Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

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 Primevere 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 Primevere 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 Primevere 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.

She paused. Then, surprising Josse with the firm conviction behind her words, stated baldly, ‘Whoever else they may or may not belong to, those are not the bones of Merlin.’

‘So Sir Josse also believes, Sister, having been shown a mysterious site in Brittany which appears to have a better claim to be Merlin’s burial place. But-’

‘Forgive me for interrupting, my lady, but that’s not the point.’ The infirmarer’s face was flushed. ‘Those aren’t any man’s bones. For all their size, I know I’m right because in this instance I know what I’m talking about.’ She paused. Then she said, ‘Those are the bones of a woman.’

‘Sister Euphemia, how can you possibly be so sure?’ the Abbess demanded.

They were back in the Abbess’s room, she herself seated behind her table, the infirmarer, Josse and Sister Caliste standing in a row before her.

Sister Euphemia did not seem at all put out by her superior’s impatient question. ‘I have long worked as a healer, my lady, as you well know,’ she replied calmly. ‘Before I entered Hawkenlye, I was a midwife. I have laid out my fair share of dead bodies and sometimes those I prepared for their graves had been long dead. I know full well the differences between the skeletons of a man and a woman. There are two main things to look for,’ she went on eagerly, ‘first, the skull, where normally the ridges above the eyes are much more pronounced in a man than in a woman.’