The Enchanter's Forest (7 page)

     With some effort, she made herself stop.

     But Josse, dear Josse, must have seen the terrible vision that she saw. ‘My lady, do not despair,’ he said softly.

     She managed a small smile. ‘I see very little reason not to.’

     He had stood up and was pacing to and fro across her small room. His restless presence, as always, made it seem even smaller. ‘Florian of Southfrith must be made to stop,’ he announced.

     ‘But why?’ she demanded. ‘If there is a power in these bones, and if it is benign’ – she suddenly appreciated that this was quite a big
if
– ‘then what right have we to come between the people and a source of succour? Times continue to be hard, Sir Josse. It is but two years since everyone in the land had to give far more than they could afford in order to buy back our King. Yet what have they in exchange for their enforced generosity? King Richard stayed in England less than two months and then set off campaigning again and we have seen neither hide nor hair of him since. Purchasing the King’s freedom has cost the people dear and it will, I fear, take them a very long time to regain any sort of security. Some will never achieve it and will live in wretched poverty and miserable uncertainty until they die.’ She heard her voice rise with passion and took a moment to regain her composure. Then she said quietly, ‘If they find comfort and help in this Merlin’s Tomb, then should we try to stop it?’

     ‘If it is based on a fallacy then yes, indeed we should.’ Again, Josse did not sound as certain as she would have liked.

     ‘The crucial question being whether or not it is a fallacy,’ she murmured.

     ‘Aye.’ He gave a gusty sigh.

     She thought for a while and then said, ‘Sir Josse, if these bones are not Merlin’s, then they have to be someone else’s.’ He smiled briefly at the simplicity of her argument but did not interrupt. ‘Then perhaps we should turn our efforts to discovering whose the bones are,’ she went on.

     ‘They’re very large,’ Josse put in. ‘The man in that grave would easily have stood head and chest above me, if not more.’

     ‘That much taller than you!’ She was shocked, for Josse was no midget.

     ‘Well, maybe not quite,’ he admitted.

     ‘Who on earth
was
he?’ she murmured wonderingly. She had always dismissed tales of giants as nothing more than fairy stories. To have the skeleton of one found not ten miles away was disturbing, to say the least . . . ‘If it is true that Florian did not make this miraculous find on the forest fringe with its lead cross helpfully providing identity—’

     ‘I’ll stake my reputation that he didn’t,’ Josse said.

     ‘—then he must have found the skeleton somewhere else, manufactured the lead cross, dug a hole in the forest floor, lined it with stone and placed a slab in its base, then transported the bones. He would have had to wait a while for the grave to lose its air of raw newness—’

     ‘Not so long at this time of year,’ Josse put in. ‘In May and June everything grows so fast and signs of recent labour would soon have been covered up.’

     ‘Very well. Let us say he waited a few weeks. Then he chops down the trees to make his clearing, puts up fences and huts and then makes the announcement. You and I both know full well how news travels, especially when it concerns a miracle. All Florian would have to do was sit back and wait.’

     Josse was frowning and she wondered if there was some point with which he wished to take issue. ‘Sir Josse?’

     ‘My lady, I was thinking of something prompted by the first part of your proposed account.’ He glared at her, although she knew his anger was not directed at her. ‘The trees,’ he said bluntly.

     ‘The trees?’ She tried to follow. Then light dawned. ‘Oh, I see. You are thinking of the forest people.’

     ‘Aye. We have seen in the past how they react to unnecessary felling of trees. I am thinking, my lady, that I would not wish to be in the shoes of the man who roused the wrath of the Domina.’

     ‘Neither would I,’ she agreed fervently.

     There was a short silence in the little room. He, she imagined, was thinking the same as she. Who would be the first to put the thought into words?

     It was Josse. ‘I should seek them out,’ he said slowly. ‘The forest people, I mean. I’ll go into the forest and try to locate one of them, and ask to be taken to her. The Domina,’ he added, as if he could have meant anyone else.

     But he could, she suddenly realised: he could have meant Joanna.

     Joanna lived in the Great Forest. She was one of the forest people and Helewise had good reason to know that her powers had been steadily growing until she too was a force to be feared. She also had reason to know that to speak of Joanna was difficult for Josse.

     But speak of her she must.

     ‘Joanna too will be greatly disturbed by this intrusion,’ she said softly. ‘Should you, do you think, seek her out too?’

     He turned pained eyes to her. ‘She is not always there to
be
sought out,’ he said. ‘Since I found out about Meggie, I have sometimes tried to. She said I might,’ he added, as if he needed to excuse his actions. Not to me, Helewise thought quickly. Why should a man not wish to see his natural child,
and
the woman who bore her?

     ‘You have tried to go and visit, but found her away from home?’ Helewise prompted.

     ‘Aye. Three times now, since that business with the Eye of Jerusalem.’

     ‘She saved my life, and that of others,’ Helewise observed. ‘I have never thanked her. Perhaps I ought to.’

     Josse was watching her. ‘She’d probably be at home to
you
,’ he said roughly.

     ‘Oh, Josse, don’t—’ She could feel his pain and instantly wanted to comfort him. But she did not know how to. She bowed her head.

     After some time she said, ‘
I
will go into the forest, with Sister Tiphaine as my guide.’ Sister Tiphaine was the herbalist; rumoured still to be part-pagan despite all the years she had spent as a nun, she was known to have contacts and friends among the Forest Folk. ‘We shall try to find the Domina and also perhaps Joanna, if she is there to be found, and speak to them concerning their views on Merlin’s Tomb. It may be that Hawkenlye and the Forest will unite in their opposition, and both be the stronger for having a powerful ally.’

     He nodded slowly. ‘Aye. And it can surely do no harm to discover what they think.’ Tearing himself away with an obvious effort from thoughts of the forest and those who dwelt within it, he said, ‘As for me, I shall don my true identity and visit Florian’s home, then return to the wider area around the tomb. If it is as we conjecture and Florian has transported bones from elsewhere, then perhaps I shall be able to find out where he found them. If that fails, I shall consider approaching Florian himself to demand some explanations.’

     She looked at him. ‘Be careful,’ she warned. ‘He is making a great deal of money and he will not be willing to discuss the whys and wherefores with anyone, even a well-armed knight such as yourself.’

     ‘I am a King’s man,’ he said with a hint of pride.

     ‘So you are but, on your own admission, Florian surrounds himself with bodyguards.’

     ‘Hm.’ He looked as if he would have preferred it if he had kept that fact to himself. ‘Very well, my lady. I shall be careful.’

     ‘I will pray for you,’ she said gently. ‘Once again, you take on a force that threatens the Abbey and, once again, we are in your debt.’

     He grinned. ‘Don’t feel too much indebtedness until you know it’s warranted,’ he said. ‘I may achieve precisely nothing in my endeavours.’

     ‘That I doubt,’ she returned. ‘When will you set out?’

     ‘First light tomorrow.’ He stretched. ‘For now, I will reclaim my own clothes and return these garments to Sister Emanuel. Then I shall visit the monks in the Vale and ask them to provide me with some food and a bed for the night.’

     He made a sketchy bow, headed for the door and was gone.

The next morning Helewise sought out Sister Tiphaine immediately after Tierce. She made her way around to the herb garden, where the neat rows of plants were growing abundantly under the June sunshine. Sweet, potent smells floated up to her and she breathed in deeply, enjoying the sensation as some of the plants’ power surged into her lungs.

     The herbalist was standing inside her little hut. The door was propped open and the soft sound of Sister Tiphaine’s humming could be heard. It sounded more like a chant, as if the herbalist were making some incantation to empower whatever remedy she was working on . . . Wisely, Helewise decided not to enquire.

     ‘Sister Tiphaine!’ she called out as she approached.

     Abruptly the humming broke off. ‘My lady Abbess,’ Sister Tiphaine greeted her, wiping her hands on a spotless piece of white linen and coming to stand in the doorway.

     ‘Sister, I have to go into the forest,’ Helewise said without preamble – she was feeling quite apprehensive and the best way to deal with qualms was, in her experience, to ride straight at them – ‘and I need you to be my guide.’

     ‘Of course, my lady.’

     ‘It’s this wretched business of the new shrine.’

     ‘Merlin’s Tomb, they’re calling it.’ There was scorn in the herbalist’s tone.

     ‘Yes, indeed they are. Well, whether it is or not’ – she could have been mistaken but she thought she heard Sister Tiphaine mutter, ‘It’s not’ – ‘it is giving us a very great problem because it is diverting the pilgrims who would otherwise come here. Since a large part of the reason for our very existence is to care for those who come to take our healing waters, this is not a situation that I wish to see continue for any longer than can be helped.’ She realised that she was sounding pompous. Looking straight into Sister Tiphaine’s deep eyes, she said simply, ‘For their own reasons, the forest people must be equally distressed at this intrusion. It is my hope that I might meet the Domina and discuss our position. Can you – will you – help?’

     Sister Tiphaine did not answer for a few moments. Then she said, ‘My lady, you say
our
situation, yet I believe that the interests of Hawkenlye and of the Forest in this matter are not similar.’

     ‘That’s as may be,’ said Helewise with some impatience, ‘but I would guess that both parties would like to see an end to this Merlin’s Tomb.’

     ‘Indeed,’ Sister Tiphaine muttered. Then: ‘I will guide you through the forest, my lady. I cannot say whether we shall meet the Domina, although I feel sure that she is close.’ She frowned. ‘As you surmise, the violation that has been perpetrated by Florian of Southfrith deeply disturbs and distresses those who guard the sanctity of the trees.’

     ‘Quite.’ Helewise was surprised that Sister Tiphaine, who kept herself to herself and did not indulge in Abbey gossip, should know the name of the man behind the Merlin’s Tomb trickery. If, indeed, trickery was what it was . . . Oh, what she would give to be absolutely sure! ‘Well, let us be on our way, then,’ she concluded briskly, ‘and you must do your best.’

     Sister Tiphaine bowed. ‘Very well, my lady.’

Tiphaine led the way along the forest path, turning her head now and then to ensure that the Abbess was still close behind her. Although she had said she was not sure of being able to locate the Domina, in truth she was pretty certain that she could, for that Great One of the people was bound to be in the area. As Tiphaine had hinted to her superior, the Forest Folk had reacted furiously to what Florian had done. There was the question of the felled trees and the great swathe of raw ground where he had ordered his workmen to hack away the undergrowth; there were also those two crude fences and the tacky, badly built huts that would blow apart in the first strong wind and that probably already let in the rain.

     Worse, far worse, was the skeleton now lying exposed in an open grave for no better reason than that an unscrupulous man wanted to make money. A great deal of money. The forest people – and Tiphaine herself was sufficiently tied to them to feel the same strong emotion – were carrying the fact of those huge disinterred bones like a permanent hurt, a growing pain that nagged and bit and refused to let go.