Alys Clare - The Tavern in the Morning

After a moment, Josse did so. With unexpected dignity, Ninian straightened his tunic. Then, turning first to his mother and then to Josse, he said, ‘I apologise.’

Josse bowed and said, ‘Accepted.’ Joanna, less easily mollified, merely sniffed.

‘I expect you’re going to send me to bed,’ Ninian remarked.

A smile twitched at the corners of Joanna’s mouth but she managed to suppress it. ‘Indeed I am,’ she said. ‘I wish to speak privately to Sir Josse.’

Ninian sighed. ‘Very well.’

Joanna took her son’s hand. ‘Come with me to the kitchen and we’ll put a tray of supper together for you,’ she said. ‘You can eat it in bed.’

Ninian turned to Josse. ‘I wish you good night,’ he said politely.

‘Good night, Ninian.’

The child paused. Glancing to see if his mother could hear — she had gone on ahead along the passage that, presumably, led to the kitchen — he said, ‘I’m still glad I brought you, even if she’s not.’ And he gave Josse a beaming smile.

‘I think she might be, just a little bit,’ Josse said softly back. ‘It’s just that sometimes people have a funny way of showing that they’re pleased.’

Ninian laughed happily. ‘Especially ladies,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow!’

Especially ladies, Josse thought as the boy’s footsteps receded up the passage. Now how, he wondered, did the child know that?

* * *

It was some time before Joanna returned to the hall. Josse had made up the fire and the brilliant flames took the sombre darkness from all but the far corners of the room. Sitting on a leather-seated chair in front of the hearth, it was a luxury to feel warm.

‘Sorry I was so long,’ Joanna said, coming to sit on the floor by the fire; there was a loose pile of fur rugs and a few thin cushions to take the chill off the flagstones. ‘I was talking to Ninian. I had to make him see that he really must not tell people where this house is.’

‘Am I “people”?’

She glanced up at him. ‘How is a child of seven to know the difference?’

‘But-’ Josse began. And then stopped. She had, he realised, just played right into his hands.

‘Joanna,’ he said instead, ‘supposing it had been Denys de Courtenay who found Ninian’s camp today instead of me. What do you think would have happened?’

‘Ninian would never have brought him here!’

‘Does he know who Denys is? Have they met?’ She shook her head. ‘And have you told the boy about Denys?’

‘No! He — what Denys wants is — No.’

‘And does Denys know of Ninian’s existence?’

She gave him a very strange look. ‘Oh, yes. Indeed he does.’

‘Then, Joanna,’ Josse went on relentlessly, ‘just think about it. Denys knows you to be somewhere in this vicinity. He knows about Mag, he has tried and failed to make her tell him where this house is. In his hunt he comes across Ninian’s camp — it would be difficult, I grant you, the boy has hidden it well. But Denys might have seen the boy on his way to or from the vale. Somebody else might have seen Ninian, and sold the information to Denys for the price of a couple of drinks.’

She was looking pale. ‘I’ve been so careful!’ she whispered.

‘Of course you have! But, no matter how careful you are, you can’t cover every possibility.’

‘I can! I have done!’

‘Joanna, Denys tortured Mag!’ Josse said urgently, keeping his voice down — with difficulty — so that Ninian would not overhear. ‘Supposing she had given way and told him what he wanted to know?’

‘She wouldn’t!’ Joanna said scornfully. ‘She would have given her life for us, she knows what is involved and…’

‘She would have given her life,’ Josse repeated softly. ‘She did give it, Joanna.’ He got off his chair and went to kneel in front of her. Again, her nearness prompted his body to a response but he made himself ignore it. ‘And just think what might have happened if Denys had found Ninian out in the forest today. Might he not have used similar tactics to make your son tell him what he wanted to know?’

She gave a sort of gasp and her pale face went even whiter. She whispered, ‘No! Oh, don’t!’

‘I don’t say this to wound you,’ he said softly. ‘But you have to realise what Denys is capable of, what he might do in order to find you. And — What is it?’

For, amazingly, she had begun to smile. A very faint smile, but, without doubt, her expression had lightened, And a little colour was returning to her cheeks.

‘I have let your passion persuade me,’ she observed, sitting back on her heels and edging away from him slightly. The brief sparkle in her dark eyes suggested she knew very well what she was saying and had employed the words deliberately. ‘Which was foolish of me, sir knight.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I have persuaded you? Of what?’

She twisted her legs from beneath her and, pulling out a fold of the soft fur rug and covering herself with it, folded her arms on top of her raised knees.

‘Oh, I don’t blame you,’ she said, ‘I see full well that you are telling me what you think could well happen. And, were it any other man and any other child, I would agree. I, too, would think that Denys would use Ninian as he used Mag, to get to this house.’ She gave a great shudder. ‘To get to me.’ The dark eyes met Josse’s again. ‘And Denys, I assure you, would not hesitate to beat a child in order to get what he wanted.’

‘I need no assurance of that,’ Josse said quietly.

‘No, I’m sure you don’t.’ She was still watching him. He met her eyes, not looking away.

‘You speak in riddles,’ he said. ‘Just when I think I have grasped the whole story, you say something that surprises me, and I am forced to realise that I haven’t yet begun to comprehend.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Won’t you confide in me?’ he asked. ‘Lady, you need help, even you must admit that. And here I am offering you mine. Will you not put your trust in me?’

There was a long pause. Then she said, ‘Yes. I will.’

‘It is a long story,’ she said, still looking up at him.

‘I have nothing else to do but listen,’ Josse replied.

‘It-I shall have to tell you many things that I would rather not.’

‘What things? There is no need to distress yourself, Joanna. No need, for my sake, to speak of matters that pain you.’

‘But there is need,’ she insisted, ‘if you are to understand.’ She lowered her eyes. ‘The things I would prefer not to have to tell you relate to myself, sir knight. To my own past. And I am reluctant because it is to you that I must tell them.’

‘I don’t see why you-’ He stopped. Yes, perhaps he did see after all. ‘Oh.’

She laughed softly. ‘Oh, indeed. I thought for a moment I was going to have to explain still further. I am reluctant, Josse, because of what I feel for you, because of what I sense you might feel for me. I am not proud of my past.’

‘Which of us is?’ he countered. ‘We have all done things, lady, which we would rather forget.’

‘Forget,’ she murmured. ‘Yes.’ She seemed to go into a reverie and, from her face, he judged it was not a happy one. Then, lifting her chin and staring into the fire, she said, ‘Ah, well, my decision is made. For better or worse, I have a tale to tell you, if you are prepared to hear it.’

Settling back in his chair, Josse said, ‘I’m listening.’

* * *

Taking a very obviously steadying breath, she began.

‘My father died just before my sixteenth birthday, in the summer of 1184. He picked up one of those wretched summer fevers — it was during a hot, sticky spell of weather and many people fell sick — and he was dead within a week. My mother took it badly. Well, I’m afraid to admit my mother took everything badly — she was never a strong woman, or so they say, and when my elder brother died in infancy, it undermined what little fortitude she once had. Father dying so unexpectedly and inconsiderately certainly did make problems for Mother, and there really wasn’t anybody she could turn to. Her own family consisted of an elderly and addled aunt who never knew if it was Christmas or Midsummer Day, and my father’s only sister was dead. Father’s side of the de Courtenay family was very much the minor branch — his uncle Hugh was the ambitious one, and he and his wife Matilda and their four surviving adult children all moved regularly and easily in court circles.’