The Winter King by Alys Clare

Author:Alys Clare [Alys Clare]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2013-11-10T16:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

As soon as they had checked to make sure that Lilas was not hiding somewhere else in the infirmary, Josse, Meggie and Abbess Caliste hurried outside again. Struggling with the mass of people still crowded together in the forecourt of Hawkenlye Abbey, Josse tried to hear what Abbess Caliste was saying. Something about organizing a search for the old woman.

Some hope, he thought.

Now that Nicholas Fitzwalter and his two monks had left the platform and there clearly wasn’t going to be any more entertainment, people were slowly dispersing, which, if anything, made the prospect of a search even more difficult, since the crowd was steadily converged at the gates and nobody was giving way.

‘I will send my nuns to check through all our buildings,’ the abbess said, yelling right in his ear and making him wince.

‘I’ll help them,’ Meggie said. She was pale, and Josse guessed she was feeling guilty about having left Lilas on her own.

‘Thank you, Meggie – that would be very welcome,’ the abbess said. ‘If – when we find her, I am sure your presence will help to calm and reassure her. I suggest you join forces with Sister Liese.’ With a nod of acknowledgement, Meggie disappeared back inside the infirmary. ‘My monks are at your disposal, Sir Josse,’ the abbess added, ‘for searching the surrounding countryside.’

Josse raised his arms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘Nobody will be going anywhere until all these people get themselves out of the way,’ he yelled back. ‘I’ll—’

There was a sudden commotion just outside the gates. Someone shouted, loudly and angrily, and there was a sharp cry of pain. The throng intensified as avid onlookers pushed forward to get a better view.

Over the hubbub came the single, high, clear note of a horn. Into the abrupt silence a voice cried, ‘Make way for the sheriff!’

The crowd obediently bisected itself, and riding down the avenue that had opened up came Gervase de Gifford, followed by half a dozen of his men.

You have to admire the man’s authority, Josse reflected, watching as Gervase let his eyes run right round the assembled masses, a frown on his face as if he was working out which were the potential troublemakers, and whether there was room in his cells for them all. But then, before he could even begin to ask questions, a small group of mounted men came clattering through from the abbey stables and, utilizing the gap that Gervase had conveniently opened up, hastened out through the gates.

At the head of the group rode Nicholas Fitzwalter. As he passed Gervase, he called out, ‘Good day to you, de Gifford!’

He spurred his horse, and his retinue followed suit. Caleb, clearly unaccustomed to riding a decent, spirited horse, was almost unseated as his mare sprang forward.

The riders swiftly passed out on to the track. Very soon, the last of them had gone.

Gervase dismounted, handing his horse’s reins to one of his men. Josse approached him. ‘What are you doing here?’ Josse asked. ‘Keeping an eye

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