Alys Clare - The Tavern in the Morning

‘How true, how true.’ De Courtenay was smiling again. ‘Now, Sir Josse, I do believe you asked me a question a moment ago. Two questions, in fact. You seem to have reduced me to an army of one, so why not invite me into your house and hear what I have to say?’

Amazed, Josse repeated, ‘Invite you into my house? Why in God’s holy name should I want to do that?’

With a suddenness that was vaguely alarming, de Courtenay came up close, face full of some unknown emotion. The casual, light-hearted air was totally gone; he looked, Josse thought, like a man possessed. ‘Because I have a matter to put to you, one of the gravest import!’ he hissed. Waving round him at his fallen companions, he said, ‘Oh, I admit I have made a poor start — you must excuse the brutishness of my initial approach, but it was the best I could think of.’ He gave a faint laugh. ‘Fancy me thinking they’d be any use! I’d have done far better to present myself at your door and politely asked for a few moments of your time.’ He shot Josse a glance. ‘Except that you wouldn’t have listened. Would you?’

Josse said, ‘Probably not.’

‘Well.’ De Courtenay’s eyes still held that fire. ‘What do you say, Sir Josse? Will you hear me out?’

Joanna is hidden, Josse thought rapidly, and anyway, Will is there. That makes two of us, against de Courtenay; I’ll make quite certain his ruffians can’t follow him in. And I’ll be receiving him on my own home ground, which adds another advantage.

A further point occurred to him. Relaxing his grip on de Courtenay’s shoulder — with a wince, de Courtenay instantly began to massage it with the opposite hand — Josse said, ‘You may come into my house — alone — on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘That you release Brother Saul from his bonds and help me bear him inside, where we may attend to him.’

De Courtenay sighed. ‘I might have guessed. Very well.’

Josse watched as he returned to the figure in the shadows. Soon afterwards, he emerged again, supporting the stooped figure of Brother Saul. There was a murmur from one of the men on the ground; de Courtenay, answering, said, ‘Oh, do as you like. No, I’ve no further use for you. You can go to hell, for all I care.’

There was another murmur — something about being paid — and de Courtenay shouted, ‘You’ve had all you’re getting from me! And that’s being more than generous, considering how little use you’ve been!’

He was still shaking his head and muttering under his breath when he reached Josse. ‘What has become of the honest serving man?’ he asked as Josse put Brother Saul’s arm round his shoulders and helped de Courtenay bear him along to the gates.

Treating the question as rhetorical, Josse didn’t bother to answer.

* * *

They got Saul inside — he had a deep cut on the front of his head, and they wrung from him the confession that he was feeling a little sick — and carried him along to the kitchen. Ella volunteered to take care of him, and Josse laid him gently down on a hastily-prepared pile of mats.

‘I am sorry for your pain,’ he said gently, studying the pale face.

‘No, no, Sir Josse! It is I who am sorry, for my failure.’

‘It was no fault of yours, Saul. Now, rest. Let Ella see to your wound, then sleep.’

Even as Josse turned away, Saul was gratefully closing his eyes.

Josse returned to the hall. De Courtenay was standing just inside the door, as if, having got Josse to admit him, he did not want to presume any further on his host’s hospitality until invited. Let him stand by the door a while longer, Josse thought grimly. He’s right in the draught just there. That’ll cool his passion for him.

There was no sign of either Joanna or Will, Josse noticed with vast relief. He went up to the hearth, and, holding his hands to the lively flames, he said, his back to de Courtenay, ‘Well?’

He heard the cautious footsteps coming nearer. ’Er — may I too, warm myself?’ de Courtenay asked politely.

‘I don’t know about that.’ Josse turned to study him. ‘You were happy enough to leave poor Brother Saul outside in the frosty night.’

‘Oh, Sir Josse, don’t be petty!’ Incredibly, de Courtenay sounded as if he were suppressing laughter. Was this all such a game to him, then? Josse wondered. But what of that brief, intense moment outside? What of that man, the one who, despite the easy charm and the humorous manner, seemed to have some fixed and determined purpose which, against all expectations, drove him on regardless of the obstacles put in his way?

I hate to admit it, Josse thought, but I’m intrigued.

He pulled his chair up close to the fire, gestured to the piled rugs and furs on the opposite side of the hearth and, trying to ignore images of Joanna sitting there not very long ago, he said, ‘Sit down.’ De Courtenay settled himself, with a considerable grace.

Josse studied him. De Courtenay, noticing the scrutiny, smiled. ‘Do I pass muster?’

Josse ignored that. After a moment, he said, ‘You seem to have gone to some trouble to get to me. The least I can do, I suppose, is to hear what you have to say.’

The smile extended. De Courtenay said, ‘Ah, a wise decision, if I may say so,’

‘Go on, then. Tell me what you want of me.’

And, with a brief closing of his eyes as if summoning concentration, de Courtenay began to speak.

‘I have the distinct feeling,’ de Courtenay began, ‘that much of what I would start by telling you will be a repetition of what you already know.’

‘How so?’ Josse asked.

‘Because I imagine you and your friend the Abbess Helewise have few secrets from one another, so that everything I told her at our first meeting, she will in turn have told you. Am I right?’

Josse thought quickly. There seemed no point in denying it. ‘Aye. I know that you are a relation of Joanna de Courtenay, now Joanna de Lehon, and that, following the death of her husband, she is alone in the world and, according to you, grief-stricken and without a protector. As a good kinsman should, you are searching for her and you have come to this region because Joanna has an old friend who lives here. You believe she might have come to see that friend.’

‘Ah, yes,’ de Courtenay sighed. ‘All of that is, alas, all too true.’

‘And you have received no news of Joanna?’

‘I have not.’ Another sigh.

‘What of her woman friend? Did you manage to locate her?’

‘Again, no.’ De Courtenay’s handsome face creased into a worried frown. Josse, observing that there was not the trace of a sign that the man had just told a lie, reminded himself that he was dealing with a very skilled opponent. A very calculating and devious one. And — as the only recently-healed wound on Josse’s head testified — a potentially violent one.

‘You yourself have friends here,’ he said. ‘The Clares of Tonbridge.’

De Courtenay’s head shot up. ‘The Clares friends of mine? No, Sir Josse, now there you are mistaken.’

Putting that denial aside as probably another lie, Josse said, ‘Obviously so. However, you did, I believe, visit Tonbridge.’

Would he deny that, too?

There was a brief pause. Then, as if de Courtenay had worked out that his presence in Tonbridge would be impossible to refute, since too may people might well swear they’d seen him there, he said, ‘I did indeed. I took supper at a tavern. Quite a pleasant inn — a fine mug of ale, and a fresh slice of pie. Rabbit, I seem to recall. Or was it chicken? No matter. Served by a scrawny, dim-witted girl with a drip on the end of her nose.’ He grimaced in distaste.

Poor little Tilly, Josse thought. So much for trying to win your handsome stranger’s favour by swapping the last of the old pie for the first of the new.