The Winter King by Alys Clare Page A

hoods and wore caps with feathers in them. One man’s hair was fair, stylishly cut – the lad in the emerald-green tunic – and the other’s was dark, with a curl to it. I remember remarking to myself that he’d have had to cram his hat down hard on that hair, or the cap would blow away.’
    ‘They spoke to you, I believe you said?’ Abbess Caliste prompted.
    ‘Yes, my lady,’ Sister Madelin replied. ‘As soon as they were near enough to speak without shouting, one of them whipped off his cap, polite as you please, and asked me if I could tell him how to find Wealdsend, adding that it was the dwelling of Lord Robert Wimarc.’
    ‘Were you able to help?’ Josse asked.
    She turned to him, the calm hazel eyes on his. ‘Yes, my lord.’
    He was not quite satisfied. ‘You know this area, then, Sister Madelin? You’d heard of Wealdsend?’
    Again, her reply was brief: ‘Yes, my lord.’
    She did not elucidate and, much as Josse would have liked to press her, he refrained.
    ‘What exactly did you say to them, Sister?’ Abbess Caliste asked.
    Sister Madelin turned back to her. ‘I said, “Go on westwards along this track, and in time it’ll peter out to a path, not easy to determine. Head for the higher ground that rises up to the south, and after some five or six miles, look out for a cleft between two wooded ridges that slope down towards the valley. Between them lies Wealdsend.”’ She paused, considering. ‘They might not have been my exact words, my lady, but they’re near enough to make no difference.’
    ‘Thank you, Sister,’ said the abbess. ‘You may return to your duty at the gate.’
    Josse added his thanks, and the tall, black-clad figure, with a swift bow to each of them, quietly let herself out of the room.
    When the steady footfalls had faded, the abbess spoke. ‘One of the pair was your dead young man, Sir Josse?’
    ‘Aye, there can be little doubt, my lady. Sister Madelin’s precise description accords with our man. Costly garments, emerald-green tunic, fair hair fashionably cut. He was no longer wearing his cloak or hat, and there was no sign of his bay, but I believe we have found one of the pair who asked directions two days ago.’
    ‘Where, I wonder, is the other one?’ the abbess said softly.
    Josse, who had been thinking deeply, started. ‘I should return to the search,’ he said. ‘I’ll ride on along the track, following the directions which Sister Madelin gave. Perhaps the attack occurred there; it’s a little-used path, and quite likely the sort of place where thieves might lie in wait for unsuspecting passers-by.’
    ‘Those two bright young men would be an attractive target,’ Abbess Caliste agreed. ‘But I wonder, Sir Josse, whether robbers would in fact wait under cover by a path on which so few travel?’
    Her words echoed in Josse’s head as he set off from the abbey. He had hoped to detect hoof prints that he might identify as those of the two young men’s horses, but he quickly appreciated it was a vain hope. The main track was littered with foot, hoof and other animal prints, far too numerous to pick out those of two particular horses; and the path, when he came to it, was carpeted with the sort of deep leaf mulch on which it was hard to spot any kind of mark. Nevertheless, he followed it doggedly, searching for indications of a fight, a struggle, a fatal attack.
    There was nothing. Was there any point, he wondered as he emerged into the cleft between the two ridges, in going much further towards Wealdsend? He knew that, some time in the near future, someone – probably him – would have to visit Lord Wimarc and break the sad news that his would-be visitors were not going to arrive. But it was better, surely, to wait until they had found the other young man. ‘Alive or dead,’ Josse muttered, trying to keep hope alive.
    In his heart, he was quite sure it would be dead.
    He got back to the House in the Woods as the sun was setting. Both he and Alfred