Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

It was Benoit who noticed Josse first. Hearing some small movement, he turned his cloudy eyes in the direction of the door and said, ‘There’s someone there!’

Sabin and Gervase turned, saw Josse and both rushed to greet him. He was hugged and kissed by Sabin, had his hand shaken and his back slapped by Gervase, and was then escorted to a seat beside Benoit and given a mug of the excellent wine. Benoit put his face right up against Josse’s and said, ‘Why, it’s that fellow, what’s-his-name!’

‘How long have you two been back?’ Josse asked Gervase when he could get a word in.

‘We rode up from the coast and arrived soon after noon,’ Gervase said. ‘We looked out for you in Dinan, hoping to take ship home to England with you, but there was neither sign nor word of you.’

‘No. We — er, we came back by another route.’ He frowned at Gervase who, understanding, gave a swift nod. ‘We’ll speak of it later,’ Josse muttered to him, and again he nodded.

‘Did you find the proof that you went searching for?’ Sabin asked.

‘Aye, I suppose so, although it is irrelevant now.’ He hesitated. Was it all right to speak of this before Sabin and the old fellow? Well, she was about to be the sheriff’s wife and Benoit his father-in-law; they’d have to get used to violence, robbery and murder sooner or later. ‘The man behind the tomb out at Hadfeld is dead,’ he said baldly.

‘How did he die?’ Gervase asked.

Josse gave a thin smile. ‘Not from natural causes, that’s for sure. He was robbed and killed late one night on his way home from the tomb.’

Sabin was watching, her eyes wide. Benoit was muttering to himself about men not being safe even in their own beds; he did not seem to have entirely understood.

‘Any idea who might have killed him?’ Gervase asked. ‘The motive was robbery, presumably?’

Briefly Josse related the story, including details of yesterday’s visit to the young widow at Hadfeld. When he had finished, Gervase demanded, ‘Who is this supportive and avuncular neighbour?’

‘Ranulf of Crowbergh.’

The name was clearly familiar to Gervase. ‘I see,’ he said slowly.

‘You know the man?’

‘I know of him,’ Gervase replied.

‘You do not like him,’ Sabin put in. ‘I can tell from your voice.’

Gervase smiled at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that, although I do have reason to be suspicious of him.’ He frowned. ‘There may well be no justification for my suspicion, however, for as I say I have not met him and what I was told was hearsay, indeed little more than taproom gossip. It was never proved.’

Josse’s curiosity was aroused. ‘What was not proved?’

Gervase paused as if considering whether he would be right to repeat the rumour. Eventually he said, ‘Try not to let this cloud your judgement, Josse, but for one thing, the image of Ranulf of Crowbergh as a contented family man is not quite right. He is a childless widower.’

‘Ah!’ One or two images that had puzzled Josse during the morning’s visit now seemed rather clearer. ‘When did his wife die and what happened to her?’

‘She died late last autumn. Apparently she slipped and fell on a frosty path and cracked her skull against a stone water trough.’

‘But?’ There had to be a but .

‘Oh, it’s very likely that was exactly what happened,’ Gervase said. ‘Nobody saw but the path was certainly icy, she had good reason to be walking along it, and it appeared that the fatal wound on her head was made by the corner of the trough.’

‘Why, then, the rumours?’ Sabin demanded. ‘The poor man surely had enough to bear, losing his wife so suddenly and in such a manner.’

‘True, my love,’ Gervase said, ‘and I would agree with you and condemn such loose talk were it not for two things. One, Ranulf now has his wife’s fortune at his disposal in addition to his own. Two, there is a suggestion — quite a strong one — that he held back from giving the help that might have saved her. She was unconscious and she bled to death and there is nobody to corroborate Ranulf’s claim to have been away from home when the accident happened. His horse was in the stable and he said he was out on foot with his hawk, yet, unusually for him for they say that he and his falcon are an efficient pair, he returned home empty handed.’

‘But if he was using his hunting expedition to explain his absence then surely he would have made quite sure he came home with a good catch!’ Sabin protested. ‘He must have foreseen that people would doubt him.’

‘Perhaps,’ Gervase said.

‘And what possible reason could he have for wanting his wife out of the way?’ she went on, quite cross now on this innocent stranger’s behalf.

But Gervase and Josse exchanged a look; Gervase, Josse thought, could furnish a reason as well as he could himself.

Sabin urged Josse to stay to supper and, after some token resistance, he accepted. Smells had been wafting through from the kitchen for some time now and his stomach was rumbling loudly enough for the others to hear. Gervase had always kept a good table; with Sabin in residence, the quality of the cuisine had soared up to first class.

Before they sat down to eat, Gervase suggested to Josse that they go outside to check that Horace was being well tended; it was a totally unnecessary expedition but Gervase, Josse guessed, wished to question him in private about his return journey.

Out in the evening cool of the courtyard, Gervase said, ‘Was it to avoid Joanna’s accuser that you did not sail from Dinan?’

‘Aye.’

‘Was there — oh, this is difficult, Josse, but was he justified in believing Joanna was behind the death of her husband?’

‘No,’ Josse said firmly. He knew Gervase wanted him to elaborate but he wasn’t going to.

Gervase let out an exasperated sigh. ‘You’re as bad as Sabin,’ he grumbled. ‘She admitted that Joanna revealed quite a lot about her past that night in then inn at Dinan, but she said it was in confidence and totally refused to tell me anything.’

Josse sensed that it was not mere curiosity that made Gervase so keen to know. He was, after all, a man of the law. Taking pity on him, he said, ‘Gervase, Joanna was wed against her will to a cruel old man who made her life a misery. She wanted him dead — of course she did! — and she consoled herself by envisaging ways in which he might die. That does not amount to murder any more than does wishing someone dead.’

‘The wish might be the more potent weapon, when we speak of a woman such as Joanna,’ Gervase muttered.

‘Aye, but back then she hadn’t come into her full power. And since when was anyone accused of murder simply for wishing to be rid of someone they loathed? Great heavens, most of us would be on trial sooner or later if that were the case.’

There was a silence. Then Gervase said, ‘You’re right, of course, Josse. So, go on with your tale. What happened when we left Dinan?’

‘Joanna’s brother-in-law — a man named Cesaire de Lehon — set someone to follow us and the man tried to kill us on our way back from the Broceliande.’

‘Good God! You weren’t hurt?’

‘No.’ Josse glanced down quickly to ensure his sleeve covered the bandage; there was no need to mention his wound to Gervase and for some reason he felt compelled to minimise the drama. ‘Joanna somehow sensed his approach and we were able to fight him off.’

‘Did you kill him?’

‘I? No. But I am almost sure that he is dead.’

‘Did Joanna kill him, then?’ Gervase’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

‘No, no.’ Josse waved away the suggestion. ‘We — er, we had help. From one of the forest people over there. I believe it — I believe he had been following us, protecting us. He came to our aid when we were in danger.’