by Alys Clare
They rode on.
They were deep in the forest now, riding a path where nobody went save the forest dwellers. Joanna’s hut was away to the left.
Josse wondered if she was there. Did she know he was there, riding stealthily through her domain on a mission in which a young woman’s life was at stake? He spoke to her silently. Help us, Joanna. We do not come here for any frivolous reasons but to look for Paradisa. If you find her, look after her. Please, Joanna, help us all. Do not let any harm come to us.
And he thought he heard her voice. She said, Ahead, on your right!
He jerked Horace’s head to his left, and the arrow that would have pierced Josse’s throat embedded itself harmlessly in a birch tree.
Josse slid off Horace’s back and ran for the meagre shelter of the stand of birches, drawing his sword as he ran and yelling out to John, ‘Enemy on the right! Arrow fire!’
John was already off his horse and crashing through the undergrowth to join him. ‘Get behind me,’ he panted, ‘it’s me they want, not you!’
But Josse had scented the fight and would not stand down. ‘We’ll face them together,’ he replied.
John gave him a quick, flashing grin and then side by side they turned to face their enemy.
It would be a fight to the death: Josse knew it instinctively. There were only two men who would have attacked them there in the forest and he knew who they were before a glance at the arrow confirmed it.
‘William and Tancred,’ hissed John. He pointed to two dark, cloaked outlines, just visible through the trees. ‘William is on the right – he is the taller and the better shot.’ Two more arrows came whistling towards them. ‘They are pinning us down,’ John said softly. ‘They are probably unsighted, merely making sure we stay where we are.’
‘What weapons have you?’ Josse asked.
John held up his sword. ‘This, and my knife. You?’
‘The same. No bow, unfortunately.’
They waited.
They could hear the sound of stealthy movement. The Frankish mercenaries were coming closer.
Josse moved very quietly until most of his body was sheltered by a birch tree; John did the same. ‘Keep them in sight,’ Josse said, ‘and keep the tree trunk between you and them. If we can frustrate their attempts to kill us by arrow shot, eventually they will have to close in and then we shall have our chance.’
It was dreadful, he thought, to listen to arrows fly past. The narrow birch trunk was not as wide as his shoulders and he tried to stand sideways. An arrow grazed the top of his arm; almost instantly the blood began to flow. He made himself ignore the sudden burning pain. The Franks were closer now. Did they know exactly where he and John were? Had they lined up their sword points on the very two trees behind which they were hiding?
He leaned forward very, very cautiously and looked.
The shorter of the two Franks stood ten paces away. He was not looking at Josse’s tree; he, like his companion, was closing on the one John stood behind. Both had drawn their swords.
They are going for him, Josse thought. They know precisely where he is and they will lunge at him, one on each side, and he will not stand a chance.
He let the two men come closer. Closer. He did not dare keep a constant watch in case they saw him, for then he would lose the advantage of surprise.
Six paces away now. Five. Four.
With a yell Josse leapt out from behind his tree, his sword in his right hand and his long dagger in his left. The two Franks spun to face him and as his weapons met their swords John rushed out and leapt in to the attack.
They were wrongly paired, Josse thought. He was the heavier and slightly taller man and should have taken on the bigger of the two Franks, but it was too late now. John must look after himself; very soon Josse realized that he had more than enough in his hands with the smaller Frank. He knew he was matched with a swordsman who was at least his equal.
Again and again Josse defended himself from the savage swipes. There just did not seem to be an opportunity to turn defence into attack. Josse felt his enemy’s sword slice into his arm just below where the arrow had scorched it and hot agony shot through him. He was losing blood fast now and he could feel himself weakening . . . Then, lunging forward for the kill, the Frank trod on the end of a dead branch and flipped its oppos ite end up into his face; it did no more than halt him for a split second, but it was enough. Josse dropped his knife, took his sword in both hands and, raising it high in the air, brought it down on his opponent’s head.
The skull sliced open under the huge assault and the Frank fell dead on the ground.
Swiftly Josse turned towards John. He was hard-pressed, but he was skilled and he was fighting like a bear. Steadily he pushed his adversary back.
The Frank risked a glance over to where his companion had been fighting. His eyes widened as he took in the dead body and the ghastly wound to the head.
Then, with a howl, he turned and ran.
‘We must run after him! Come on!’ shouted John. Josse had slumped against a tree; John tried to pull him up.
Josse looked up at him. He had a long cut above his left eye and blood was pouring down his face. He had also taken a wound across the front of his right shoulder and that too was streaming blood. Already his face was ashen.
Josse felt in no better shape. He was intensely grateful that their opponent had not appreciated how weakened both of them were, for he knew that neither he nor John was capable of fighting even one determined assailant.
And he also knew that he couldn’t run anywhere.
He clutched at John’s wrist as the young man attempted to get him to his feet. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, John. We are both hurt and we must seek help before we hunt for him.’
‘He will go after Paradisa! We have to find him before he gets to her!’ John shouted.
‘Aye, I know that and we will go after him, you have my word, as soon as we stop bleeding.’
John’s pallor had increased and suddenly he sat down beside Josse. He put up a hand to wipe his face and then looked in amazement at it; it was covered in blood. Then he glanced down at his tunic, saturated with glistening red. ‘Oh, God,’ he muttered.
‘Can you mount your horse?’ Josse asked.
‘Yes.’ John sounded determined.
‘Very well. Come with me. I know someone close at hand who will help us.’
They went slowly over to the horses. Horace and the chestnut stood together, pacing nervously, ears laid flat against their heads. Josse was not sure which out of him and John was supporting the other. They managed to clamber onto their horses’ backs and then, praying that she would not only be there but be prepared to treat them, slowly Josse led the way to Joanna’s hut.
Sometimes he had trouble finding it. Sometimes he could not locate it at all. But today perhaps she felt his desperate need and helped him, for he rode straight to it.
He drew rein in the clearing and fell off Horace’s back, and she was there to catch him. He sensed her helping him as he collapsed to the ground and then she went to John and held out her arms to him.
It was odd, but Josse thought he saw a look of recognition on her face as she looked up at John Damianos. Perhaps she knew he was on his way, too, he thought dreamily. He would not have been surprised if she had seen both of them in her scrying bowl . . . He closed his eyes.
But there was no rest yet. All too soon she was back, pulling and dragging at him, saying breathlessly that he and his friend must come inside before shock combined with the wet ground and the cold made them even more unwell than they already were. And, although movement was agony, he knew she was right.
She laid them on the floor of the hut beside the central hearth. Where was Meggie? Josse wondered. He looked around for his daughter and saw her peering down from the bedding platform above his head. She whispered joyfully, ‘Josse!’ and he said, ‘Hello, little Meggie.’
Joanna must have decided that John’s wounds were the more seri
ous for, having given both men some hot, herbal-smelling drink that she had hastily prepared, she turned her attention to him. Josse was quite content to lie there in the warmth of the fire with a blanket over him and a soft pillow under his head. The pain in his wounds was already lessening – bless Joanna for her magic remedies! – and he was feeling relaxed and muzzy. When Meggie took advantage of her mother’s preoccupation with her patient and crept down the ladder to cuddle up to her beloved father, his happiness was complete.
Nineteen
Josse awoke to the dim dawn light. He was still lying beside the hearth. Joanna must have got up during the night to put on more firewood, for there was still plenty of warmth from the glowing embers. He stretched carefully, closing his wounded left arm into a fist and opening it again, then raising the arm a few inches. There was pain – quite a lot of it – but its sharp edge was absent. He would, he decided, begin using the arm as soon as the cut began to heal.
He glanced across at John Damianos. He was still asleep and the long cut above his eye had been closed with a row of small stitches. On his shoulder a thick dressing was held in place by a bandage wrapped around his chest. Yesterday’s frightening pallor was gone.
Josse lay on his back looking up at the ceiling. The smell was unique: he would have known blindfold that he was in Joanna’s hut. It was a blend of all the plants she used for her remedies and not at all unpleasant; rather the reverse. He could not see Joanna on the sleeping platform but one of Meggie’s feet was sticking over the edge. He smiled. Perhaps she would come down to him when she woke. He was vaguely aware that she had stayed with him for much of the night, curled up against him like a kitten, but at some point Joanna must have—
The night. Something happened during the night. What was it? Think!
There had been a noise – a crashing noise, quite close – and he had tried to go and investigate, only his head had swum so badly he had thought he would be sick. Then Joanna had said calmly, ‘It is nothing. We are safe here. I will go and see.’ She had briefly gone outside then, returning, closed the door and said softly, ‘Go to sleep, Josse. There is nothing to worry about.’
Still fighting the nausea, he had been all too willing to obey. Now, with the morning approaching, it was a different matter.
Very cautiously he raised his head and, when that seemed to be all right, levered himself into a sitting position. So far, so good. He pushed back the soft blanket and got up into a crouch. There was a stab of protest from his wounded arm and for a moment he felt dizzy, but both sensations passed. Then he stood up.
He found that as long as he put a hand on something solid to steady himself, he could move quite well. He opened the door and stepped outside into cool air, a rapidly brightening sky and a day that promised a mild breeze from the west and perhaps rain. He looked around, smiling involuntarily at the scene before him. Joanna must work incredibly hard, he reflected, for even now she had obviously been busy in her little patch. The beds were clear of weeds and dead vegetation, the paths between them swept and the grass verges neatly clipped. The fruit trees and bushes had been pruned so that waving branches did not catch the winter winds and damage the plants as they were torn off. Everywhere spoke of her careful husbandry and he—
The horses had gone.
Joanna had told him last night that she had removed their tack and put them in a hazel-hurdle corral. It had not sounded very secure but he had been too far gone in pain and drug-induced confusion to care. At some time during the night – he remembered the crashing – they must have pushed their way through the hurdles. But Joanna had gone to check! Why on earth had she not reported that the horses were missing? Because she knew you would get up and try to catch them, answered his logic, and she knew you were nowhere near up to it.
She could have gone, he thought disloyally.
He went back inside the hut.
Joanna was awake, leaning on one elbow and watching out for him. ‘I did not go after them because I knew they were safe,’ she said softly; both John and Meggie were still asleep.
‘How can you be so sure?’ he whispered back. ‘There are all manner of strange beings in this forest, including the man who put those savage cuts on him.’ He nodded in the direction of John Damianos.
‘It was not he who was close by last night.’ Joanna spoke with such certainty that he believed her. ‘I know who it was, though, which is why I said we were safe. He was patrolling among the trees, guarding us. He was curious about the horses, for as you probably know my people do not have a great deal to do with them, although we greatly respect them because one of our Great Ones is revered in the form of a white horse.’
‘Aye, that’s as maybe, but are they safe?’ he demanded.
She smiled. ‘Perfectly safe. As I was saying, the being outside was curious about them and he probably called to them.’
‘I did not hear any call!’
‘No, dearest Josse, you wouldn’t have done, for it would have gone directly to their minds. They too were undoubtedly curious about him, which was why your old Horace pushed his way out of my admittedly inadequate pen and went to have a look, and the other horse followed.’
‘He’s called Cinnabar. He’s John’s horse.’ It was about the only thing Josse could think of to say.
‘Well, Horace and Cinnabar probably had a fine time with our guardian, then I expect they ambled off to look for food. Your Horace knows the Abbey well, doesn’t he?’
‘Aye.’
‘Then that’ll be where he’s gone, and Cinnabar with him. Don’t worry, Josse –’ she swung her legs over the edge of the sleeping platform and jumped down – ‘they’ll be quite all right. When you leave, I’ll help you carry the saddles and bridles to the edge of the forest.’
‘They’re heavy,’ he said dully. It was better to think about the practicalities. The alternative was to contemplate going away from her again so soon and that hurt, especially when he hadn’t even seen his daughter yet this morning.
‘I will manage,’ she said. She added, with an attempt at a smile, ‘And you each have one good side with which to bear a load.’
Their eyes met. To his joy he saw an answering regret in hers. He knew that she too was wishing this day was going to be just for the three of them.
‘Come back soon,’ she whispered. ‘We will be waiting for you; I promise.’
She did not make promises lightly. With a grin that seemed to spread all by itself, he nodded.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘I am going outside to wash and then I shall prepare medicine, food and drink, and have a look at my patients’ wounds.’
Josse and John both drank more of Joanna’s pain-killing brew, although Josse – who had been given her remedies before – detected that this morning the element that had sent them so deeply asleep last night was absent. Joanna inspected the cut above John’s eye and then she lifted the dressing on his shoulder, sniffing at it.
‘Recently I have not had the chance to bathe as thoroughly as I would like,’ John said, clearly embarrassed, ‘for which I apologize, my lady.’
She looked up at him and smiled. ‘My name is Joanna,’ she said, ‘and I am not sniffing at you but at your wound. There is a particular smell when infection is present and, if I detected it on you, I should have to do something about it. But it isn’t there. This wound, and the one over your eye, are both clean.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’ John was looking at her with interest. ‘I have seen Arab doctors with their patients,’ he said. ‘They too place this emphasis on keeping a wound clean and they even go so far as to wash their hands and instruments in a special solution before and after they examine a patient!’
Joanna was nodding. ‘Yes, I have heard that their skills are far ahead of those of the West. Have you noticed anything else?’
‘Well,’ he said after a pause, ‘I was told that they use maggots in an infected cut, although surely that can’t be true?’
‘It probably is,’ she replied. ‘You have obse
rved maggots on dead meat?’
‘Ye-es,’ he admitted. Josse, watching, hid a smile. He remembered very well his own reaction when he had first encountered Joanna’s extraordinary ideas.
‘Well, a severe wound may contain flesh that is dying because of infection. The maggots clean out the wound by consuming the pus and the putrid flesh, leaving a clean space for new, healthy skin to grow.’
John looked quite sick. ‘I see,’ he said faintly. Then, rallying, ‘I am even more relieved, then, that you smell no infection in my shoulder.’
Joanna laughed. ‘I do not use maggots. I would take it as an affront to my medical skill if any patient of mine needed them. Now I am going to look at you, Josse.’
Josse felt the familiar touch of her fingers and winced as she gently probed the wound. It too had been stitched. ‘No infection there either, my dear love,’ she said in satisfaction.
She called me my dear love, he thought. John Damianos heard and now he is watching us with a rather peculiar look on his face. Why? Simple human curiosity? Maybe; only why should Josse have received the distinct impression that for some reason he disapproved?
It was puzzling.
I am not ashamed of my love for Joanna and Meggie, Josse thought, nor of theirs for me. Perhaps I shall have a quiet word with him . . .
But Meggie was awake and yelling that she was hungry. Joanna set about preparing food and, as Meggie came flying down the ladder and climbed delicately on to Josse’s lap – Meggie understood about being very careful with wounded animals and people – he forgot about John Damianos and his frown in the pleasure of being with his child.
Soon after prime a very worried-looking Sister Martha came to Helewise to report that Sir Josse’s Horace had turned up accompanied by another horse, neither wore saddle or bridle, there was no sign of Sir Josse and the smaller horse had blood on its mane. It was only after Sister Martha had delivered her message that she noticed there was someone else in the room. The young woman was standing to the right of the door and the nun had not seen her.