The Joys of My Life

by Alys Clare

  Josse diverted from his path and, going up to the little room by the gate where the porteress kept watch, he collected his sword and his dagger. If he was going to come face to face with the sinister Philippe de Loup, he did not wish to do so unarmed.

  He stepped warily along the tracks between the trees. Now, in early summer, they were in full leaf and he could not see far. He held his knife in his hand; within these narrow confines, it was a handier weapon than his sword.

  He walked on. There were no sounds other than the songs of a thousand birds and the soft rustling of the leaves. The forest felt unusually peaceful. Perhaps he was wrong about having been followed.

  Presently he found himself outside Joanna’s hut. As he had done the previous day, he let himself in. Everything was just as he had left it and again he climbed the ladder up to the sleeping platform. Answering some strong unspoken summons, he lay down and closed his eyes.

  It seemed to him that suddenly night fell; he knew in a part of his mind that he must be dreaming, for outside it was midday, the sun high in the clear sky. He surrendered to the vision that was overcoming him.

  She was there with him, lying in his arms, her body pushing against his. He held her close, so close, as if his dreaming self tried to meld her firm flesh with his. She was murmuring to him, sweet loving words, and her face was wet with tears. He thought he heard her say that she had come to bid him farewell. ‘Are you dead, my love?’ he whispered, lips against her soft, clean hair, tears running down his cheeks and into his mouth.

  She said, ‘I am altered, dearest Josse. I am here but not here – I can see you, and my child, and I shall always be with you, loving you, protecting you, calling down blessings on you. But . . .’ She did not go on. Could not, he thought, grief burning through him, for her own sorrow prevented the words.

  Deeper sleep followed and when at last he awoke, his memory of the dream was fudged and already fading. Was it true? Had she managed somehow to reach him and tell him that he would never see her again? Oh, but she had seemed so very real – he could have sworn that the place beside him in the bed was warm from her body.

  Slowly he sat up, dazed, bemused, not understanding where reality ended and dream began. He would feel the pain of loss very soon now. He knew, in some fundamental part of himself, that the woman as he had experienced her was no more, but he kept remembering her soft voice speaking those precious words: I shall always be with you.

  Out of habit, for she always kept the hut so neat and tidy, he reached round to plump the pillows and straighten the covers. Beneath the pillow where in his dream she had laid her head, he found something.

  He picked it up and, wonderingly, stared at it. It swung on its silver chain and it was heavier than he had imagined. It was the bear claw that she always wore round her neck.

  Slowly, not knowing if he was doing the right thing, he slipped the chain over his head and tucked the claw inside his tunic.

  He was barely aware of closing up the hut and setting out back to the abbey. His senses were full of her and it was as if she walked beside him. She was . . . in him, he realized. In some strange way far beyond his comprehension, she seemed to have slipped inside his consciousness.

  Inside his soul.

  Stay, sweeting, he implored her. Stay with me.

  He paced on, so deep within himself that it was some time before he registered the soft but regular sound of someone following him. Suddenly alert, he dragged his attention away from the sweet ways where he had walked with Joanna and back to the perilous present.

  Listen. Listen! There – and there again. Someone was creeping along behind him, carefully matching their footfall to his so that it was barely audible. He went on, trying not to give away the fact that he was aware of his pursuer. Keep the element of surprise, he thought. Act naturally and then when the opportunity arises, grab it.

  He waited until he had passed a dense thicket of bramble and holly, then, without breaking his stride, swung off the path and crouched down behind it. The footsteps came on and after a moment a cloaked, hooded figure slipped past. Silently Josse stood up and with a great leap was on the path behind the man – who was slight and considerably shorter than Josse – throwing one arm round his neck and pressing the point of his knife to his throat. The hooded figure stopped dead.

  Josse said, ‘Do not move a muscle.’ Holding the knifepoint steady, with his left hand he caught the edge of the hood and pulled it back, revealing a head of smooth brown hair, neatly trimmed. Stepping back a pace, withdrawing the knife a little but still pointing it firmly at the man, Josse said, ‘Turn round.’

  He was hit with a series of surprises. First, the man facing him was not a man but a boy of no more than fourteen or fifteen, the tanned skin of his chin innocent of even the fluff that would precede his beard. The lad was slightly built and, although perhaps tall for his age, still nowhere near the height of an adult. The second surprise was that he was smiling broadly, the expression of joyful relief revealing clean, even teeth and crinkling the skin around the brilliant blue eyes. The third surprise was that Josse knew who he was. He sheathed his knife, threw out his arms and, embracing the boy, cried, ‘Ninian! What in God’s name are you doing here?’

  And Joanna’s son said happily, ‘Looking for you.’

  They found a clearing into which the sun shone down, and Ninian took off his heavy cloak and spread it on the grass. He and Josse sat down side by side, Josse twisting round to stare at him, for he could hardly believe his eyes and kept wondering if this was still part of his dream.

  But the boy had come here to find him and it was no time to sit gaping like a stranded fish. ‘What has happened, Ninian?’ he asked. ‘Why were you looking for me?’

  ‘I knew you’d be at the abbey or here in the forest,’ the boy replied. ‘I’ve been watching them down at the abbey and I saw you several times, often with that little girl.’

  That little girl, Josse thought. I’ll have to tell him who she is.

  ‘Then yesterday when I was up here I saw you and followed you.’

  ‘I know,’ Josse said gently.

  ‘Do you? Oh, I thought you hadn’t noticed me!’

  ‘Most people would not have,’ Josse said. ‘I was a bit scared and on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary.’

  ‘I get scared here too,’ Ninian admitted. ‘It’s quite awesome, isn’t it? The trees are so . . . old.’

  ‘Aye, they are.’ Then, ‘Ninian, what’s the matter?’

  The boy’s composure broke. His voice shaking, he began to speak, the words tumbling out of him. ‘I went to France with Sir Piers of Essendon. I was sort of lent to him, for his own squire broke his ankle and couldn’t go. We . . . we went to this island where the wind blew such a gale that you couldn’t see for sea spray and we battled our way the whole length of it to a place where there were no dwellings and no people about, not even fishermen, and just this horrible tower. They said it belonged to someone called Philippe de Loup and he was a lord, or something, and everyone had to do what he said. There were other knights waiting for us and all of them put on long, slippery robes embroidered with the same picture. There was another boy there too – his name was Stephen and he was a bit older than me. The two of us were left in a dark, dank space just inside the entrance and all the men went up into the room above. There was a lot of singing – well, chanting, really – and we saw this weird blue light flickering on the stairs. I’ve never seen anything like it before.’ He shuddered. ‘Then they came for Stephen. They put a manacle on my wrist and fastened the other end to a ring in the wall, so I knew something bad was going to happen. Not that I could have got away – the door was bolted and I couldn’t reach the bolt.’

  Oh, Ninian! Josse cried silently, but he did not speak; it was clear that the boy was only just managing to keep his composure and tell his tale and sympathy might make him break down and be unable to continue.

  ‘They— I heard more chanting, and then Stephen screamed and it
was cut off suddenly, as if they’d stuffed something in his mouth. I could still hear him, though – a sort of terrified moan that suddenly went really high-pitched, as if he was hurting badly. Then there was a crash and a sudden brilliant flare of red light. All the knights started to cheer. I heard them stamping their feet up there, making a sort of rhythmic pattern; then one of them started to come down the stairs and I knew he was coming for me.’

  Josse could only begin to imagine the lad’s terror. De Loup, you shall answer for this, he thought grimly. Whatever it takes, you’ll die for what you did.

  ‘But then all at once lots of things happened very quickly,’ Ninian said. He shot a quick glance at Josse and then lowered his eyes. ‘It was all a bit of a muddle and I’m not quite sure about the details. Anyway, before I knew it I was wrapped up in a big cloak. This cloak.’ He pointed to the one they were sitting on. ‘Someone – it must have been Sir Piers – took the manacle off my wrist and carried me outside. I heard him shouting something about the horses and then I was thrown up on to a huge horse and he got up behind me. I pushed the hood aside and we were galloping as fast as the wind, racing across to the lee side of the island where a little boat was waiting with a man beside it. They – he and Sir Piers – pushed the boat through the surf into the sea and we all leaped in. The man rowed us out to a ship that was standing offshore. The ship set sail as soon as we were on board – well, not the man who rowed the boat – and in the evening of the next day it dropped us at La Rochelle.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘Sir Piers and I set off for Chartres. Sir Piers had something with him that he said had to be left there. It was meant to go in the new cathedral.’

  ‘Meant to?’ Josse repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ Ninian gave him a slightly guilty smile. ‘Only Sir Piers said we mustn’t leave it there because everything was different now. I didn’t understand what he meant, although something had really upset him and I was worried, because I like him. He’s a kind man and I was happy to serve him. Anyway, because I wanted to help him, if he said we had to bring the thing safely back to England, then that was good enough for me and I did what I could to help.’

  ‘And where exactly is this thing now?’

  Ninian was watching him closely. A smile began to form on his lips. ‘You already know, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You found it – or rather, that pretty girl did. You keep putting it away in the abbess’s room, but that’s wrong, Sir Josse. She’s meant to be out here in the forest. She’s much too powerful to be shut up in a cupboard.’

  After a while, Josse said, ‘What do you want me to do, Ninian? If Philippe de Loup has, as I suspect, followed you and Sir Piers back to England—’

  ‘Oh, he has,’ Ninian said. ‘Although it’s not so much us he’s after as what we brought with us.’ Then his face fell and he said, ‘He attacked Sir Piers and tried to cut his throat. I hit him with a big, heavy stick and he sort of collapsed, but I’m afraid I didn’t hit him hard enough because he managed to get up and ride off. I think he thought Sir Piers was dead. I got him on to his horse – Sir Piers, I mean – and left him at the abbey gates.’ He eyed Josse anxiously. ‘Is he still alive?’ he whispered.

  ‘Aye, lad, or he was when I set out this morning.’ Josse tried to sound reassuring. ‘But why did you not come in? They’re good people at the abbey and they would have helped you. They’d have hidden you from de Loup.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Ninian smiled slightly. ‘The nuns hid me once before, remember?’

  Josse smiled too, for the image was irresistible; the resourceful Sister Caliste had dressed the young Ninian up as a nun and pretended to be teaching him how to sew. ‘Aye,’ he said softly.

  ‘I couldn’t come in,’ Ninian said. ‘I had her to look after, and she wants to be in the forest.’

  ‘Her . . . ?’ With a slight shock, Josse realized that he meant the figure. ‘She doesn’t want to be within the abbey walls?’

  ‘No! I keep telling you!’

  ‘Very well,’ Josse said soothingly. He grinned. ‘I’d better stop returning her to the abbess’s cupboard, then.’ Ninian grinned fleetingly in response. ‘Shall I take you to the abbey now? It’s safe there and—’

  ‘No, Sir Josse.’ Ninian spoke with a firm and undeniable authority and suddenly Josse remembered who had fathered him. Good grief, and didn’t it show. Fleetingly he wondered if Ninian knew. ‘I cannot go to Hawkenlye because I have to stay in the forest. It’s . . . it’s sort of where I belong and I feel secure out here.’

  ‘Where do you sleep?’ Josse asked. A thought struck him: perhaps he wasn’t the only one visiting Joanna’s clearing. ‘In the little hut?’ he asked gently.

  ‘No.’ Ninian stared down at his boots. ‘It’s my mother’s place. I know that. But she isn’t there any more. I’ve looked and looked and I can’t find her, and I . . . well, I don’t want to be there without her.’

  ‘I know, lad,’ Josse murmured.

  ‘I’ve been using the house,’ the boy went on, and Josse could hear the effort it took to move away from the emotional subject of his mother. ‘You know, the house in the woods where we were all together, her and you and me. It belonged to her and so I suppose that it now belongs to me.’

  Belonged. Oh, dear God. ‘Do you think . . . ? Ninian, what’s happened to your mother? Do you know?’

  Ninian’s blue eyes were wet with tears. Staring at Josse, he said, ‘I think she’s dead.’

  Twelve

  It was only with grave misgivings that Josse left the boy out in the forest. He walked some of the way back to the house with him, and then Ninian said he preferred to go on alone. ‘I’d better be quick,’ he said. ‘It’s past the time I usually see to my horse.’

  Trying to mask his fear for the lad, Josse said lightly, ‘You used to have a pony called Minstrel.’

  Ninian’s face lit up. ‘Fancy you remembering that! Minstrel came with me when I went to Sir Walter’s, but I’m much too big for him now.’ It was said with a touching note of pride. ‘The youngest pages ride him. He’s old and a bit slow, and they can’t come to any harm.’

  ‘Aye,’ Josse said absently. Sir Walter. That would be Sir Walter Asham, the knight with whom Josse had placed Ninian when Joanna had abandoned the outside world and gone to live in the forest. It was, as she had said at the time, no life for a boy like Ninian, who had such rare and noble blood in his veins.

  ‘And then I got the horse I have now, and he’s called Garnet because his coat is reddish chestnut, and— Josse, you’re not listening!’

  ‘I am!’ Josse protested. Then, for the piercing blue eyes gave the impression that they saw all too clearly, ‘Well, I heard the last bit. I was thinking about Sir Walter. Ninian, why did you not go to him for help when Sir Piers was attacked? His manor is only some twenty miles from here. Did you not know the way?’

  ‘Of course I did! Josse, I couldn’t – it would have been like abandoning Sir Piers and I had been commanded to serve him, so that wouldn’t have been right at all.’

  Josse was thinking ahead. ‘But you will go back to Sir Walter when . . . er, when this matter has been settled?’

  Ninian stared at him for a long moment. Then his eyes slid away. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered.

  ‘But you’re in the middle of your training! Your mother intended you to have the upbringing that prepares a man for the life of a knight and she—’

  ‘My mother is no longer here,’ Ninian said coldly. ‘It is now up to me to decide the course of my life.’ His hard gaze softened. ‘I’m sorry, Josse. I did not mean to be rude. I have to protect the statue, you see, and I can’t really look beyond that at the moment.’

  ‘Aye, I understand.’ Josse looked down into the intent face. You won’t go back to your old life, lad, he thought in a sudden flash of insight. I can’t see clearly what you’ll do instead, but it won’t be what your mother believed was right for you.

  ‘Josse?’ Ninian was looking anxiously at h
im. ‘Is something the matter?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ Josse forced a laugh.

  They were now quite close to the house in the woods where Ninian was living. ‘Go back to the abbey,’ Ninian said. ‘I’m quite all right. I like it here,’ he added.

  Despite his misgivings, Josse saw that it was true. ‘Shall I come and see you tomorrow?’ he suggested. He very much wanted to tell the boy about his little half-sister.

  ‘No, I’ll come to you,’ Ninian replied. ‘I’ll wait behind the big oak where I put the statue.’

  ‘Very well. Until tomorrow, then.’ And with a cheerful wave, he turned and paced away.

  Helewise had been summoned to the infirmary, where Piers was anxiously asking to speak to Josse. ‘He is not here just now,’ she said to the sick man, standing by his bed and taking his hot hand in hers. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Oh, my dear lady, I would speak of matters not fit for your ears!’ Piers protested.

  ‘You refer to the activities that went on in the tower on the Île d’Oléron?’ she asked softly.

  His face, already flushed with fever, burned a deeper red. ‘I am ashamed that you should have had to hear such things,’ he muttered. ‘But no – the matter that lies so heavily on my mind is something very different.’ He paused, studying her intently. ‘My lady, I have spoken of the dark secret that the Knights of Arcturus were formed to protect.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed. She sat down on the edge of his bed, for now they both spoke very quietly.

  ‘It did not originate in Outremer but in Egypt, during an early age of the world when men worshipped strange deities who bore the heads of animals,’ Piers whispered. ‘There was Horus the falcon-headed, Thoth with the head of an ibis, Hathor the helper of women, in the image of the divine cow.’

  The poor man must be suffering dreadfully, Helewise thought, to see such frightening, febrile visions. But she did not interrupt.