There was nothing to do but obey Leofgar’s order and wait for his return. Closing the door, Josse went back to the Abbess’s chair and sat down again.
He did not know how Leofgar was getting into the Abbey; the first time he appeared, he had presented himself alone at the door of Helewise’s room, and this suggested to Josse that he had not entered via the gates for, had he done so, then Sister Ursel or one of the other nuns would probably have escorted him across the courtyard and along the cloister. Or perhaps even then it had been late, and the good sisters all abed.
When Leofgar returned, it was well after midnight and the gates were shut fast.
He was breathless and red in the face, his cloak bespattered with mud; noticing Josse’s eyes on him, he gave a quick smile and said, ‘I apologise for my appearance but I have been riding hard.’ Then, excitement bursting from him, he cried, ‘I think I know where she is! Will you ride with me to fetch her home?’
Josse leapt to his feet and went to embrace the young man. ‘Aye, and gladly!’ he cried. ‘Give me but a moment to fetch my horse and collect my weapons, and I’ll follow wherever you lead!’
The stables were night-dark but it did not take Josse long to put saddle and bridle on Horace; it was not the first time he had made a hasty departure in the small hours. He led the horse out to the gates, easing back the bar that held them fast and slipping out on to the track. Leofgar, behind him, fastened the gates again and soon afterwards reappeared on the track leading his own horse.
‘You have your own private means of access, I see,’ Josse remarked drily.
‘Yes.’ Leofgar grinned. ‘A convenient tree bough and a branch to which to tether my horse.’
Both men mounted, then Josse said, ‘Right, lad.’ Excitement coursing through him, he added, ‘Lead on!’
Leofgar took them down the track towards Castle Hill but, before it began its descent into Tonbridge, he branched to the right along a narrower path that led off at an angle to the main track, entering an area of sparse woodland and then, after quite a time, emerging into the open. They had come down into the river valley — Josse could sense moisture in the air and there were dense pockets of low-lying mist — and were somewhat to the east of the town.
Leofgar drew rein and Josse came up beside him. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, keeping his voice down.
Leofgar turned to look at him. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse, I should have explained. Thank you for following where I have led, even though you did not know where we were bound.’
‘It is of no matter,’ Josse replied, ‘but I would like to know now.’
‘Of course.’ Leofgar considered, then spoke again. ‘Your speaking of my family’s past made me think of a person who is, I would guess, the best source of knowledge on that subject. She is, indeed, the person with whom Rohaise and Timus are now lodging, the good soul who understood our grave need and, without a single question, took us into her home.’
Although he thought hard, Josse found he had no idea whom this could be. He asked, ‘Who is she?’
‘Remember Wilfrid, my manservant?’
‘Of course.’
‘Wilfrid is the son of the man who filled the same office for my father as Wilfrid does for me. This man — his name was Fithian — had as wife a woman named Magda, who had served the Warins all her life, being herself born to a servant of the household. Magda was housekeeper when my mother first came to the Old Manor and, so I am told, loved her from the moment she set foot through the door.’
Frowning, Josse tried to work out why Leofgar was telling him this. ‘Had Magda and her husband other sons, then? Has one of them — one of their wives — taken you in?’
Leofgar shook his head. ‘No. She has.’
‘Magda?’ Josse was astonished. ‘But if she was a mature woman when your mother wed Ivo Warin, then by now she must be elderly indeed!’
‘She is well advanced in years, yes, but her age has not made her feeble,’ Leofgar replied.
Understanding at last, Josse said, ‘And she has been able to help you.’
‘Yes. She did not explain — I did not give her the time — but she told me where she believes my mother will have been taken.’
‘You are confident that she is right?’
Leofgar smiled. ‘You don’t know Magda, for if you did, you would not have asked that. Yes, Sir Josse, I am quite confident.’
‘Then let us hurry and go there,’ Josse said with sudden impatience, ‘for your mother is waiting!’
But Leofgar took a long time finding whatever path he was looking for. Trying to restrain his impatience, Josse held Horace on a loose rein and waited while the young man followed this track and that. The sky was clear and there was a bright moon; by its light, Josse was able to make out that some of the paths down which Leofgar was searching were surely no more than animal tracks.
Finally he found the right one. Returning along it, beckoning silently to Josse, he said, as Josse approached, ‘The hut is down here. All is dark and I imagine they are asleep. We should leave the horses here, I think, and make our way quietly on foot.’
They tethered the horses to the branch of a hazel tree and set off along the path. The ground was waterlogged and sometimes one of the men’s feet made a loud squelch as it was withdrawn from the mud. The air stank of foul, rotten vegetation and curls of malodorous mist seemed to attack nostrils and mouths. It was a desolate place.
After some time they came to a clearing. Putting out a warning hand, Leofgar whispered, right in Josse’s ear, ‘There’s the hut.’
Josse peered into the clearing and saw the hut at one side, its back to the encircling trees. Drawing his sword, he said, ‘Then let us break the door down and see what we shall find.’
Together they strode across the wet grass and up to the door of the hut. There was a large stone set against it and they moved it away. Leofgar flung back the door and they both rushed into the room.
The Abbess sat straight-backed on a bench, her skirts spread around her, calmly eyeing them. She said, ‘I have no idea how you found me, but I am most grateful.’ Standing up, she added, ‘My mare is somewhere close, I believe. Shall we find her and be on our way?’
‘My lady, are you hurt?’ Josse asked, taking her hands, just as Leofgar, an arm around her shoulders, demanded to know what Fitzurse had done to her.
‘I am quite unhurt and, beyond bringing me here and making me stay here against my will, they have done nothing to me,’ she said. ‘Nevertheless I wish now to return with all speed to the Abbey. I have been too long away and far too long preoccupied with matters that are not the business of an Abbess.’ She glared at them both as if it were all their fault.
With a courteous bow, Josse said, ‘Aye, my lady. The sooner we have you back in your rightful place, the better.’
They left the hut. Leofgar, staring about him, spotted a roughly made corral consisting of little more than a few rotten hurdles lashed together and, hurrying across to it, called out softly that he had found the Abbess’s mare; he brought her forward out of the concealing shadows and, tightening the girths, helped his mother into the saddle.
‘Where are your horses?’ the Abbess demanded in a carrying hiss. ‘I do hope we shall not have to return to Hawkenlye at a walking pace.’
‘No, indeed, my lady,’ Josse assured her. ‘We have left them up the track. We wanted to approach as quietly as possible, so as not to alert Fitzurse as to our intention.’
‘I do not believe that they are here,’ she said. ‘I do not know where they have gone, but they judged that barring the door of the hut was enough to keep me prisoner.’ With a sudden smile, she added, ‘They reckoned without the two of you. Thank you, both of you. You are-’
But she was not to finish her remark.
There was a sudden rush of sound, an impression of urgent speed, a wild cry. Then Arthur Fitzurse stood on the path before them, his sword tip at Leofgar’s throat freezing both Josse and the Abbess into immobility.