‘I know both your credentials and your reputation, Sir Josse,’ John said quietly. ‘Why do you think I sought refuge with you when I was in dire need?’
‘I — er, I’m glad that I could help,’ Josse muttered.
‘I have a shelter nearby,’ John said. ‘Let’s get out of the rain.’
‘Very well.’
John set off back along the track and Josse followed, leading Horace. Soon John turned off to the left down a path that descended into the narrow valley of a stream and presently the path gave out. John pushed his way through the undergrowth and, not without difficulty, Josse and his horse followed. John, he noticed, was constantly alert, looking all around him and occasionally putting up a hand to stop them so that he could listen. Eventually they came to a clearing where a bend of the stream had all but cut off an apron of land. Close by there was a hollowed-out space in the sloping side of the valley. In it a chestnut horse was tethered.
Josse stared at the animal. It was a gelding, smaller than the large and heavy Horace and quite beautifully formed. John, observing the direction of Josse’s fixed and fascinated stare, said, ‘His name is Cinnabar. He comes from a land a very long way away.’
‘You have ridden him all the way from Outremer?’
‘I have. Lead your horse into the shelter; there is water there and a place where you can tether him.’
Josse tied Horace’s reins to a stout branch. ‘The human accommodation is in here,’ John said, and Josse followed him to a deeper hollow, its roof formed by an outcrop of sandstone. At the entrance there was a circle of hearthstones and, just inside, firewood and a small cooking pot. There were other objects within but Josse could not make out what they were.
John indicated a couple of cross-sections of tree trunk and said, ‘Sit down. It’s dry in here, at least.’
‘How did you know I would be there on the track?’ Josse asked.
‘I didn’t. I realized you were going to see Gerome yesterday and thought you would remain there. I keep a regular watch up in the beech grove when I use this shelter and you just happened to ride along.’
‘I saw your horse’s prints following mine,’ Josse said.
‘Yes, I know. I was careless.’
There were so many questions that Josse wanted to ask and he did not know where to start. Begin at the beginning, he thought.
‘When you came to New Winnowlands,’ he said, ‘you were dressed differently and I took you for a Saracen.’
‘Among the men on my trail are a trio of Knights Hospitaller,’ John said dryly. ‘I do not have many garments other than this tunic and my Saracen disguise. Given that I knew Thibault was close, I decided on the second.’
‘That decision could have cost your life,’ Josse said. ‘Soon after you left us, a man dressed very similarly was tortured and killed close to Hawkenlye Abbey. I thought he was you.’
John had gone very still. ‘How did you discover you were wrong?’
‘I explained to the Hawkenlye infirmarer that I thought the dead man was John Damianos, who had come to lodge at New Winnowlands. She had treated a man of similar appearance, and when she looked at the body she said this was not the man she had treated because he had a burn on his throat. So we concluded that you were the man she had treated and the dead man was someone else.’
‘His name was Touros,’ John said, ‘and he was a Turkish mercenary. He and his two companions followed me from Antioch. Although Touros did not deserve to die in such a terrible way, it may be some consolation to you to know that had he and his companions caught me, they would have killed me without a qualm.’
‘Why did you flee from New Winnowlands?’ Josse was not ready to comment on what John Damianos had just said.
‘Your serving woman, Ella, is Pandora reborn,’ John replied. ‘Her curiosity about the man in the outbuilding got the better of her, and once she told you that I wasn’t there and you concluded I was in the habit of going out at night — why else would I need to sleep all day? — then I could not stay.’
It was just as Josse had thought. He nodded.
‘I saw the woman approach the outbuilding,’ John said thoughtfully. ‘I am sorry I scared her.’
‘She thought you were some sort of night spirit,’ Josse said.
John laughed. ‘I have been many things, but not that. Yet,’ he added.
‘Where did you go? What did you have to do every night?’
John looked at him. ‘I can’t tell you. I hope I shall be able to, but for now it is too dangerous. What you don’t know, Sir Josse, you can’t tell.’
‘I would not betray you,’ he protested.
‘You might,’ John said. He must have seen Josse’s reaction. ‘I am sorry. I mean no offence.’
‘Those who murdered the Turk are both dead,’ Josse said.
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Did you kill them?’
John turned to stare at Josse and his grey-blue eyes were clear and honest. ‘No.’
‘One was killed with a longbow. I think the shot was fired by one of Touros’s companions and that it was in revenge for his death.’
John nodded. ‘That is very likely. The men who travelled with Touros are called William and Tancred. They are Franks from Outremer. They are in the employ of a ruthless and wealthy man who wants me dead. Touros was their best weapon. They will sorely miss his prowess.’
‘They made a shrine to him,’ Josse said. ‘They did not have his body — he was buried at Hawkenlye — but they made a special place on the edge of the forest and stuck his broken bow in the ground.’
John shrugged. ‘Well, perhaps there was some sentiment there after all and Touros was more to them than a useful servant.’
‘They killed a man they believed was you,’ Josse said softly.
‘The Hospitaller? Yes, I suspected it, and I am sorry. They must have thought Thibault had found me at Gerome’s house and was taking me to Clerkenwell.’
‘They murdered the Hospitaller in his bed and then set fire to the place.’ Josse was not sure whether or not this would be news to John Damianos; he seemed to be remarkably well informed.
‘They have their orders and they will not rest until those orders are carried out. They are commanded to hunt me down and kill me. They believed that poor, innocent monk was me and they do not waste time asking questions.’
‘Do you think they have discovered their mistake? Are you still in danger from them?’
‘I wish it were not so, but the answer to both of your questions is yes.’
‘How do you know?’ Josse demanded.
John hesitated. Then he said, ‘Again, I am sorry, Sir Josse, but you will just have take my word for it. I can’t tell you.’
Josse had had enough. With the Abbess’s and Gerome’s help, so many of the pieces of the puzzle had been fitted together. But he knew they had not reached the core of it. Thibault knew much that he was not telling them; so did Gerome; and now here was John Damianos, who seemed to be at the heart of it all, calmly saying, I can’t tell you.
‘You have led me quite a dance,’ he said coolly. ‘I believed you to be a Saracen travelling in the company of the Knight Hospitaller sought by Thibault. I thought he was this runaway English monk who had been at the meeting in the desert, and that you — the Saracen — were Fadil, the prisoner who was being exchanged. Now I find that you are the English monk known as Brother Ralf.’
‘You called me that earlier,’ John observed. ‘Did Gerome tell you the name?’
‘Aye. That was one of the few things he did tell me. Where’s Fadil? He’s here, isn’t he? You’ve brought your prisoner all the way to England and you-’
‘I last saw my prisoner, as you call him, in Constantinople,’ John interrupted. ‘Fadil wasn’t my choice of a travelling companion and I was very glad to see the last of him.’
‘Why did you let him go? You should have taken him back to Margat or Crac des Chevaliers!’
‘I should indeed. But something strange happened out there in the desert. I had a sort of vision of what he would be going back to if we returned him to his master. I couldn’t be responsible for forcing him back into that life, Sir Josse, so I took him to where he wished to go and then said goodbye.’