Alys Clare: The Rose of the World

It was a direct order. Josse and Gervase both bowed their heads in acknowledgement.

‘Revenge would have been singularly sweet,’ the king murmured, ‘but, perhaps, unjustified. Besides,’ he added after a moment, ‘my wound is, as I said, all but healed, and, in the melee before the chapel, I cannot put my hand to my heart and swear it was Ninian who inflicted it. It seems, Josse — ’ some change in the king’s voice made Josse look up and meet his eyes — ‘that your son is safe.’

Gervase said, ‘Sire, have I your permission to send for Olivier? There is no reason to delay the resolution of this sad business, and faced with our suggestion of what really happened, he may realize that there is no point in protesting his innocence.’

‘Well he might,’ the king replied, ‘and I would not prevent your summoning him, except that it would serve no purpose. He is not here.’

‘Not here!’ Josse exclaimed. ‘But he left Hawkenlye when you did, sire, and we thought he had ridden here to London with you.’

‘He may have left with us, although I do not recall seeing him,’ the king said. ‘He certainly did not arrive with us.’

‘Then where is he?’ Josse was looking wildly around.

‘Stop that, Josse, he’s not hiding behind the wall hangings,’ the king said sharply. ‘I do not know where he is. I will send word that I wish to see him and, when he arrives, I will let you know. Is that good enough for you?’ The irony was unmistakable.

‘Aye, my lord king, of course,’ Josse muttered.

There was an awkward pause. Then Gervase cleared his throat nervously and said, ‘Hugh de Brionne paid a high price for his insolent scheme, and-’

‘You think the plan was Hugh’s?’ the king interrupted.

‘Well, Olivier claims it was,’ Gervase said. Josse nodded his agreement.

The king sighed. ‘Hugh would never have come up with anything as dangerous and misguided as abducting a child as a present for his king,’ he said softly. ‘Everything about this matter smacks of Olivier. He is unbalanced, you see.’ He sighed. ‘We should have taken better care of him, but he was tucked away down there in the house on the downs and it was all too easy to forget his existence. By the time I invited him to come and join the circle of my close companions, it was already too late.’

Josse did not understand. ‘Sire?’

‘Hugh de Brionne was already of my company,’ the king said. ‘His father, as you will know, Josse, was a friend of my brother’s, and, indeed, of my father’s as well, and it followed, as these things do, that Hugh in turn would be one of my companions. Then, later, Olivier came too.’

‘But Olivier is not Felix’s son,’ Josse whispered. Despite everything, it was still hard to speak Lady Beatrice’s secret out loud.’

‘No,’ the king said softly. ‘He is mine.’

Ninian wondered how far he would have to ride before he felt safe. The exhilaration of escaping from Acquin kept his spirits high for many miles but, as the hours went on, he began to be haunted by the feeling that someone was following him.

He decided that, reluctant as he was, it was time to put his fears to the test. In a stretch of wooded, hilly country, he kept an eye out for a suitable location and soon found one. He dismounted, led Garnet under the cover of the trees and then took up the position he had picked out. It was on top of the steep side of a long stretch of the road that ran almost straight — Ninian had heard it said that such roads had been left by the Romans — and thus afforded a good view back the way he had come. The road was enclosed on the east by the high stone cliff on the top of which Ninian now stood. On the opposite side, the ground fell away to a valley where a river ran, its water glinting silver in the thin light.

He waited.

Some time later, he saw what he had dreaded: a horseman was approaching. He was still a long way off, but it was clear even from a distance that he was following a trail. He would ride a few paces, then draw in his horse and bend over towards the ground. Ninian guessed he was checking for the marks of Garnet’s hooves.

They have followed me all the way from Acquin, Ninian thought. He was surprised at how calm he felt. He could understand how the king’s men had tracked him to Yves’s manor, for anyone who knew of Ninian’s relationship to Josse would have guessed that he might well flee to seek refuge with Josse’s family. However, it seemed an extraordinary piece of ill fortune that the pursuers had unknowingly guessed correctly as to the direction that Ninian had taken when he left Yves.

But, of course, they hadn’t. He smiled grimly as the realization dawned. The king had many men at his disposal. There would be a group hunting for Ninian along roads leading away from Acquin in each direction.

He wondered if he should try to overpower the man. He baulked at any stronger word, even in his own mind; he could not contemplate killing someone purely because that person was following orders. Could he somehow imprison the man, but in such a way that he would be found and released once Ninian was far enough away?

No, no! He was angry with himself. There would be no point in such an action, for this man would be expected to report back to the rest of his group and, when he didn’t, they would instantly become suspicious and the whole lot of them would come swooping down on Ninian like crows on a corpse.

There was only one thing to be done: Ninian would have to disappear. So far, for the sake of speed he had been travelling on the roads and the better-maintained tracks. At night, tired, dirty, hungry and with money in his purse, he would lodge at small, out-of-the-way inns. Well, now all that would have to change. He would set out across country, checking his direction by the sun and the stars, and at night, when he and Garnet could go no further, he would sleep out in the open.

The weather was very cold, especially at night. Silently, Ninian blessed Yves, for providing him with extra clothes and wrappings.

Down on the road, the man had stopped. He sat leaning forward over the pommel of his saddle, one arm up to his head as if he were wiping sweat off his face. That was odd, for the day was chilly. Perhaps he had been riding hard.

It did not matter. What was important was that, for the moment, he had come to a halt. Ninian crept backwards, away from the cliff top, and moved quickly and quietly back through the undergrowth to where he had tethered Garnet. He mounted, checked the sun and then, branching away from the road, set off.

The man on the horse was in agony. He did not think he could ride any further, and he did not know what inner strength had kept him going this far. Fire raced through his body. It hurt abominably to move, but the pain barely lessened when he stayed still.

He was trying so hard to follow orders. Find him.

He had done what the voices had commanded. He had found his man, tracking him to the place where he had guessed he would go, then paying that fool of a groom for information. He had paid lavishly but, even so, the greedy young man had demanded more, whining about having an elderly mother and a prospective wife to please. It had been so easy to stop him, although the man wished now that he had removed the bag of coins from the dead hand. The voices were really cross with him about that.

It was sheer luck that had enabled him to pick up his quarry after leaving the little village. He had stood at a place where four roads came together and, shutting his eyes, spun round a few times. When the dizziness forced him to stop, he happened to be facing in the right direction.

The orders had gone on echoing in his head. Catch him. Silence him. He had tried; God knew how hard he had tried, riding on, ignoring his increasing pain, ignoring the demands of common sense that told him to stop, find help, creep away somewhere and rest until he felt well again.