Alys Clare: The Joys of My Life

‘Watch out! Be careful, Gus!’ Josse called. Stupid, stupid, he told himself. The lad’s creeping about unarmed inside the isolated tower of a man suspected of worshipping the devil, abusing and maybe killing young boys, and I tell him to be careful!

The next endless minutes were some of the worst in Josse’s life. He tried to fight it but seemed powerless to prevent the frightful images flooding his mind. Gus at dagger point. Gus bound and imprisoned. Gus dead, that cheery young spirit snuffed out, and all my fault… no. Stop.

Just as he knew he could not stay there doing nothing for another instant, there was the sound of bolts being shot back and the door to the tower opened. Gus looked out and said brightly, ‘All clear! The place is empty and I’ve found the planks. I’ll slide one across and you can come in.’

Weak with relief, Josse hurried to receive the end of the heavy plank as Gus pushed it out. Such was his state of mind that, although the plank was only a hand’s span and it was a long fall to the bottom of the ditch, he barely noticed the peril of his own entry into de Loup’s stronghold.

He stood with Gus inside the door. They were in a large stone room, quite bare, out of which a spiral stair ran up. There were no arrow slits here; the only light was that coming in through the door. The air was damp, dank and very cold, and the walls ran with moisture. Rings were set in the stones, as if for tethering animals. He glanced across at the stair and, indicating it with a jerk of his head, went over to it and began to climb.

He experienced the strangest sensation as his feet found each successive step; it was as if he were trying to climb up into some medium other than ordinary air, one that had a mass and a weight of its own and that did not want him coming up into it. He was having to make such an effort that he was soon panting from the exertion and it felt as if a vast force was pushing down on the top of his head. He heard Gus gasping for breath; it was quite a relief to realize that it was not only he who was affected.

He struggled to the top of the spiral stair and emerged into the room above, stepping aside to let Gus come out and stand beside him.

Gus looked frightened. ‘What is it, Sir Josse?’ he hissed. ‘What’s here that we can’t see?’

‘I don’t know, Gussie.’ Josse forced himself to speak aloud, in as normal a voice as he could manage. It would not help if both of them were too scared to do anything but whisper. ‘Did you remark this… this presence on your way down to open the door?’

Gus forced a smile. ‘Reckon I was in so much of a hurry to let you in that I wouldn’t have noticed a five-legged cow standing in my way. Wh-what d’you think it is?’ Despite his best attempts, the boy’s fears were gaining on him.

‘I think,’ Josse said forcefully, ‘that evil deeds have been done here and that they have left their mark, but they were done by human men, Gussie. Not ghosts, not ghouls, not devils, but men. Remember that.’

‘Human men,’ Gus repeated. ‘Right you are, Sir Josse.’ He did not sound altogether reassured.

Josse’s heart filled with affection and pity for him. ‘You know what would be really helpful, Gussie?’

Gus looked at him very apprehensively but he managed to say bravely, ‘No, sir. What? Anything I can do, tell me.’

‘Well,’ Josse said, adopting a carefully anxious expression, ‘the worst thing that could happen would be for someone to come along and surprise us here inside the fortress, so if you can find the courage, could you, do you think, go down again, cross over the plank and keep watch? Then you can give me warning if anyone approaches.’

Gus’s relief was very obvious, but still he steeled himself to protest. ‘Reckon that’s giving me the easy job, Sir Josse,’ he remarked. ‘Me stay out there nice and safe while you prowl around here on your own? Oh, no.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Josse said firmly. ‘And, dear old Gussie, that is an order.’

Gus paused for one more moment. Then he turned, raced down the stairs and Josse heard his footsteps thumping on the plank.

Now, he thought, I am alone.

He waited until his alarmed heartbeat had slowed a little, then began a careful pacing of the room above the entrance. Just as the dark guard had described, there was a row of arrow-slit windows right over the door, but other than that the stone walls were unbroken. In the far corner of the room, Josse could make out a ladder whose upper end disappeared through a trapdoor in the roof; it must lead to the battlements and perhaps also to one or two chambers on the upper floor. If de Loup and his knights made a habit of coming here, they would have to have somewhere to eat and sleep, and this barren, evil room had no domestic facilities of any kind.

What it did have, Josse saw as he began a careful circling of it, was a long table made of smooth, unembellished oak set a couple of paces out from the wall opposite to the arrow slits. Its shape called something to mind, and after a moment’s thought he realized with a shiver of dread that it looked like an altar. It stood up on a stone dais reached by three wide, shallow steps, and at either end there stood heavy iron candlesticks, man-height, each bearing three expensive beeswax candles. Pushed up against the wall behind the altar was a large wooden chest. Josse stepped round the altar — unthinkingly he gave it a wide berth — and crouched down in front of the chest.

It too was made of oak, and bound with bands of iron. It was fastened with a hasp, which, to Josse’s surprise, lifted to his tentative touch. He raised the lid of the chest and peered inside. Because of the poor light, it was difficult to see what was inside, but straight away the smell hit him.

Instinctively he drew back and was about to bang down the lid of the chest. Then he thought, but I have to know. That is why we are doing all this. Steeling himself, he leaned forward again.

Moving aside slightly so that a little more light fell on the contents of the chest, he saw that it contained folded cloth. Picking up the top layer, he stood up and shook out the folds of the material. It was a robe, made of silvery-grey silk, its wide skirts stained with dark brown. Dried blood, Josse thought instantly. But the stench was not that of old blood; it was faecal. What in heaven’s name had been going on here?

He put the robe aside and drew out the next folded item. This too was a robe; this time deep blue. He took out the rest of the chest’s contents: thirteen robes, the ones at the bottom of the pile apparently older than the rest and with the air of not having been used in a long time, for they were dusty and the fabric was thin and spotted with age. Slowly Josse folded them all up again and stored them back in the chest.

As he tucked in the folds of the silver-grey robe, he noticed that there was a device embroidered on the left breast. He studied it and made out the figure of a woman in a strange horned headdress. She appeared to be standing in a boat shaped like the crescent moon. He rummaged back down the pile of robes and found that every one bore the same device.

It was with a huge sense of relief that finally he closed and fastened the chest. He stood up, his knees protesting, and straightened his back. He moved round to the front of the altar, staring at it and trying not to let the terrible images it seemed to transmit lodge in his mind. No. No.

He took a step back, then another. The heel of his boot caught against a slightly raised stone slab and hastily he looked down. He saw beneath his feet some marks: brown marks, dry now but, from the pattern of splashes, clearly once liquid. He bent down and took a cautious sniff. Very faintly came the metallic smell of old blood.

It was enough. Dear Lord, it was more than enough. He flew across the room, down the spiral stairs and came to a halt in the doorway. ‘Gus! Gussie!’