Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘Yes,’ Primevere whispered. ‘Yes, that’s what happened.’ A sob broke out of her. ‘When Maman told me, she thought I’d be pleased.’

And that — the memory of that moment — was finally too much; Primevere turned her face into Ranulf’s chest and collapsed into his arms.

‘Do you want my help?’ Josse panted as he ran after Gervase.

‘No, Josse. I can have a band of men ready swiftly and there’s no need for you to come as well.’

They reached the stables and Gervase was untethering his horse. ‘Will you go after Melusine too?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Gervase said grimly.

‘And what of Hal? He’s now a very rich man and he rides Florian’s fast horse, so-’

‘His new wealth is what will give him away.’ Gervase was in the saddle now, clearly impatient to go. ‘He won’t resist the temptation to start spending. I’ll get him, Josse; you’ll see.’

With a nod and a very faint smile — Gervase, Josse thought, was going to derive a certain grim pleasure from catching the two people behind the murder of Florian — he put heels to his horse and clattered off across the courtyard and out through the gates.

Thoughtfully Josse made his way back to the Abbess’s room. Shortly afterwards she appeared in the doorway carrying a platter of food and a mug of wine. ‘Sir Josse?’ she said. ‘Ranulf has taken Primevere to the infirmary to lie down and I have arranged for food to be sent in to them. Will you eat too?’

It was only then, with the prospect of food before him, that he realised how hungry he was. He went to join the Abbess and they sat down on a stone seat in the cloister outside her room while he ate.

‘We have come to the end of this particular road, Sir Josse,’ the Abbess said as he finished his meal.

‘Aye.’ He swallowed. ‘Gervase seems to think he’ll catch both Melusine and the guard Hal.’

She was slowly shaking her head. ‘I still find it difficult to accept the fact that Primevere voluntarily gave up her own mother,’ she said. ‘It was a terrible thing that Melusine did, but the woman was so misguided that surely it almost amounts to a sickness, in which case we ought to pity rather than condemn her.’

‘Perhaps,’ Josse suggested gently, ‘such a sentiment might form her defence, if and when she is put on trial.’

The Abbess turned to him. ‘Oh, Sir Josse! To think of imprisonment and possibly even the gallows, when all her life she has been used to such luxury!’

He shrugged. He could not find it in him to feel quite the same sympathy. Instead he said, ‘I think I may know why Primevere acted as she did.’

‘Oh?’

‘I think she may have inherited some of her mother’s instinct for self-preservation,’ he said. ‘She realised full well that she and Ranulf were likely to be suspected of murdering Florian and so, before any questions could be asked or any arrests made, she got in first and revealed who really did it.’

‘But her own mother!’ the Abbess repeated.

Josse gave her a quick grin. ‘Who no doubt guessed precisely what her daughter would do and is even now on her way across the Channel bound for home.’

‘But then — will she not be brought to justice?’

Josse shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Probably, aye.’ He paused. Then: ‘Gervase de Gifford is a very determined man.’

There was a short silence. Then she said, ‘Well, the tomb is closed, thank the good Lord, and we here at Hawkenlye may now wait in happy expectation of our pilgrims returning.’

‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘Ironic, to think that our — my trip to Brittany was in vain since the tomb was going to shut down anyway.’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

Again, silence fell between them.

He thought for some time before expressing the thought that had steadily been growing in his mind. There was something that he very much wanted to do; he knew full well what was behind this final excursion that he had to make and he was quite sure the Abbess would have no difficulty in guessing this reason. But he decided to tell her just the same.

‘There’s one thing I would still like to see to,’ he said, sipping at his mug of wine.

‘And that is?’

‘I want to have another look at those old bones,’ he said.

‘You do? Why?’

He was not sure that he could tell her, for he barely knew himself. ‘Oh, I don’t know, just a feeling I have. We now know whose they aren’t, but I’d still like to see if I could discover where Florian found them and who they really did belong to.’

‘A very big woman,’ the Abbess said. ‘Is that not enough, Sir Josse?’

‘No, my lady. Perhaps it ought to be, but-’ He shrugged. ‘Somehow I sense that there is still more to this business.’

‘Your instincts are usually sound,’ she said loyally. ‘Go and have your final look, sir Josse. If you set out now, you will be there and back again by sunset.’

He rode slowly along the track that led around the forest fringes. Horace was tired — so was he — but there was no hurry and the horse had been rubbed down and watered when they returned from the earlier journey. Besides, it was cool in the shade.

His mind and his heart turned constantly into the forest to where he knew — or assumed — she was, she and his little daughter. He wanted more than anything to turn in under the trees and, riding as hard as conditions allowed, go and seek them out. But he had promised her not to; not for the time being, anyway.

She too had felt the deep, searing pain of their separation; he knew that as well as he knew himself. They had both tentatively explored the ways and means by which they might contrive a life together but in each case the same stumbling block cropped up: she was a woman of the forest, only just starting to come into the power that was both her and her daughter’s destiny, and her home was the wildwood. She had no desire to live among the Outworlders — she had experienced enough of that life to last the rest of her days — and even her love for him did not tempt her to try. He, for his part, knew that life out in the little hut in the clearing was not for him. I am, he had decided ruefully, too used to my comforts and to the security of four stout stone walls around me when I lay my head down at night. And as for all that magic stuff. .

She would not marry him; he had asked her and, lovingly, tears in her eyes, she had gently turned him down. ‘The answer, my beloved Josse, is the same as it was the first time you asked me.’

The best that they had managed to come up with — and even that, bearing in mind how very great was their sorrow, was not that good and brought little consolation — was that both of them would return to their usual lives and that he would visit her regularly just after the days of the solstices and the equinoxes (he had had to ask her when they fell). She would usually be at home then, she had said, recovering her strength after the ceremonies.

He did not want to know about those, which was just as well since she didn’t tell him.

It was July now, less than a month past the summer solstice, and the next quarter day was not until late September.

How, he howled inside his head, am I to manage?

He rode on determinedly towards the site of Merlin’s Tomb. It was good to have something to do and, as he drew close, he actually felt a tingle of excitement at the thought of having a closer look at the ancient bones.

There was no sign of the guards and the gate in the outer rail fence was still chained shut. Josse tethered Horace to the top rail, climbed the fence and walked on. The gate in the second, higher fence was closed but the chain had not been refastened. He pushed the gate open and slowly walked across the turf to the open grave.