by Alys Clare
The guard blinked in surprise. Josse wondered if he had expected a more awed response to his tale. ‘Later that night, three men were seen riding away,’ he said. ‘One was tall and thin, fairish, like; one was short and lightly built; the third was broad in the shoulder, a big man. All three wore dark cloaks and pulled their hoods forward to conceal their faces. They raced across to the lee side of the island, where a small boat was waiting, abandoned their horses and climbed in. The boat set out instantly and they were rowed out to a larger craft standing off in the sheltered waters at the northern end of the straits. As soon as they were safely aboard, she raised her anchor, set sail and swiftly disappeared off into the night.’ He fixed Josse with intent dark eyes. ‘The broad-shouldered man was King Richard.’
Dear God in heaven, Josse thought. For this man to state such a frightful thing with absolute certainty, he must be very sure of his facts. He said, ‘You tell me that screams “were heard”, and three men “were seen”. Who heard? Who saw? Is this witness truthful?’
The guard grinned. ‘I guessed you’d try that,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell you who heard the screams and saw that dreadful, unnatural light: it was my brother. He gets supplies in for de Loup and he’d done so that day. He went to meet the knights when they crossed by night from the mainland and he followed them up to World’s End.’
‘Why?’
‘He had his reasons.’ The guard, it seemed, was not to be drawn.
‘And your brother identified one of these fleeing men as King Richard?’
There was a pause. Then, as if he had not heard or was ignoring the question, the guard said, ‘That little boat was scarcely up to riding the waves, you know. It took someone who has known these waters man and boy to row her safely out to the ship. It was all very well at first, because close in to shore the bulk of the island kept off the worst of the gale. Once we were out in the straits, it was a different matter and all three of them had to start bailing if they wanted to save their own skins.’
‘“Once we were in the straits”?’ Josse repeated, pouncing on the word.
The guard gave him a quizzical look. ‘Paying attention, aren’t you? I like that when I’m telling a tale.’ Then, abruptly turning from sarcasm to fierce intensity, ‘It was me who saw the king. It’s not easy to bail and keep your face hidden, but he almost managed it. Then he straightened up – muscle pain, I guess, for he had a hand in the small of his back – and he’d got his foot on the hem of that great cloak. Just for an instant, the hood was pulled sideways and I saw his face as clear as I see yours.’
‘I thought you said it was pitch dark and a storm was blowing?’ Josse said. ‘How was it that there was light to see by?’
‘We were coming alongside the ship by then,’ the guard said smugly. ‘They were leaning down over the side with flaring torches so that I could see where the ladder had been lowered.’
Oh, God.
For some time there was silence in the cold, musty little room. Josse was struggling to absorb what he had just been told, wondering frantically if the man could be lying and then dismissing the idea; why on earth make up such a dangerous story? What would be the point? Suddenly he thought he might have answered his own silent question.
‘Where is your brother?’ he asked.
‘Hmm?’ The guard started out of his reverie. Then, with a scowl, ‘Dead.’
‘Dead?’
The man was shaking his head. ‘I told him not to!’ he moaned. ‘I said, “Don’t you mess with the likes of Philippe de Loup, for there’ll only be one outcome if you do,” but he didn’t listen.’
‘So you mean,’ Josse said slowly, thinking it out, ‘that your brother followed de Loup and the knights to this fortress of his that night because he suspected they were up to no good? He spied on them in the expectation of seeing something he shouldn’t and then attempted to make them pay for his silence?’
‘That’s about it, yes,’ the guard agreed. ‘For all the good it did him,’ he added miserably. ‘Now there’s his rat-faced wife and his snot-nosed brats for me to care for, as if my own weren’t enough.’
Josse hardly heard. ‘But surely de Loup knows of your involvement?’ he said. ‘Why has he not ensured your permanent silence too?’
The guard gave a deep sigh. ‘Because he doesn’t know I was there. He thought my brother would see to the arrangements, just like he always did. It was only ever him.’ Another sigh.
‘Yet it was you, not him, who rowed the boat?’ And you who saw the king’s face, he added silently.
‘Yes, well, I don’t reckon old de Loup knew anything about that little boat.’ His face creased in puzzlement. ‘It was odd, come to think of it, for all the others went back the same way they came out. It was a private arrangement, I believe, between those three knights and my brother.’
‘You don’t know for sure?’
‘No. See, my brother had cricked his neck that morning carrying a barrel of wine into de Loup’s fortress. There was no possibility of him rowing a boat anywhere, never mind in the middle of the night in a gale.’
‘So you acted as his substitute?’
‘Yes, that I did. Weren’t no need to tell anyone, so we didn’t. I rowed the boat; I had the fee.’
‘And de Loup never found out?’
‘No, don’t reckon he did. Like I just said, I’m not even certain he knew about it at all. As to who rowed it . . .’ He shrugged.
After a while Josse said, ‘I am sorry about your brother.’ There was no reply except for an aggrieved sniff. Josse reached into the leather pouch at his belt and his hand closed on some of the coins within. Removing them, he said, ‘You know, I believe, who sent me to you.’
‘I do.’
‘She commanded me to discover the truth.’
The man’s head shot up. ‘I’ve told you the truth!’
‘Aye, I believe you. This tale must not be told anywhere else.’ He spoke with all the gravity and authority he could muster. ‘Take these coins –’ he held out a handful of gold and the guard instantly shot out his hands, palms up, to receive them – ‘in compensation for your brother’s death. What he did was both dangerous and wrong, but he has paid a terrible price, as have his wife, his children and you.’
‘That we have,’ the guard said heavily.
‘But with this money I am also buying your silence,’ Josse added softly. ‘You have not told your story to anybody else?’
‘No!’ The denial shot out of him. ‘Do you think I’m a fool? I dare not! Well, I told the queen of course. That secretary of hers admitted me to her presence, which is all but unheard of for a man like me, and we spoke alone. But I’ve not repeated my tale before this moment, I swear!’
‘Why?’ Josse asked suddenly.
The guard looked instantly suspicious. ‘Why what?’
‘Why tell anyone? Why bring this story to the queen’s attention?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ the guard said with a distinct sneer. ‘Queen Eleanor’s greatly loved here on the island. We may not see her very often but she’s our special lady.’ He sat up a little straighter. ‘I thought it right that she should know what her precious son got up to.’
‘I see.’ It was an answer, of sorts, although Josse could not help but think that the gold now in the guard’s hand was somehow more of a motive for having told what he knew than this alleged great love for the queen. ‘Very well. So it’s just the queen and you who know.’
‘And you,’ the guard pointed out.
Josse chose to ignore that. ‘So,’ he went on, ‘if ever I hear rumours of the late king’s presence here on the Île d’Oléron on a certain stormy night in March, I shall know who is spreading them. Yes?’
‘Yes.’ It was a croak.
‘And I imagine you know full well what I shall do if that happens.’
‘Yes,’ the guard repeated. In the dim light his face looked pale and sweaty with fear.
Josse felt guilty; he was no Philipp
e de Loup, prepared to murder a man for spilling a secret, but this shivering, trembling man sitting before him did not know that. Which, for the sake of the late king’s reputation and Queen Eleanor’s peace of mind, was just as well.
Three
Josse and Brother Augustus were abroad very early the next morning. They made their quiet way to the stables, said to the grooms on duty that they were going to exercise their horses, and soon were riding down out of the castle. Josse had only the guard’s vague description, but he could see the sun rising over the mainland behind him and, aware that the place known as World’s End was on the north-west tip of Oléron, it was not difficult to find the right direction.
The May morning was bright but chilly, with a stiff breeze blowing out of the south-west bending the pine trees and setting the bright poppies in the grassy verges dancing. To begin with, there were a few huddled hamlets and solitary cottages dotted on either side of the rough track, but quite soon these dwindled, as did evidence that the islanders were using the land; within eight or ten miles of the settlement around the castle, cultivated fields were few and far between. The track grew steadily less distinct and it became clear that the dark guard had been quite right when he had said that nobody went up to World’s End unless they had to.
The track curved westwards and all at once Josse and Gus were riding right by the shore. To their left, the land fell away in a low cliff, beyond which stretched a pebbly beach in which there were broad areas of sand, shining now as the surface water caught the early morning light. The wind had increased; it was easy to see why there were so few trees up here at the top end of the island. Those that survived the constant blast had sparse foliage, spindly branches and bent trunks. They looked, Josse reflected, like skinny old people distorted by long toil and endless hardship.
Now where, he wondered, had that miserable thought come from?
Without warning the strong wind grew still and straight away, as if it had been waiting its moment, a soft white mist crept up out of the rough ground. Looking out to sea, Josse was disturbed to see that a wide bank of fog was coming in towards them. The sun was quickly blotted out and suddenly it was very cold. He glanced across at Gus and was surprised to see that the lad’s usually cheerful expression was quite absent; instead he was frowning, his normally smiling mouth drawn down into a scowl. Sensing Josse’s eyes on him, he shivered and said, ‘Not much of a place this, Sir Josse. Wish you’d left me to sleep in my warm bed.’
‘Aye, Gussie, I agree, and I’m sorry I had to bring you,’ Josse replied. ‘It’s just that, as you see, it’s a lonely spot and I wanted company.’
Instantly Gus’s scowl melted. He looked faintly amazed, seemed to shrug, as if ridding himself of an unpleasant thought, and said, ‘Well, Sir Josse, I reckon it’s me who should say sorry, for moaning at you like that.’ Slowly he shook his head. ‘Can’t think what came over me, but for a moment there it seemed as if all the light and joy in the world had been sucked away.’
Oh, dear Lord, Josse thought. He waited until he was sure he could speak normally and then said, ‘All right now?’
‘Yes,’ Gus said stoutly. ‘Let’s ride on!’
They rode for another couple of miles along the shore. Presently they saw a large, dark shape looming up out of the swirling mist. Drawing closer, they made out a squat structure, its stark walls unbroken by any embrasure or window; it was in fact more like a fort or a guard tower than a human habitation. Perhaps, Josse thought, that was what it was. It must surely be Philippe de Loup’s stronghold, and he was grateful now for the concealing fog. Were anyone up on those forbidding walls looking out, they would find it difficult to spot Josse and Gus.
They rode right up to the tower. It stood on a low rise, and all around it was a deep ditch filled with roughly hewn stone and stuck with poles whose ends had been sharpened into spikes. There did not appear to be any means of entry. Slowly Josse circled the walls and on the far side, facing inland, discovered a heavy, iron-bound oak door. It was fast shut and there seemed no way of getting across to it. Above the massive door, there was a series of three arrow slits; within, he realized, must be the room above the entrance of which the guard had spoken.
Gus had been going round the fortress in the opposite direction. Coming face to face with Josse, he said, ‘There’s the door, but how do they get to it?’
‘They probably sprout big black wings and fly,’ Josse said lightly.
Gus’s face fell. ‘Oh, don’t, Sir Josse,’ he whispered. ‘Not here.’
Josse had to concede that the lad had a point.
Gus had leaped down from his horse and was kneeling down on the bank of the ditch. After a moment, he said, ‘Sir, I think I can see how it’s done.’
I’m blessed if I can, Josse thought. Sliding off Horace’s back, he went to stand beside Gus. ‘How?’
‘See, there’s a way down this side of the ditch and it winds along the bottom for a bit, then goes up there –’ he pointed – ‘to where there’s a sort of platform of earth just under the wall.’
‘But the wall’s solid,’ Josse observed. ‘There is no way in there, Gussie.’
Gus straightened up, still staring at the wall. He raised his eyes to look up, then down again, and then he repeated the action. He smiled. ‘Yes there is. They throw a rope with a hook up to the top of the wall and, when it bites, someone climbs up – it’s not far, only perhaps four men’s height – and they scramble over the battlements, down the steps, open the door and push out a plank bridge. Look, Sir Josse,’ he added, his voice high with excitement, ‘you can see where the planks have lain!’
He was right. The ground on the near side of the ditch opposite the door was beaten hard and flat. Now that Josse knew where to look, he could see what Gus had noticed: distinct marks and scratches up the wall above the little platform. Just the sort of marks that would result from someone climbing up repeatedly.
‘Well done, Gussie,’ Josse said with genuine admiration. ‘What a sharp pair of eyes you have, lad!’
Gus said modestly, ‘Oh, it was nothing.’ Then, as if embarrassed by the praise, he hurried on to say, ‘But why do they take such trouble, Sir Josse? D’you think there’s something really terrible inside that has to stay hidden away?’
Josse had not shared the dark guard’s revelations with his young companion; he simply said, ‘Aye, Gussie, I’m afraid there probably is.’
Gus nodded sagely. Then, ‘Reckon I could get us in there, providing there’s an access on the top. If you want to, that is?’
‘Oh, er, aye, I do want to, but it’s quite a climb, Gussie. It could be dangerous.’
Gus smiled. ‘I was a fairground entertainer before I was a lay brother,’ he said. ‘I can still tumble, turn somersaults and walk a tightrope, although I’ll admit there’s not much call for such tricks at Hawkenlye and the habit gets in the way. That little old wall is no great challenge to me.’
Josse returned the grin. ‘Pity we haven’t got a rope. We’ll have to—’
‘Aha!’ Gus got up, hurried over to his horse and drew down his saddlebags. Opening one, he said, ‘Rope, plus a pretty pack of food I wheedled out of that serving maid with the fair hair and the dimple, and a small flagon of beer.’
‘Now do you see why I didn’t allow you to stay in your bed? Gus, you’re a marvel!’
Gus was already swinging the long length of rope. ‘It’s not much use without a grappling hook,’ he said dejectedly, ‘and that was the one thing I didn’t think to bring.’
Josse was quite determined not to be beaten. Standing back a few paces from the ditch, he stared up at the crenellated top of the tower wall. ‘Can you swing a rope as well as climb one?’ he demanded.
‘Yes.’
‘Then what about that?’ He pointed. ‘Above the door and then to the right for a couple of arms’ length – see? There’s a place where there are two gaps in the parapet close together, and the raised stonework between them is quite narrow. Could you circ
le it with the rope?’
Gus looked, for what seemed quite a long time. Then he said, ‘Aye.’ Swiftly he made a running knot in one end of the rope, threaded the other end through it and swung the loop over his head a few times. He stepped up to the edge of the ditch, took careful aim and let the loop fly. The first and second times, it missed and the rope came snaking back down again; the third time, he found his range and the loop popped over the slim upraised section of wall and held fast. Holding on to the other end of the rope, Gus slipped quickly down into the ditch and up the other side and, before Josse could say anything except ‘Be careful!’ he was shinning up the rope.
Josse was so carried away with the thrill of what Gus had just achieved that for a perilous moment he had forgotten that falling into a ditch full of sharp stones and pointed stakes was not the only danger. As this realization flashed its urgent warning in his head, he called out, ‘Gussie! Come back!’
Gus paused, swung himself round so he could see Josse and said, ‘Why? What’s the matter?’
Trying to shout quietly, which was quite impossible, Josse said slowly and deliberately, ‘There may be people within.’
Gus paled. Instantly he slipped back down the rope and landed on soft feet on the little platform.
‘Leave the rope,’ Josse called, ‘but come back over here – we’ll watch for a while.’
Gus nodded his understanding and soon was back with Josse on the other side of the ditch. Quickly and quietly they fetched the horses, which had wandered away a short distance in search of grazing, and Gus replaced his saddlebags. Then they led their mounts over to where, inland from the fortress, three of the stunted, distorted trees huddled together. There were wind-blasted gorse bushes at their feet and they made as good a place of concealment as Josse and Gus were likely to find out there in the wilderness. They tethered the horses, then settled on the thin, spiky grass to begin their vigil.
As the morning wore on, the strengthening sun began to burn off the mist, helped by the returning south-westerly wind, but then, just as before, abruptly the wind fell and the mists rolled back again. No birds sang; all was eerily still, save for the constant swirling of the strange white fog. Beside him, Josse felt Gus shiver. Well, he thought, I know one sure cure for chilly flesh and low spirits. He stood up, fetched Gus’s saddlebags and broke out the food and drink.