Read Online The Rose of the World by Alys Clare - Free Book Online Page B

able to say was that he had said he was going to look for Rosamund. Josse wondered where he was. Ninian was a grown man and well used to looking after himself, but there was a streak of recklessness that ran through him and he had a temper as hot as any of his infamous paternal relatives.
    Now, slowly and painstakingly covering the ground with the son of his blood close by, Josse sent up a silent prayer for the adopted son whom he loved as dearly.
    Perhaps Ninian was with Meggie. She was now absent too. According to Will, she had slipped out of the House in the Woods during the time that Josse and Helewise were down in Tonbridge. She had not told Will where she was going, although Josse suspected she was at the hut in the forest. She would probably have met up with Helewise there. He said a prayer for them, too.
    He stopped and straightened his back. Being tall, it was a strain to spend so long bent over studying the ground. He put both hands to the base of his spine, kneading the aching muscles with his knuckles. Geoffroi, noticing, called out, ‘What’s wrong?’ Then, quickly: ‘Have you found something?’
    â€˜No, nothing,’ Josse replied. ‘Backache,’ he added tersely.
    Geoffroi’s shoulders slumped. He resumed his searching.
    They pressed on northwards through the dense woodland and presently came to the place where the trees began to thin out. Ahead was the road that curved around the northern border of the forest. To the left it led to Hawkenlye and, if you branched off it to the right, down to Tonbridge. In the opposite direction, the track led away to the east and the south-east, circling the forest and heading off into open countryside.
    Side by side, Josse and his son emerged on to the road. Josse looked both ways, but there was nobody in sight. He glanced down at Geoffroi. ‘What should we do now?’ he asked. The question was rhetorical; it was hardly fair to expect an eleven-year-old boy to supply the answer to a question that had his father stumped.
    Geoffroi frowned, an unaccustomed expression on his round, cheerful face. ‘We could follow the road for a while,’ he suggested. ‘We might find somebody working in the fields who was there yesterday and saw her – them – pass by.’
    It seemed to Josse a pretty vain hope, but he had nothing better to suggest. They fell into step and set off westwards along the road, keeping a lookout for any distant figure in the open ground to their right.
    It was Geoffroi who heard the sound. He stopped, caught at Josse’s sleeve and said, ‘Father, stop.’ He screwed up his face in concentration. Then: ‘Listen! I can hear horses.’
    Josse strained his ears, and soon he, too, caught the faint sounds. A horse – no, two horses – coming towards them from the west. Travelling fast.
    Josse stepped to the side of the road and pulled Geoffroi with him. If the riders were out on business of their own, they would pass straight by. If not . . .
    Josse and Geoffroi waited.
    The horses came into view around a bend in the track. Visibility was poor there on the fringes of the forest. The trees were almost bare now, but those lining the road were vast, their huge trunks and wide-spreading branches blocking the light. Nevertheless, as Josse peered at the riders, he thought he recognized one of them. He was, unless Josse was mistaken, one of Gervase de Gifford’s men.
    He stepped in front of Geoffroi and, as the riders approached, raised a hand in greeting. The man in the lead pulled his horse violently to a halt, and the man behind, taken unawares, almost rode into him. When they had recovered, the first man said, ‘You are Sir Josse d’Acquin, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Aye.’ Josse’s heart was pounding. He stared into the man’s face. He had brought news, of course he had. Was it good news? Oh, God, was it bad?
    The man had slid off his horse and thrown