But Akhbir had leaned closer and was whispering again. ‘One monk get away. He take Fadil. My master say he also take treasure. My master call Kathnir, tell him, follow monk and Fadil. Bring back Fadil. Kill monk and take back treasure.’
‘You cannot do the second part of your mission now. You just said you do not know what the treasure is.’
‘No.’ A deep sigh. ‘No.’
Would Akhbir try to go after Fadil? Josse intended to keep his word and get Akhbir out of the lay brothers’ quarters and onto the road that led to the coast; but by doing so would he be putting Fadil — John Damianos — in danger? I liked the man, he thought. I will not put him in danger of being taken back to Outremer and whatever terrible life he had as the fat man’s sex slave.
Something did not feel quite right. He pictured John Damianos and tried to imagine him as the subject of an older man’s lust. It was all but impossible.
He recalled something the Abbess had said. It was when they began to believe that John Damianos was the name that Fadil had adopted; Josse told her he’d imagined Fadil to be a younger man and she replied that two years on the run would have aged him. Perhaps the experience had also hardened him from a rich old man’s plaything to a man who walked tall and strong.
A man who, from what Josse recalled of John Damianos, would be more than capable of dealing with the broken, lonely, grieving and homesick Akhbir.
But what about the runaway Hospitaller? Would a released Akhbir feel honour- and duty-bound to pursue him? He and Fadil seemed to have parted company — there had been no monk with John Damianos when he arrived at New Winnowlands — and Thibault appeared to have been searching for the runaway in the vicinity of Tonbridge.
Where was the runaway monk?
Where was Fadil?
Did Akhbir have any idea of the whereabouts of either? Because if so and if Josse followed him, then Akhbir just might lead him to one or both of them.
In the absence of a better one, it was quite a good plan…
‘Wait,’ he commanded Akhbir. Then he tiptoed back to his own bed, swiftly put on his outer garments, picked up his weapons and drew on his boots. Creeping back to Akhbir, he whispered, ‘Get up, put on your cloak and boots and collect your belongings together.’ Akhbir hastily obeyed. ‘Come with me — ’ Josse took hold of his arm — ‘this way.’
He put the Saracen directly behind him as he began to walk slowly and steadily along the room. One of the guards stirred and, looking up, said, ‘Sir Josse?’
Josse spread his arms, concealing Akhbir behind him. ‘Too much ale last night,’ he whispered with a grin. ‘I’m bursting.’
The guard gave a gap-toothed smile and lay down again, turning on his side away from Josse. Edging Akhbir round, Josse pushed him in front of him — the man walked soft-footed as a cat — and, prodding him to make him hurry, got him to the door. He opened it and Akhbir went out into the night, Josse on his heels.
He took the Saracen’s arm and, urging him to a fast pace, took him along the path that led along the Vale. There was a little-used track at the far end of the shallow valley that led up to the road. Josse hurried up it, Akhbir panting beside him. They stood side by side on the road. Dawn was not far off now and Josse said, ‘That way leads down to Tonbridge, where the sheriff has his cell waiting for you. That way — ’ he pointed — ‘skirts the forest and then turns south towards the coast.’
Akhbir stood quite still, as if he could hardly believe that Josse had really kept his word and was setting him free. ‘Go!’ Josse urged. ‘Hurry and get down to the sea, then take a boat for France and go home.’
Slowly Akhbir turned to stare at him. Then without a word he started to run down the track.
Josse watched him. He looked back once or twice, then he reached the turn in the road and vanished from sight.
Josse set off after him.
He discovered that it was possible to keep Akhbir in sight while remaining just beneath the cover of the forest fringe. Akhbir did not look back; he kept up a quick pace, his head down, sometimes turning to look to right or left as if checking for way markers. For two or three miles he kept to the main track. Then, when it veered off towards the south and the coast, Akhbir branched off to the right onto a smaller path around the edge of the forest. Now he — and Josse, in pursuit — walked with undergrowth and winter-bare trees on either side. After perhaps another mile and a half, Akhbir increased his pace. Then suddenly he wasn’t there.
He’s seen me, Josse thought instantly, and his instinct was to break into a run, but his common sense held him back. If he was wrong and Akhbir did not know he was there, then his pounding feet on the frost-hard track would advertise his presence as clearly as if he’d yelled Here I am!
He crept on, barely breathing, his eyes fixed to the bracken and the tangle of bramble to his right. And his diligence was rewarded, for presently he came to a place where an animal track — boar or deer — broke away from the path.
It led right into the heart of the forest.
Without hesitation he set off along it.
After a while he felt he knew where they might be heading. He could see Akhbir now, perhaps eighty paces ahead, keeping to the narrow track and walking purposefully, like a man eager to reach his destination.
Josse tried to summon memories of the last time he had been here, if indeed he was right and this was the place that he had in mind. It was difficult because apart from the fact that one forest track looked very much like another, especially when the leaves were off the trees and everything seemed fast asleep, when he had been brought here for the first time he had been blindfolded.
Joanna had hidden in an old house in this area. The house had belonged to her great-aunt and uncle, and when she was small she had spent much time in their household. She had been cared for and taught by their house servant, Mag Hobson; it was many years later that Joanna learned who Mag really was. The house was modest, with a few ramshackle outbuildings. It belonged to Joanna now; not that she went there often, preferring to live in her little hut deep in the forest.
Had Kathnir and Akhbir stumbled on the old place and, finding it deserted, made themselves at home? Josse prayed that he was wrong, for he could imagine all too clearly what Joanna’s reaction would be if she paid one of her rare visits to the house and discovered a strange Saracen in her hall. She would attack and A smile spread over his face. Aye, Joanna might be a woman pitting herself against a warrior but she had a power about her now and ways of not only defending herself but also attacking her enemy that might come as quite a surprise to Akhbir.
But on a visit to the house she’d undoubtedly have Meggie with her…
Grim now, he pressed on.
The faint ribbon of track broadened into a well-defined path, then into a road wide enough for a horse and rider. Josse was certain now: the old house was about a quarter of a mile ahead. He had Akhbir in view as the Saracen climbed a slight rise and stepped out into the clearing, then hurried towards the paved courtyard, overgrown with tufts of grass and weeds.
Memories of being here with Joanna flooded Josse’s mind despite his efforts to keep them at bay. It was to this house, her secret hiding place, that she had brought him when he had been wounded. Here she had told him her poignant tale; here she had wept and he had taken her in his arms. Here, on fur rugs in front of the fire, he had intended only to comfort her but comfort had turned into mutual passion and they had made love for the first time.
Joanna.
He closed his eyes and suffered the mingled joy and pain of his memories. Then, ordering himself to get on with his present imperative task, he opened his eyes again. But memory was still in command. He thought he saw her, clad in her heavy, enveloping woollen cloak. Just for an instant she seemed to shimmer there on the path beside the house.