Alys Clare - Heart of Ice

‘How so?’ Josse was curious, and also cross with himself for his patronising attitude; just because a boy chose to live in an Abbey did not mean he had cut himself off from all contact with the rest of the world.

‘Because the sheriff recruits men and then tells them not to reveal that they work for him,’ Augustus said. ‘That way folks enjoying a drink at the end of a hard day’s work speak freely and it all gets back to the sheriff.’ Shaking his head with a frown, he added, ‘I couldn’t do that. Pretend to be friendly just so as to make a man talk, then sift out the important details and run to tell the sheriff.’ His intent eyes met Josse’s. ‘Could you, sir?’

‘I-’ Yes, I could, would be the honest answer but somehow he felt it would diminish him in Gus’s eyes. ‘Well, it would depend on the circumstances,’ he said evasively.

Augustus nodded. ‘I dare say there’s times in the sort of world you move in when such things are necessary,’ he said gravely.

The sort of world I move in, Josse echoed to himself.

The trouble was that sometimes he was no longer sure what that world was. .

Jerking his thoughts back to the present, he reminded himself that he had a job to do. As they approached the Tonbridge road, he said, ‘Gus, I’m going to ride down to the town right now to see if anyone has seen Sabin.’

‘Want me to come with you, Sir Josse?’

‘No, thank you. But I should be grateful if you would ride on to the Abbey and tell the Abbess where I am and that I shall report back to her on my return.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Augustus said. ‘Good luck, sir.’

The tavern was almost empty when Josse arrived and he was served with his mug of ale almost immediately. Goody Anne came hurrying in, apparently as pressed as ever, and, spotting Josse, immediately put a hand to the spotless cap covering her hair, straightened her voluminous apron and came over to the fire to speak to him.

‘Thought you’d found yourself another woman and abandoned me,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘How are you, Sir Josse?’

‘Well, thank you. And you, Goody Anne?’

The humour left her face and she sighed. ‘I am well, too, thank God,’ she said, ‘but business is dreadful. It’s these rumours of sickness up at Hawkenlye.’ Staring at him, suddenly she went ashen and took two very large paces back. ‘You’ve come from there?’ she whispered.

‘Aye, but do not fear, for they know how to keep the sick well away from the healthy.’

She did not look reassured. Keeping her distance, she said, ‘No offence, Sir Josse, and it’s not like me to turn away custom, especially now when things are so bad and when I’m that glad to see your friendly face, but would you be so kind as to finish your ale and leave?’

His initial hurt feelings quickly subsided as he studied her expression; her request clearly distressed her more than it did him. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I understand, and it was thoughtless of me to have come, my connection with the Abbey being common knowledge.’

Goody Anne nodded. ‘Knew you’d be reasonable, a fine man like you,’ she muttered. Then, as an afterthought, ‘Why did you come? They serve a good mug of ale up at the Abbey, so I’ve always been told, so you’re not here just for my brew.’

‘No. I’m looking for someone. A young woman, well dressed, mounted on a grey mare. She arrived in Hastings, went to Newenden and then came to seek me up at the Abbey, only-’

But Goody Anne’s pallor was back. ‘She followed the plague route, then,’ she whispered. ‘Hastings, Newenden, Hawkenlye.’

Josse had imagined this to be a secret known to few. He might have known better. ‘You have had no such guests here at the inn?’ he asked, already knowing what her response would be.

‘No.’ Goody Anne shook her head. ‘I’ve had no travellers putting up here with me in a week or more, Sir Josse. Folks are frightened and they stay within their own walls as much as they can.’

‘Is there anywhere else in the town that this young woman might be staying?’ he persisted.

Goody Anne thought for a moment. Then she said firmly, ‘No. I reckon not. I’d have heard about her if she were here.’

Josse finished his ale. ‘Will you let me know if she comes?’ he asked. ‘Her name is Sabin de Retz.’

‘If she comes, I’ll let you know.’ Goody Anne had already picked up his empty mug and was moving away towards the scullery. ‘If,’ she added, with a trace of her smile, ‘I can find anyone brave enough to ride up to Hawkenlye and seek you out.’

Josse rode next to Gervase de Gifford’s house on the edge of the town. De Gifford was relaxing before a blazing fire and just about to eat; he persuaded Josse to join him. Between mouthfuls of roast fowl with garlic sauce, Josse told the sheriff about the mysterious woman and her quest to find Nicol Romley, and how he and Augustus had gone to speak to Adam Morton.

‘. . but now she’s disappeared,’ he concluded. ‘No sign of her in Newenden or on the road, and Goody Anne says she’s not staying here in the town.’

De Gifford poured more beer into Josse’s mug, nodding. ‘I imagine Goody Anne is right,’ he said. ‘The young woman came from Hastings, you said, so could she have returned there?’

Josse sighed at the prospect of yet another couple of days in the saddle. ‘I suppose so,’ he said miserably. ‘Yet surely, if she is intent on finding out what happened to Nicol Romley, she would stay near to the place where he died?’

‘Does she know he’s dead?’ de Gifford asked.

‘She-’ Josse stopped. It was a good question and, he realised, one to which the answer might well be no . Adam Morton hadn’t told her, for when he encountered her Nicol was, as far as Morton knew, still alive. And surely Sister Ursel would have had more tact and kindness than to blurt out news of Nicol’s death the moment someone came asking for him.

‘She may not,’ he admitted.

‘The trail has led her to Hawkenlye,’ de Gifford said, ‘and to you. Wherever she is, I would guess that she is not far away for, until she has found you and learned news of the man she seeks, she will need to return there.’

‘I can’t just sit and wait for her to come back!’ Josse protested.

De Gifford smiled. ‘Unless you can find out where she’s hiding, you may have to.’ The smile left his face and he said quietly, ‘If you find this Sabin de Retz, Josse, persuade her, if you can, to see me.’ Before Josse could comment, de Gifford added, ‘Amid all our other concerns, let us not forget that I have poor Nicol Romley’s murderer to find and to bring to justice.’

It was fully dark by the time Josse got back to the Abbey. De Gifford had pressed him to stay for the night but Josse was anxious to speak to the Abbess. Hoping there would still be a light shining through the gap under her door, he walked as quietly as he could along the cloister.

She opened the door as he put up a hand to knock. ‘I thought you would not retire before we had spoken,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘Come in, Sir Josse, and warm yourself.’

He did as she said, removing his heavy gauntlets and stretching out his ice-cold hands to the small brazier that stood in one corner of the little room. Without turning round, once more he gave a report of his day’s findings.

She heard him out in silence and made no comment even when he had finished. Turning, he said, ‘My lady?’ but even as he spoke, it occurred to him that all but the final piece of news she would have already heard from Augustus.

Perhaps that explained her distracted look. .

She raised her head, met his eyes and said, ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse, I was listening but-’ She broke off with a small shrug, as if explaining herself were beyond her.