The Winter King--A Hawkenlye 13th Century British Mystery Read online

  He had done nothing.

  Other than, in the privacy of his own head, to formulate a plan of his own.

  Yes, he would be returning to the south-east of England anyway, to honour his commitment to Meggie. It was fortunate, therefore, that the south-east was precisely where the king now resided – where, or so they said, he would be spending the next few weeks.

  It made a lot more sense, really, for a man who wanted to kill him to be in the same vicinity …

  He was on the very last leg of the long journey. To his right, the dark, shadowy forest loomed like a sleeping giant. Ahead, the road wound around the bulge of its northern perimeter. Presently he passed Hawkenlye Abbey, where, as the light began to fail, lamps were being lit.

  He urged Auban forward, for suddenly he had need of haste.

  He turned into the forest, casting in his memory and trying to picture the twists and turns of the track. After a while, he relaxed, and a smile spread across his face. It was all coming back to him; he knew he would find the way.

  And, sooner than he expected, the clearing opened up before him.

  Meggie was tidying the little hut, preparing to close up for the night and go down to the abbey. Once again, she was helping Sister Liese with a patient in the infirmary, and it made sense for her to sleep at Hawkenlye rather than walk back to the House in the Woods. Looking round the beloved hut, she sighed. She had tried over and over again to persuade Josse that she was as safe within its stout walls as anywhere on earth, but still he was not happy about her sleeping there alone. ‘When you have company – if Tiphaine, for example, is staying with you – then that’s different,’ he had said. ‘Otherwise please, Meggie, do as I ask and go down to the abbey at nightfall.’

  Because the habit of obeying him was strong in her – and far more importantly, because she loved him and did not want him to worry about her – Meggie had given her word and she kept it. But, denied of the precious solitude of the hut overnight, instead she regularly escaped to it during the day. Whenever she was not needed in the infirmary – which, in fact, was quite often, since her contact with her patient involved talking to him and listening to him rather than actually nursing him – she slipped out of the abbey, up the long slope, in under the trees and along the track to the hut.

  Now, as she finished her tidying, she reflected that she needed her time alone, more than ever, just at the moment, for her heart was uneasy. She remembered something one of her instructors over at Folles Pensées had told her: Little is more exhausting to the human spirit than a mental conflict that cannot be resolved.

  The truth of that wise old man’s words was proved to her now. The one benefit – she smiled grimly to herself – was that, having experienced the condition herself, she might more easily be able to help fellow sufferers.

  Her conflict was simple: she had met a man who was universally loathed, yet she was drawn to him. Not for the first time, she had allowed physical sensation to take over, seducing her into feeling deeply attracted to someone who, she knew very well, would use her and discard her with no more regard for her than if she had been a hound that would no longer run. Perhaps less, for he was said to treat his hunting dogs with particular care and affection.

  For what felt like the hundredth time, she fought to suppress her vivid memories of that meeting in the glade. Yet again, she failed. What if you had done as you so badly wanted to, and yielded? she demanded of herself. What do you think would have happened? Do not fool yourself with dreams of some sort of lasting commitment. Would you even want that, you idiot?

  Of course not. Her life was here, in this beloved place, and, beyond it, with her family. And her future was with Jehan, who loved her and who treated her with respect, as his equal. Who is coming back to me, she reminded herself, and already overdue.

  Amid the bigger anxiety, another worry niggled its way into her mind: What if he’s not coming?

  ‘Stop it,’ she said aloud.

  What troubled her most was that, despite every resolve, every promise she had made to herself, still she had found her footsteps returning to the glade where she had come across the king. He hadn’t been there, and she told herself she was very relieved. But then, drawn to the other place where she had encountered him, she had seen him, standing outside St Edmund’s Chapel. He had carried a cloth-wrapped parcel in his arms. Some warm, luxurious garment? Some vastly expensive, beautifully soft furs? She did not know. But she had been quite sure it had been for her.

  You saved his life, she thought. Without your warning, he would have gone unsuspecting to Benedict de Vitré’s funeral feast, and now he would be dead. He probably wanted to present a gift to say thank you.

  Did kings do that? Did they ever feel the need to reward faithful, loyal service with gifts? Kings probably didn’t, she reflected. Men did, though, especially when the recipient was a woman they desired.

  It had taken all her strength to turn back into the shelter and safety of the forest and softly walk away.

  She had won that particular battle; the greater one – of stopping herself from thinking about him – was still going on. ‘It’s because I know what is in store for him,’ she whispered out loud, as if explaining herself to someone; perhaps the silent, unseen but constant presence of her mother. ‘I shared Lilas’s visions of his future, you see, and I know he hasn’t got many years left.’ She paused, for she was fighting tears. ‘And I know how he is going to die.’

  Despite everything – despite the king’s selfishness and thoughtless cruelty; his savage treatment of his subjects; the deep intransigence that had made this stupid quarrel with the Pope go on for so long, so that the whole land suffered; the fact that England would undoubtedly be better off without him – still, the thought of his fate made her sad.

  She stood for some time, quite still, letting her sadness and her distress abate. Then she raised her head, squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. It was time to go. She took one last look around the tidy space, then turned and opened the door.