Alys Clare: Dark Night Hidden

Any misgivings that Josse might have entertained over how the family at Lewes would receive a kinsman who had stayed so long away dissipated as soon as he set foot across the threshold. Admittedly, it had been but three days before Christmas Day, and the household was already clearly feeling the jubilatory influence of the Lord of Misrule. However, whatever the reason, they had welcomed him in as if he were the one person whose presence was required to make the festivities perfect.

They had been quite a party. Most senior were Hugh, now a stout, balding man of more than fifty years, and his wife Ysabel, quiet and calm where her husband was loud and demonstrative, but clearly the mistress of the household. Although grown plump and breathless, the remnant of her former beauty was still there for those with eyes to see it. Then there were Isabella, Editha and Aeleis, the elder daughters accompanied by their husbands, Arthur and the dull-witted Howell, and by Isabella’s and Editha’s daughters. Isabella also had a son, called Herbert after his grandfather and always referred to in the family as Young Herbert. He, however, was not of the company since, having reached the age of twelve, he was squire in the household of another knight. Aeleis, the youngest of the sisters, had been widowed two years previously and was childless. She might secretly mourn the latter state — Josse did not know — but she gave no sign that she missed her late husband. He had been some twelve years older than Aeleis and, according to Editha, might as well have been his lively wife’s senior by twenty or even thirty years. ‘Better for both of them to have him snug in his grave,’ Editha had murmured privately to Josse, ‘that way he doesn’t wear himself to a shadow fretting and fussing at her and she can breathe again.’

There had been nothing, Josse felt, which he could say by way of an answer to that remarkable statement, especially on such short reacquaintance. He had contented himself with going ‘Hmm’ earnestly and attempting to look wise. He guessed that Editha was not fooled for an instant because she had gone off giggling to report to her widowed sister and their combined laughter had rung up to the beams of the wide hall.

In addition to the immediate family, there had been cousins, relatives of the sons-in-law, friends of the children and all manner of sundry other folk who, it seemed, presented themselves in Hugh’s hall and took advantage of his generosity for no better reason than that they happened to be passing. Nobody appeared to mind; there was plenty of food and drink and the entire family, Josse concluded, loved nothing better than to sit comfortably before a roaring fire and gossip away the short days and the long, dark, December nights.

But then January ushered in a new year and, after the twelve days, the Christmas celebrations at last came to an end with the Feast of Epiphany. Merrymakers sobered up, guests began to think about leaving, adult sons and daughters departed from their parents’ homes and made for their own. Only Josse, still enjoying his uncle’s company and in no hurry to depart, stayed on as the weeks of January slipped by and February blew in. Then, so far only for the ears of those with access to inner court circles, came the frightful news about the King.

The kinsman of Editha’s husband Howell heard it. He was in fact one of the first among the common folk to do so, working as he did in the employ of the great Walter of Coutances. A King’s man to his very bones, Walter led the Council of Regency appointed to act on Richard’s behalf while he was away on Crusade. Desperately worried throughout the autumn of 1192 by the lack of tidings concerning the King, Walter had sent his spies across to the Continent to see what news could be gleaned. One of his men had infiltrated the court of King Philip of France, and it was he who sent his master Walter a copy of the very letter announcing to Philip the capture of his enemy, King Richard.

That the King was captive was all that was known, as yet, to anyone outside the closest of court circles. And in all conscience, Josse thought now as he tried to sharpen his wits for a game of chess with an unknown prelate, it was enough. .

He was losing to Father Edgar when there came the sound of a horseman in the courtyard outside. The hour was late — Josse had been working on the principle that the right moves might miraculously occur to him if he took his time, and consequently he and the priest seemed to have been playing for hours — and Hugh hurried to the door in some surprise. But then, as a servant wrested it open and Hugh could see who had arrived, he called out loudly, ‘Howell! We had all but given you up! Come in and warm yourself, and quickly — my lads will see to your horse. Editha is not with you, I see?’

Howell, trying to shrug off his heavy travelling cloak, rub some life back into his cold hands and embrace his father-in-law all at once, readily allowed himself to be led across to the fire. Josse and Father Edgar moved to make room for him, and the Father pushed his mug of warmed ale into Howell’s hands.

‘Ah, that’s good.’ Howell nodded his thanks. ‘Dear God, it’s cold enough to freeze a man’s b- er, to freeze his legs to the saddle.’

‘Quite so,’ murmured the priest.

‘Surprised you came so late,’ Hugh said. ‘As I said, we weren’t really expecting to see you tonight — thought you’d leave the journey till the morrow.’

‘Editha insisted,’ Howell said with the faint air of resignation of a man used to doing what his wife said. ‘She sends her love and says it’s too cold for her to ride abroad and anyway Philomena’s gone down with a bad chill and Editha’s nursing her.’ Having done his duty and delivered his wife’s message, Howell gave himself up to the ale.

Only when he had drained the pewter mug did Hugh say, ‘Howell, why did Editha insist that you came tonight? Is there — oh, my heart misgives me, but I must ask! Is there news of the King?’

Howell sank down on to the bench where Josse had been sitting, stretching his short, sturdy legs towards the fire. ‘There’s news, aye. And Editha said she had promised you would hear, soon as there was anything to tell. We’ve had the honour of entertaining my cousin William’ — the fatigue miraculously left him as he swelled with the pride of being related to a man thrust into importance, even if it was only a temporary state — ‘and he’s revealed to us all that he is allowed to tell. It’s secret, see.’

‘Of course,’ Hugh said, even as Josse said ‘Naturally’ and Father Edgar breathed ‘But yes!’

Satisfied with these reassurances — he would, Josse thought briefly, have been satisfied with even less, so eager was he to regale them with his news — Howell took a deep breath, leaned confidingly forward and said, ‘It’s the Austrians, they’ve got him. Duke Leopold’s men took him when he was sick and hiding out in a little village a few miles from Vienna — was it Vienna?’ — he frowned — ‘and now he’s held captive in some great castle on that big river.’

‘Which big river?’ Hugh demanded.

‘Er — I don’t know.’

‘The Rhine?’ Josse suggested. His knowledge of the geography of Europe was no less hazy than the next man’s, but he had an idea that both the Rhine and Austria were somewhere in the middle.

‘No, it wasn’t the Rhine.’ Howell was scratching his head in an apparent effort to help his memory along. ‘What was it, now?’

‘The Danube,’ Father Edgar said quietly. ‘If you relate correctly what you were told and King Richard was indeed taken near to Vienna, then the river in question is undoubtedly the Danube.’

There were nods of satisfaction, quickly curtailed as the four men realised that knowing where the King was did not in fact do much to help him regain his freedom.