The Paths of the Air

by Alys Clare

  ‘Take him back to his cot in the Vale,’ Helewise said. ‘Sir Josse, would you summon a couple of sisters to help her, please?’

  He went outside and they heard him call out. Presently two nuns and a lay brother tapped on the open door and, the nuns taking up positions either side of Akhbir and grasping his arms while the lay brother fell in behind, they followed Sister Caliste out of the room.

  Gervase watched them go. ‘I should arrest him,’ he said baldly. ‘He has just admitted to murder.’

  ‘He admitted to being there while murder was done,’ Helewise corrected. ‘He could perhaps have prevented it, which I suppose is also a crime, but I think he was used to doing what Kathnir said.’

  ‘I agree.’ Josse spoke up. ‘I saw them together at New Winnowlands and Akhbir barely said a word.’

  ‘He would have us believe that he is prostrate with grief for his dead companion,’ Gervase said, ‘yet he did not hesitate to reveal that it was Kathnir who carried out the torture and the murder. What do you say to that?’

  Helewise waited to see if Josse would speak. He met her eyes and gave an encouraging nod; she said, ‘I can think of two reasons. One, Akhbir has been trained to speak the truth. When someone asks him a question he does not stop to think but simply provides the answer. Two, he is a practical man. Kathnir is dead and beyond justice; he is still alive.’

  ‘And with a mission to carry out,’ Josse added. ‘With Kathnir dead, we must presume that finding the thief and recovering the treasure is now up to Akhbir.’

  ‘That may be so,’ Gervase said curtly, ‘but it does not mean he is going to be free to carry it out.’ He looked at Helewise. ‘With your permission, my lady, I shall set a guard over him in the Vale and as soon as he is fit enough, put him in a prison cell in Tonbridge.’

  Helewise understood his reasoning. ‘You hope to prevent another murder, should Akhbir be set at liberty and manage to track down his quarry.’

  ‘I do,’ Gervase confirmed. ‘The hunted man may very well be a thief who deserves to have Akhbir catch him but I do not intend to let that happen. Akhbir will have no further role in this matter; we for our part must undertake a search and hope that we succeed where Kathnir and Akhbir failed. Now,’ he added grimly, ‘if you will both excuse me, I’m going down to the Vale to organize a guard.’

  He closed the door after him with a decisive slam. Helewise waited for the echoes to die away, then she said, ‘Sir Josse, what on earth can have gone on in the desert that night?’

  ‘That it had such far-reaching consequences?’

  She sent up a small wordless prayer of gratitude for his instant understanding. ‘Yes. I am not familiar with the ways of war but I imagine that it is common practice to exchange prisoners and normally such matters are quickly done and swiftly forgotten?’

  ‘Aye, my lady. Some of the more spectacular arrangements may warrant a line or two in the chronicles – if a king, a prince, a noble or a particularly large sum of money is involved, for example.’ He glanced at her, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Quite.’ She knew exactly which recent and very well-known event he referred to. ‘So why have so many people travelled all the way from Outremer to England this time?’

  ‘Let’s see. The Knights Hospitaller – two of them, originally three; the two Saracen warriors; and an unnamed, unknown group that comprised originally at least three men, one of whom is the dead Turk. Oh, and the runaway monk and his prisoner.’ Josse counted on his fingers. ‘Nine men. Something very important or very valuable – maybe both – must have been involved,’ he added slowly. ‘Thibault implied that the Saracens tried to cheat the Hospitallers by attempting to get away with both the prisoner and whatever they were offering in exchange for him. Gervase suggested that the Hospitallers might have done the same. I do feel,’ he went on before she could comment, ‘that if he is right, then it only goes to support what you just said: whatever was at stake, it was important enough that even the noble and honourable Knights Hospitaller were prepared to abandon their principles and risk their hard-won reputation for honesty and fair play.’

  ‘What could the fat man have bartered for his young brother?’ she mused. ‘We have asked ourselves before, but we are no nearer to an answer.’

  ‘And why was the younger man so very valuable to his brother?’ Josse said. ‘My lady, did you mark Akhbir’s reaction when the name of Fadil was mentioned?’

  ‘I did,’ she replied. ‘I thought he seemed amused. He found it funny that we should believe it was Fadil whom he and Kathnir were hunting.’

  ‘Why would that be funny?’ Josse wondered. ‘Because it was so unlikely Fadil would be here in England?’

  ‘Perhaps because he could not take Fadil seriously.’ The flash of intuition seemed to come out of nowhere. ‘He knows Fadil and he doesn’t think much of him; he cannot imagine that Fadil could possibly have evaded him and Kathnir for so long and over so many hundreds of miles.’

  ‘If he does not think much of this Fadil, then he would be either amused or insulted by the suggestion that he’d been such an efficient and elusive quarry,’ Josse agreed. He was regarding her with admiration in his brown eyes. ‘A good suggestion, my lady.’

  She barely heard him. ‘Josse, supposing it’s Fadil himself? Akhbir just said that Kathnir’s orders were to find his master’s precious treasure and return it. Supposing it was not an object that he was speaking of but a person?’

  ‘Fadil is the fat man’s brother. But if he does not have sons of his own, then his younger brother might be his heir and thus important to him.’

  ‘Precious,’ she repeated. ‘Would a man refer to his heir as being precious to him? It sounds more like a term one would use for someone one loved very, very deeply and – oh!’ She realized what she had just said.

  So, evidently, did Josse. ‘It would explain a lot,’ he said quietly. ‘Love makes men blind; it makes them lose all reason and all sense of proportion. If the fat man was driven by love and desire, not only would he be prepared to pay the highest price to redeem Fadil from the Hospitallers; he would also take whatever measures necessary to find him when he escaped and bring him back. Even to the extent of sending two Saracen warriors who would not hesitate to kill.’

  ‘Yet they attacked and killed the Turk and they would not have killed Fadil,’ she pointed out. ‘Their objective was to take him back unharmed to their master.’

  ‘Aye, but they knew the Turk wasn’t Fadil,’ Josse replied. Then: ‘Fadil must be the other Saracen; it’s just as we surmised. He must be the man known to me as John Damianos.’

  ‘Why did Kathnir torture the Turk?’ She could hardly bear to think about it. ‘What did he think the poor man knew?’

  ‘The whereabouts of Fadil?’ Josse suggested. ‘Or, if Fadil and the treasure are not one and the same, perhaps Kathnir believed the Turk knew the location of both.’

  ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that the missing Hospitaller – the runaway English monk – is looking after both prisoner and treasure, just as he has been doing for more than two years ever since that night in the desert. Don’t you?’ She stared at Josse expectantly.

  After a moment he sighed heavily and said, ‘Aye. I do. We’ve got to find him, my lady; as Gervase said, we have to succeed where Kathnir and Akhbir failed.’

  ‘Can we do it?’ she whispered.

  He shrugged. ‘We can try.’

  Eleven

  When Josse finally got to his bed he was exhausted and fell asleep quickly. But some time later he was awakened; his soldier’s reactions warned him there had been a sound that did not belong among the safe night noises. He lay on his back with his eyes open, staring out into the darkness of the low room. The door and the two small windows were closed, the fold of leather in place keeping out the moonlight and the starlight. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers.

  He listened.

  Then he heard it.

  From the far corner where they had put Akhbi
r came the sound of softly muttered but urgent words; it seemed that Akhbir was pleading with his God.

  Barely pausing to think about it, Josse was out of his bedroll and padding across the cold, hard floor. Akhbir sounded as if he was in despair. He was all alone in a foreign land, the man who had been his senior and his companion had just died, he still had a mission to fulfil and he probably had no idea how to go about it. All of which was good enough reason for despair.

  But desperate men tend to talk, Josse reasoned. Especially in the dark hours before dawn when courage and optimism are at their lowest ebb and when so many of the dying slip away to death. He knelt down beside Akhbir, who lay curled up with his face to the wall, and put a hand on the man’s shoulder. Akhbir jumped in alarm, twisting round to look up into Josse’s face.

  ‘Do not be afraid; I wish to help you.’ Josse pitched his voice low. Akhbir had been put in this far corner well away from the sleeping lay brethren, but Josse was aware that one or more of the brothers would wake if he spoke aloud. Even worse, one of the two guards that Gervase had sent up from Tonbridge might hear.

  ‘You cannot help,’ Akhbir hissed back.

  Josse considered how to proceed. It depended on Akhbir’s mood; there was so much that he needed to know, but Akhbir would only be likely to talk if he truly believed there was no hope for him.

  ‘You will not be ill-treated when they take you down to the prison cell,’ he began, choosing his words carefully. ‘You will be put on trial for murder but the sheriff may speak for you if he believes that it was Kathnir and not you who killed the Turk.’

  ‘What happen to me if not?’

  ‘If they think you were equally guilty? You’ll hang.’

  A sob escaped Akhbir. ‘I want to go home,’ he whispered mournfully.

  Home. I wonder, Josse thought.

  ‘Would you be able to find your way back to Outremer?’

  ‘Yes.’ There was no doubt in Akhbir’s voice.

  ‘But what of your mission? What of the treasure your master sent you to recover?’

  Akhbir said something in his own tongue; it sounded faintly disparaging. Then: ‘I not know about treasure. Kathnir know; Kathnir not tell secret to me.’ Then, in case Josse was still in any doubt: ‘Kathnir my master. I serve him all my life but he dead now.’

  Josse saw tears in his dark eyes, welling up and catching the dim light from the hearth.

  ‘Perhaps you truly do not know what the treasure is,’ Josse said softly. ‘But there are many things, Akhbir, that you do know; things that I should be very grateful to be told.’

  The dark eyes slid to Josse’s. There was a calculating expression in them. ‘Very grateful?’

  ‘Very grateful indeed,’ Josse said. Firmly putting from his mind what Gervase was going to say, he took a deep breath and said, ‘Answer my questions and I’ll let you go.’

  Akhbir’s teeth flashed in a brief smile. ‘Ask,’ he said simply.

  Josse was ready and the first question shot out. ‘What is the name of the fat man who wanted Fadil returned to him?’

  ‘Hisham.’

  ‘He is wealthy and important?’

  ‘He is both.’

  ‘Is he a great landowner?’

  ‘He own much land. He is – merchant, of Tripoli, but also man of very great wisdom. He is—’ Akhbir appeared to struggle to find the word but then, giving up, said something in his own tongue that sounded like simyager.

  ‘And Fadil is his brother and heir?’ Josse thought he knew the answer already.

  Akhbir sneered. ‘Not kin. Not heir. But beloved.’

  Josse did not think he had ever heard the beautiful word spoken with such disdain and disgust. ‘I see,’ he murmured. ‘You told us that Hisham had lost that which he held most dear. Did you mean Fadil? Or did you mean whatever Hisham was offering to get him back?’

  Akhbir narrowed his eyes and an expression of extreme cunning crossed his face. He watched Josse closely and Josse could almost hear his thoughts. Then the moment of resistance was gone. Akhbir gave a soft sigh and said, ‘I not sure but I believe he mean both.’

  So it was true that the fat man was trying to cheat the Hospitallers, Josse thought. What did he do? Prepare a secret force to overcome the knights in that lonely desert spot? They all died – all except one – so it was likely. And it would have to have been quite a force; the Knights Hospitaller fought like cornered lions.

  But Akhbir had leaned closer and was whispering again. ‘One monk get away. He take Fadil. My master say he also take treasure. My master call Kathnir, tell him, follow monk and Fadil. Bring back Fadil. Kill monk and take back treasure.’

  ‘You cannot do the second part of your mission now. You just said you do not know what the treasure is.’

  ‘No.’ A deep sigh. ‘No.’

  Would Akhbir try to go after Fadil? Josse intended to keep his word and get Akhbir out of the lay brothers’ quarters and onto the road that led to the coast; but by doing so would he be putting Fadil – John Damianos – in danger? I liked the man, he thought. I will not put him in danger of being taken back to Outremer and whatever terrible life he had as the fat man’s sex slave.

  Something did not feel quite right. He pictured John Damianos and tried to imagine him as the subject of an older man’s lust. It was all but impossible.

  He recalled something the Abbess had said. It was when they began to believe that John Damianos was the name that Fadil had adopted; Josse told her he’d imagined Fadil to be a younger man and she replied that two years on the run would have aged him. Perhaps the experience had also hardened him from a rich old man’s plaything to a man who walked tall and strong.

  A man who, from what Josse recalled of John Damianos, would be more than capable of dealing with the broken, lonely, grieving and homesick Akhbir.

  But what about the runaway Hospitaller? Would a released Akhbir feel honour- and duty-bound to pursue him? He and Fadil seemed to have parted company – there had been no monk with John Damianos when he arrived at New Winnowlands – and Thibault appeared to have been searching for the runaway in the vicinity of Tonbridge.

  Where was the runaway monk?

  Where was Fadil?

  Did Akhbir have any idea of the whereabouts of either? Because if so and if Josse followed him, then Akhbir just might lead him to one or both of them.

  In the absence of a better one, it was quite a good plan . . .

  ‘Wait,’ he commanded Akhbir. Then he tiptoed back to his own bed, swiftly put on his outer garments, picked up his weapons and drew on his boots. Creeping back to Akhbir, he whispered, ‘Get up, put on your cloak and boots and collect your belongings together.’ Akhbir hastily obeyed. ‘Come with me –’ Josse took hold of his arm – ‘this way.’

  He put the Saracen directly behind him as he began to walk slowly and steadily along the room. One of the guards stirred and, looking up, said, ‘Sir Josse?’

  Josse spread his arms, concealing Akhbir behind him. ‘Too much ale last night,’ he whispered with a grin. ‘I’m bursting.’

  The guard gave a gap-toothed smile and lay down again, turning on his side away from Josse. Edging Akhbir round, Josse pushed him in front of him – the man walked soft-footed as a cat – and, prodding him to make him hurry, got him to the door. He opened it and Akhbir went out into the night, Josse on his heels.

  He took the Saracen’s arm and, urging him to a fast pace, took him along the path that led along the Vale. There was a little-used track at the far end of the shallow valley that led up to the road. Josse hurried up it, Akhbir panting beside him. They stood side by side on the road. Dawn was not far off now and Josse said, ‘That way leads down to Tonbridge, where the sheriff has his cell waiting for you. That way –’ he pointed – ‘skirts the forest and then turns south towards the coast.’

  Akhbir stood quite still, as if he could hardly believe that Josse had really kept his word and was setting him free. ‘Go!’ Josse urged. ‘Hurry and get down to the sea
, then take a boat for France and go home.’

  Slowly Akhbir turned to stare at him. Then without a word he started to run down the track.

  Josse watched him. He looked back once or twice, then he reached the turn in the road and vanished from sight.

  Josse set off after him.

  He discovered that it was possible to keep Akhbir in sight while remaining just beneath the cover of the forest fringe. Akhbir did not look back; he kept up a quick pace, his head down, sometimes turning to look to right or left as if checking for way markers. For two or three miles he kept to the main track. Then, when it veered off towards the south and the coast, Akhbir branched off to the right onto a smaller path around the edge of the forest. Now he – and Josse, in pursuit – walked with undergrowth and winter-bare trees on either side. After perhaps another mile and a half, Akhbir increased his pace. Then suddenly he wasn’t there.

  He’s seen me, Josse thought instantly, and his instinct was to break into a run, but his common sense held him back. If he was wrong and Akhbir did not know he was there, then his pounding feet on the frost-hard track would advertise his presence as clearly as if he’d yelled Here I am!

  He crept on, barely breathing, his eyes fixed to the bracken and the tangle of bramble to his right. And his diligence was rewarded, for presently he came to a place where an animal track – boar or deer – broke away from the path.

  It led right into the heart of the forest.

  Without hesitation he set off along it.

  After a while he felt he knew where they might be heading. He could see Akhbir now, perhaps eighty paces ahead, keeping to the narrow track and walking purposefully, like a man eager to reach his destination.

  Josse tried to summon memories of the last time he had been here, if indeed he was right and this was the place that he had in mind. It was difficult because apart from the fact that one forest track looked very much like another, especially when the leaves were off the trees and everything seemed fast asleep, when he had been brought here for the first time he had been blindfolded.