by Alys Clare
He looked at her, wiping blood from his lip with his left hand.
‘Go!’ She ran across to him, pushing at him. Still wild from the fight, he felt as hard as iron. She put her hands on his shoulders, pulling him close. ‘Ninian, if he’s dead they’ll make sure you hang!’ she cried urgently. ‘He’s a great lord, and you’ve felled one of his men! Even if you and I swear it was two against one and they attacked you, who will be believed?’
Still he did not move.
Desperate now, Meggie went in for the kill. ‘What would it do to Josse if you were hanged?’ she demanded, sobbing. ‘He loves you like a son, and he’s already lost our mother. Would you break his heart again?’
She had reached him. She knew it. He sheathed his knife, bent to pick up his sword and, straightening, gave her a hard hug. Then he turned and ran.
NINE
Meggie waited until she could no longer hear him. Rosamund had come to stand beside her, pressing herself close against Meggie’s body. Absently, she smoothed the girl’s fine hair. ‘The danger is past now,’ she murmured. ‘You’re safe with me.’
The desire to take to her heels and, grabbing Rosamund’s hand, run as fast as she could to the hut in the forest was all but overwhelming. The hut was where she had lived as a child with her mother. It was the most secure place that she knew, for very few people were aware of its existence. Meggie knew how to make it all but invisible. She had seen her mother work that particular piece of magic when she needed to hide from the world, although Meggie did not think that her mother had known her little girl was watching and memorizing the chant and the actions.
Meggie wished with all her heart that her mother was there in the wildwood waiting for her. She wasn’t; she had gone, and she would not come back.
Meggie knew she couldn’t go where her heart desired. For one thing, if she ran away with Rosamund now, the girl’s poor parents would have to wait even longer to know she was safe. Meggie could barely imagine what they had been enduring. She had briefly explored a little way towards Paradisa’s mind, but it had hurt very much and she had stopped.
The other reason – two reasons, really – were in the clearing with her. One was lying on the ground and not moving; the other had sat down on the grass and, one hand clamped to his shoulder, was staring at the blood welling up between his fingers.
Meggie disengaged herself from Rosamund. Her hands on the girl’s shoulders, she stared into the wide eyes. ‘I want you to go over to the edge of the clearing and keep an eye on the abbey gates,’ she said. ‘If you see one of the nuns or monks, yell as hard as you can to catch their attention.’
Rosamund’s trembling stopped as soon as Meggie finished issuing her simple command. Watching her hurry away across the grass, Meggie smiled. She was a plucky girl and, given a task, she had put her fear and her horror aside and got on with doing what she was told.
Meggie spun round and went over to the man lying on the ground. She glanced at the man in the russet tunic and saw that his eyes were on her. ‘I will come to you in a moment,’ she said calmly. ‘Your companion here appears to be the more gravely wounded, so I must tend to him first.’
She knelt beside the young man, her hand out to touch his face. His skin was cool and clammy. She put her fingers to his throat, feeling for the pulse of life. She was not sure if it was there. She bent over him, her cheek against his mouth, and felt the faintest in and out of his breath.
Then, when she knew he was alive, she began examining him. He had a wound in his side, under his right arm. It was quite deep and bleeding a great deal. She reached under her skirt and grabbed her linen underskirt, biting the cloth with her teeth and ripping a length of fabric. She balled it up and pressed it against the wound, undoing the man’s belt and fastening it up again over the pad of cloth. She noticed bruising across his ribs and wondered if he had winded himself. He needed more help than she could provide, for she had no medicaments and no proper bandages, and the day was cold. She got up and hurried over to the older man.
‘Let me see,’ she commanded. He took his hand away from his shoulder. His wound was less deep, but still bad enough. She tore another length off her underskirt, again folding a pad and putting it against the cut. ‘Press that, very hard,’ she said.
He obeyed. She sat back on her heels watching as the blood stained the white linen. It seemed to her that the flow was already lessening.
She felt his eyes on her. Turning, she saw that he was smiling. ‘I have had many wounds,’ he remarked, ‘but never such an exotic bandage. May I be permitted to keep this piece of your delectable underskirt, lady?’
Against all expectations, she laughed.
His smile widened, and he chuckled. ‘I thought you might be offended,’ he said. ‘I thought you might get angry again, like you did just now, and stab my other shoulder.’
She was still smiling. Whatever sort of a predator he was, he had charm. ‘That was then,’ she said. ‘Now, you are wounded. You are in my care, and I am not in the habit of sticking my sword into my patients.’
‘That’s lucky,’ he observed. ‘You swing a sword like a man, although your technique could be refined.’ The blue eyes blazed up at her, full of a seductive heat that required the swift assembly of her defences. ‘I’ll give you some lessons, if you like.’
‘Yes, I will accept,’ she said calmly. ‘Once you are healed, that is.’
She got to her feet. As she did so she heard him say her name, just once, so softly that she only just picked it up. She stared down at him. ‘I am going to Hawkenlye Abbey for help,’ she said. ‘I will be quick. Your companion there is, I think, unconscious. He has a bad wound in his side, and he should stay still. I have stemmed the bleeding as best I can—’
‘That wonderfully accommodating petticoat,’ the man murmured.
‘—but if he tries to sit up, it will get much worse.’
The man looked across at the still figure on the grass. ‘I will try to make sure he does not,’ he said. He met her eyes again. Serious now, he added, ‘You have my word.’
She nodded. She had done her best. She turned and ran across the clearing, where she caught Rosamund by the hand. The two of them flew as fast as they could down the slope to the abbey.
No matter how strong the urge was to go back immediately with helpers and medicaments to aid the two men up by the chapel, Meggie’s first duty was to Rosamund. She took the girl straight to Abbess Caliste’s room where, much to Meggie’s relief, the abbess was working at her table.
On seeing who Meggie had with her, the abbess’s face broke into a brilliant smile. She leapt up from her chair and flew across the small room, swooping down and taking Rosamund in her arms in a quick, intense hug.
‘You are unharmed?’ She broke away, holding Rosamund at arm’s length and running anxious eyes over her.
‘I am perfectly well, thank you, my lady,’ Rosamund replied politely.
Abbess Caliste looked up at Meggie. ‘Where did you fid her? Did you—?’
‘My lady, I am sorry but I cannot stay to explain,’ Meggie said. ‘Two men lie wounded by St Edmund’s Chapel and, with your permission, I will take a party to help them and bring them back to the infirmary.’
Abbess Caliste stood up, put the emotion of the moment aside and said briskly, ‘Of course. Tell Sister Liese that you have my authority to take whoever she thinks.’ Her eyes slipped back to Rosamund, and a trace of her beatific smile returned. ‘Meanwhile, you and I, young lady, will send word to your parents, so that they may come to rejoice with us and give thanks for your safe return.’
Meggie had to admire Sister Liese’s efficiency. Within a very short time, she had assembled four sturdy monks to carry the two stretchers and a nursing nun to accompany her to tend the wounded. Meggie had briefly described the wounds, and Sister Liese and her companion each carried satchels containing all that they would need. Sister Liese nodded to Meggie and said, ‘Lead the way, please.’
Meggie set a fast
pace back up the slope to the chapel. To her great relief, the younger man was still lying just as she had left him. Pointing across the clearing, she said to Sister Liese, ‘He has the worse wound. There is a bad cut under his right arm, a long slash to the left forearm and there may be other injuries too.’ The fight had been so devastatingly swift that she had no idea what had happened.
Sister Liese nodded. ‘What about him?’ She looked at the older man, who was lying back with his eyes closed. ‘Where’s his wound?’
‘In the right shoulder and not as bad. He has lost much blood, however, and is probably feeling faint.’
Sister Liese issued some brief commands, and immediately the nursing nun bent to attend to the man in the russet tunic. The infirmarer went over to the younger man, gently loosening the belt and removing the makeshift bandage. She looked up at Meggie, who had hurried to stand anxiously behind her.
‘The bleeding is slowing,’ she said. ‘You did well.’ For an instant she eyed Meggie with undisguised curiosity, and then went back to her patient.
Very soon, the infirmarer deemed both men ready to be moved. With gentle hands, the monks got them on to the stretchers, and they set off back to the abbey, the nuns in attendance. Meggie watched them as they carefully descended the slope. She was about to follow when abruptly her legs gave way and she found herself sitting on the grass.
Shock, she told herself firmly. Shock, and too much running around. She raised her knees and folded her arms on top of them, dropping her head and giving in to her fatigue. But as soon as she relaxed, an image of Ninian flew into her mind.
Her head shot up. Where was he? Oh, she did not even know if he had taken his horse! Leaping up, she ran to where they had left the two animals, on the fringe of the forest. Both horses were still there. She put her arms around Daisy’s neck and leaned against her. The mare gave a soft whicker and nudged her nose against Meggie’s shoulder.
‘I don’t know where he’s gone,’ Meggie whispered to her. ‘He’s fled on foot, so I guess he is within the forest.’ In the most secret ways of the wildwood, progress on horseback was all but impossible. She put a hand out to Ninian’s horse, unwinding the reins. ‘You’d better come with us, my friend Garnet,’ she said to him. ‘Ninian may well have need of you, before long.’
Slowly, she led both horses along the track that curved around the bulge of the forest and back to the clearing before the chapel. She was about to head on down to the abbey, but all at once she knew what she needed. Tethering the horses once more, she crossed the grass and went into the chapel.
She knew straight away that something was wrong. The chapel was small and very simple, and one glance sufficed to take in the stone flags of the floor, the pale oak rood screen and the unadorned altar with its plain cross. Her heart beating hard, Meggie crossed to the flagstone that, although few knew it, was also a trapdoor concealing the steps down to the crypt. She had seen as soon as she entered that it was not quite closed.
Many possibilities raced through her head, each worse than the one before and all pointing to the terrible suspicion that somebody had slipped into the chapel, opened the trapdoor and descended to the place that held the chapel’s secret. Would the Black Madonna still be there? Or had she vanished?
She pushed back the trapdoor, and it crashed against the floor. She flew down the narrow little steps and, ducking her head beneath the low arch, burst into the crypt.
In front of the niche where the Black Goddess sat, somebody stood guard. She had a heavy stick in her hand. As Meggie sprang out before her, she swung it up over her head.
‘Keep away! You cannot have her!’ she shouted.
Meggie fell against her, enveloping her in her arms. ‘It’s me!’ she cried. ‘It’s all right, it’s me!’
The stick fell with a thud to the floor and Helewise said, ‘Meggie! Oh, Meggie!’
The two women hugged. Meggie could hear Helewise’s heart thumping in her chest. ‘What were you doing?’ Meggie asked.
‘I heard voices, shouting,’ Helewise replied, with a slightly shaky laugh. ‘I was up in the chapel praying that Rosamund would be found today, and suddenly there were people outside and the sounds of a scuffle. I was quite sure they had come for the goddess. I had to save her.’
Meggie looked at her lovingly. ‘Where did you get your weapon?’
Helewise laughed again. ‘There’s a little bench in the corner there, for when people want to sit in vigil down here. I pulled one of its legs off.’
‘Strong as well as resourceful,’ Meggie murmured. Then something struck her. ‘Did you not feel similarly compelled to protect the wooden cross on the altar?’
Helewise gave her a serene smile. ‘I did not feel that was in any danger.’
Meggie reached for her hand. ‘Your prayers have been answered,’ she said gently.
Helewise’s expression went from confusion to doubt to a tentative hope. ‘You mean they’ve found her?’
‘Yes. She’s down at the abbey.’
Helewise closed her eyes, and her lips moved silently. Then, looking at Meggie, she said, ‘Go and find your father. Abbess Caliste will have sent someone to notify Rosamund’s parents, and Josse should be told too, as soon as possible.’
‘There’s—’ Meggie had been about to say that there was something else she had to tell Josse: about Ninian and what had happened outside the chapel. But she stopped herself. Let Helewise enjoy this moment of joy for a while. ‘I will,’ she said instead.
Back at the abbey, Meggie learned that riders had already been sent to New Winnowlands to find Dominic and Paradisa, and out to the north and west of the abbey, to where Josse and Gervase were searching. Josse and the sheriff, however, had been on their way back to the abbey when the messenger found them and, as he gave them the news, Gervase had very gladly given the order that all search parties could now stand down. Then he had headed down to Tonbridge to spread the word there, and Josse had ridden as hard as he could back to Hawkenlye, where Meggie had been waiting.
She took her father aside to speak to him privately. ‘Father, there was a fight up by the chapel,’ she said quickly. ‘Ninian and I were trailing the men who had Rosamund. He struggled with two of them and both were wounded, one badly.’
Josse’s face had paled. ‘Will he live?’
‘I do not know. Both are in the infirmary.’
‘And Ninian?’
‘He was unhurt, at least I believe so. But, Father, these men are important lords, men of wealth and power! They are richly clad – at least, one of them is – and they ride fine horses. They were hunting on the Ashdown Forest, and only men of high position are allowed to do that. If Ninian has killed one of them – even if the man lives, Ninian inflicted a grave wound – then they won’t rest till he’s caught and hanged.’
Josse watched her, pain darkening his eyes. ‘He has fled?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I told him to. It seemed the only thing he could do.’
Josse did not speak for some time. Then he put his arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. ‘I don’t know, my love, if what you did was sensible,’ he said. ‘It could be argued that Ninian would have been wiser to stand his ground and defend his actions – you say there were two of them, so he could surely have been forgiven for defending himself when they attacked.’
‘But—’ she began.
He stopped her. ‘Dearest, I said your action might not have been sensible,’ he murmured. ‘What I was going to say was that, sensible or not, it’s what I would have done too.’ He bent to put a kiss on her forehead. ‘Better to have fled than take the terrible risk of a trial going against him.’
They stood together for some moments and, as she had always done, she took strength from him and from the great love she knew he had for her. Then he took her hand and, with a brave attempt at a smile, said, ‘Come on. We had better visit these two important lords of yours.’
The men had been installed at the far end of the infirmary, a littl
e away from the other patients. Josse, still holding his daughter’s hand, walked the length of the ward, aware of many pairs of curious eyes on them. He smiled to himself. The average humble peasant coming to Hawkenlye with a broken wrist or a chesty cough was not normally treated to the spectacle of two of the lordly class borne in on stretchers, and the story would no doubt soon be spreading far and wide.
Josse glanced at Meggie. She was biting her lip, a sign that she was feeling anxious. She loved her half-brother dearly, Josse reflected. If she sensed that she had advised him ill, she would not forgive herself.
We shall have to make sure he is safe, Josse thought.
They had reached the far end of the infirmary. Sister Liese stood waiting for them. Greeting Josse, she drew back the curtain to the recess on her right. ‘This is the more seriously injured man,’ she said, standing back to allow Josse and Meggie into the cubicle. ‘Your daughter did well,’ the infirmarer added. ‘The care she gave him immediately after he received his wound probably saved his life.’
Josse gave Meggie’s hand a squeeze, which she returned. There would be time later to tell her how proud he was of her.
‘How is he?’ Josse asked. He studied the young man. He was around twenty, with a square face and brown hair, although the stubble of beard on his jaw was closer to red than brown. He recalled that the man who had taken Rosamund had been mistaken for Ninian, but under the present circumstances, with this man lying in bed and unconscious, it was hard to tell how strong the resemblance was. ‘Do we know his name? Has anyone asked his companion?’
‘I do not believe so,’ the infirmarer replied. ‘As yet, Sir Josse, we have been fully occupied with tending the two men, and there has not been time for such matters.’
‘No, I understand,’ Josse said. He took another look at the still figure. This man had a great deal to answer for. ‘Sister, please will you inform me when he can speak to me?’
She bowed her head. ‘I will.’