Alys Clare - The Rose of the World

‘What did you do?’ Helewise asked gently. ‘Did you think he’d come to rescue you?’

Rosamund looked ashamed. ‘No. It was silly, but I felt really frightened of him, I don’t know why. Perhaps it was just that he was shouting so much, and I was worried because, although his horse was clearly very tired and doing its best, he was spurring it really hard. It had foam all round its mouth and blood on its sides,’ she added in a whisper.

‘Could this horseman have been Ninian?’ Helewise hardly dared ask the question.

Rosamund stared at her in amazement. ‘Ninian? No, no, of course not! Ninian loves all animals and he would never treat a horse like that!’

Helewise began to feel a warm glow of relief. But the story wasn’t told yet. ‘You said you weren’t afraid of Olivier,’ Helewise said. ‘It sounds to me as if your instinctive fear of this horseman was because you had no idea what he wanted, and he could have been more dangerous than Olivier.’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ Rosamund said. ‘He — Olivier — quickly told me to hide under the trees where we’d left Star. I ran and nestled down in the bracken. It was all dry and prickly, but I felt safe in there. I heard the horseman come galloping up the slope, and he must have drawn his horse up really harshly, because it gave a sort of yelp of pain, and I heard Olivier’s voice and another man’s. They were arguing. Then there was a thump, and then some sounds as if somebody was doing something strenuous, and some talking, then Olivier yelled something, and there was lots more angry shouting as the other man rode away.’

Helewise felt the harsh disappointment run right through her. As Rosamund told her tale, she had really started to believe that she had been given proof of Ninian’s innocence. Just for a moment, she had wondered if the unidentified horseman could have been Hugh de Brionne, hurrying to check on how his brother was progressing with the scheme to take the gift of Rosamund to the king. She had imagined the two brothers arguing, falling out, fighting. In her mind’s eye she had seen Olivier land the blow that knocked Hugh backwards, so that he fell and struck his head.

For one precious moment she had believed she knew what had happened. But she was wrong. The horseman could not possibly have been Hugh, for Hugh died there on the rise above the river and, as Rosamund had just so clearly stated, the horseman had ridden away, still arguing with Olivier as he did so.

If he was indeed Hugh, then it was perfectly possible that, soon after leaving his brother, he had encountered Ninian, desperate to find Rosamund and none too fussy how he went about getting information from anyone he thought might be able to help.

Proof of Ninian’s innocence was as elusive as ever.

Helewise could have wept.

Josse reached Hawkenlye Abbey around the middle of the day. Meggie had come with him as far as the hut. Not seeming to mind repeating the journey she had earlier done with Little Helewise, she had asked if he’d like company and he had said yes.

He guessed his daughter would stay in the hut for a while. She had wanted to go off with Ninian so very much. She had not said so, but he knew her well enough to read the yearning in her eyes as they parted from him. He wondered what he would have done had she simply fetched her horse and ridden after him. He was very glad he had not been put to that particular test.

At the abbey, he went into the infirmary to find a crowd of men around the recess where the king lay. Sister Liese came to greet him.

‘He is impatient to be gone,’ she said softly, with a subtle jerk of her head in the direction of the king’s recess. ‘He demands incessantly for transport, for even he admits he is not fit to ride, and those who attend him here are torn between obeying their lord and listening to we who have the care of him, who insist he is not yet ready to leave us.’

‘The wound is severe, then?’ Josse asked anxiously.

‘No, it is quite shallow and it heals well,’ the infirmarer replied. ‘However, we fear the dreaded infection, which can make a man’s blood burn like fire in the space of a day. He is more at risk if he sets out on a journey.’

Josse nodded. ‘How long before he can go?’

Sister Liese considered. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, all being well.’

‘Thank you.’ He stared at the curtains around the king’s bed.

‘He already has five men with him,’ the infirmarer said. ‘If you wished to speak to him you would have an audience, I fear.’

Josse made a grimace. He wanted to discuss the very delicate matter of Ninian’s innocence, and that was not a conversation to have when a handful of the king’s sycophants were listening avidly. ‘May I see Olivier de Brionne?’

‘You may,’ she said. ‘He is awake, although much disturbed.’ She gave Josse a sweet smile, lightening her serious face. ‘Perhaps you will do him good, Sir Josse. You usually appear to do that when you come visiting in here.’

Glowing from the unexpected compliment, Josse crossed the long ward towards the recess where Olivier lay. He heard voices as he approached, which, when he parted the curtains to look inside, resolved into a single voice. Olivier, his face screwed up with tension, was muttering agitatedly to himself.

He looked up and, in the first instant before he recognized Josse, there was abject terror in his eyes.

Josse walked up to the bed and said swiftly, ‘It’s me, Josse d’Acquin. I came to see you before, remember?’ He smiled, opening his arms in a vaguely benevolent gesture, hoping to reassure the young man.

Olivier’s lips were moving, but Josse could not hear what he was saying. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked kindly. ‘Will you let me help you?’

A fleeting smile crossed Olivier’s face. ‘Are you strong?’ he asked. ‘Can you combat devils?’

Devils. What in God’s name was wrong with him? Josse sat down on the end of the bed. ‘I have fought many an enemy,’ he said, ‘although I must confess that they have all been resolutely human.’ He grinned, and there was a faint response from Olivier. ‘What ails you?’ he asked.

Olivier twisted away from him, his face anguished. ‘They will not leave me alone,’ he muttered. ‘They talk to me all the time, giving me orders, telling me I have made bad mistakes.’ He shot Josse a sly look. ‘They warn me, too. They tell me I must be on my guard, for my enemies surround me and all the time they close in on me.’ He shot out a hand and grasped Josse’s wrist, his fingers digging in painfully. ‘Are you my enemy?’ he hissed. ‘The voices are unclear…’ Violently, he shook his head.

Josse wanted very much to pull away. Olivier seemed to have lost his reason, and Josse felt the deep, atavistic fear of insanity flood his mind. Trying to keep his voice calm and friendly, he said, ‘I am not here to harm you, Olivier. I merely wish to ask you if there is anything you can tell me about your — er, your journey with the girl, Rosamund. You have been told of the tragic death of your brother, Hugh, and I am attempting to discover how he died.’ He thought quickly. Was there any harm in being more forthcoming with this poor young man? He did not think so. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice and said, ‘You see, Olivier, someone very close to me is suspected of having fought your brother and caused his death, and I do not believe he is responsible.’

Olivier was watching him, the blue eyes wide. The resemblance to Ninian was quite marked, although this young man was more heavily built. He withdrew his hand, slipping it beneath the covers. He muttered something inaudible. ‘What did you say?’ Josse asked.

More muttering. Then Olivier said, ‘They tell me I must not talk to you. They tell me that you will twist my words and use them against me. That madman did it — they say he killed Hugh, and they are right! I saw how he attacked my lord the king and me — he is as wild as they say! Leave me alone! I will speak no more to you.’ He clamped his lips closed and turned away.