Deep within her grieving heart, hope was born.
She opened her eyes and slowly turned her head to face the north.
EIGHT
Meggie and Ninian began their vigil early. Concealed in the gorse bushes and intent on the hunting lodge, Meggie reflected that the men within must be wealthy. In that time of privation, the feasting had gone on late into the night and, this morning, the servants had been up and about soon after first light, lighting fires and preparing yet more food and drink. Smoke curled lazily up from the roof of the lodge itself, and from the smaller building beyond, which must surely be the kitchen, a veritable blaze appeared to have been lit. Whatever was for breakfast — and Meggie’s mouth watered as she thought about food — was going to be tasty and, more important, abundant.
She and Ninian, when they woke, had eaten exactly the same meal they had consumed last night: some strips of dried meat and half an apple.
Presently, men started to emerge from the lodge. In ones and twos, they went round to the back of the lodge, presumably to where some servant had dug a latrine ditch, and then crossed to where the horses had been tethered overnight in a lean-to. Even the horses were well cared for, Meggie observed. There was a generous layer of straw between them and the cold ground, and the hay nets were stuffed to bursting. The sound of metal clinking on metal floated out from the lean-to as the men tacked up their mounts.
Halfway along the line of horses there was a big chestnut gelding with two white socks on his forefeet. Even from the distance that separated them, Meggie could see he was a wonderful animal, with the gracefully arched neck, small ears and slightly concave nose that told of Arab blood. He would go like the wind. Beside him was a big black horse with a star on its brow. He, too, had the exotic look that came when an English bloodline had been infused with the fast, deft-footed horses that the crusaders had brought back with them.
As if he knew her attention was lapsing, Ninian nudged her. ‘They’ll be off soon,’ he said into her ear. ‘They’ll leave the servants to clear up and bring the kit.’
He seemed very knowledgeable about the habits of the great. She smiled to herself. Well, he’d spent the years between eight and fourteen in the house of a knight, learning how to be a squire, so it was hardly surprising. ‘I’m ready,’ she whispered back. ‘The horses are packed, and we can be away in a moment.’
He nodded. They went on watching.
When all the other men were mounted and ready, the leader came out of the hunting lodge. He stopped in the doorway, took a deep breath of the clean forest air and looked at the rolling country all around.
Meggie’s eyes were drawn to him. He was a strongly-built man of medium height and looked to be in his early forties. His thick hair sprang in waves and curls from his head, dark reddish-brown in colour and tinged with grey at the temples. He was barrel-chested, perhaps running to fat, although it was difficult to tell his true shape beneath the heavily padded tunic. It was a gorgeous garment, Meggie noticed, made of expensive russet-coloured cloth and with costly embroidery at the neck. He wore a wide belt of beautifully tooled leather, and from it hung a jewelled scabbard that bore a sword. He also carried a short knife.
He called out something to the men, and they all laughed. Then he turned and spoke to somebody behind him, still within the lodge. Meggie clutched Ninian’s hand, but he had seen, too, and together they watched as Rosamund stepped daintily out into the soft morning sunshine.
‘She is — oh, I truly believe she is unharmed,’ Meggie whispered. ‘Ninian, she’s smiling.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I can see,’ he whispered back. ‘She must be-’
Whatever he had been about to say, he stopped. Following the direction of his eyes, Meggie watched as another man emerged from the lodge. He was about Ninian’s height and build, and he wore a brown leather tunic, and over it a short cloak with a hood.
She stared at him. Seeing him now, she understood exactly why she had let Rosamund run after him in the woods near to Josse’s house. He really did look very like Ninian.
She dug her elbow into her brother’s ribs. ‘See?’ she hissed. ‘Do you wonder that Rosamund and I both mistook him for you? Especially when he was where we were expecting to see you, near to the House in the Woods.’
Ninian was watching the man. ‘He’s younger than me,’ he said.
‘Yes, but not by more than three or four years.’ The man was now helping Rosamund up on to the black horse. Once she was secure, he sprang up behind her. ‘He even moves like you,’ Meggie added.
Ninian turned and grinned at her. ‘I never blamed you anyway for Rosamund’s disappearance, but if I did, I wouldn’t any more. All right?’
She grinned back. ‘All right.’ Then, her eyes on Rosamund: ‘Ninian, can’t we just ride over to them and take her back?’
‘I’ve been wondering the same thing.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve no idea why the man who looks like me abducted her, but for some reason he’s now joined up with all those others, and I can’t believe that they’re all in it. It seems most likely that the — that their leader would see by Rosamund’s reaction that she knows us and would readily let her go with us. But, Meggie, what if that didn’t happen? What if they were determined to hold on to her?’
‘We’d fight!’ she hissed. ‘I have my sword, and so have you, and we’ve got our knives!’
He sighed. ‘I appreciate how you feel, but there are just too many of them. We can’t fight ten well-armed men, and that’s not counting however many servants there are milling around over there.’
The hot blood was racing through her, and for an instant she wanted to ignore him and rush out to rescue Rosamund all by herself. She took a deep breath and then another, deliberately calming herself. He was right. Tempting as it was to act right now, the risk was too great.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘We’ll follow at a safe distance and see where they go.’
He did not speak, but the sudden hard hug he gave her was answer enough.
Josse was down in his habitual place with the Hawkenlye monks in the vale. When Gervase had so abruptly hurried away from the House in the Woods earlier, he had felt guilty about remaining there doing nothing but working his way through a platter of Tilly’s excellent cooking, so without pausing for food he had fetched a disgruntled Alfred and ridden back to the abbey. His stomach growling with hunger — for the day was now well advanced and he had eaten nothing since early morning — he had sought out Brother Saul and asked if he could spare something to eat.
As if he, too, were recalling so many previous occasions, Brother Saul appeared with a hot drink and a bowl of thin, watery gruel and commented, ‘Just like old times, eh, Sir Josse?’
Josse took the wooden bowl, setting the mug carefully down beside him on the ground. He smiled at the old lay brother. ‘Thank you, Saul. Aye, it is. There’s many a morning I’ve scrounged a meal from the monks.’
He did not say so, but he could not recall a time when the gruel had contained quite so little oatmeal. Nevertheless, he still felt guilty about eating it, when there were so many far needier than he.
Brother Saul watched as he ate and drank. ‘Anything more I can do for you?’ he asked.
Josse shook his head. ‘No, Saul, thank you.’ Realizing that Saul was undoubtedly hovering for another reason than tending to Josse’s needs, he said, ‘No news yet, I’m afraid.’
Saul’s face fell. ‘The dead man’s kin were not able to provide any clue in the little girl’s disappearance?’
‘No. We still do not know that there’s any connection between Hugh de Brionne’s death and Rosamund’s disappearance.’
He had finished his meagre meal, and Saul took the empty vessels from him. ‘I’ll go and pray for the lass,’ he said. He smiled briefly. ‘If dear old Brother Firmin was still with us, he’d be doing the rounds with his precious holy water to keep our hopes up. Set a store by that water, did Brother Firmin.’