they are more tolerant than in the north,’ Josse said.

‘Yes. I see that you are well informed. Utta and Frieda were also beaten and branded, then sent off in a cart loaded with criminals bound for a different gaol from the one where Alexius and I were confined. On the way there was a mishap — I am not sure of the details, for Benedetto was confused, but it sounds as if someone in the crowd was trying to get to a relation or friend in the cart. Anyway, there was a riot, during which Utta was thrown from the cart. While the men of the law went around bludgeoning anybody who got in their way, she had the presence of mind to pull her veil down over her forehead and crawl away. Later, when she realised that Frieda had not also been thrown clear, she tried to go after her. But by then Benedetto had found her and he would not let her go.’

‘And where is she now?’ Josse prompted.

Arnulf closed his eyes, lips moving as if he were silently praying. ‘None of us knows,’ he said heavily. ‘Benedetto found a hiding place for her where he left her while he tried to find where they had taken Frieda. He was unsuccessful. When he returned for Utta, she had gone.’ His brown eyes full of pain, he said, ‘We all weep for her. Benedetto, who believes both her loss and Frieda’s death to be his fault, has all but lost his mind with grief.’

‘What will you do now?’ Josse asked.

‘My plan, such as it is, is to wait here under the Lord’s protection’ — he flashed a grateful glance at the Lord, sitting watching and listening closely — ‘until we receive word that Aurelia is ready to travel. Then we shall make our way to the coast and find some way of crossing the Channel. We shall then head down to the Midi.’

‘And Utta?’

‘What do you suggest?’ Arnulf ’s sudden anger startled Josse. ‘My Lord has sent out search parties, but it is an impossible task. You must know this land far better than I, Sir Josse; can you not appreciate my difficulty?’

‘Aye, I can,’ Josse agreed. ‘I can also see a way in which I can help you. Let me try to find Utta. As you surmise, I do indeed know this land well. I know its hiding places; well, some of them, and I am acquainted with-’ He made himself stop. It was unwise to boast of knowledge of the forest people; for one thing it was arrogant, for another, he was quite sure they would not like it if they ever came to hear of it. ‘I know people hereabouts,’ he finished lamely.

‘You are a welcome and respected guest at Hawkenlye Abbey, a personal friend of the Abbess,’ Arnulf observed.

How did he know? Josse wondered. Oh, aye — Benedetto. The strong man must have been listening to gossip during his brief time within the Abbey. But no, there was something wrong with that. .

Frowning, Josse realised that Arnulf was waiting for an answer. ‘I do not deny it,’ Josse said. ‘The Abbess is a fine woman and also a devout nun. She is vowed to obedience.’

‘Naturally,’ Arnulf murmured. ‘And what would she think of her friend Sir Josse d’Acquin consorting with heretics and offering to help them locate their missing lamb?’

‘She — I will make sure that she does not know.’

‘And how will that lie on your conscience?’ Arnulf asked shrewdly. ‘You who readily claim close friendship with the lady, you will not suffer from keeping such a secret from her?’

Josse met his eyes. ‘Of course I’ll suffer,’ he said quietly. ‘But I would suffer a deal more if I put that higher than helping you and your people get to safety. I’ll not have your deaths on my conscience.’

‘I see.’ Arnulf stood silent for a moment and, again, Josse had the impression he was praying. Asking, perhaps, for guidance. ‘In that case, I accept your offer of help. And I thank you.’

It was late when Josse finally left Saxonbury. Heading back for Hawkenlye, he found himself hoping that he would be able to slip down to his quarters in the Vale, get something hot to eat and settle for the night without first having to have an audience with the Abbess.

He was resolved to do what he had undertaken to do and try to find the missing woman. He was in no doubt that it was the right thing. He would then find some way of introducing de Gifford to the group and persuading them of de Gifford’s sincerity. Then — maybe — he and de Gifford would manage to get the reunited six people down to the sea and away across the Channel.

Maybe.