The Joys of My Life

Three

Josse and Brother Augustus were abroad very early the next morning. They made their quiet way to the stables, said to the grooms on duty that they were going to exercise their horses, and soon were riding down out of the castle. Josse had only the guard’s vague description, but he could see the sun rising over the mainland behind him and, aware that the place known as World’s End was on the north-west tip of Oleron, it was not difficult to find the right direction.

The May morning was bright but chilly, with a stiff breeze blowing out of the south-west bending the pine trees and setting the bright poppies in the grassy verges dancing. To begin with, there were a few huddled hamlets and solitary cottages dotted on either side of the rough track, but quite soon these dwindled, as did evidence that the islanders were using the land; within eight or ten miles of the settlement around the castle, cultivated fields were few and far between. The track grew steadily less distinct and it became clear that the dark guard had been quite right when he had said that nobody went up to World’s End unless they had to.

The track curved westwards and all at once Josse and Gus were riding right by the shore. To their left, the land fell away in a low cliff, beyond which stretched a pebbly beach in which there were broad areas of sand, shining now as the surface water caught the early morning light. The wind had increased; it was easy to see why there were so few trees up here at the top end of the island. Those that survived the constant blast had sparse foliage, spindly branches and bent trunks. They looked, Josse reflected, like skinny old people distorted by long toil and endless hardship.

Now where, he wondered, had that miserable thought come from?

Without warning the strong wind grew still and straight away, as if it had been waiting its moment, a soft white mist crept up out of the rough ground. Looking out to sea, Josse was disturbed to see that a wide bank of fog was coming in towards them. The sun was quickly blotted out and suddenly it was very cold. He glanced across at Gus and was surprised to see that the lad’s usually cheerful expression was quite absent; instead he was frowning, his normally smiling mouth drawn down into a scowl. Sensing Josse’s eyes on him, he shivered and said, ‘Not much of a place this, Sir Josse. Wish you’d left me to sleep in my warm bed.’

‘Aye, Gussie, I agree, and I’m sorry I had to bring you,’ Josse replied. ‘It’s just that, as you see, it’s a lonely spot and I wanted company.’

Instantly Gus’s scowl melted. He looked faintly amazed, seemed to shrug, as if ridding himself of an unpleasant thought, and said, ‘Well, Sir Josse, I reckon it’s me who should say sorry, for moaning at you like that.’ Slowly he shook his head. ‘Can’t think what came over me, but for a moment there it seemed as if all the light and joy in the world had been sucked away.’

Oh, dear Lord, Josse thought. He waited until he was sure he could speak normally and then said, ‘All right now?’

‘Yes,’ Gus said stoutly. ‘Let’s ride on!’

They rode for another couple of miles along the shore. Presently they saw a large, dark shape looming up out of the swirling mist. Drawing closer, they made out a squat structure, its stark walls unbroken by any embrasure or window; it was in fact more like a fort or a guard tower than a human habitation. Perhaps, Josse thought, that was what it was. It must surely be Philippe de Loup’s stronghold, and he was grateful now for the concealing fog. Were anyone up on those forbidding walls looking out, they would find it difficult to spot Josse and Gus.

They rode right up to the tower. It stood on a low rise, and all around it was a deep ditch filled with roughly hewn stone and stuck with poles whose ends had been sharpened into spikes. There did not appear to be any means of entry. Slowly Josse circled the walls and on the far side, facing inland, discovered a heavy, iron-bound oak door. It was fast shut and there seemed no way of getting across to it. Above the massive door, there was a series of three arrow slits; within, he realized, must be the room above the entrance of which the guard had spoken.

Gus had been going round the fortress in the opposite direction. Coming face to face with Josse, he said, ‘There’s the door, but how do they get to it?’

‘They probably sprout big black wings and fly,’ Josse said lightly.

Gus’s face fell. ‘Oh, don’t, Sir Josse,’ he whispered. ‘Not here.’

Josse had to concede that the lad had a point.

Gus had leaped down from his horse and was kneeling down on the bank of the ditch. After a moment, he said, ‘Sir, I think I can see how it’s done.’

I’m blessed if I can, Josse thought. Sliding off Horace’s back, he went to stand beside Gus. ‘How?’

‘See, there’s a way down this side of the ditch and it winds along the bottom for a bit, then goes up there — ’ he pointed — ‘to where there’s a sort of platform of earth just under the wall.’

‘But the wall’s solid,’ Josse observed. ‘There is no way in there, Gussie.’

Gus straightened up, still staring at the wall. He raised his eyes to look up, then down again, and then he repeated the action. He smiled. ‘Yes there is. They throw a rope with a hook up to the top of the wall and, when it bites, someone climbs up — it’s not far, only perhaps four men’s height — and they scramble over the battlements, down the steps, open the door and push out a plank bridge. Look, Sir Josse,’ he added, his voice high with excitement, ‘you can see where the planks have lain!’

He was right. The ground on the near side of the ditch opposite the door was beaten hard and flat. Now that Josse knew where to look, he could see what Gus had noticed: distinct marks and scratches up the wall above the little platform. Just the sort of marks that would result from someone climbing up repeatedly.

‘Well done, Gussie,’ Josse said with genuine admiration. ‘What a sharp pair of eyes you have, lad!’

Gus said modestly, ‘Oh, it was nothing.’ Then, as if embarrassed by the praise, he hurried on to say, ‘But why do they take such trouble, Sir Josse? D’you think there’s something really terrible inside that has to stay hidden away?’

Josse had not shared the dark guard’s revelations with his young companion; he simply said, ‘Aye, Gussie, I’m afraid there probably is.’

Gus nodded sagely. Then, ‘Reckon I could get us in there, providing there’s an access on the top. If you want to, that is?’

‘Oh, er, aye, I do want to, but it’s quite a climb, Gussie. It could be dangerous.’

Gus smiled. ‘I was a fairground entertainer before I was a lay brother,’ he said. ‘I can still tumble, turn somersaults and walk a tightrope, although I’ll admit there’s not much call for such tricks at Hawkenlye and the habit gets in the way. That little old wall is no great challenge to me.’

Josse returned the grin. ‘Pity we haven’t got a rope. We’ll have to-’

‘Aha!’ Gus got up, hurried over to his horse and drew down his saddlebags. Opening one, he said, ‘Rope, plus a pretty pack of food I wheedled out of that serving maid with the fair hair and the dimple, and a small flagon of beer.’

‘Now do you see why I didn’t allow you to stay in your bed? Gus, you’re a marvel!’

Gus was already swinging the long length of rope. ‘It’s not much use without a grappling hook,’ he said dejectedly, ‘and that was the one thing I didn’t think to bring.’

Josse was quite determined not to be beaten. Standing back a few paces from the ditch, he stared up at the crenellated top of the tower wall. ‘Can you swing a rope as well as climb one?’ he demanded.

‘Yes.’

‘Then what about that?’ He pointed. ‘Above the door and then to the right for a couple of arms’ length — see? There’s a place where there are two gaps in the parapet close together, and the raised stonework between them is quite narrow. Could you circle it with the rope?’

Gus looked, for what seemed quite a long time. Then he said, ‘Aye.’ Swiftly he made a running knot in one end of the rope, threaded the other end through it and swung the loop over his head a few times. He stepped up to the edge of the ditch, took careful aim and let the loop fly. The first and second times, it missed and the rope came snaking back down again; the third time, he found his range and the loop popped over the slim upraised section of wall and held fast. Holding on to the other end of the rope, Gus slipped quickly down into the ditch and up the other side and, before Josse could say anything except ‘Be careful!’ he was shinning up the rope.

Josse was so carried away with the thrill of what Gus had just achieved that for a perilous moment he had forgotten that falling into a ditch full of sharp stones and pointed stakes was not the only danger. As this realization flashed its urgent warning in his head, he called out, ‘Gussie! Come back!’

Gus paused, swung himself round so he could see Josse and said, ‘Why? What’s the matter?’

Trying to shout quietly, which was quite impossible, Josse said slowly and deliberately, ‘There may be people within.’

Gus paled. Instantly he slipped back down the rope and landed on soft feet on the little platform.

‘Leave the rope,’ Josse called, ‘but come back over here — we’ll watch for a while.’

Gus nodded his understanding and soon was back with Josse on the other side of the ditch. Quickly and quietly they fetched the horses, which had wandered away a short distance in search of grazing, and Gus replaced his saddlebags. Then they led their mounts over to where, inland from the fortress, three of the stunted, distorted trees huddled together. There were wind-blasted gorse bushes at their feet and they made as good a place of concealment as Josse and Gus were likely to find out there in the wilderness. They tethered the horses, then settled on the thin, spiky grass to begin their vigil.

As the morning wore on, the strengthening sun began to burn off the mist, helped by the returning south-westerly wind, but then, just as before, abruptly the wind fell and the mists rolled back again. No birds sang; all was eerily still, save for the constant swirling of the strange white fog. Beside him, Josse felt Gus shiver. Well, he thought, I know one sure cure for chilly flesh and low spirits. He stood up, fetched Gus’s saddlebags and broke out the food and drink.

They watched for a long time. Nobody approached the tower; nobody emerged. Once or twice Josse went up to it and walked slowly round, calling out, ‘Halloa! Halloa within!’ but each time met with no response. If there was anyone inside, he or she was keeping very still and very quiet.

Finally Josse made up his mind. ‘Come on,’ he said, hauling Gus to his feet. ‘Now or never.’

Gus grinned. ‘Better make it now, then.’

They left the horses tethered by the trees and went back to the tower. As before, Gus descended into the ditch, clambered up to the platform and began to climb the rope. This time, he did not stop. Josse watched nervously as he reached the top of the wall and, with no apparent difficulty, slipped over it. Then he disappeared. Josse waited for a few unbearable moments. He was on the point of calling out when Gus’s head reappeared.

‘We were right!’ Gus cried. ‘There’s a door up here and it’s bolted on the outside but not locked. I’m going in.’

‘Watch out! Be careful, Gus!’ Josse called. Stupid, stupid, he told himself. The lad’s creeping about unarmed inside the isolated tower of a man suspected of worshipping the devil, abusing and maybe killing young boys, and I tell him to be careful!

The next endless minutes were some of the worst in Josse’s life. He tried to fight it but seemed powerless to prevent the frightful images flooding his mind. Gus at dagger point. Gus bound and imprisoned. Gus dead, that cheery young spirit snuffed out, and all my fault… no. Stop.

Just as he knew he could not stay there doing nothing for another instant, there was the sound of bolts being shot back and the door to the tower opened. Gus looked out and said brightly, ‘All clear! The place is empty and I’ve found the planks. I’ll slide one across and you can come in.’

Weak with relief, Josse hurried to receive the end of the heavy plank as Gus pushed it out. Such was his state of mind that, although the plank was only a hand’s span and it was a long fall to the bottom of the ditch, he barely noticed the peril of his own entry into de Loup’s stronghold.

He stood with Gus inside the door. They were in a large stone room, quite bare, out of which a spiral stair ran up. There were no arrow slits here; the only light was that coming in through the door. The air was damp, dank and very cold, and the walls ran with moisture. Rings were set in the stones, as if for tethering animals. He glanced across at the stair and, indicating it with a jerk of his head, went over to it and began to climb.

He experienced the strangest sensation as his feet found each successive step; it was as if he were trying to climb up into some medium other than ordinary air, one that had a mass and a weight of its own and that did not want him coming up into it. He was having to make such an effort that he was soon panting from the exertion and it felt as if a vast force was pushing down on the top of his head. He heard Gus gasping for breath; it was quite a relief to realize that it was not only he who was affected.

He struggled to the top of the spiral stair and emerged into the room above, stepping aside to let Gus come out and stand beside him.

Gus looked frightened. ‘What is it, Sir Josse?’ he hissed. ‘What’s here that we can’t see?’

‘I don’t know, Gussie.’ Josse forced himself to speak aloud, in as normal a voice as he could manage. It would not help if both of them were too scared to do anything but whisper. ‘Did you remark this… this presence on your way down to open the door?’

Gus forced a smile. ‘Reckon I was in so much of a hurry to let you in that I wouldn’t have noticed a five-legged cow standing in my way. Wh-what d’you think it is?’ Despite his best attempts, the boy’s fears were gaining on him.

‘I think,’ Josse said forcefully, ‘that evil deeds have been done here and that they have left their mark, but they were done by human men, Gussie. Not ghosts, not ghouls, not devils, but men. Remember that.’

‘Human men,’ Gus repeated. ‘Right you are, Sir Josse.’ He did not sound altogether reassured.

Josse’s heart filled with affection and pity for him. ‘You know what would be really helpful, Gussie?’

Gus looked at him very apprehensively but he managed to say bravely, ‘No, sir. What? Anything I can do, tell me.’

‘Well,’ Josse said, adopting a carefully anxious expression, ‘the worst thing that could happen would be for someone to come along and surprise us here inside the fortress, so if you can find the courage, could you, do you think, go down again, cross over the plank and keep watch? Then you can give me warning if anyone approaches.’

Gus’s relief was very obvious, but still he steeled himself to protest. ‘Reckon that’s giving me the easy job, Sir Josse,’ he remarked. ‘Me stay out there nice and safe while you prowl around here on your own? Oh, no.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Josse said firmly. ‘And, dear old Gussie, that is an order.’

Gus paused for one more moment. Then he turned, raced down the stairs and Josse heard his footsteps thumping on the plank.

Now, he thought, I am alone.

He waited until his alarmed heartbeat had slowed a little, then began a careful pacing of the room above the entrance. Just as the dark guard had described, there was a row of arrow-slit windows right over the door, but other than that the stone walls were unbroken. In the far corner of the room, Josse could make out a ladder whose upper end disappeared through a trapdoor in the roof; it must lead to the battlements and perhaps also to one or two chambers on the upper floor. If de Loup and his knights made a habit of coming here, they would have to have somewhere to eat and sleep, and this barren, evil room had no domestic facilities of any kind.

What it did have, Josse saw as he began a careful circling of it, was a long table made of smooth, unembellished oak set a couple of paces out from the wall opposite to the arrow slits. Its shape called something to mind, and after a moment’s thought he realized with a shiver of dread that it looked like an altar. It stood up on a stone dais reached by three wide, shallow steps, and at either end there stood heavy iron candlesticks, man-height, each bearing three expensive beeswax candles. Pushed up against the wall behind the altar was a large wooden chest. Josse stepped round the altar — unthinkingly he gave it a wide berth — and crouched down in front of the chest.

It too was made of oak, and bound with bands of iron. It was fastened with a hasp, which, to Josse’s surprise, lifted to his tentative touch. He raised the lid of the chest and peered inside. Because of the poor light, it was difficult to see what was inside, but straight away the smell hit him.

Instinctively he drew back and was about to bang down the lid of the chest. Then he thought, but I have to know. That is why we are doing all this. Steeling himself, he leaned forward again.

Moving aside slightly so that a little more light fell on the contents of the chest, he saw that it contained folded cloth. Picking up the top layer, he stood up and shook out the folds of the material. It was a robe, made of silvery-grey silk, its wide skirts stained with dark brown. Dried blood, Josse thought instantly. But the stench was not that of old blood; it was faecal. What in heaven’s name had been going on here?

He put the robe aside and drew out the next folded item. This too was a robe; this time deep blue. He took out the rest of the chest’s contents: thirteen robes, the ones at the bottom of the pile apparently older than the rest and with the air of not having been used in a long time, for they were dusty and the fabric was thin and spotted with age. Slowly Josse folded them all up again and stored them back in the chest.

As he tucked in the folds of the silver-grey robe, he noticed that there was a device embroidered on the left breast. He studied it and made out the figure of a woman in a strange horned headdress. She appeared to be standing in a boat shaped like the crescent moon. He rummaged back down the pile of robes and found that every one bore the same device.

It was with a huge sense of relief that finally he closed and fastened the chest. He stood up, his knees protesting, and straightened his back. He moved round to the front of the altar, staring at it and trying not to let the terrible images it seemed to transmit lodge in his mind. No. No.

He took a step back, then another. The heel of his boot caught against a slightly raised stone slab and hastily he looked down. He saw beneath his feet some marks: brown marks, dry now but, from the pattern of splashes, clearly once liquid. He bent down and took a cautious sniff. Very faintly came the metallic smell of old blood.

It was enough. Dear Lord, it was more than enough. He flew across the room, down the spiral stairs and came to a halt in the doorway. ‘Gus! Gussie!’

Alarmed by his tone, Gus, who had been standing on guard across the ditch, spun round. ‘Sir Josse? Are you all right?’

‘Aye, my lad, aye, or at least I will be when we get away from this frightful place. Come over — it’s time for you to repeat your entrance procedure in reverse.’

Gus hurried across the plank and, as soon as Josse was safely over on the far side, drew it back inside the fortress. Then he slammed the door, and Josse heard the bolts shoot home. He waited impatiently for Gus to climb the spiral staircase and the ladder and then, when Gus appeared on the battlements, called up to him, ‘Is there a way you can climb down and bring the rope away with you?’ It would be a mistake, he realized, to leave evidence that someone had been inside.

‘Yes, I reckon so,’ Gus called back. ‘It’s good and long, so I’ll tie one end round my waist — ’ he did so — ‘and loop the rope round the stone bastion, then lower myself down using the free end.’

It sounded highly dangerous. ‘But you-’ Josse began.

‘Don’t worry. Just watch, I’ll be all right!’

In no time Gus was bouncing down the wall, fending himself away with his feet and feeding the rope hand over hand. He reached the bottom — Josse let out the breath he had been holding — and jerked the rope free of its support, catching it as it fell into his waiting arms. He looped it over his shoulder, then scrambled down into the ditch and up the other side.

Wordlessly Josse put his arms round the young man in a hard hug. ‘Well done,’ he muttered. Then, releasing him, added, ‘Now, let’s pray our luck holds while we make our escape.’

It did. Whatever Philippe de Loup was doing that May afternoon, he was doing it well away from the Ile d’Oleron. Josse and Gus kicked their horses to a canter. Then, as if the animals were as affected as their riders by the brooding, lowering atmosphere of World’s End, both broke into a furious gallop.

As the desolate north-west corner of the island was left behind, the mist cleared and the sun came out.