Alys Clare - The Rose of the World

‘No,’ Gervase replied in a low voice, leading the way to the curtained recess. He stood back, letting the curtain fall behind him, and Leofgar approached the body.

After a moment he said, ‘I do.’ He turned and met Gervase’s eyes. Very quietly he went on, ‘His name is Hugh de Brionne. His father was close to the king’s brother and very readily changed his allegiance to John as soon as Richard died. Josse, I believe, is acquainted with the father, although clearly he did not recognize the son.’ He glanced back at the still face. ‘This death will sorely grieve Felix de Brionne.’

‘Hugh was his only son?’

‘He — Felix’s wife bore him a daughter and two sons. This is the younger son.’ He put a hand on the dead man’s shoulder.

Something about Leofgar’s manner did not seem right. ‘What else?’ Gervase asked in a whisper. ‘What is it that you do not tell me?’

Leofgar shot him a glance, then looked away. ‘Nothing,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s gossip, no more, and I do not believe it is right to spread rumours.’

‘Rumours?’ Gervase demanded.

Leofgar expelled his breath in an angry sound. ‘It is to do with the brother. It is said by those with nothing better to do than wag their idle tongues that he is not Felix’s child.’

‘Ah. I see,’ Gervase murmured.

Leofgar spun round. ‘Do you?’ he hissed. He parted the curtains, looked out and, apparently finding that nobody could overhear, said urgently, ‘I have met Felix de Brionne and his wife several times. Beatrice is a very lovely woman and she was only thirteen when she was wed. Felix was more than twenty years her senior. Her first child was a girl and Felix was not pleased.’ He paused. ‘I tell you this not because it satisfies me to discuss the intimate dealings of another man and his wife, but to make you understand,’ he went on. ‘If indeed Beatrice took another man to her bed — and I am by no means convinced that she did — then the affair was short-lived, for when later she bore Hugh, her second son, there was no doubt who had fathered him for he is the image of Felix.’ He stopped, looking down at the body. ‘He was,’ he corrected himself. He sighed. ‘Poor Felix. Poor Beatrice.’

‘Where do they live?’ Gervase asked. ‘They should be informed that their son is dead.’

‘Their manor is to the east of Tonbridge, on the slope of the North Downs,’ Leofgar said heavily. ‘Felix is old now and his comprehension comes and goes. He will not, I think, understand. It will be Beatrice on whom the blow falls most cruelly.’

Beatrice who has another son who is probably not the offspring of Felix, Gervase thought, in whom it is hoped she will take comfort. But he did not say it aloud.

Tiphaine was heading back to the hut deep in the woodland. She had observed the sheriff and Helewise’s elder son speaking together by the stables and, unseen by either, she had slipped into the infirmary after them. She had heard Leofgar identify the dead man, although the name meant nothing to her. It might to Helewise, however. She increased her pace. Darkness was falling fast and she still had some way to go.

Helewise heard someone approach. She was outside fetching water from the stream, busy preparing vegetables and beans in a stew for supper. She had returned from the House in the Woods earlier with generous supplies of food, which Tilly had helped her carry. But she was not in the least hungry. The ongoing, gnawing anxiety had quite taken away her appetite, but she knew she must force herself to eat. Besides, there were others to consider.

She looked up to see who was coming. It was probably Tiphaine, although she could not help hoping it might be Meggie. Or, even better, Josse…

Tiphaine stepped out from beneath the shadow of the trees and into the clearing. She gave Helewise the low, reverent bow that she had always performed before her superior and, approaching, said, ‘Your son’s given a name to the dead man. He was called Hugh de Brionne.’

Helewise repeated the name to herself. She did not think she had ever heard it before. ‘Who is he?’

Tiphaine shrugged. ‘Some lord’s son. His old father’s close to the king, or was when he had any wits left.’

Helewise thought about that. Then she said, ‘Has his identity had any bearing on the hunt for Rosamund?’

Tiphaine came to stand beside her, and Helewise was grateful for her solid, strong presence. Tiphaine was a woman who was very close to the earth, and strength emanated from her. ‘I don’t know, my lady,’ she said gently. ‘Reckon they’re still thinking about that.’

Helewise studied the lean, weather-beaten face. Tiphaine looked tired. ‘Come and eat,’ she said, taking the older woman’s arm. ‘It’s nothing special but at least now we’ve got enough for the next few days.’

With dismay, she heard what she had just said. The next few days. Dear God, was it going to be as long as that before they found Rosamund? The familiar guilt seared through her again.

They were stepping inside the little hut, and Tiphaine was watching her. ‘She’ll be found, my lady,’ she said. ‘I am quite sure of it. She’s not dead.’

Helewise stared at her. ‘How can you be so sure?’ she cried sharply. ‘She’s only a girl, Tiphaine! She could be-’ Horrible images flashed before her eyes, but with an effort she shut them off. Tiphaine was trying to comfort her, she realized, and she had just shouted at her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It’s just that I’m so desperate to accept she’s all right but I don’t know if I can believe you.’

Tiphaine went on looking at her. Then she said, ‘You can, my lady,’ and turned to set out the wooden bowls for supper.

They sat down close by the hearth to eat their supper. It had grown much colder once darkness had fallen, and the warmth was welcome. Helewise was quite pleased with her bean stew, which was greatly improved, she thought, by the addition of some of Meggie’s dried herbs. She tried to eat slowly — if she ate beans quickly her stomach tended to bloat — but she was too hungry, and she wolfed down her bowlful. Beside her, Tiphaine ate her stew mechanically, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, occasionally emitting a grunt of satisfaction.

‘I’d have thought we would have had a visit from Meggie before now,’ Helewise ventured, trying to suppress a belch. Her pleasure in the taste of the herbs had brought the girl to mind.

‘She’ll return here when she’s ready,’ Tiphaine said calmly. Then, her eyes narrowing, she added softly, ‘She’ll be on the little girl’s trail, like as not.’

Helewise spun round to look at her. ‘How do you know that?’ she demanded.

Tiphaine looked up from mopping her bowl with a piece of bread, her expression registering surprise at Helewise’s sharp question. ‘Stands to reason,’ she replied, swallowing a mouthful. ‘Joanna knew how to follow a person’s footsteps across many miles. Meggie’s her daughter. I expect Ninian can do it too, since he’s her son. They’ve both inherited many of her gifts, so why would that not be one of them?’

Helewise was torn between a sudden glow, because she was sure Tiphaine was right, and a stab of pain.

Josse had loved and lost Joanna, and he did not often speak her name. To have Tiphaine refer to her so readily and easily, as if she had just stepped out of the hut and it was not ten years and more since she had gone, was a shock, and not entirely a pleasant one.

Helewise had to admit that she did not much care to hear Joanna’s name.

She commanded herself not to be so selfish. What Tiphaine had just said was good. It gave them hope. ‘You really think they can do it, Tiphaine? You believe that we’ll get Rosamund safely back?’