A Dark Night Hidden by Alys Clare Page B

began to pray.
    After quite a long time, he opened his eyes and asked quietly, ‘How did he die?’
    Josse told him.
    ‘And you believe this was as a result of an accident? That Father Micah slipped, perhaps, on the icy track and fell?’
    Josse hesitated. ‘It’s possible, aye.’
    ‘Yet you believe it could equally have happened another way?’
    In pain, cold and alone the priest might be, Josse thought, but there was nothing wrong with his powers of observation. ‘I cannot ignore the possibility.’
    With admirable brevity, Father Gilbert said, ‘You will want to know of his recent concerns. I cannot tell you exactly what he did yesterday but I know that he intended to visit the Abbey. He was also deeply anxious about the Lord of the High Weald and the woman to whom Father Micah insisted on referring as his Lordship’s mistress.’
    ‘The Lord of . . . who?’
    Father Gilbert gave a swift smile. ‘I see you have not come across him.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘He has made his home at Saxonbury. It is an ancient fort on the ridge to the south of us. Rumours about it abound, but I suspect that it was an old iron working. People believe it to be haunted, which suits the Lord since it keeps the curious away. He lives there with his family. His kinfolk appear to come and go but usually there seem to be some fifteen or so people living there.’ Father Gilbert shifted under his blankets, winced, then said, ‘Father Micah believed them to be godless. He expressed the intention of making a nuisance of himself up at Saxonbury until the Lord did what the Father told him.’ He glanced up at Josse. ‘His words, not mine,’ he added. ‘Father Micah did not care how much of a nuisance he was when he was about God’s work.’
    ‘So I’m beginning to understand,’ Josse muttered.
    Father Gilbert was still watching him closely. ‘You intend to visit Lord Saxonbury?’
    ‘Is that his title? Aye, I do.’
    ‘It is how he styles himself, although whether or nor he has a right to it I cannot say. Have a care,’ the priest added warningly. ‘They do not take kindly to strangers.’
    ‘I will.’ Josse took the priest’s outstretched hand. ‘How do I get to Saxonbury? Will you tell me, Father?’
    ‘I will, if you are resolved on going there.’
    ‘I am.’
    With a sigh, the priest gave directions. They seemed simple enough and Josse did not anticipate having any difficulty in following them.
    ‘Is there anything I can do for you before I go?’ He looked about him but there seemed no comforts he could offer. ‘What about your food?’
    ‘Oh, one of the village women brings me my meals.’ Father Gilbert gave a wan smile. ‘Not that I have much appetite.’
    ‘I’ll come again,’ Josse said impulsively, ‘if I may?’
    ‘Of course!’ Father Gilbert looked pleased.
    I’ll bring him something to cheer him up, Josse promised himself, a pot of good, hot stew, a flagon of wine . . .
    But Father Gilbert was saying something: ‘You will want something in return for your charity.’ He smiled as if to make sure that Josse appreciated he spoke in jest. ‘I will think, as I lie here, about Father Micah and ponder who, if anybody, might have wished him ill.’
    Josse, suppressing the thought that such a task could surely not be difficult, gave him a brief bow. ‘Thank you, Father. That would indeed be helpful. I’ll be back soon.’

7
    The ride up to Saxonbury took Josse around the edge of the Great Forest. Bare limbs of beech, birch, oak and hazel raised naked branches up to the pale grey sky and, interspersed with their quiet, misty shades, there were patches of deep, dark green where the holly and yew trees grew. Soaring high above the forest canopy were the needle-clad branches of the pines, at the very top of their long, bare trunks. There were tracks leading off under the trees that might have afforded a more direct route to Saxonbury, but Josse knew better than to go into the forest unless he had to. He had