There was nothing that Josse could think of to reply to that. When they had finished, Ninian stowed the figure in his pack and, leading de Loup’s horse — for they could not leave the animal running loose — they set off back along the Eure. They did not follow the road all the way back to Chartres; as the city’s walls appeared in front of them, the low, early sun making them appear to glow orange, Josse turned off to the north-west so as to avoid the city and they gave it a wide berth. Once they were clear, however, Josse led them back to the well-maintained road beside the river and they followed it as it meandered to and fro, all the time going steadily north.
Late in the evening, they neared the spot where the Eure joined the mighty Seine, looping and winding its way between dramatic limestone cliffs at the end of its long journey to the sea. Somewhere over to the east, Josse knew, was King Richard’s Chateau Gaillard, his beloved ‘saucy castle’, bane of King Philip’s life; the king, bless him, had declared in his usual single-minded way that the place was impregnable and when Philip had suggested the contrary, Richard had shouted colourfully that he would hold his beloved castle on the rock from his lifelong enemy even if its walls were made of butter. What a flamboyant, towering figure the world had lost with the king’s death.
They made camp on an outcrop of rock high above the Eure, hurrying now as it approached the greater river. Ninian tended the three horses, while Josse made a simple shelter and set out stones for a hearth. He lit a fire and prepared a meal; their provisions were low, but with luck they would not have to last much longer. When they had eaten, they rolled in blankets and cloaks and were very soon asleep; it had been a long day, following an even longer night.
Josse woke from a deep sleep and lay quite still, wondering what had disturbed him. To his amazement, he thought he heard a baby crying, but the sound ceased and straight away he decided he must have heard a vixen’s shriek, or a night bird’s cry. Either that or the small sound had been part of a dream. He turned on his side and went back to sleep.
They set out early the next morning. Close to their destination, they stopped at an inn to eat breakfast and do what they could to wash themselves and brush the travel stains off their clothing. Then they rode on and, shortly before midday, came to Rouen.
Queen Eleanor had told Josse she would be in the city by mid-July. He was not entirely sure what the date was, but he thought June had turned into July a few days past. It was very likely that he and Ninian would reach Rouen before her, in which case they could find somewhere comfortable to stay and have a well-deserved rest. On the other hand, it might be later than he thought and she could be there already; it was because of this that he had insisted he and Ninian smarten themselves up.
They ate the midday meal at a busy tavern by the river. Josse listened to the chatter all around him and soon it became clear that a very grand visitor was in residence at the castle where she expected her son, the newly proclaimed King John, to join her at the end of the month.
Josse finished his meal and waited while Ninian wolfed down a second helping. Josse felt strangely calm: he had the answer he had gone searching for and he looked forward to revealing all that he had discovered to Queen Eleanor. He made himself concentrate on that happy prospect to the exclusion of everything else. He did not dare think about Joanna. The time would come when he would have to, he knew it, but he would try to wait until he was back home in England. There he could be sure of the support of people who loved him to help him through his grief.
Ninian had finished at last. Leaving the horses in the inn’s stables, they set off for the castle.
Josse had explained to Ninian why they were in Rouen and what they had to do. The boy had accepted it without comment and Josse had believed he was not particularly anxious at the prospect of telling his story to the queen. If only, Josse mused, he knew… But it was not his secret to tell and firmly he arrested the thought.
Now, however, as they waited in a huge anteroom for the summons to go before the queen, Ninian looked very nervous. He was probably reliving that terrible night in the tower, Josse thought. Such memories would be enough to make anyone look apprehensive.
The servant who had taken Josse’s message to the queen returned and led the way up some wide stone stairs, along a corridor, up some more steps and into a large room sumptuously furnished with beautifully carved chairs, chests and tables, its walls hung with colourful tapestries whose general theme seemed to be the lauding of the Plantagenets and their deeds. Queen Eleanor was seated in a high-backed chair on a low dais. She nodded an acknowledgement to Josse’s low, respectful bow and, dismissing both the servant and the two ladies who had been sitting beside her, beckoned him forward. Ninian remained by the doorway.
Josse kneeled before her, lowered his head and said, ‘My lady, your son the late king was on the Ile d’Oleron that night in March.’ He heard her quick, sharp intake of breath. ‘His purpose, however, was not to participate in what was going on in the tower at World’s End but to stop it.’
There was a long silence. Josse did not dare look up. Presently the queen said, ‘You are quite sure of this?’ Her voice was low and oddly hesitant, as if, having steeled herself for bad news, she could not quite believe that it was not forthcoming.
‘Utterly certain,’ Josse said firmly. ‘The… er, the night’s proceedings were under way and someone was being held there awaiting.. well, waiting to be taken to the upper chamber. King Richard found out what was going on — indeed, what had apparently been going on for some time, for the men who were there that night met often — and he recognized that what they were doing was an outrage that abused your territory and must not be allowed to continue. He broke up the… er, the meeting and rescued the person who had been imprisoned.’
The queen did not speak for a moment. Then she said, ‘Sir Josse, look at me.’
Reluctantly he raised his head and stared into her deep, dark eyes. ‘My lady?’
‘We both know what went on in that tower,’ she said very softly, ‘and I applaud your reserve in not going into details. What you are telling me is that my son prevented the grave misuse and death of a young man?’
‘Aye, he did.’ There was no need to mention the first poor lad, tortured and killed before the king got there.
‘And you have spoken to this man? He has told you himself that my son saved his life?’
Josse risked a smile. ‘Aye, my lady. Better than that, I’ve brought him with me so he can tell you himself. May I present him to you?’
Her eyes were looking over his head towards Ninian, standing unbowed at the back of the room. ‘This is the man? Sir Josse, he’s little more than a boy!’
‘He is fourteen, madam.’
‘A boy,’ she repeated under her breath. Josse, watching her, saw her expression and wondered if she was only now appreciating the full horror of what they had done at World’s End. Then, with a curt nod, she said, ‘Bring him forward.’
Josse beckoned to Ninian and watched as he walked gracefully up to the dais and bowed before the queen. As he straightened up, the queen stared down into his face and Josse thought he heard her give a tiny gasp. Then, recovering, she said, ‘What is your name?’
‘Ninian de Courtenay, my lady.’