Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

Josse could appreciate her fury. For a thief to take advantage of a man’s death and break in to rob him was despicable. ‘Were many things taken?’ he asked sympathetically.

The pale eyes roamed the room. ‘That, sir, is the odd thing. As far as I can tell, apart from some pretty but inexpensive silver trinkets, nothing is missing at all.’

‘And — forgive me, but you and your late brother possess — er — easily portable treasures?’

She gave a grunt of laughter. ‘You’re asking if a thief would have found anything here worth the taking? Oh, yes, sir knight. My brother was a successful merchant and we did not lack for life’s luxuries.’

‘Forgive me, lady, I meant no offence.’

‘Hmm.’ She continued to frown at him but then, her high brow clearing, she said, ‘What is this delicate matter, then?’

Deciding that his best bet was the direct approach, Josse said, ‘A young man arrived at Hawkenlye Abbey and has died there. It appears he was suffering from the foreign pestilence. I understand that your brother died of a similar disease and I am told by Master Morton, an apothecary at Newenden to whom the dead youth was apprenticed, that your brother and the apprentice travelled home from Boulogne together. I am commanded by the Abbess of Hawkenlye to discover whatever I can concerning these two men known to have had the sickness, with the aim of finding out who else might have been infected so that, if possible, we can take measures to restrict the spread of the disease.’

It sounded reasonable to his own ears and, with relief, he saw that Mistress Kelsey obviously thought so too. ‘Laudable,’ she commented. ‘Martin indeed died of some disease with which neither I nor our maidservant were familiar. There was little that could be done for him; we summoned the local apothecary and he mixed up some foul herbal concoction, but Martin brought it straight up again. I found him dead when I went into him at dawn the next day. He was already cold and I would say that he must have passed on in the small hours.’

‘I see.’ Josse held back from expressing sympathy; Majorane’s demeanour just did not seem to invite it. ‘Your maidservant. .’ he began.

‘Gone,’ Majorane said abruptly. ‘Took sick a few days after she began nursing Martin and I packed her off back to her own family. She had another thing coming if she thought I was going to look after her.’

So you sent her home, where she infected eight other people, Josse thought bitterly, not counting the simple-minded brother who has subsequently fallen sick at Hawkenlye. Waiting until he was sure his voice would not reveal his emotion — there was no point in antagonising her — he said, ‘The disease is virulent, lady. Your brother and young Nicol the apprentice dead, the maid sick and now-’

‘Yet I remain well.’ Majorane gave him an ironic look. ‘I kept myself away from my brother, sir knight. It was the maid’s job to nurse him and I saw no reason to put myself at risk.’

Josse decided that, unless he changed the subject, he might very well hit her. Still speaking politely, he said, ‘Your brother crossed from Boulogne, I know that. Had he been anywhere else, Mistress Kelsey?’

‘He visited Paris,’ she replied, with a touch of pride in her tone. ‘Martin made good friends among the merchants of southern England and northern France and it was his custom to combine business with pleasure. This last visit was typical in that he concluded his commercial affairs in the city and then spent some days enjoying the hospitality of two fellow merchants who have a residence on an island in the middle of the river. My brother deals in many costly and exotic items that can only be obtained from far away; silk, naturally; spices, incense and plant drugs; bronze, gold and precious stones, sapphires, emeralds, rubies. Leather and ivory goods from the dark country that lies far to the south, as well as tortoiseshell and glassware. Why, we have a warehouse full to the roof with such exquisite things not half a mile from where we sit!’ She gave a small, smug smile. Then, apparently recalling Josse’s question, concluded, ‘When he left Paris, he travelled north to Boulogne and took ship for home.’

‘With Nicol Romley,’ Josse added, half to himself. Who had perhaps mentioned to Martin Kelsey of his grave fears that he was being followed. . ‘Mistress Kelsey, did your late brother mention anything unusual about his trip?’

‘No,’ she said instantly. ‘He was very pleased with the outcome of his meeting with the Paris merchants and in good spirits on his return; that is, he was until he began to feel ill.’

‘Did he mention travelling with Nicol Romley?’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Yes, I believe he did.’

‘And-’

But there was something she wanted to say. Raising her chin, she said, ‘I will tell you, sir knight, how my brother became sick. Would you like that?’

Like it? God’s boots, it was too good to be true, if indeed she knew. ‘I — aye, I would.’

The disdainful, scornful expression deepening, she said, ‘He found a dying man in Boulogne. He tried to help the wretch but, of course, could do nothing for him. The man was lying in his own filth, bleeding all over and his forehead was hot enough to fry an egg. My brother’s exact words,’ she explained. ‘Martin was with him when he breathed his last and he gave a street child a few coins to ensure the body was buried. Not that the foul little urchin would have done anything of the kind,’ she added, ‘not without Martin standing over him to make sure he did. But that was typical of my brother; too kind and far too soft hearted for his own good.’

‘He has paid the price,’ Josse said quietly.

‘So have I!’ cried Majorane. ‘I have lost my brother! I kept house for him and he supported me. What do you suggest I do now, sir knight, all alone in the world?’

You have a home and you have your health, Josse wanted to reply, not to mention that warehouse full of exotic cargo. Few of those things can be said of many people. Instead he murmured, ‘I am sorry for your plight, Mistress Kelsey.’

‘Sorry, yes, sorry’s all very well! Sorry does not put food on the table.’

Silence fell, although it seemed to Josse that the room rang with the echoes of her last furious words. There was just one more thing that Josse needed to know; hoping that she would be able to answer, he said, ‘Mistress, do you know the name of the ship that brought your brother home?’

She stared up at him. ‘Yes. The Angel of Mercy , out of Hastings here. Ironic, isn’t it?’

The quay was quiet and Josse guessed that most people were sitting down to their meal. He found the Angel of Mercy , a small ship in good order, and, calling out, attracted the attention of a sailor sitting on a coil of rope and apparently doing nothing but gaze out to sea. Josse explained that he wished to speak to the captain and the sailor invited him to step aboard.

The captain was also doing nothing, but he was enjoying his moments of idleness in the comfort of a narrow bunk. He waved a hand to Josse to sit down on top of a seaman’s chest, then asked what he could do for him.

‘You sailed here from Boulogne, I believe, about a fortnight ago?’

‘Not quite a fortnight, but near enough,’ the captain agreed cheerfully; he had been drinking and Josse could smell alcohol on his breath from three paces away.

‘You had two passengers, a merchant named Kelsey and a young apprentice from Newenden?’

‘Never found out the details but that sounds about right. As long as they pay, that’s fine by me!’ The throaty laugh sent more second-hand alcohol Josse’s way.

‘You have been informed that the merchant took sick and died?’