Josse drew back his dagger and thrust it into Benedetto’s shoulder. With a roar of pain, the big man fell sideways, trying to reach out for the point of agony with his right hand. As he fell he twisted around, so that he landed on his own blade.
Benedetto hit the ground and lay still.
As Josse watched, eyes wide with horror, he saw a great pool of blood begin to spill from beneath the big man, its bright colour vivid against the dirt of the track.
Benedetto’s blade had reached inside his chest and found his heart. Even as Josse bent down to remove his dagger from Benedetto’s shoulder and feel for a pulse, he knew it was no good.
Benedetto was dead.
They wrapped him up in his cloak and laid him in the shallow ditch that ran along beside the track. All of the Cathars were in tears, men and women both; Arnulf, speaking for them all, said that the big man had loved them too well and that his love had blinded him.
Alexius, face wet with weeping, said, ‘We cannot leave him here unburied.’
Josse put a hand on the youth’s arm. ‘We will attend to him on our return,’ he said gently. ‘That I promise you. But there is no time now — it will be dark soon and we need to get the women to shelter before nightfall. Aurelia certainly is not strong enough for a night in the open with no fire and no warm food.’
Alexius looked as if he would protest but then, with a curt nod, he turned away. Josse watched as he went to join the others, who had already begun on their prayers for Benedetto’s spirit.
Josse felt a touch on his arm. De Gifford, still pale and with dark red bruises on his throat, said hoarsely, ‘Sir Josse, I owe you my life.’ He gave a deep bow. ‘You have just made for yourself a lifelong friend.’
Returning the bow, Josse said, ‘I would not have killed the poor man for anything less than to save another. He did not understand. He believed that you were here to arrest them and I do not think that he could have borne to see his loved ones suffer any more.’
De Gifford bowed his head. ‘I believe that you judge right. Had he only given me the chance to explain, I should have told him that I had come to help, not to hinder. But as it is-’ He gave a helpless shrug.
Morcar came up to them. He had, Josse had noted, seemed unfazed by the whole terrible incident; the Lord of the High Weald breeds them tough, Josse thought. Now the tall man said, ‘We should be moving. Although it is unlikely, we may have been observed. The sooner we get them safely on to the sea, the better.’
Gently and with the respect due to a recent dramatic bereavement, Josse and de Gifford persuaded the group to mount up again. Then, in silence, they rode away from their fallen companion and headed on down to the sea.
They found a ship bound for Harfleur whose master was prepared to take five passengers in exchange for the Lord of the High Weald’s bag of gold. Arnulf, who had recovered his air of leadership somewhat following the shock of Benedetto’s death, said that Harfleur would serve them well. They would be able to journey down through Normandy and Aquitaine, cross the Loire and the Dordogne and from thence journey on to Albi.
‘That is your destination?’ Josse asked.
Arnulf gave a pale smile. ‘It is where we are gathering,’ he replied. ‘Aurelia and Guiscard have friends and family there; it is their home.’
‘What of your home, Arnulf?’ Josse regarded him with sympathy. ‘Yours, Alexius’s and Utta’s?’
Arnulf gave a small sigh. ‘I do not believe that any of us will see our home again,’ he said. ‘But we shall make a new home,’ he said, brightening with an obvious effort. ‘Our own people are our family now and we shall all band together, all Cathars from every land. We shall gather in the Languedoc and be left in peace.’
Josse, who very much doubted it, said nothing. Instead he took Arnulf’s hands in his and simply wished him good luck.
Then, as Arnulf turned to take his farewell of Morcar and de Gifford, Josse walked across to where the rest of the group stood, waiting for Arnulf to lead them on board.
Putting careful hands on to Aurelia’s narrow shoulders, he wished her safe passage and a good journey. With a soft smile, she gently pulled his face down to hers and gave him a soft kiss like the touch of a butterfly. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Utta then kissed him too, with rather more passion. Staring up into his eyes, she appeared to be about to say something. But, shaking her head with a smile, she kept her silence. Later, boarding the ship, she turned and gave him a small last wave.
He said a prayer for her. For them all. Then he turned and, following behind de Gifford and Morcar, left the quay.
Morcar turned for home as soon as the Cathars had been despatched; he seemed to be as fresh as when they had set out that morning and apparently had no fear of a twenty-mile journey in the gathering dark. Before he left, he solemnly took his leave of Josse, clasping Josse’s right hand in his own and twisting it so that their forearms wound around each other.
‘My father thinks well of you, Josse d’Acquin, and so do I,’ he said. ‘You are ever a welcome guest at Saxonbury.’ Then, with a nod to de Gifford, he mounted up and, leading the horses that his father had supplied for the Cathars, rode away.
De Gifford watched him go. Then, slapping Josse’s shoulder, he said, ‘I don’t know about you, Josse, but I’m cold, tired and my spirits are low. I suggest that we find the best tavern that this port has to offer and order ourselves the finest meal in the house and a large flagon of ale.’
Josse, who was struggling with emotions that ran too deep for easy comprehension, thought that was the best idea he had heard in quite some time.
The little port was quiet but a light shone out from a low-slung building outside which hung some branches from a fir tree. As Josse and de Gifford approached, they heard voices and laughter; pushing the tavern door open, they were greeted with warmth, firelight and what seemed to be a cheerful, though small, company.
De Gifford glanced at Josse. ‘I think that this is the best we’re going to get,’ he remarked.
‘It’ll do for me,’ Josse replied. ‘Lead on.’
20
Josse and de Gifford returned to Hawkenlye in the morning.
When they came to the spot in the Cuckmere Valley where Benedetto had died, they stopped to locate and bury his body.
There was no sign of him.
They searched the area and, after a while, de Gifford called out. ‘Over here. There is a patch of newly turned ground.’
Josse went over to where he was standing. Half under a hedge, where the soil was broken up by the roots of shrubs and grasses, there was a long area of exposed earth. It would be hidden when the hedgerow bloomed in spring but, for now, it was quite clear what it was. At one end, a strangely shaped cross made of twigs had been stuck in the soil.
De Gifford said, ‘Morcar must have done it. Last night, under cover of darkness; very wise of him. He is stronger even than he looks; it can have been no easy task to dig a grave for a big man when the ground is so hard.’
But Josse was hardly listening. The cross had reminded him of something.
Reaching inside his tunic, he took out the Cathar manuscript. ‘I should have given them this,’ he said regretfully. ‘It must be priceless and they will surely miss their treasure.’
De Gifford was frowning. ‘I am not so sure, Josse. Whoever left it at Hawkenlye did so for a reason. They wanted to hide it, I would guess, in a place where it stood a chance of being safe.’
‘But anyone in the Abbey who found it would take it to the Abbess Helewise and it would be destroyed! Even Benedetto must have known that!’
‘I do not think that it was Benedetto who hid the manuscript,’ de Gifford said thoughtfully. ‘I believe it was Arnulf. As the leader of the group, he would have had the charge of their precious document and it would have been his responsibility to decide what was done with it when they realised that they could not risk keeping it with them. I think he must have slipped inside the script room while Benedetto was carrying Aurelia into the infirmary. It would have made a good diversion, wouldn’t it? Every pair of eyes agog with the big man and the wounded woman?’