Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

And Josse, who knew exactly who he was, put a hand down to his sword hilt.

The man in the lead held up both hands, palms outwards, and said in a hypnotic voice, ‘Do not try to draw your sword, knight, for you will not be able even to extract it from its scabbard.’

Josse tugged at his sword but the man had spoken truly and it would not come. ‘What do you want with us?’ he demanded.

‘You have tampered with the bones,’ the tall man said in the same chanting tones. ‘None may do that and live.’

‘I came here to help!’ Josse shouted. ‘We went to Armorica to seek proof that this was not Merlin’s Tomb and to make sure it was closed down! We found the proof but, on our return, we discovered that the man behind the pretence was dead and the tomb already safe behind a secure fence.’

The tall man studied him for what seemed an age. Then he said, ‘My brother here followed you all the way from this place to your destination. He had kept his ears and his eyes open and discovered that his quarry would be crossing the narrow seas and so he followed you until it was clear from which port you would embark. He noticed the party of monks waiting to board the vessel that you selected and it was easy to arrange his dark, hooded cloak so that it looked, to the superficial glance, like a monk’s habit. He made a mistake on board the boat, for he allowed the woman to become aware of him. In his own defence, he had not expected her to be so sensitive and so skilled; usually, when he casts that aura of unobtrusiveness over himself, most people barely even realise he is there.’

‘A monk!’ Josse breathed. He could hardly even recall the party of monks, let alone details such as one of them looking slightly different from his brethren.

‘He dogged your footsteps all the way to the fountain in the Armorican forest,’ the tall man continued, ‘and he followed you back on the homeward journey, right up until the time when he made his presence known to you.’

‘I thought he was dead!’ Josse stared at the man with the staff.

‘Death indeed came looking for him.’ The tall man eyed his companion with dispassionate eyes. ‘He fought an assailant whose power was even greater than his own. He lay down in the forest in the land over the water and he waited for death. As he lay there he sent out his thoughts to those who sent him and they heard. They went to find him and they did what had to be done for him so that he might find a little strength. Then they bore him up to the coast and found passage over the water.’ Again, that curiously disinterested glance at his wounded companion, as if the tall man’s emotions were not in the least engaged by this harrowing tale of his brother’s dogged and dangerous mission and his brush with death. ‘I went to meet him on the shore beyond the Downs so that I could bring him home,’ he concluded. Then, turning suddenly back to Josse, he drew a long knife from beneath his cloak.

‘No!’ Josse shouted. The Domina beside him stood unmoving; with a part of his mind wondering why she did not act — performing some kind of spell to release his sword from its scabbard would have been a start — he lunged forward towards the two men.

As he raced across the ground he sensed someone at his side. The Domina, he thought, at last spurred into action.

But it was not the Domina; it was Joanna.

She had something in her hand and he saw it was her wand with its brownish crystal. She pushed in front of him, screaming out some words that he did not understand, and two things happened.

His sword suddenly came loose from its sheath and, without an instant’s hesitation, he raised it above his head in a two-handed grip and brought it down in a swinging blow of such force that the tall man’s head must surely have been severed from his shoulders. Just as the steel made contact with the man’s flesh, he experienced a sort of tingling in his hands. It extended right up his arms and he felt the muscles in his shoulders quiver. And his blade seemed to meet with no resistance whatsoever.

At the same time Joanna leapt on the man with the staff, knocking it away so that he slumped to his knees. Her own knife in her hand, she struck down in the direction of the man’s throat to finish what she had begun back in the Broceliande.

There was a sudden brilliant light in the clearing, so powerful — so painful — that it was as if the noonday sun had descended to earth. A white mist emanated from it and within the mist there seemed to be flashes of lightning. Josse, his sword still in his hand, could make out the shape of Joanna crouched close to him and he hastened across to her, putting his free arm around her. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked urgently.

‘Yes!’ She sounded surprised. ‘But I have no idea what’s happening. .’

There was a clash in the milky-white haze above them and another flash of light, so searing that Josse threw himself on Joanna. His body covering hers, he closed his eyes tight against the pain.

He waited for the killing blow. There was something , some terrible pressure on his head. Then the world went black and he passed out.

He was aware of the wren’s song and he had an awful headache. But he was alive and so was Joanna; so close to her, he could feel her breathing. After some time he risked opening one eye. Then the other one.

The mist had gone, there was no sign of the two Long Men and the Domina stood beside the grave, alone.

Josse got shakily to his feet, putting out his hand to help Joanna up. Together they walked slowly forward until they stood before the slim, straight figure in the grey robe.

Joanna gave a gasp, pointing. Josse followed her finger. The grave had been filled in.

Before either he or Joanna could say a word, she spoke. ‘I had to stop you for you would have killed them. One is already dying and the one who drew his knife to attack you just now does not deserve death, for he acted as a result of a misapprehension.’

‘What?’ Josse demanded, but he noticed that his voice sounded weak.

The Domina smiled softly. ‘The man who pursued you had very specific instructions. He was to follow you, see where you went and what you did there and, if you believed you had found proof that the blasphemous Merlin’s Tomb here in the forest was in fact the true burial place of the enchanter, then at all costs he was to prevent you reaching England with that information. For, they told him, if the man Josse returns saying that he has found proof that the bones there in Armorica are not those of Merlin, then we are done for and all hope is gone.’

‘But what I was shown at the fountain near Folle-Pensee proved the very opposite!’ Josse protested weakly; his head was hurting so badly that he could barely see.

‘The tall man made a fatal mistake,’ the Domina said. ‘Observing the two of you as you returned from the fountain on the hilltop, he misunderstood the cause of the mood between you. He saw deep sadness on your faces, read distress in the very way you moved. Knowing that you, Josse, were connected with the Abbey, he appreciated that you must therefore have hoped for proof that Merlin could not lie buried in England because his true resting place was in the Broceliande forest in Brittany. Your clear distress on returning from the hilltop, he reasoned, was all the proof he needed that the opposite had happened: he believed that you had been shown some totally unconvincing pretence at a tomb of Merlin, so that you were faced with the unwelcome fact that there was no reason now not to say that this site here was in fact the magician’s true burial place. In addition to what he observed,’ she added, ‘he actually overheard you, Josse, speak the fatal words.’

‘What words?’ Josse demanded.