Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

‘Thank you, my lady. Master Kelsey, then, returns from abroad and falls sick. Nicol Romley, whose master sends him about the land selling the apothecary’s wares, also succumbs. Let us assume that there is a link between the two men; perhaps Nicol was sent to Hastings to collect goods from the merchant. Master Kelsey is nursed by his maidservant but he dies. Adam Pinchsniff fails to cure his apprentice and sends poor Nicol off to Hawkenlye but he is slain before he reaches the Abbey. Meanwhile Master Kelsey’s maid has fallen sick and she returns home to this extensive household, where she passes on the pestilence to — how many was it, my lady?’

‘Eight, to begin with,’ the Abbess replied tonelessly. ‘Four of them, including the maid, died. Two more died here yesterday and now the simple-minded uncle has a fever.’

‘Dear God,’ de Gifford muttered. Eyes on the Abbess’s, he said, ‘My lady, we have all the evidence that we need of the speed with which this terrible sickness spreads. We should close the gates to new arrivals and concentrate on doing what we can for the victims already here.’

He did not say that closing the gates and shutting themselves inside would also keep any of the Hawkenlye community who had already been infected away from the healthy; but then, Josse thought grimly, he did not need to.

After quite a long time the Abbess said, ‘I understand your reasoning, Gervase, but I will not close the gates.’ Her eyes wide with distress, she said, ‘If there are to be more victims of this sickness, then it is to Hawkenlye that they will come. Our whole purpose here is to tend the sick, to allow them to avail themselves of the precious healing water and of the skill of our infirmarer and her nursing nuns.’

‘But-’ de Gifford began.

‘I know what you would say,’ the Abbess interrupted, ‘and of course I appreciate that you speak good sense. Nevertheless, sense is not the only factor in this matter; there is duty, charity, love of our fellow man and, above all, love of God. Do you think, Gervase, that our master Jesus would have me close the gates? He who went among the sick and the dying with no thought for his own safety?’

De Gifford stared at her for some moments. Then, with a sigh, he said, ‘No. Of course not.’

‘We shall take what measures we can to keep the sick apart from the healthy,’ the Abbess said. She was speaking quickly, setting out her arrangements with such fluency that Josse guessed she had thought them all out beforehand. ‘The boy and the baby girl were already on the mend when they were taken up to the infirmary, so I would venture to suggest that, thankfully, no dangerous element has been introduced up here. The man Jabez — Waldo’s uncle — is being cared for apart from the community, in a corner of the sleeping quarters in the Vale.’

‘Who is looking after him?’ Josse asked.

‘Brother Firmin.’ She looked up and met Josse’s eyes.

She has the same thought as I, he realised. She fears that this — thing — is too hungry to be content with its present tally of victims. And Brother Firmin is an old man, and not strong. .

I must not dwell on that, he told himself firmly. There is work to do and I will offer to help where best I can. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘and Gervase, I suggest that the next step is to return to Adam Pinchsniff in Newenden to ask him if he knows of any connection between Nicol Romley and Master Kelsey in Hastings. Such a connection will be reassuring because it will tell us that these cases of the sickness all stem from the one source.’ It was, he thought, unthinkable that there should be two separate outbreaks of this deadly disease. ‘And, in addition, the more we find out about Nicol’s recent movements, the sooner we will be able to discover why he had to be killed and who killed him.’

‘Fine optimism, Josse,’ de Gifford said with a smile.

Josse gave a quick grin. ‘Aye, I know. But optimism and a plan of action are preferable to standing here wringing our hands and waiting for catastrophe to overwhelm us.’

‘Indeed,’ de Gifford murmured.

‘I will go back to Newenden,’ Josse said, with another grin in de Gifford’s direction, ‘for it is likely that the apothecary will be more willing to discuss the matter of his apprentice with me than — er — than with the sheriff here.’

‘Why-?’ the Abbess began.

But that, Josse decided, was too long a tale to tell now and anyway it was irrelevant. With a bow, he interrupted her. ‘With your leave, my lady, I should set out as soon as possible,’ he said. ‘Horace is none too lively, given that we have only just arrived here from New Winnowlands, and-’

‘Take the cob,’ the Abbess suggested. ‘He has not been ridden for some time and you will go faster on a fresh horse.’

‘Thank you, my lady. I will return as soon as I can.’

He hurried out of the room, only just catching the ‘God’s speed’ that she called after him.

The Abbey cob was hard-mouthed and not in the first flush of youth, and Josse was pleasantly surprised to find that the horse had a good turn of speed. But then Sister Martha knew how to look after an animal and the cob did her credit.

He reached Newenden late in the afternoon and rode straight to the apothecary’s house. ‘Master Morton,’ he muttered to himself as he dismounted and tied the cob to the hitching ring. It would not be the best of beginnings to antagonise the man by calling him by his village nickname, appropriate though it was.

Adam Morton opened the door and said, ‘Oh, it’s you again. What is it now?’

‘Good day, Master Morton. There have been more cases of the sickness,’ Josse said without preamble. ‘A family from near Hastings has arrived at Hawkenlye. I am told that six people are already dead and now another has developed a high fever. The sickness was-’

His opening words had earned him the apothecary’s full attention. Grabbing hold of Josse’s sleeve, Adam Morton pulled him inside and closed the door. ‘Fool!’ he hissed. ‘Do you want the whole town to hear you? Such things spread terror and panic!’

Making himself ignore the insult, Josse said evenly, ‘No, Master Morton; panic is the last thing I want, since it might have the effect of sending half of Newenden scurrying to Hawkenlye.’

The apothecary waved a hand. ‘I apologise,’ he muttered. ‘But you frighten me, sir knight.’

‘We are all frightened,’ Josse agreed. ‘I am here to discover your late apprentice’s recent movements, if you will tell me them. It seems there must be some connection between Nicol and the family from Hastings, since both he and they appear to have been suffering from the same sickness. I guess that this contact may be through a merchant named Master Kelsey.’

‘Martin Kelsey, aye, I know of the man,’ Adam Morton said. ‘I’ve sometimes purchased my supplies from him.’

‘And your apothecary has been recently in Master Kelsey’s presence?’ Josse said eagerly.

‘Aye. They sailed home to England together not a fortnight ago, although they were not known to one another and I doubt that they were aware that they had a common associate in me. I had sent Nicol over to Troyes for the fair; there were items I needed — foreign herbs and drugs; musk and myrrh and the like — that cannot be obtained in our land other than at an exorbitant rate from some importer. Nicol met Martin Kelsey in Boulogne; the man had been on some venture over there, although I cannot tell you what it was.’

Boulogne, Josse thought; Troyes. Hardly able to contain his excitement, he pictured a huge fair swarming with people from all over Europe and even further afield. Then he thought about a large sea port where ships put in from the oceans of the world. Nicol Romley had been to Troyes; Martin Kelsey might well have gone there too. The two men met up in Boulogne to take ship for England and one of them, already carrying the pestilence, infected the other.