Alys Clare - Girl In A Red Tunic

‘I do not know,’ he admitted, adding, for he well knew what she was thinking, ‘but, my lady, we must not instantly fear the worst!’

‘But what if-’ she began, then, with an obvious effort, stopped herself.

Josse put out his hand and briefly touched her sleeve. ‘My lady, this may have nothing to do with — er, with the matter that preoccupies us.’

She smiled thinly. ‘Now that, Sir Josse, I find hard to believe.’ Then, leaning closer to him and lowering her voice, she said, ‘What will you do if he has — if there is evidence that appears to incriminate my son? Oh, Josse, will you tell him what Leofgar told you?’

He looked at her, in pain himself at watching her anguish. ‘Only if I am quite certain that I can persuade him that it’s the truth.’

‘How could you know that he would be persuaded of that before you had told him?’

It was a reasonable question and he found that he had no answer. ‘My lady,’ he said firmly, ‘I know that Leofgar is innocent of murder. I will do all that is in my power, should it become necessary, to convince Gervase de Gifford that the story your son told me is what really happened that day at the Old Manor.’

He felt that he had sounded less than reassuring but there must have been something in his words — or possibly the way he spoke them — that comforted her. She said softly, ‘God bless you, Sir Josse. I will wait to hear your tidings as soon as you are able to return.’

Feeling oddly uneasy — he was touched but also weighed down by her faith in him — he bowed briefly and hurried away.

Josse and Matt rode down to Tonbridge together without speaking a word. When they reached the town Matt said, ‘This way,’ and led Josse down a turning off the main track that led at first through mean hovels packed closely together but then opened out on to fields that sloped gently down to the river. Some fifty paces past the last of the town’s dwellings, standing by itself beside a semicircle of willows, was a stone-built house of modest size with a stout wooden door studded with iron. There was a courtyard in front of the house with rings for tethering horses — and possibly prisoners — and a small stable block. Between the stables and the house was a single-storey building with a door as strong as that of the house and four tiny windows set high up. It did not need much intelligence to surmise that this was the gaol.

Matt dismounted and Josse did the same. Then Matt took Horace’s reins and said, nodding towards the house, ‘You’ll find the sheriff within.’

Straightening his tunic and throwing back his cloak, Josse strode over to the house and banged on the door, which was almost immediately opened by de Gifford. He greeted Josse and ushered him inside to where there was a fire blazing in the hearth. Looking about him while trying not to make his curiosity apparent, Josse noted that the room was well furnished and spotlessly clean; he had not heard that de Gifford had a wife — in fact he was sure that he hadn’t — and so guessed that the woman’s touch evident in everything from the highly polished surface of the long table against one wall to the clean rushes on the stone floor must be the handiwork of some efficient and hard-working housekeeper.

De Gifford said, ‘Josse, I have asked you here because Arthur Fitzurse has been to see me again. He says he has found something and wants us both to see it. He is coming here later this morning.’

His heart dropping, Josse said, ‘What has he found?’

‘Bones.’

Oh, God! ‘Where?’

‘In the forest above the Old Manor.’

Casting round frantically for some sort of counterattack, some factor that would remove the power of this ominous new development, Josse said, ‘But you said yourself that anything he came up with would not be proof that-’ That Walter Bell went to the Old Manor and died there? Was killed there? No, no, he must not say that! Must not put that thought into de Gifford’s mind!

But it was there already, for the sheriff said calmly, ‘I know what I said, Josse, and I stand by it.’ With a reassuring smile, he added, ‘Let us wait and see what Fitzurse brings us.’

They did not have long to wait; in fact Arthur Fitzurse followed so closely on Josse’s heels that Josse wondered if the man might have been in hiding somewhere watching for Josse’s arrival. He came striding confidently into de Gifford’s hall, giving the two men the most cursory of greetings, then he brought out from under his cloak a parcel wrapped in sacking and flung it down on the glossy surface of the table. Unwrapping it to reveal a short length of curved bone and another, stouter bone, he said, ‘There! I found these half-buried in Leofgar Warin’s woods. Tell me now that you don’t believe Walter Bell went there, because I’m telling you that these are the remains of Walter’s murdered body and that Leofgar killed him!’

Josse and de Gifford moved closer and stood in silence gazing down at the bones. They were yellow with age and any flesh or marrow adhering to them was long gone.

Josse felt relief coursing through him, as potent as if he had just drained a mug of some strong drink. After what he felt to be a reasonable amount of time for consideration, he said, ‘Walter Bell went missing at the beginning of November, I believe?’

‘Yes. Just before Martinmas,’ Fitzurse replied. Josse turned to look at him; there was a gleam in his dark eyes like that of a starving man bidden to a feast.

‘Then these bones do not belong to him.’ Josse made sure to remove any hint of I do not believe that or in my opinion from his bald statement of fact; he wanted both de Gifford and Fitzurse to realise that he was absolutely sure.

‘How do you know?’ Fitzurse demanded furiously. ‘This is his leg bone’ — he held up the larger bone, pointing to a small bump about halfway along — ‘and there’s a notch where he had a break when he was a lad!’

‘It may well be somebody’s once-broken leg,’ Josse allowed, ‘but it’s not Walter Bell’s.’ He took it from Fitzurse and put it back on the table. ‘It’s been in the ground for years.’

Fitzurse’s expression went from shock to a devastating disappointment, then swiftly to fury. ‘How can you be so sure? I say it hasn’t!’ he shouted. ‘It was in a shallow hollow under a scatter of earth and some dead leaves!’

‘No doubt a fox left it there to return to later.’ In the face of Fitzurse’s rising anger, Josse kept his voice level. ‘But I do assure you that it takes a long time in the ground to turn bone to a shade as dark as that.’

De Gifford was picking up the smaller, curved bone. ‘I would have to check with someone such as a butcher, who is more experienced with animal bones than I am,’ he said, adopting the same reasonable tone, ‘but I would say that this is the rib bone of a pig, or possibly a boar. Josse?’

Josse took the bone from de Gifford. ‘Aye.’ He looked at it carefully then, lifting his tunic, held it over his shirt at the level of his own rib cage. ‘Too small to belong to a grown man,’ he said, ‘and the curve is wrong.’

He put the smaller bone back on the table beside the leg bone and wiped his hands on the piece of sacking.

There was silence in the hall. Josse was aware of Fitzurse just beside him and he could feel the man’s rage emanating from him like body heat after exertion. De Gifford began to make some remark to conclude the visit but before he had uttered it Fitzurse spun on his heel and strode out through the door. He turned on the top step and said, ‘Walter Bell was killed by Leofgar Warin and his body is at the Old Manor. I will find it and take you there and you will believe me!’ Narrowed eyes on Josse, he said in a hiss, ‘Your precious Abbess Helewise will not be able to help her son then. He’ll hang, and I shall be there to watch!’ He paused. With unbelievable venom, he added, ‘ Then we shall see!’