The Enchanter's Forest (37 page)

     ‘You were sick enough to be in your bed when last we saw you,’ the Abbess reminded her kindly. ‘And you were very pale; as I said, I was concerned for your health, which is why I brought with me our two nursing nuns here. Would you not like to speak privately to Sister Euphemia, or perhaps Sister Caliste, to discuss your—’

     ‘No,’ said Primevère very firmly. Then, with an apologetic laugh, ‘You are so kind,
mes soeurs
, to have made the journey, but it is all for nothing for, as you see, today I am no longer the least bit pale! It is the heat, nothing but that, which occasionally makes me sick. As I told you just now, it does not suit me, yet I am forced to spend much time outside under the sun because, with no husband to bear the burden, it is I alone who must ensure that the builders do as they are told and do not try to take advantage of a poor, helpless widow.’ She cast her eyes down and put a hand to her eyes as if wiping a tear.

     Josse, on whom not one nuance of the speech was lost, reflected that the place where Primevère usually stood was, as he had noticed on his first visit, the one place in the courtyard that was
not
in the sun. But, bearing in mind all that this young woman was having to cope with, it would have been churlish to mention it.

     Ranulf of Crowbergh was speaking, saying something about helping out Florian’s widow and her mother whenever he could but, in addition, having the demands of his own household to see to. ‘And, the dear Lord knows, it always seems that there are just not enough hours in the day for all that has to be done!’

     A servant arrived with a jug of ale, so cold that droplets of water were condensing on its sides. He poured out mugs for the visitors and, after a swift enquiry, one for Ranulf of Crowbergh as well. The ale, Josse discovered, was excellent, light but very refreshing. He drank almost the entire contents of his mug and then, feeling awkward, held it in such a way that his hostess could not see how much had gone. She, however, watched him with observant eyes and gave him a little smile.

     Neither the infirmarer nor Sister Caliste had spoken. Both stood a respectful couple of paces behind their Abbess. They too, Josse knew, had observant eyes. He wondered what impressions they were gaining of Florian’s household.

     Melusine was getting to her feet. A glance passed between her and her daughter and Primevère gave an almost imperceptible nod. We are about to be very courteously sent on our way, Josse thought. Putting down his now empty mug, he said, addressing Primevère, ‘My lady, one thing puzzles us. We have heard that Merlin’s Tomb is now closed and that visitors are being turned away.’

     ‘Ah, I expect some of them have gone instead to Hawkenlye,’ Primevère said with an understanding nod.

     Neither confirming nor denying that, Josse went on, ‘We are asking ourselves who, in the absence of your late husband, has made and implemented the decision to shut down the site? It had proved extremely popular, I am given to understand, and was clearly fulfilling a need for the people in these difficult times. Why, then, close it?’ He looked from Primevère to her mother, then, finally, at Ranulf.

     Whom he caught in what appeared to be an intense exchange of glances with Primevère. ‘It was my decision, naturally,’ she said calmly after a moment. ‘The tomb was Florian’s project and I had nothing whatsoever to do with it. It is no task for a woman and although it is possible that I might have engaged someone to run the place – why, my neighbour here has offered his help’ – she looked up and gave Ranulf a smile – ‘I do not care to go on being associated with it.’ Meeting Josse’s eyes she said, with a moving catch in her voice, ‘Sir Josse, how could I possibly wish to take over a matter that was the cause of my beloved husband’s death?’

     She made a good point, he conceded, and he made her a swift bow in acknowledgement. ‘I quite understand,’ he murmured.

     But I’ll wager, he thought, that you have no such qualms over spending the vast amounts of money that the tomb has brought you.

     The Abbess had also put down her mug. ‘We must be going,’ she said. ‘But remember, please, that we are not far away. If, Primevère, you continue to be troubled by the heat, come and see us and I am quite sure that my infirmarer will be able to prescribe a tonic.’

     ‘Thank you, you’re most kind,’ Primevère said. ‘Now, let me see you on your way.’

     She got up from her seat and, stepping forward, raised her chin and preceded the party out of the hall.

     The groom was waiting in the courtyard with the horses and the Abbess, Josse and the two nuns quickly mounted. Primevère bade them farewell and, just as they rode off, Josse saw Ranulf of Crowbergh hurrying round to the stables. They had gone only a short way up the road when there was the sound of hooves from behind them and he trotted up to join them.

     ‘I too must be about my work,’ he said to the party in general, ‘back to home, hearth and the bosom of the family, you know!’

     ‘Indeed,’ said the Abbess politely.

     Then, surprisingly, Sister Euphemia spoke up. ‘My lady,’ she said to the Abbess, ‘may I make a request?’

     The Abbess looked surprised. ‘Of course, Sister. What is it?’

     ‘I ought to have asked the lady back there’ – she jerked her head back towards the house they had just left – ‘but somehow, what with her very recent bereavement, I didn’t like to. I would so love to see for myself these bones we’ve been hearing so much about. May I ask you, sir’ – she turned eager eyes to Ranulf – ‘if you think it would be all right for us to make a detour to Merlin’s Tomb before we return to Hawkenlye?’

     Josse, wondering what was behind the request, studied Ranulf as he thought about it. The man seemed doubtful, which could, Josse acknowledged, be for a very good reason, if he had guessed that Florian’s site in the forest was a fake. Any decent man would do his best to protect his dead neighbour’s widow from such harmful gossip about her late husband. And on the face of it Ranulf of Crowbergh did indeed appear to be a decent man  . . .

     But then Ranulf’s face cleared and he smiled. ‘Of course it will be all right! Wait here – I will ride back and request to borrow the keys so that I may unfasten the chains. We can’t have you shinning up over the fences, Sister!’ And he gave her what was almost a flirtatious wink.

     As he hurried back to the house, the Abbess was eyeing Sister Euphemia. ‘Why do you want to see the tomb, Sister?’ she asked.

     The infirmarer shrugged. ‘I can’t really say, my lady. Just a feeling I have . . .’ She didn’t elaborate.

     Josse, recalling those observant eyes, suddenly felt sure that the wise infirmarer, with her vast experience of people, had spotted something that the rest of them had missed. He spoke up, addressing the Abbess: ‘My lady, I too would dearly like another look at those bones,’ he said, ‘especially since it’s apparent that it will likely be the last chance for any of us to do so.’

     ‘Although I too must confess to a certain curiosity concerning this place about which we have heard so much,’ the Abbess said, frowning, ‘we really should get back to Hawkenlye.’

     ‘It’s not far and it won’t take long,’ Josse said persuasively.

     The Abbess smiled thinly. ‘Very well. Since Sir Ranulf has already hurried off to see about accommodating your request, Sister Euphemia, I suppose that it would be discourteous now to say we have changed out minds and do not wish to visit the tomb after all.’

     They sat and waited in a rather stony silence for Ranulf to return; Sister Euphemia caught Josse’s eye and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’

     Presently Ranulf rejoined them and, still acting as if this were a cheery midsummer outing, led the way up to the forest fringes and along the track that led to Merlin’s Tomb.

One guard remained, a yellow-haired youth whose thin shoulders suggested he was hardly up to the job. He was on duty at the gate in the outer fence, where presumably his orders were to turn away any last hopefuls, and he slumped in a half-crouch with his back against a post. Seeing and obviously recognising who was leading the approaching group, he instantly straightened up, brushing at his tunic and trying to kick the mug from which he had just been drinking away into the grass. ‘Sir!’ he hailed Ranulf. ‘All quiet, sir!’

     ‘Good, good,’ Ranulf purred. ‘I will pass on the news. Now, man, these good people wish to view the bones, so kindly open up’ – he threw down the keys – ‘and admit us.’

     The guard leapt to do as he was ordered, opening the first gate and then hurrying ahead of them down the path to unfasten the second, higher barrier. As they drew level with him he offered to hold their mounts while they went on into the clearing.

     They dismounted and Ranulf of Crowbergh led them across the short turf to the open scar of the tomb. Then, stepping away, he waved a hand as if in invitation and all four of them approached.

     Like a punch in the chest, Josse felt again the power of those huge bones. It was none the weaker for being experienced a second time; if anything, it was stronger. But then I am not the man I was last time I stood here, he thought. I have spent two weeks with a woman of the forest and some of her beliefs and her spirit – quite a lot of her spirit – seems to have rubbed off on me.

     To distract his thoughts from her, he watched the three nuns as they looked down into the grave. The Abbess was staring unblinking at the skull, as if trying to imagine what the features had looked like in life; Sister Caliste, very obviously distressed, was praying; Sister Euphemia, her face impassive, studied the bones, shot a quick look at Josse, then slowly walked away.

     After a few moments the Abbess, Sister Caliste and Josse followed the infirmarer back to the horses and, thanking Ranulf for granting Sister Euphemia’s request, the Abbess mounted the cob and set off back up the path. At the place where it met the bigger track, she said, ‘Our way is to the left so here we will bid you farewell, Sir Ranulf.’

     He bowed. ‘It has been a pleasure, my lady.’

     ‘We will keep the lady Primevère informed as to progress into finding out who murdered her husband,’ Josse said. Then, watching Ranulf, ‘The sheriff of Tonbridge will be returning home soon and he will be keen to apprehend whoever robbed and killed Florian.’

     Ranulf absorbed this, the smile still on his face turning now slightly puzzled. ‘But I thought it was agreed that some passing thief saw the opportunity and, attacking poor Florian in the darkness, made off with both money and horse?’ He laughed, shaking his head. ‘The sheriff is a good man, I have no doubt, but even he cannot work miracles. Much as I hate to say it, I do not believe that the man who slew Florian will ever be found. Why, he’s probably across the narrow seas by now and
hundreds
of miles away!’

     Josse did not reply immediately; he noticed that his failure to agree seemed to be bothering Ranulf. Finally he said easily, ‘No doubt you are right. Now, we must be on our way – farewell!’

     He felt Ranulf of Crowbergh’s eyes on his back as the little party rode away. It was not, he discovered, a comfortable sensation.

‘Sir Josse?’ the Abbess said.

     ‘My lady?’

     ‘It may well be of no importance,’ she said carefully, ‘but when Primevère spoke to me of her neighbour before I had met him, I believe that she implied he was older than he is.’

     ‘Indeed?’ He could not see why it should matter and the Abbess did not seem all that sure of herself. ‘In what context did she make this attempt to mislead you?’

     ‘Oh, I would not put it as strongly as that!’ the Abbess said. ‘It was just a vague feeling and the mistake may well have been mine.’ She bit her lip. ‘She referred to him as the head of a worthy household and spoke of fussy old servants, both of which gave the impression of a family headed by an elderly couple.’ She made a wry face. ‘Or so I believed. It seems I was misled.’

     ‘And why should Primevère have wished to mislead you, my lady?’

     Her frown deepened. ‘I don’t know  . . .’

     He waited but she said no more.

Nobody spoke again until they were nearing Hawkenlye Abbey. Then Sister Euphemia, who had been lagging behind apparently deep in her own thoughts, kicked her heels into the mule’s sides and, drawing level with the Abbess and Josse, said, ‘My lady, about those bones.’

     ‘Yes, Sister Euphemia?’ The Abbess was looking at her with an indulgent smile. ‘Worth the detour, do you think?’

     ‘Oh, yes, my lady,’ the infirmarer said.