When he saw this and knew that, for Leofgar’s sake, they would not rush at him, Arthur gave a slow smile. Then he said, ‘Did you think I should leave my bargaining tool unattended? Oh, but I should not be so careless!’ Then, turning, he called, ‘Mother, show yourself. They are all here now, the Abbess, the son and the knight. I have them safe — come out and finish the tale.’
And as Josse watched, his eyes ever returning to the sword point that had now drawn a speck of blood from the flesh of Leofgar’s throat, a small and black-cloaked figure detached itself from the reeds lining the path and came to stand beside Fitzurse. Pushing back her hood, the bent and ageing woman looked first at the Abbess, then at Leofgar. She murmured something — it was, Josse thought, barely able to make out the words, an observation that now both she and the Abbess had their sons at their sides — and then she turned to Josse.
As she stared at him, her black eyes seemed to glitter in the moonlight. It was as if her gaze held him in a vice: for a frightening moment, he felt he could not move even if he tried. He seemed to hear her muttering, chanting, although when he put it to the test, there was no sound on the still night air. She tries to bewitch me, he thought wildly.
And, despite the fact that she was tiny, old and probably as weak as she looked, he felt a terrible stab of fear.
Chapter 20
Arthur made the Abbess and Josse walk ahead of him back to the hut; the Abbess had been curtly ordered to dismount, and the old woman was leading the mare back to the corral. All the time that Arthur holds a blade to Leofgar’s throat, Josse thought — Arthur had exchanged his unwieldy sword for a short-bladed and wickedly-pointed dagger — we cannot risk disobeying his orders.
Josse pretended a docility that was only superficial; beneath it he was tense, alert for the smallest opportunity. Should Arthur make the least mistake, then Josse intended to be ready …
They entered the hut and, by the light of a couple of rush lamps, Arthur told the Abbess and Josse to sit down on the bench. He made Leofgar kneel in front of him, the knife blade still against his flesh. Presently the old woman joined them.
‘Sir Josse, this is my mother.’ Arthur nodded in her direction, keeping his eyes on Josse. ‘Her name is Sirida and I am the result of her union with Benedict Warin.’
Leofgar’s head shot up and he met Josse’s eyes. Despite the situation, still he managed a look of triumph, as if to say, my grandfather! See, I told you my father begat no bastards!
‘So, Arthur,’ Josse said, looking at Fitzurse, ‘it is the identity of your father that is the reason for your pursuit of Leofgar’s family.’
‘My family,’ Arthur corrected him. There was a profound, black anger there not far beneath the surface, Josse thought; it showed in the man’s burning dark eyes. ‘I have been the outcast for too long, Sir Josse. It is time for this family of mine to make amends.’
Josse looked across at the old woman. Standing in the doorway, she was a silhouette against the steadily lightening sky. It’s almost morning, Josse thought absently. He said, ‘Sirida, why have you waited so long?’
She stepped down into the hut and approached him. The face that she turned up to his was painfully thin, so that the bones of the skull stood out with clarity. ‘I am dying,’ she said simply. ‘I have foreseen my own death and now it draws near.’
‘The time of our deaths is for God alone to know!’ the Abbess protested.
Sirida turned to her. ‘Your God is not the only power in the universe,’ she said calmly. ‘And I tell you this, Helewise Warin: were I to describe to you the day and the circumstances of my end, when that time comes you would look back to this moment and know that I had spoken the truth.’
Josse seemed to feel an icy finger on the back of his neck. Did she really have such power? he wondered, an awed fear filling his mind at the thought of being in the presence of one who saw the future with such certainty.
The Abbess was saying something — telling the old woman again that such matters were not for humans to meddle with — but Josse thought her tone lacked conviction and he guessed that, even if she pretended indifference, she too was affected by the strange atmosphere inside the hut.
With the intention of bringing them out of the realms of magic and back to the all too real — and menacing — situation they were facing, he said, too loudly, ‘But why, Sirida, does the prospect of your death force you to do what you are doing?’
She gave a hoarse laugh. ‘Is it not obvious? Because I am the last person alive who can prove who fathered my son. This is my final chance. I am determined that the Warins recognise Arthur for who he is and act accordingly.’
‘What do you want of us?’ Leofgar demanded. Even on his knees and with a blade at his throat he managed, Josse observed, to sound fierce and unafraid.
Sirida looked at him. ‘Not much. Arthur must be allowed to use the family name and — ’ she paused, apparently thinking, ‘- and be given assistance in setting up a modest household for himself.’
‘Perhaps he’d like to move into the Old Manor with Rohaise and me!’ Leofgar cried furiously. ‘You’d like to sleep in a real bed, wouldn’t you, Arthur? Better than that filthy heap of straw down there in the corner!’
Josse held his breath as the knife point dug infinitesimally into the skin of Leofgar’s throat. Be careful, lad, he pleaded silently; it may be brave but it is not wise to antagonise a man who holds a blade to your neck.
But Arthur controlled himself. ‘This is my mother’s dwelling,’ he said, his voice cold and distant. ‘I was begotten in something very similar, so she tells me, and, because of Benedict Warin’s intransigence, neither she nor I have ever managed to better ourselves.’
As if this reminder of her sufferings had loosened some restraint within Sirida, she suddenly spoke. ‘He used me and he abandoned me,’ she said, the cold, detached tone somehow more powerful than anger. ‘He took me to his hut in the woodland above the Old Manor, him and that Martin of his, the man who was his constant companion after the accident.’
Leofgar and Josse said together, ‘What accident?’
The Abbess, eyes vague as if she looked back into the past, said quietly, ‘Although he tried to disguise it, Benedict Warin walked with a limp. He had a bad fall from his horse and he was dragged for quite some way before his companion managed to get hold of the horse and bring it to a halt. Martin was that companion; the two men had been close since boyhood. After Benedict was hurt, he used Martin as a sort of body servant, someone to prop him up and help him move about when the pain from his old wounds became bad.’
‘Yes, yes, that was Martin,’ Sirida said impatiently. ‘But listen now and forget about Martin, because it’s Benedict I’m telling you about. He knew I was with child for I told him so and yet he refused his help. But there was something that he did.’ She paused, looking around the circle of listeners to make sure she had their full attention.
Unable to bear the suspense, Josse said, ‘What do you mean?’
She turned to him, a soft smile on her thin lips. ‘When my baby was born I sought out Benedict and I showed him the child. I hoped that Benedict’s heart would soften when he saw the fruits of his seed — he only had the one son, you know, by that barren wife of his. But even then, staring down at my pretty babe in my arms, he would do nothing for me. I pleaded, I swallowed my pride and I begged. I said, ignore me and my plight if you must but do something for your little son! In the end — I suspect just to get rid of me — he said that he would help.’ She paused dramatically, staring around at each one of her listeners. Then she said, ‘He told me that when his time came he would leave proof of Arthur’s paternity.’ Her eyes on Arthur, she added quietly, ‘I made him promise to make it right for you in the end.’