A Dark Night Hidden (31 page)

It was Guiscard who first broke ranks. He came running up to Horace and, reaching up, took his wife tenderly in his arms. Watching them as Aurelia carefully dismounted and fell into Guiscard’s embrace, Josse reflected briefly that they might have taken this vow of perfect chastity but, all the same, it did not seem to have diminished their very evident love for each other. Quite the contrary.

Now the others were hurrying forward, crowding round Aurelia, patting her gently with loving hands and asking anxious questions. Coming face to face with Utta, Aurelia gave a sudden exclamation and put her fingers lightly to Utta’s forehead. She asked a swift question and Utta, laughing, answered her, fishing in a pocket inside her robe and producing a small pot. She held it up to Aurelia and then, opening it, very tenderly smeared a small amount of the contents on to Aurelia’s wound.

Now I would be prepared to wager, Josse thought, smiling, that Utta has there some magical remedy given to her by the forest folk. She has been treated with it, which is why her wound has healed so well. And now she is going to share it with her friend.

Aye. No matter how skilled the Abbey nuns were, the forest folk still had a few ancient secrets that nobody else knew.

After a few moments, the Lord caught Josse’s eye and beckoned to him. Leaving the group to savour the joy of their reunion, Josse followed him inside the hall.

The Lord stomped over to the fire, rubbing his hands together and then opening his palms to the flames. ‘The Sun is bright but he does not yet bring much warmth to those who stand still out of doors,’ he observed. Then: ‘Sir Josse, we have been giving thought to the Cathars’ journey to the coast and we feel it is best to go immediately. Will you take them? My son Morcar has offered to accompany you, and I will lend you horses.’

‘Aye, that I will, and I shall welcome Morcar’s company.’ Josse had assessed the Lord’s big son as a useful man to have around. ‘But there is a problem.’

‘Yes?’ The Lord’s blue eyes were instantly alert.

‘Aye. The woman Aurelia is still very weak and suffers much pain, for all that she bears it bravely and does not complain. I fear for her if we leave straight away.’

The Lord, to Josse’s surprise, was smiling. ‘Now, Sir Josse, you must not misunderstand what I am about to say.’ He leaned towards Josse and slapped a large hand on to his shoulder. ‘I know that you have a high opinion of the skill of Hawkenlye’s infirmarer and that the lady has done her best for Aurelia. But Utta has a pain-killing draught that I believe is stronger than anything within the holy confines of the Abbey. She will give some to Aurelia and thus make her more able to tolerate the journey.’

‘I see.’ I was right, Josse thought, about Utta having been taken under the wing of the forest folk. ‘Er – did Utta say where she obtained the draught?’

The Lord did not answer for a moment. Then he said, ‘Sir Josse, I have lived cheek by jowl with the Great Forest for all of my life. I have learned that, when someone comes out of the wildwood and is reluctant to speak of their experiences there, the wise do not ask questions.’

‘Let us merely be thankful, then,’ Josse said, ‘that Utta found the right company.’

‘Let us be thankful indeed,’ the Lord murmured. Then, striding towards the door, he said, ‘Now we must prepare our guests for the road.’

Mounts were found for the group. Guiscard and Aurelia chose to ride together; she was a small woman and the stout cob that the Lord had provided would make no great burden of bearing husband and wife together. Looking at her, Josse guessed that she had already been given some of the pain-killing draught, for the pupils of her eyes were wide and she had a vague, sleepy expression. Guiscard placed her in front of him on the cob so that she could lean against him; he had carefully wrapped her up in a thick cloak for warmth and to pad out her back. It was to be hoped, Josse thought, that she might pass much of the journey in sleep.

Arnulf and Alexius had been given sturdy ponies and a larger horse had been found for Benedetto. Josse was just wondering how Utta would ride when she approached him and asked shyly if she might ride with him. She was, it transpired, none too easy with horses.

So once again he helped her up behind him on Horace’s back. Then, with Morcar in the lead on his own chestnut gelding and Josse bringing up the rear, the party prepared to ride out of Saxonbury. The Lord and his family came out to see them on their way and, for the first time, Josse caught a glimpse of the Lord’s wife. She was tiny and bent with the inflammation of the bones from which so many of the elderly suffered. But her dark eyes beneath her filmy veil were bright, and there was affection in her face as she waved her visitors away.

The group fell silent as they went down the long sunken track from the hilltop. Then Arnulf said something to them, and as one they began to pray. Josse heard Utta, seated just behind him, join in and, to his surprise, he recognised the words of the Paternoster.

When the prayers were over – they seemed to take a very long time – he remarked tentatively, ‘You said the Paternoster.’

‘Of course!’ she replied. Then, before he could ask another question, she added, ‘We pray for a safe journey.’

With more fervour than he had thought he felt, Josse said, ‘Amen to that.’

Considering that they were a party of whom the majority of the members were not used to riding long distances, they made good progress. Morcar appeared to know exactly where he was going and he led them along secret, hidden tracks up on the ridges with quiet confidence. He seemed to be aware of the frailty of the women and made frequent short stops. Often he would ask briefly if everybody was all right and, when they said yes, lead them off again straight away.

They stopped some time in the early afternoon to eat and drink. Josse estimated that they had covered about nine or ten miles, which he thought good going. Approaching Morcar, who was sitting by himself tearing with strong white teeth into a piece of dried meat, he said, ‘How long till we reach the coast?’

Morcar squinted, shaded his eyes with his hand and stared briefly up at the sun. ‘We’ll be at Pevensey by nightfall, provided we meet with no mischance. We’re about halfway, maybe a little less.’

‘Good.’ Josse was staring at the group, studying each one in turn. He saw Utta with an arm around Aurelia’s shoulders, supporting her while she drank something out of Utta’s flask. He wondered whether Utta’s supply would last them all the way to the Midi and the relative safety of the Languedoc. ‘You think we can get them a boat?’ he asked Morcar.

‘It should be possible.’ He touched a small leather pouch that hung from his belt. ‘Many a man will ferry people across the water without asking too many questions if he is sufficiently well paid.’

They sat for a while longer. Then, as Benedetto and Alexius gathered up the remains of the food and drink, Morcar asked them to remount so that they could be on their way.

It happened as they were crossing the Cuckmere valley.

The swell of the South Downs was rising up ahead of them and Morcar had taken a track that led south-east, around the end of the Downs and to the sea. The Cathars were in good heart; they knew that it was not far now to the coast and that soon they would be on their way across the Channel.

Thanks to Morcar’s knowledge of the hidden tracks, they had passed not a soul on the way. But now, in the long grassy valley, they were much more exposed; somebody watching out for them would have been able to spot them from several miles away.

Josse felt his earlier unease return. Now the sensation was much stronger; he put a hand down to the hilt of his sword and then checked that his dagger was in his belt.

The Downs were huge now and right in front of them. Josse thought he could make out the ancient beacon on top of the Caburn, away to his right. Please, he found himself silently praying, please take care of them, for just a little longer . . .

The he heard the sound of a galloping horse.

It was faint as yet but, even as he stopped to listen, the sound grew rapidly louder. The others had noticed it too; Morcar had drawn rein and was twisting round in the saddle, a frown on his face.

The Cathars, every one of them, had blanched in fear. Benedetto had already slipped off his horse and was standing, arms out, in front of Arnulf, Guiscard and the drowsy Aurelia, as if preparing to defend them.

Josse had turned Horace and was staring up the road that came out of the north. From the direction of Hawkenlye Abbey.

Had she given away the secret? Had the Abbess’s religious duty won out over her compassion?

Narrowing his eyes, he watched as the lone horseman came closer. A man . . . but dressed not in clerical black but in bright burgundy. And he was laughing, calling out happily, ‘Sir Josse! Sir Josse! I have caught you up at last!’

It was Gervase de Gifford.

Dismounting, Josse stood waiting while de Gifford reached the group. He was so relieved to see the man that he did not think to check on how the others were reacting. Reining in his sweating horse – he had obviously been riding hard – de Gifford slipped from the animal’s back and ran towards Josse.

Sensing sudden movement behind him, Josse had only just begun to turn to see what it was when a blurred shape rushed past him. Crying out in his own tongue, Benedetto was on to de Gifford before the sheriff had a chance to raise as much as a hand to defend himself.

He thinks we are apprehended! Josse realised in anguish. With his very limited command of the language, Benedetto must have heard only the word
caught
and believed that his beloved group had just met with disaster. And, simpleton that he was, he did not perceive the significance of de Gifford’s smiling face nor of Josse’s obvious pleasure and welcome.

Josse threw himself on to Benedetto’s back. The big man had already felled de Gifford and had his hands on the sheriff ’s throat. Josse put a hand around each huge wrist and pulled as hard as he could. He managed to dislodge Benedetto’s right hand with his own right hand – his stronger hand – but could make no impression on Benedetto’s left. And, in an image out of the recent past, he saw the throat of the dead prison guard and the deep impressions of Benedetto’s hand. His left hand.

De Gifford, immediately feeling the slight lessening of the fatal pressure on his windpipe, twisted his head and pressed upward with his left shoulder. Catching Benedetto unprepared, he managed to knock him slightly off balance. Josse tried to grab at the big man but was thrown off as easily as a farmer tosses a hay bale. He fell heavily, banging the back of his head on the hard ground. Getting groggily to his knees, shaking his head to clear the starbursts of brilliant light from his vision, he raised his head to the struggling men . . .

. . . and saw that Benedetto was kneeling astride the prostrate de Gifford, pinning him with his huge thighs. He had pulled a long, thin blade from somewhere under his robe and was about to thrust it into de Gifford’s chest.

With a great cry –
‘NO!’
– Josse lunged at Benedetto. He was still dazed, still acting on his fighting instincts, and he drew his dagger without thinking. Throwing his left arm around Benedetto’s neck, he dragged him backwards. With a roar, Benedetto put up his right hand and grabbed Josse’s wrist in a grip that felt like an iron clamp.

In Benedetto’s other hand, the thin blade was still poised over de Gifford’s heart. As Josse watched, its point went into the rich brocade of the burgundy tunic. The man was about to die.

Josse drew back his dagger and thrust it into Benedetto’s shoulder. With a roar of pain, the big man fell sideways, trying to reach out for the point of agony with his right hand. As he fell he twisted around, so that he landed on his own blade.

Benedetto hit the ground and lay still.

As Josse watched, eyes wide with horror, he saw a great pool of blood begin to spill from beneath the big man, its bright colour vivid against the dirt of the track.

Benedetto’s blade had reached inside his chest and found his heart. Even as Josse bent down to remove his dagger from Benedetto’s shoulder and feel for a pulse, he knew it was no good.

Benedetto was dead.

They wrapped him up in his cloak and laid him in the shallow ditch that ran along beside the track. All of the Cathars were in tears, men and women both; Arnulf, speaking for them all, said that the big man had loved them too well and that his love had blinded him.

Alexius, face wet with weeping, said, ‘We cannot leave him here unburied.’

Josse put a hand on the youth’s arm. ‘We will attend to him on our return,’ he said gently. ‘That I promise you. But there is no time now – it will be dark soon and we need to get the women to shelter before nightfall. Aurelia certainly is not strong enough for a night in the open with no fire and no warm food.’

Alexius looked as if he would protest but then, with a curt nod, he turned away. Josse watched as he went to join the others, who had already begun on their prayers for Benedetto’s spirit.

Josse felt a touch on his arm. De Gifford, still pale and with dark red bruises on his throat, said hoarsely, ‘Sir Josse, I owe you my life.’ He gave a deep bow. ‘You have just made for yourself a lifelong friend.’

Returning the bow, Josse said, ‘I would not have killed the poor man for anything less than to save another. He did not understand. He believed that you were here to arrest them and I do not think that he could have borne to see his loved ones suffer any more.’

De Gifford bowed his head. ‘I believe that you judge right. Had he only given me the chance to explain, I should have told him that I had come to help, not to hinder. But as it is—’ He gave a helpless shrug.

Morcar came up to them. He had, Josse had noted, seemed unfazed by the whole terrible incident; the Lord of the High Weald breeds them tough, Josse thought. Now the tall man said, ‘We should be moving. Although it is unlikely, we may have been observed. The sooner we get them safely on to the sea, the better.’