The Rose of the World

FOUR

Tiphaine had spent the night in the herbalist’s hut at Hawkenlye Abbey. It was dry, fragrant and adequately comfortable. She had arranged some sacking on the wooden work bench and slept as soundly as she usually did.

The hut had been her workplace for many years. She still went there regularly. Abbess Caliste knew about her discreet visits and did nothing to prevent them, for Tiphaine was a herbalist with a rare gift and without her hard-working hands those who visited the abbey in need would have been greatly the poorer. Nobody, including Tiphaine herself, was exactly sure of her present status. She had asked to be released from her vows but, unlike Helewise, she had not felt the need to have her departure from the abbey formally recognized. Besides, also unlike Helewise, Tiphaine was still involved in its day-to-day affairs. She just did not want to be a nun any more, for the church was changing and, even if she still loved the Lord who had come to earth as a man to save the world, she no longer cared for the mortal men who were in charge.

Her status, Tiphaine had decided, really did not matter. It was immaterial to her and, as for the men of power, they had far greater things to worry about in this time of interdict than a half-pagan woman who wished to return to her true self…

There was no real hurry to quit her night’s lodging, for it was unlikely that anybody would visit the herbalist’s hut that morning. As Tiphaine knew only too well, there was not the same demand for medicines and remedies because people did not flock to Hawkenlye now as they always used to. Tiphaine did not bother her head with the intricacies of the political debate that raged through the land. She simply saw two great men, one of them a king and one of them a pope, who ought to be able to do better than plunge a whole nation into confusion, uncertainty and hardship.

Tiphaine got up, stretched, tidied away her makeshift bed and put more wood on to the small fire that smouldered in the brazier. She filled a pot with water and set it to boil, then reached up to the shelves with practised hands and mixed herbs for a drink. She set out a dry crust of bread and a strip of salted meat, eating the food slowly while she arranged her thoughts. When she had finished, and the herbal concoction was coursing through her body, she made sure the fire was dying down, packed up her bag and left the hut.

She moved swiftly and silently and kept to the shadows. Dressed in black as she was, with her hood over her head, anyone glancing at her would have taken her for a nun. She crossed the cloister and walked along to Abbess Caliste’s room, tapping softly on the door. Invited to enter, she went in and shut the door behind her.

‘Tiphaine!’ Abbess Caliste’s face lit up. The big table in front of her was, Tiphaine noticed, strewn with pieces of vellum, each covered in tiny rows and columns of figures and what Tiphaine assumed were words. ‘How good it is to see you. Is there any news? Will you sit down?’

Tiphaine shook her head. ‘Thank you, no. It is possible that some visitor to Hawkenlye may have heard or seen something concerning Rosamund’s whereabouts, and-’

‘And you wish to go among them and ask,’ Abbess Caliste finished for her. ‘Of course you must! Oh, Tiphaine, the family must be beside themselves with anxiety!’

Tiphaine nodded. ‘Aye, for she is young and vulnerable.’

Abbess Caliste looked down with a frown at the work spread before her. ‘I would help if I could, but the king’s agents were here yesterday and I have a great deal to do.’ She sighed. ‘Their demands are all but impossible.’

‘It is a heavy burden that you bear, my lady abbess,’ Tiphaine said.

Caliste looked up at her. Tiphaine did not often address the abbess by her formal title — there were old and profound ties between the two of them that made their relationship unique — but just then she had done so deliberately, intending to remind young Caliste exactly who she was and encourage a little confidence. ‘You can do it, if anyone can,’ Tiphaine added, her voice so low that she was not sure Caliste heard.

Caliste closed her eyes and her lips moved in a silent prayer, then, looking at Tiphaine, she said, ‘Tell me if you discover anything. May God help you all in your search.’

Tiphaine nodded. Then she turned and quietly let herself out of the room.

Next, Tiphaine went to the infirmary and spoke to Sister Liese. Sister Euphemia had at last acknowledged her years and now spent her days in Hawkenlye’s home for aged monks and nuns. Although she was always willing to offer help and advice, her legs and feet were swollen from decades of hard work and she found standing painful. She liked to sit in her chair by the door or, when the weather was warm, outside in the sunshine, watching and thinking. Sister Liese was a woman of middle age who had come to Hawkenlye on the death of her husband and had quickly proved to be a dedicated healer with a particular gift with the young. She had calmly acknowledged that taking over from Sister Euphemia was a hard task and, during her early years in the abbey community, she had been modest and self-effacing. Now that Sister Euphemia had finally retired, Liese had stepped into the role to which she had been appointed and, in her own quiet way, she was proving to be almost as firm a rock as her predecessor.

Tiphaine told her briefly about Rosamund. Sister Liese nodded. ‘We have few patients at present,’ she said. ‘All have been here for at least two days, so it is unlikely that they can offer any helpful information. I will, however, be sure to ask anyone who comes in.’

Next Tiphaine went down to the vale, where the monks were tending to the needs of a handful of hungry-looking pilgrims. Brother Erse, Hawkenlye’s carpenter, was performing old Brother Firmin’s task of fetching holy water from the shrine. Brother Firmin had been dead for some time.

She broke the news of Rosamund’s disappearance to Brother Saul and, horrified, he promised to ask the visitors if they could offer any information. ‘Some of us might go out and join in the search,’ he offered. ‘The dear Lord knows, we’ve little enough to do here.’ He stood with Tiphaine, looking at the lean faces of the visitors. ‘They’re all close to starving, but we’ve so little to give them,’ he added softly.

Tiphaine glanced at him. ‘You don’t look exactly tubby yourself,’ she murmured. ‘Don’t forget to eat, Saul. If you give it all to them, who’ll be here to help the next lot?’

He bowed his head. ‘You’re right,’ he sighed. Then, as if it were just too distressing to dwell on the sorry state of them all, he said, ‘Could the child simply have wandered off into the forest and got lost?’

‘I pray you’re right,’ she replied. She didn’t see any need to tell him about the stranger who looked like Joanna’s son. The poor man had enough to worry about already.

Helewise spent the morning making successive forays out from Meggie’s hut, steadily covering all the ground in its immediate vicinity. She found nothing. She returned to the hut to prepare a simple meal, wondering how soon Tiphaine would be back. Perhaps Meggie would come over. It would be good, to sit down with both of them to eat.

Tiphaine came back around noon and made her brief report. ‘Nobody’s got anything to offer,’ she concluded, ‘but then it’s early days yet.’

‘Yes,’ Helewise agreed. Not even a full night and day had passed, she reflected. It was not very long, really.

‘Where’s Meggie?’ Tiphaine asked suddenly.

‘She hasn’t come back,’ Helewise answered. ‘Since she’s not here, I imagine she’s with Josse at the House in the Woods. She was there yesterday.’ She hesitated, then, since it was Tiphaine to whom she spoke, went on: ‘She seems to be able to pick up a — a sense of people, from the very ground itself,’ she said slowly.

Tiphaine reached across her and helped herself to an apple. ‘Of course she can. She’s Joanna’s child and Mag Hobson’s granddaughter.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Helewise smiled briefly. ‘What I was saying was that I guess she will be searching around the place where Rosamund was last seen, using whatever faculty she has that the rest of us lack to try to see what happened.’

Tiphaine nodded as if that made perfect sense. ‘Let’s hope she succeeds,’ she said.

Helewise sighed. There seemed nothing more to add, but she made herself think of the practicalities. ‘Tiphaine, I’m going to stay here, if Meggie doesn’t mind,’ she announced. ‘I need to be here, so that if anything happens at the abbey, or if there’s any news, you can come and tell me immediately.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Tiphaine said.

‘But we’ve got to eat, so I’m going over to the House in the Woods to fetch some supplies.’ Although she did not say so, she also wanted to see Josse. Her excuse to herself was that she needed to find out if there was any news. The truth, if she could admit it, was that she missed him. In this time of such anxiety, he was the one person she wanted to be with.

Tiphaine stood up. ‘I’m going back to the abbey,’ she said. ‘Something may turn up.’

Helewise tidied the little room, banked down the fire in the hearth and followed her out of the clearing.

Early as it was, Josse had already organized two search parties. Gus and Ella had gone with Will in a wide circle to the south of the house, and Geoffroi was with him, covering the ground to the north.

Ninian had not yet returned. It was now many hours since he had been gone, and all Meggie had been able to say was that he had said he was going to look for Rosamund. Josse wondered where he was. Ninian was a grown man and well used to looking after himself, but there was a streak of recklessness that ran through him and he had a temper as hot as any of his infamous paternal relatives.

Now, slowly and painstakingly covering the ground with the son of his blood close by, Josse sent up a silent prayer for the adopted son whom he loved as dearly.

Perhaps Ninian was with Meggie. She was now absent too. According to Will, she had slipped out of the House in the Woods during the time that Josse and Helewise were down in Tonbridge. She had not told Will where she was going, although Josse suspected she was at the hut in the forest. She would probably have met up with Helewise there. He said a prayer for them, too.

He stopped and straightened his back. Being tall, it was a strain to spend so long bent over studying the ground. He put both hands to the base of his spine, kneading the aching muscles with his knuckles. Geoffroi, noticing, called out, ‘What’s wrong?’ Then, quickly: ‘Have you found something?’

‘No, nothing,’ Josse replied. ‘Backache,’ he added tersely.

Geoffroi’s shoulders slumped. He resumed his searching.

They pressed on northwards through the dense woodland and presently came to the place where the trees began to thin out. Ahead was the road that curved around the northern border of the forest. To the left it led to Hawkenlye and, if you branched off it to the right, down to Tonbridge. In the opposite direction, the track led away to the east and the south-east, circling the forest and heading off into open countryside.

Side by side, Josse and his son emerged on to the road. Josse looked both ways, but there was nobody in sight. He glanced down at Geoffroi. ‘What should we do now?’ he asked. The question was rhetorical; it was hardly fair to expect an eleven-year-old boy to supply the answer to a question that had his father stumped.

Geoffroi frowned, an unaccustomed expression on his round, cheerful face. ‘We could follow the road for a while,’ he suggested. ‘We might find somebody working in the fields who was there yesterday and saw her — them — pass by.’

It seemed to Josse a pretty vain hope, but he had nothing better to suggest. They fell into step and set off westwards along the road, keeping a lookout for any distant figure in the open ground to their right.

It was Geoffroi who heard the sound. He stopped, caught at Josse’s sleeve and said, ‘Father, stop.’ He screwed up his face in concentration. Then: ‘Listen! I can hear horses.’

Josse strained his ears, and soon he, too, caught the faint sounds. A horse — no, two horses — coming towards them from the west. Travelling fast.

Josse stepped to the side of the road and pulled Geoffroi with him. If the riders were out on business of their own, they would pass straight by. If not…

Josse and Geoffroi waited.

The horses came into view around a bend in the track. Visibility was poor there on the fringes of the forest. The trees were almost bare now, but those lining the road were vast, their huge trunks and wide-spreading branches blocking the light. Nevertheless, as Josse peered at the riders, he thought he recognized one of them. He was, unless Josse was mistaken, one of Gervase de Gifford’s men.

He stepped in front of Geoffroi and, as the riders approached, raised a hand in greeting. The man in the lead pulled his horse violently to a halt, and the man behind, taken unawares, almost rode into him. When they had recovered, the first man said, ‘You are Sir Josse d’Acquin, aren’t you?’

‘Aye.’ Josse’s heart was pounding. He stared into the man’s face. He had brought news, of course he had. Was it good news? Oh, God, was it bad?

The man had slid off his horse and thrown the reins to his companion. Now, approaching Josse, he made a sketchy bow and said, ‘Sheriff Gifford sent me to find you. I’ve been trying to find Hawkenlye Manor, but it’s too well hidden for me, even though I’d have said I knew the lands well hereabouts…’ He paused, frowning.

‘What do you want with me?’ Josse said, barely managing to control his agonizing impatience.

The man must have picked up something of Josse’s mood. ‘Forgive me, sir,’ he muttered. Then he said, ‘They’ve found a body. The sheriff wants you to come with us, quick as you can.’

Josse felt as if his legs would collapse under him. A wave of nausea took him, and he saw black spots before his eyes. A body. Geoffroi was beside him, clutching at his hand, seeking reassurance.

Josse made himself stand upright. Fighting to keep his voice level, he said, ‘Whose body?’

The man had had time to realize his mistake. ‘I’m sorry, sir, that I am, really sorry.’

I’m sorry…

‘Who is it?’ Josse shouted.

‘It’s not the little girl. It’s a man, sir.’

Not the little girl. Josse put up his free hand and covered his face, for a moment shutting out the world and simply praying silently, over and over again, Thank you. Then, recalling Geoffroi beside him, he composed his expression and dropped his hand.

‘I will return to the house to leave my son there and to fetch my horse, then I will go with you,’ he said. He was quite surprised at how calm he sounded. ‘Will you wait here for me?’

The men glanced at each other. ‘I should return,’ the first man said dubiously. ‘Sheriff said not to be too long about it, as I was leading one of the groups looking for her.’

‘I’ll stay,’ the other man said. ‘My horse is blowing hard from the ride over here. She’s not as young as she was.’ He gave the mare an affectionate pat.

‘There’s water in the stream that passes under the road, just down there,’ Geoffroi said helpfully, pointing along the track. ‘If you loosen her girths and give her a breather and a good drink, she’ll soon be better.’

The man smiled at him. ‘That’s good advice, young lad,’ he said. ‘I shall do just that.’

Relieved that he had avoided having to take either man back to the house — although he was not entirely sure why — Josse grabbed Geoffroi’s hand and hurried away.

The mare had indeed recovered by the time Josse rode Alfred out on to the track. He had left a message with Tilly to say what had happened and where he was going, and he knew she would deliver it efficiently as soon as any of the others came in. Geoffroi would add any necessary details. The most important thing was to make sure none of them experienced the same shocking moment that he had done, when the man broke the news.

Now Josse followed his companion — whose name, he told Josse, was Tomas — down the road. They rode fast, pushing the horses as hard as they could. On, on, they went, round the great bulge of the forest and the curve that swept past the abbey. A narrow path led off to the left — Josse had ridden that way and knew it led to the forest hamlet of Fernthe — and the main track went on to dip down into a shallow valley. Ahead, Josse knew there was a turning up to the right that led, via a steep-sided and ancient road, up to Saxonbury, but that was not where they were going. Before they reached it, Tomas indicated a trail that led off to the west, quite soon veering to the north-west.

Tomas turned in the saddle and gave Josse an encouraging grin. ‘Not far now,’ he said. He waved a hand to the right. ‘River’s over that way. The body’s on the edge of a little copse of trees beside it.’

The land on either side of the track was flat and few trees grew. Soon Josse was able to make out the stand of oaks. He could see five or six horses, their reins held by a lad scarcely older than Geoffroi, and a group of men stood huddled together. Several of them were banging their arms across their bodies to keep warm.

Josse nudged his heels into Alfred’s sides and the horse took off, passing Tomas and taking the long, gentle rise up to the oak trees at a gallop. He pulled the horse up and, as soon as Alfred was approximately at a standstill, slipped off his back and threw the reins to one of the men.

He had spotted Gervase, crouched over something that lay on the ground, covered by a cloak. He ran up to him, and Gervase, turning to face him, slowly stood up.

‘Who is he?’ Josse demanded. ‘Has he-’ Has he anything to do with Rosamund? he almost said. But that was foolish. However would Gervase be able to tell?

‘I do not know his name,’ Gervase said. His eyes on Josse’s were full of compassion. ‘It is possible that you may.’ He bent down and folded back the cloak.

Josse stared at the dead face. The body lay on its back, arms outstretched, the right leg bent beneath the left, which was extended. It was that of a young man in his early twenties, with long, light-brown hair and a clean-shaven face. His clothes were of good quality, the tunic bound with a rich brocade trim in shades of yellow and gold. There was a large pool of caked blood beneath his left nostril, extending down over his mouth and chin and dribbling on to the tunic, and he had a black eye. A bruise darkened the left side of his jaw.

‘He’s been in a fight,’ Josse said, kneeling down beside Gervase.

‘He has, and he gave as good as he got.’ Gervase uncovered the hands, placed side by side on the corpse’s belly. The knuckles of the right hand were grazed, reddened and swollen. It looked as if one of the punches that the dead man had landed had broken a small bone in his own hand. The left hand was bruised over the first and middle finger knuckles.

‘Not quite as good,’ Josse observed.

‘What’s that?’ Gervase demanded. He sounded tense.

‘You said he gave as good as he got,’ Josse said. ‘He didn’t, for he is dead and his opponent, whoever he was, has fled.’ He straightened up, feeling another twinge in his back.

‘Do you think the blows to his face were enough to kill him?’ Gervase asked.

Josse stared down at the body, trying to bring to mind all that he had ever learned about violent death. ‘I would not have said so,’ he stated eventually. ‘I would guess that he suffered those fists in his face while he was still on his feet and fighting back, for his nose has bled a great deal and the bruising has come out on his face and his hands. Men don’t bleed much once they are dead,’ he added. Sister Euphemia had told him why, once, but he wasn’t sure he remembered the details.

He turned to face Gervase. ‘I’m wondering why you waited here with him until I came to join you,’ he said. ‘It must be quite some time since you found him, and the day is chilly.’

Gervase raised an eyebrow. ‘You are always so insistent that you must be allowed to see a body where it fell, Josse,’ he replied, ‘and I for one do not dare to risk your scorn and your wrath by going against you.’

‘My scorn and my-’ Josse began, and then he realized that Gervase’s tone had been ironic. ‘Aye, well, that’s as maybe,’ he muttered, embarrassed.

He heard Gervase give a soft laugh.

‘I will have a look around,’ Josse announced firmly, choosing to ignore it. He bent down to the body again. ‘There’s little to learn from the spot where he fell — ’ gently he lifted one outstretched arm — ‘and I’d say he went over backwards, perhaps as a result of one of those heavy blows.’ He touched the bare flesh of the throat and then slid his hand inside the costly tunic. ‘His garments are fine quality… and his body is very cold.’ Slowly, he stood up. He looked around, taking in the surroundings. Narrowing his eyes, he stared up into the stand of trees. With a soft exclamation, he hurried up the slope and began a close inspection of the ground.

‘I believe someone camped here,’ he said when Gervase hurried to join him. ‘Look. A horse stood there, and for some time, I would say. There are some oats scattered, and about a horse length away, a pile of droppings.’

‘A single horse,’ Gervase murmured.

‘Aye, and a sizeable animal.’

‘The dead man’s horse?’

‘Perhaps.’ Josse had seen something else and, slowly and carefully, he was moving across to look. ‘There was a camp fire here,’ he said, pointing to where cut turfs had been laid over a patch of burned earth. ‘And one — no, two people lay beside the fire.’ He indicated the areas of flattened grass.

Gervase frowned. ‘Two men camped here but with only one horse. What, they’re Templar Knights, sharing their mount for the sake of brotherhood and poverty?’

Josse grinned briefly. ‘Maybe, but I would suggest rather that the killer rode away on his horse.’

‘What of the victim’s horse?’

‘If, indeed, both victim and murderer rode to this place, then presumably the killer took the dead man’s horse away with him.’ Josse was searching again, slowly circling the trees, but soon he gave up. ‘I can’t read the hoof prints. You and your men have walked and ridden all over the ground, and it’s impossible to say if a mounted man rode away leading a second horse.’

‘So what-?’

Josse held up both hands as if fending Gervase off. ‘No more!’ he exclaimed. ‘I need time to think about what we have found here.’

Gervase held up his hands. ‘Yes, of course.’

They walked side by side back to where Gervase’s men stood around the body.

Josse glanced down at the dead man, whose face was now covered by a piece of sacking. ‘We will take him to Hawkenlye Abbey,’ he announced. ‘The new infirmarer is acquiring quite a reputation, and if she can’t tell us what killed this man, I will personally go to fetch Sister Euphemia out of her well-earned retirement and ask her.’

He watched as Gervase’s men put the body on a makeshift stretcher, made out of the man’s cloak fastened around two heavy branches cut from one of the oak trees. The procession formed up and — with Gervase and Josse in the lead, and Tomas and his old mare at the back — they began to wind their way slowly back to Hawkenlye.

When they had gone only a short distance, Gervase cleared his throat a couple of times and then said, ‘Josse, as you know, Dominic Warin came to see me.’

‘Aye,’ Josse replied. ‘Some matter you wanted to discuss with him, I understand.’

For some moments Gervase did not answer. Sensing his discomfiture, Josse turned to look at him. Gervase’s usual air of amused detachment appeared to have deserted him. ‘Well?’ Josse prompted.

‘There is a band of robbers in the area,’ Gervase said, the words emerging in a rush, as if he disliked having to utter them. ‘I am spreading the word to all men who have large manors and houses, for to be forewarned may afford some protection.’ Again, he hesitated. ‘I asked Dominic to tell me what valuables he possesses, suggesting he make certain that they are safely hidden or locked away,’ he hurried on. ‘I propose that you do the same, Josse, and I am happy to come to the House in the Woods to check on your security.’

‘That’s good of you, Gervase,’ Josse said, surprised, ‘although I can’t bring to mind much that any of us possess that’s worth locking away.’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’ Gervase gave an awkward laugh. Before Josse could reply, he added, ‘I have some experience with thieves, Josse. I know what they look out for; I can help you, if you are willing.’

‘Well, I suppose I am…’ Josse said slowly. His mind was working busily. Why on earth was Gervase discussing this unlikely suggestion of his, when there was another, far graver issue preoccupying them all?

Because he is my friend, he realized, and he thinks in this way to take my mind off my fears.

He turned to Gervase with a smile, about to thank him for his kind concern. But Gervase’s expression stopped the words before he could speak them. Whatever this was about, it was a great deal deeper than a sympathetic gesture from a compassionate companion.

Then he knew.

Feeling the same fear-induced nausea that had flooded him when Tomas had told him about finding a body, he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘You fear that these thieves may not stop at stealing property. You believe they may have taken Rosamund.’

Gervase’s eyes widened in horrified protest. ‘No, Josse!’ Violently, he shook his head. ‘No, my friend. Believe me, I have not the least reason to suspect such a thing.’ He muttered something, but Josse could not make it out.

Josse was not convinced. ‘Then why do you mention these robbers at all, when you must know that concern for any valuable possessions I might have is the last thing on my mind?’

He had spoken far more fiercely than he had intended. Gervase hung his head, as if accepting the rebuke. Instantly sorry, Josse reached out a hand. ‘I am sorry, Gervase,’ he said. ‘You were trying to distract me, I know.’ He took a couple of breaths, and he felt his heartbeat slow down. ‘I promise I’ll think about what treasures I own, and when next you are at the House in the Woods I’ll show you where I hide them and seek your advice as to how to keep these robbers’ filthy hands off them.’

Gervase nodded, but did not reply. In silence, they rode on to the abbey.