Alys Clare - The Tavern in the Morning

The man edged closer and put one hand on the gate. ‘Aye, that he does! Been struck on the head, I reckon, there’s blood trickling down his face.’

Josse was torn. What should he do? Go out and tend to this poor soul, attacked on the road? Or do as his instinct strongly told him to, and ignore this as an elaborate bid to get him to open up and go out?

Once I am outside, he thought, Joanna will be alone within.

But supposing there really was an injured traveller out on the road! It was quite possible the man had merely taken a tumble from his horse, it might just be Josse’s heightened sense of danger that was making a threatening situation out of something perfectly innocent.

‘Any sign of a horse?’ he asked. ‘Could the man have had a fall?’

‘Oh.’ The peasant at the gate appeared to think about it. ‘Could have, I reckon. Could have crumped his head as he fell, aye.’

Josse made up his mind. He said to the peasant, ‘A moment.’ Then, turning, he beckoned to Will and, when he was close enough to speak to without the man at the gates overhearing, he said, ‘Come with me.’

He led the way up the steps, rapped on the door and said, ‘Joanna, open up.’ She did so instantly; she must have been standing right by the door.

Once inside, Josse strapped on his sword and stuck his dagger in his belt. As an afterthought, he collected a heavy bolt of wood from the stack by the fire; it was a clumsy weapon, but would serve as a club in an emergency.

Joanna was beside him. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘Tell me! Where are you going?’

He turned to her. ‘There’s a rough-looking fellow at the gate, who claims he’s found an injured man on the road. It’s possible he’s been thrown from his horse. He’s hurt his head, so I’m told. I’m going out to have a look.’

She was shaking her head. ‘You mustn’t,’ she said urgently. ‘It’s a trap, Josse. They — he — Denys is behind this, I’m sure.’

He stared into her eyes. It was strange, but, while he read in them a thrilled response to this sudden danger, he read no fear. No alarm.

‘What do you suggest?’ he asked softly.

‘I don’t — I’m not-’ She looked down, frowning. Then, meeting his eyes again, she said, ‘No. I do see, you have to investigate.’

‘Oh.’ He would almost rather she had pleaded with him a little longer.

She gave him a quick, hard hug. ‘Be careful,’ she said.

‘I shall.’ He pushed her away gently, staring down at her. ‘Hide yourself,’ he urged. ‘Get Will to help you, and get into some secret corner where nobody can find you.’

Her eyes widened. ‘What for?’

He said, exasperated, ‘In case this is a trap and I’m overcome! If that happens, Joanna my sweet, then they’ll be in here, quick as you please, and looking for you.’

Again, there was that odd lack of fear. Nodding her agreement, she let Will hurry her out of the hall. It was, Josse thought, almost as if she’d had all this worked out beforehand …

But then he was outside again and the man at the gate was waiting.

Josse opened the gate, slipped out and said, ‘Come along, then. Show me your injured man.’

‘Aye, aye,’ the man said eagerly, ‘he’s along here … just you follow me, sir … past this open stretch of track, then in under here, where the trees make a shadowy overhang. Maybe you’re right, now, sir, and his horse spooked at sommat in the darkness, throwing him off, like. There!’ Stopping, he pointed ahead.

Josse stared into the gloom beneath the trees. He could make out the edge of the track, and, beside it, a narrow grass verge which sloped down into a ditch. There were deeper patches of shadow behind the ditch, where the undergrowth encroached.

On the lip of the ditch was a long shape. A man’s body, dressed in dark clothing. And, at one end, the pale blur of a face.

Josse ran forward.

He did not see the trap until hands descended on him, grasping him by the upper arms, smothering movement, effectively preventing him from reaching for his sword or his dagger. The makeshift club was knocked out of his hand and fell to the ground with a thud.

There were two of them, the man who had come up to the gates and another, who must have been hiding in the shadows. As Josse wrestled with them, managing to throw one of them off him and, with a swift kick to the head, put him out of action, a third man leapt up out of the ditch to take the downed man’s place.

And, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness, Josse could see clearly what lay on the lip of the ditch.

Brother Saul.

His black habit was wound tightly round his legs, secured with a length of twine, and his hands were tied behind him. The man who had been crouching behind him — in his dark cloak, invisible in the darkness — had had a hand over Saul’s mouth, preventing him from shouting a warning. Now that there was no more need for silence, the man removed his hand, straightened up, jumped nimbly across the ditch and stood before Josse.

And Denys de Courtenay said, ‘Josse d’Acquin, we meet at last!’

Josse ignored him — even as the attack had begun, he had known who must be behind it — and called anxiously, ‘Brother Saul! Are you hurt?’

‘I’m all right,’ Saul called back. ‘Sir Josse, I’m so sorry — we thought to warn you, to tell you that de Courtenay was searching for you, but instead of helping, I led him straight to you!’

Denys de Courtenay laughed. ‘You did that all right, Saul!’ he said cheerfully. ‘Your Abbess Helewise thought she was being so clever, slipping away to give you your orders! But she’s not as clever as she thinks, because it didn’t occur to her that I’d have guessed she’d do exactly that, and have a man in hiding outside the Abbey to follow her messenger.’

Brother Saul gave a violent wriggle but the cords binding him held fast. ‘You are an evil man!’ he cried to de Courtenay.

‘Evil?’ De Courtenay seemed to think about it. ‘No. I don’t believe I’m evil. Scheming, perhaps, but what man is not?’

‘You-’ Saul began. But de Courtenay turned his back and, nodding to his men to bring Josse, walked off in the direction of the New Winnowlands gates.

‘You can’t leave him there!’ Josse protested. ‘It’s freezing out here and he’s injured!’ Was that true? Or was the injury an invention?

‘He’s warmly wrapped in that monk’s habit of his,’ de Courtenay said casually. ‘And the chill will do his head good. Swellings usually go down when you put something cold on them.’

‘You heartless bastard,’ Josse said.

‘Heartless, perhaps. Bastard, nay. My parents had been wed twenty years and more by the time my mother bore me.’

Josse barely heard. With a great heave, he shrugged off the lighter-built man holding his right arm, twisting the man’s wrist viciously, and, before the man had a chance to grasp him again, he lunged forward and grabbed de Courtenay by the shoulder. ‘What do you want of me?’ he demanded. ‘What is your purpose in trailing Brother Saul to my house? How dare you assault me in this manner!’ His anger rising to boiling point, he spun round, caught the man on his left-hand side a great blow beneath the chin with his right fist, and, with a singing, jubilant satisfaction, watched as he slumped to the ground.

‘Oh, dear,’ de Courtenay said. ‘Two down, and one disabled.’ He glanced at the third man, nursing a wrist bent at an unnatural angle and moaning softly. ‘Not that I am greatly surprised, they are hardly what one would call an efficient and disciplined fighting force. Still, needs must, eh?’

‘If you live in the gutter, you are forced to use what little the gutter can provide,’ Josse said sententiously.