The Enchanter's Forest Read Online Free PDF Page B

an open mind, my lady. What I propose to do is to present myself at Merlin’s Tomb as a pilgrim. That way I shall experience exactly what the ordinary man or woman experiences. I shall listen when I am spoken to, kneel before whatever sort of display has been set up, express my awe at being in the presence of such a wonder and proclaim myself cured of whatever I have stated ails me.’
         ‘What good will that do?’ she demanded. From her faintly aggrieved tone, he guessed she was reluctant to dismiss Merlin’s bones as a total sham. He made a mental note to bear this attitude of hers in mind; he did not want to risk hurting her feelings by speaking too bluntly.
         Yet.
         ‘Well, for one thing I’m not in fact suffering from any ailment, God be thanked’ – the exclamation was in response to the swift glance she shot him, as if warning him against taking his sound health for granted and not giving credit where it was due – ‘and so I will not have the sense of desperation that may blind other visitors to what is really going on.’
         ‘Many will be there purely because they are curious,’ she said. ‘They may not be desperate either.’
         ‘Aye, you’re right, but I’ll warrant I’m probably the only man there who is out to prove the whole thing is false.’
         She studied him intently. ‘You have no faith at all in these being the bones of Merlin, have you?’ she murmured.
         He tried to decide between tact and honesty. Honesty won. ‘No.’
         He thought she was about to reprimand him for his cynicism. But then she began to laugh. ‘Dear Josse. What would I do without you?’
         Full of confusion, he felt the hot blood flush his face. ‘My lady, I—’
         She waved a hand. ‘Sir Josse, no need for explanations. We must agree to differ, but I must admit in fairness that I am more than grateful for your disbelief. You are the very person to do what you propose and pay a visit to the tomb.’
         ‘Thank you. I—’
         But she was not in the mood for small talk and polite remarks. Interrupting him, she demanded, ‘How soon can you set off?’
     
    They decided that Josse’s pretence of being a simple pilgrim with a bad back would be made to look more credible if he rode the Abbey’s old cob instead of the magnificent Horace and exchanged his fine tunic for something less distinguished. The monks in the Vale and the nuns in the infirmary were conscientious in their vow of poverty and did not waste anything: whenever someone died in their care they would, in the absence of any other claimant, remove the clothing and inspect it carefully. If the garments were capable of salvage – often people died in rags – the nuns would launder, darn and mend until the clothes were once more fit for wear. Then they would be folded away in a large chest in which small linen bags of lavender were scattered as a deterrent to moths. Accordingly, Josse’s present need was easily met by a visit to Sister Emanuel, who ran the retirement home for aged nuns and monks and who, among her other duties, was in charge of the clothing chest.
         Josse, in common with just about everybody else in the Hawkenlye community – including its Abbess – was a little in awe of Sister Emanuel. She was highly intelligent, educated and reserved; the pale skin of her face had a strangely smooth and unlined quality, as if the woman had seldom been affected by the sort of emotions that make normal people frown in anger, screw up their eyes in distress or crease every part of their faces in hearty laughter. As he entered the retirement home, Josse noticed that she was instantly alert to his presence; she got up from where she had been seated at the bedside of a very old and incredibly tiny woman and, her step steady and unhurried, glided over to the door to greet him.
         ‘Good morning, Sir Josse.’ Her voice was low-pitched but clearly audible; she