The Paths of the Air h-11

by Alys Clare

  Helewise liked the young woman’s frankness. ‘So then it was just you and Brother Ralf on the long road home?’

  ‘Yes. A month to get from Antioch to Constantinople; two years to travel from there to our eventual destination. It has been a hard journey, my lady.’

  That, thought Helewise, was an understatement if ever she had heard one. ‘You must have been frightened sometimes,’ she said. ‘You knew you were being followed.’

  ‘We did and I was,’ the young woman agreed. ‘Brother Ralf was incredible. He developed an instinct for danger — perhaps it is common among fighting men; I do not know — and for the most part he led us safely. By the time we reached Greece we had identified the three groups who were on our trail and Ralf thought our best bet was to take ship across to the kingdom of Naples and then make our way up through the Papal States to Lombardy and north across the mountains. We found a ship but we were caught in a storm and blown ashore on the island of Sicily. We had to stay there for almost three months because, of all the evil luck, one of the groups pursuing us had also ended up on Sicily and we had to hide till they left.’

  ‘I am amazed that these separate parties who pursued you did not lose you on the road,’ Helewise said.

  ‘They frequently did,’ the young woman replied. ‘We didn’t reach England via the same route. But it wouldn’t have worried any of them if they did lose us because they knew where we were going. They were all aware of Brother Ralf’s English origins and they knew where he was bound.’

  ‘Then why did you not make for a different destination? You could surely have evaded your pursuers and settled in some foreign land, safe from capture?’

  ‘We could have done, except that there was an imperative reason why Brother Ralf had to come here.’

  ‘Because he-’

  But with an apologetic smile the young woman interrupted. ‘I cannot tell you, my lady. I am sorry.’

  Helewise wondered why not. She thought for a few moments and then said, ‘There were the two Saracens sent by Hisham after Fadil and the ransom, the trio of Knights Hospitaller hunting their runaway monk, and who else?’ She thought she already knew the answer.

  ‘Leo Rubenid is not a man to suffer an insult in meek silence. As soon as he discovered his betrothed had fled with her lover, he selected two of his most ruthless and efficient Frankish mercenaries — their names are William and Tancred — and a Turkish bowman called Touros to go with them. It was this trio who landed on Sicily and, for me anyway, they presented the worst threat.’

  ‘Naturally so, for they would have taken you back to Leo and to a marriage you did not want.’

  The young woman was watching her, one eyebrow slightly raised. ‘It would not have been marriage that awaited me, my lady,’ she said. ‘Leo would only accept a virgin bride, and the moment he discovered I’d had a lover he would not have wanted me any more. He would, however, have been determined to punish me. He would have made sure nobody knew he’d captured me and then he would have offered me to his men and watched as one by one they raped me. Then he would have had what was left of me sent down to one of the brothels on the coast and ordered some whoremaster to chain me up in a very small cupboard for the exclusive use of those men who were too diseased and too repulsive for the other prostitutes.’

  ‘You — how can you know this?’ Helewise whispered.

  ‘Because that is what he did to the girl he wished to marry before me when he found out that she had taken a lover.’

  ‘And still, knowing this, your parents were keen for you to marry him?’ she asked incredulously.

  ‘They did not know it, my lady. Please do not think worse of them than you probably do already.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘It was I who was being forced to marry him; it was up to me to discover all that I could about him and so I found people who, for a price, would root out such things. As I told you just now, I kept hoping that I would come up with something that would change my mother’s mind, and indeed I suppose I did, only it became irrelevant because I fled with — with Brother Ralf.’

  A look of intense sadness crossed her face. Helewise believed she knew its cause and she got up and stood by over the young woman, putting out her hand. After a moment, it was grasped and tightly held.

  ‘Your mother would understand if she knew the truth,’ she said gently.

  ‘I keep hoping so,’ the woman said. ‘I torment myself with the thought that my mother and my dear father believe me to be an impulsive ingrate who abandoned them without a backward glance.’

  ‘If you love them and they you, then they will feel in their hearts that cannot be true.’ Helewise squeezed the hand and the young woman squeezed back; her grip was surprisingly strong. ‘They have known you all the years of your life. Their understanding of you will have told them what you are and I believe they will be well aware that whatever made you run away, you had no choice.’

  There was a short silence. Then: ‘Thank you, my lady. Your words console me.’

  Helewise returned to her chair, moving slowly and giving the young woman time to recover herself. When once more she was seated, she considered what she was about to say. Then, meeting the young woman’s eyes, she began, ‘I do not suppose that you are aware of it, but there are two Hospitallers lying in the infirmary here. They are the surviving members of the group that followed your Brother Ralf all the way from the desert outside Margat. One thing puzzles me: if Brother Ralf was not an avowed monk in their Order, why should they have gone to such lengths to try to catch him and punish him? Did they not know that he had not taken his vows?’

  The young woman’s green eyes were steady and she did not look away. She said, ‘Thibault of Margat knew all about Brother Ralf. He was well aware that in fleeing Outremer Ralf had committed no crime against the Knights Hospitaller.’ She leaned forward, her expression intense. ‘My lady, it is not Brother Ralf that the Knights Hospitaller want so desperately to get their hands on. It is what he carries with him.’

  Eighteen

  ‘ So just who is it,’ Josse demanded, ‘these Frankish mercenaries whom you fear so much wish to find?’

  John Damianos looked into his eyes. ‘She is the daughter of Gerome’s kinswoman Aurelie and her husband, Count Hugo of Tripoli. She was betrothed to a man who regarded her already as his wife and whose men, if they find us, will kill me and take her back to Outremer and to the very worst sort of captivity.’ He paused, then added softly, ‘Her name is Paradisa.’

  Several pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Josse said, ‘So, in addition to the other reason for your flight from Outremer — to take your prisoner to safety and deliver up the treasure to whoever you thought should receive it — you also had to ensure that this Paradisa escaped from her would-be husband.’

  ‘Correct,’ said John Damianos. ‘I love her,’ he added.

  Josse grinned. ‘So I imagine.’ Then — for this was no time for levity — ‘Where is she?’

  ‘There is an abandoned house deep in the Great Forest,’ John replied. ‘We came across it when we were making for Hawkenlye Abbey, where I had to go because — where I was hoping to have my wound treated.’ Josse was sure he had been on the point of saying something else but he did not press the matter. ‘We found a key and let ourselves into the undercroft. We knew we were doing wrong and had no business living in someone else’s house, even in the undercroft, but we were careful and we kept it very clean and tidy. We intend to-’

  ‘When did you last see Paradisa there?’ Josse interrupted.

  ‘Three days ago,’ John replied. ‘I left her while I sought another hiding place — this place — and I told her I’d return as soon as I had found somewhere.’ There was sudden anxiety in his eyes. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I have been to the house in the woods,’ Josse said. ‘I followed Akhbir there early in the morning the day before yesterday.’

  John Damianos shot to his feet and grasped Josse by the collar. ‘You
let Akhbir escape? How could you be so careless? Dear God, but I must get to her-’ He lunged out of the shelter but Josse grabbed his arm and held him tight.

  ‘Wait, John!’ he cried. ‘Listen. Akhbir knew where the house was. Either he followed your tracks or he had already discovered it. Anyway, he was striding up to it when he was shot and killed by a bolt from a crossbow.’

  John had subsided. He looked at Josse, his eyes wary. ‘He’s dead? You are absolutely sure?’

  ‘Aye, I swear it’s true. I returned the next day and discovered someone had buried his body in the woods. I too found the key but the undercroft was empty. The hearthstones were still warm so whoever had been there cannot have long gone.’

  John said nothing.

  ‘John, you must tell me what has happened!’ Josse cried, exasperated. ‘Who shot the crossbow bolt? I am quite prepared to believe it was in self-defence, or rather in defence of Paradisa, but who is it that’s such a deadly shot? He was confident enough in his skills to fire a couple of warning shots that landed far too close to me for comfort.’ Still John did not speak. ‘Tell me! Who is guarding Paradisa while you are away?’

  John raised his face and looked straight at Josse. ‘Nobody. It’s just the two of us, as it has been all the way from Constantinople.’

  ‘Then who fired the shots?’

  ‘Paradisa.’

  ‘But she — she’s a woman!’

  John smiled suddenly. ‘Indeed she is,’ he murmured.

  ‘Women can’t fire crossbows! It’s unheard of!’

  ‘You might not have heard of it, Sir Josse. Paradisa was born into a family that longed for sons and she was encouraged in activities traditionally reserved for boys. Her father bought her a falcon and she was taught how to fly it. She also wields a knife very effectively and a foot soldier who came out with the crusaders was employed to teach her how to use the crossbow.’

  Josse was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘She killed Akhbir,’ he muttered. ‘Killed him stone dead with a bolt through the heart!’

  ‘Good for her.’ John Damianos’s tone was rough. ‘He would have killed her, had she not fired the first shot.’

  ‘Aye, I realize that,’ Josse said hurriedly. ‘I do not question the action, John. It is merely that I am staggered to learn whose hands performed it.’

  ‘She is strong,’ John said, his tense face relaxing into a smile. ‘In many ways any man’s equal. But we must find her, Josse!’ He leapt off in the direction of the horses. ‘She is probably back at the house,’ he called back, ‘but I have been away from her much too long. Come!’

  As they rode, Josse turned over in his mind where this woman with the romantic name might have gone if — as he strongly suspected — they did not find her at the house in the woods. She will have fled, he thought, because she’ll reason that if Akhbir managed to find her there, then others — specifically, the Frankish mercenaries so dreaded by John Damianos — might do so as well. She may have made her way to Hawkenlye Abbey, he thought hopefully, encouraging Horace to a fast canter as he pounded behind John Damianos. She’d have known of its existence because John obviously did: he went there to have his wound treated. What terrible conflict caused that frightful burn? Josse had no idea. Had there been an attack by one of the pursuing parties? He could not imagine how such a wound could be inflicted…

  Paradisa would know she would be safe at the Abbey. Even if she had learned that the Knights Hospitaller were in the infirmary, surely she had nothing to fear from them? It was their runaway monk they were concerned with, not her. Anyway, she would be aware of the rules of sanctuary. If she hid in the Abbey church then the Abbess and the Hawkenlye community would uphold her right not to be taken away.

  So she might have gone to the Abbey. But there was another possibility: on her way there, Paradisa might have encountered the forest people. They would have been aware of her — they always knew when Outworlders were in the forest — and might have offered to help her and take her in. Josse was trying not to be specific about just which forest dweller it might have been who had acted so kindly. He was all too aware that such an action was typical of Joanna.

  They reached the forest fringes and rode in under the trees. John Damianos appeared to know a different route to the old house. It was the slightest of paths, heavily overgrown, and Josse, following him, had to lie right down against Horace’s neck to avoid being clawed out of the saddle by low branches.

  They reached the clearing and rode up the rise to the house. John swiftly dismounted and ran to the undercroft. He reached up for the key, turned it and, pushing the door open, looked inside. Almost instantly he closed and locked the door again, replacing the key. Then he ran round to the outbuilding and quickly reappeared.

  ‘She’s gone,’ he said. Then, in a tight voice suggesting he was controlling his emotions only with great difficulty, ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She may have gone to Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Josse said reassuringly. ‘She would not have felt safe here after Akhbir came to the house and she would have realized the Abbey was a place that you knew too and where you might reasonably expect her to go.’

  ‘Yes, that makes sense,’ John agreed. Mounting up, he said, ‘Is there a way through the forest?’

  Josse hesitated. There was a way and he was fairly confident of finding it; he knew the forest better than most Outworlders. But the forest people did not like people tramping through their territory, and for personal and very good reasons he did not wish to offend them.

  But a young woman’s life could be in danger.

  ‘Aye, there is,’ he said decisively. ‘Follow me.’

  It was difficult riding through the heart of the forest, although progress was easier than it would have been when the trees were in full leaf. The sense of trespass — of assault — was increased by riding a large horse through the secret, sacred groves. Josse’s senses were heightened. Very aware that the forest people knew he and John Damianos were there, he maintained a careful watch ahead, around and, at first, behind him. Then John, obviously realizing the need for caution even if he did not understand the reason, said very quietly, ‘I will guard our rear.’

  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 ask
ed.

  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.