The Winter King (15 page)

Josse remembered Helewise’s description:
It is well placed, on the northern edge of the High Weald. The prudent men who originally built a dwelling place there sited it wisely, for, whilst it is itself sheltered in a fold of the hills, its tower commands a view right over the valley.

Here was the valley, here was Wealdsend, and there was the tower. It was, Josse appreciated, a perfectly sited stronghold, and so well hidden in the landscape that, even now, it was quite difficult to make it out.

It was a lonely, haunted place. Josse felt a shiver of fear crawl up his back.

You have a job to do
, he told himself firmly.
Get on with it.

He put his heels to Alfred’s sides and rode on up the track to Wealdsend.

The settlement was enclosed by a tall paling fence, and the upper ends of the supporting wooden stakes were sharpened to points. On the outer edge of the fence a ditch had been dug. Josse rode up to the gate, which was closed and, he discovered, locked. Standing up in the stirrups, he peered down into the deserted yard. He called out, ‘Halloa! Is anyone there? I wish to speak to Lord Robert Wimarc. Is he within?’

There was no reply. Josse gazed out at the long, low hall, at the scatter of outbuildings, at the tall tower up on its hump. No door opened; no one came on hurrying feet to enquire what the visitor wanted with the lord.

Strange
, he thought. Today, Wealdsend was deserted. Yet only four days ago, two bright young men had called at Hawkenlye Abbey to ask the way to this very place. Had Lord Wimarc been expecting them? Or had they come without invitation, confident of finding the lord in residence?

Josse called out once more. ‘Halloa the house! I wish to speak to Lord Wimarc, for I bring ill tidings!’

Still there was no response. The mist swirled, a solitary crow cawed as if in warning, and Wealdsend dreamed on.

The earlier shiver of fear came back again, more strongly now. Josse turned Alfred’s head and, kicking the horse into sudden action, hurried away.

Wealdsend was not deserted.

Inside the great hall, an elderly man sat beside the hearth. The fire was small but hot, burning with a fierce intensity that gave off a minimum of smoke, for the old man wished to give the illusion that Wealdsend was unoccupied. He had taken the precaution of fetching blankets and a fur rug against the cold, and he was warmly wrapped as he sat on his cushions in his oak chair.

He stared into the bright flames, absently turning the ring with the huge citrine.

He had suffered a great shock. Sheer mischance had almost ruined a year of meticulous planning. When he thought about how nearly the whole careful edifice had come to crashing down around his ears, it made his heart lurch painfully.

Do not dwell upon it
, he commanded himself coldly.

He wondered who had come calling. He had made out a male voice, shouting something about wanting to speak to Lord Robert Wimarc.

The old man’s bony face cracked into a grimace, or it might have been a smile.

Nobody could speak to Lord Wimarc now, he mused, for he was occupied, to the exclusion of everything else, with his great scheme.

Which, so far, despite what had almost happened, was proceeding just as it should.

A
t the close of what had seemed an endless day, at long last Josse was exactly where he wanted to be: sitting beside his own fire, mug of wine in his hand, belly comfortably full from Tilly’s excellent evening meal and, with the rest of the household retired for the night, alone with Helewise.

As soon as he knew they would not be overheard, Josse leaned close to Helewise and revealed to her what Meggie had told him about Benedict de Vitré’s murder.

Her eyes widened. ‘Meggie is sure of this? And the death really could not have come about because of some natural cause?’

‘No. Apparently not,’ he replied.

There was quite a long silence. Then Helewise said softly, ‘Who would have wanted Benedict de Vitré dead?’

‘His wife, for one.’ Quietly, Josse repeated to her what Meggie had told him regarding the potions prepared by Sabin for Lady Richenza.

‘But he was not killed by any potion,’ Helewise pointed out. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘for a wife to wish to free herself from a fat, ugly and cruel husband’s attentions is one thing. For her to resort to killing him is quite another.’

‘She didn’t mind administering a potion that would render him impotent,’ Josse remarked.

‘But that is hardly the same as killing him!’ Helewise flashed back. ‘Besides, from what we are told, Lady Richenza is small and slight in stature, and little more than a child. Can you in truth see such a girl possessing the strength and the skill to wield that slim and deadly killing blade?’

‘It need not have been her own delicate hand that did the deed,’ Josse replied. ‘Lady Richenza was wife to a very wealthy man. Is it not possible that, in her despair, she helped herself to the means to employ another to kill him for her?’

‘No, I do not think so,’ Helewise said firmly. ‘She had already taken measures to rid herself both of her husband’s ardour and the possibility of bearing his child,’ she added reasonably. ‘With those ends achieved, she surely had no need to kill him.’

‘Hmm.’ Josse was not convinced.

‘I can think of others who might have wished Lord Benedict dead,’ Helewise pressed on. ‘As we ourselves know from our own experience, he was ruthless and brutal in his work for the king. He took and took again, having no mind for the miseries he and his men left in their wake. His men
murdered
people, Josse – surely you have not forgotten that poor family who drowned when Lord Benedict’s thugs drove them into the river?’

‘I have not forgotten,’ Josse grunted. ‘You think, then, that someone decided to have their revenge? Some man who lost his gold and his property to the king’s coffers via Lord Benedict’s collectors, or who was forced to watch his loved ones suffer in the wake of such theft, just happens to be skilled with the assassin’s blade?’

‘I don’t know,’ Helewise admitted. ‘It is unlikely, I suppose, but I do, however, see it as
less
unlikely than Lady Richenza hiring a killer.’

‘Hmm,’ Josse said again.

‘There is another possibility,’ Helewise said after a while. ‘According to what we have learned from Meggie and, via her, from Sabin, Lord Benedict was spending lavishly before his death. The manor house was being extended; apparently the lord and his lady were richly dressed, and Lady Richenza wears costly jewels.’ She hesitated.

‘Go on,’ Josse prompted.

‘It is perhaps foolish,’ she said with a smile, ‘but I reason like this: Lord Benedict was collecting revenues on behalf of the king, but, to judge by his own recent expenditure, it is almost certain that he was creaming off a portion of what he amassed for his own benefit.’

‘It is always possible that King John knew and approved,’ Josse interrupted. ‘Benedict was working hard for him, and the king can be generous when the mood takes him.’

Helewise glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. Her grey eyes held a worldly expression, as if to say,
really?

‘Perhaps,’ she went on after a moment, ‘some truly loyal follower of the king discovered what Lord Benedict was up to and took the necessary steps to stop him.’

‘Very
drastic
steps,’ Josse remarked. He thought about it. ‘It’s possible, I grant you, for men tend to lose their heads and their hearts when they fall under King John’s spell.’ She opened her mouth to reply, but he forestalled her. ‘Possible, but not, I think, probable. It is more likely that a true king’s man, with proof of Lord Benedict’s perfidy, would report the matter direct to the king.’
And John
, he thought,
would have taken his own revenge, and Benedict’s death would have been far longer and more excruciating than a swift blade straight into the heart.

It was not a thought to share with Helewise.

She was nodding slowly. ‘You are right, I suppose,’ she admitted, ‘although I cannot shake off the thought that this death is somehow connected with what Lord Benedict was doing for the king.’

‘Perhaps King John
did
come to hear what Benedict was up to,’ Josse said, ‘and managed to swallow back his fury and his desire to … er, to make an example of the man. Perhaps it was John himself who sent a silent killer to make Benedict pay for what he had done.’

Helewise stared at him, wide-eyed. ‘Do you really think him capable of such a deed?’ she whispered.

Josse had spoken in ironic jest, frustrated by the discussion that seemed to proceed without reaching any sensible conclusion. But, the more he thought about his last suggestion, the more he thought it could just be possible. ‘He’d be more likely, I suppose, to make a public accusation and have Lord Benedict punished as an example to others tempted to do the same,’ he acknowledged, ‘but then our king must be aware that he is not popular, and such a high-handed gesture against an important lord could easily turn against him.’ He fell silent, thinking.

‘So?’ Helewise prompted. ‘Do you believe King John capable of sending a secret assassin to do away with someone?’

‘Aye,’ Josse said gruffly. ‘Of course I do.’

‘You should speak to Gervase again,’ Helewise urged him the next morning as they sat beside the fire with welcome warming drinks. The weather had turned colder. ‘Four people now know that Lord Benedict did not die a natural death, but was murdered by a skilled and no doubt practised hand. It is not up to you, me, Meggie or Sabin to bring the killer to justice. That’s Gervase’s job.’

She was right, and Josse knew it. ‘But what if Sabin hasn’t told him about the potions she prepared for Lady Richenza?’

‘That is a matter for Sabin,’ Helewise replied firmly. ‘That young woman is more than capable of looking after herself,’ she muttered.

‘And we do have Meggie’s assurance that it was nothing in Sabin’s medicaments that killed him,’ Josse mused. ‘Very well,’ he said, making up his mind and abruptly standing up. ‘I shall do as you suggest, and perhaps, as far as this household is concerned, that can be the end of it.’

She looked up at him, smiling. ‘Leaving you with no mysterious death to wonder about and tease to a conclusion?’ she murmured. ‘Oh, dear Josse, I don’t think you’d like that.’

‘There’s still the matter of the two bright young men,’ he reminded her.

Her happy expression saddened, and instantly he regretted having reminded her. ‘I had forgotten them for the moment,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, how
could
I? Josse, will you call in at the abbey on your way back from Tonbridge? Maybe someone will have come to claim them.’

Briefly he put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. ‘I will.’

Despite Helewise’s remarks about Sabin, Josse still felt awkward at the prospect of telling her husband what she had done. As he set off, Josse thought it over. It was not, he had to conclude, a very responsible action for a healer, and particularly not when the healer in question was married to the sheriff of Tonbridge, and so had his reputation as well as her own to consider. But, as Helewise had said, it was a matter for Sabin …

I shall not mention it
, Josse resolved as he rode down the long hill into Tonbridge.
If Gervase does, then I shall just have to tell the truth and hope for the best.

But he found Gervase far too preoccupied with other urgent business to waste any time lamenting the behaviour of his wife.

‘There’s a nest of them staying up at the castle,’ Gervase fumed as soon as Josse was inside his hall and seated by the hearth. There was no sign of Sabin, for which Josse was very grateful. ‘The de Clares are keeping their heads down, as if they don’t want to be associated with Fitzwalter’s lot. Some say they aren’t even in residence, although I am fairly certain that the old man and his son are there.’

‘A nest of what?’ Josse demanded, stretching out his hands to the fire’s warmth. ‘Or is it who? And what is it that the de Clares are dissociating themselves from?’

Gervase leaned back in his chair, momentarily closing his eyes. ‘I wish I knew, Josse. I can only surmise, however, and my conclusions make me very uneasy.’

Josse had rarely seen his old friend look so troubled. The two of them had had their differences – on occasion, Josse had considered that Gervase could have stood out more firmly against some of the worst excesses perpetrated in the king’s name – but, nevertheless, Gervase’s fine-boned, pale face and anxious expression concerned him. ‘Go on.’

Gervase opened his eyes again, turning to Josse. Leaning closer, he said very quietly, ‘This must remain strictly between the two of us, Josse. Should word ever come back to me that I even
thought
about saying what I’m about to say, I shall deny it. You understand?’

Worried now, Josse muttered his assent.

His mouth close to Josse’s ear, Gervase said, ‘You are aware, no doubt, of what will happen next, should the king not accept the Pope’s terms for ending the interdict and the excommunication?’ Before Josse could respond, Gervase answered his own question. ‘Innocent will declare him formally deposed, which will relieve his subjects of all allegiance to him. The Pope will then grant the kingdom to Philip Augustus of France, who’ll no doubt waste no time in saddling up his army, kitting them out for war, and ferrying them over the narrow seas to claim his new territory for him.’

Josse had heard the rumours. Foreknowledge, however, did not make them any less disturbing. ‘You think it will come to that?’

Gervase shrugged. ‘Who can say? Possibly.
Probably
, for the king is intransigent.’

‘What has this to do with the men gathered at the castle?’

‘Hush, Josse! Not so loud!’ Gervase hissed. ‘Their leader is Nicholas Fitzwalter.’

It was clear from Gervase’s face that the name should mean something to Josse. Beyond a very faint memory of some mention of the man, it didn’t. Josse looked enquiringly at Gervase.

‘Good Lord above, Josse, you do bury yourself away out there in those woods of yours,’ Gervase muttered. ‘You should at least try to keep up with what’s happening in the world. Nicholas Fitzwalter speaks for a large faction of discontented barons, and his eloquence in describing their grievances against the king has won him fame. Or perhaps I should say infamy.’