Alys Clare - Whiter than the Lily

He drew a breath and said, ‘There was a pirate captain, so the story went, who caught a king unawares, slaughtered him, stuck his head on a pole and raped his daughter. Excuse me, my lady.’

‘It’s all right, Sir Josse, I asked you for the tale. Go on.’

‘Well, the king’s people gave him a fitting farewell, in a long ship buried in the sands of the foreshore, but that was not enough. They set a trap for the pirate and, when he sprang it, they found him and took him away.’

‘And?’

He swallowed. ‘They told him that they were a people who always avenged a wrong done to one of their own. Then they flayed him alive and impaled him on a pole at low tide. He did not die until several hours later, when the sea at high tide finally covered his face.’

‘A triple death,’ she murmured.

He wondered what she meant. ‘What did you say, my lady?’

‘Oh — nothing. And this event took place at Deadfall?’

‘Aye.’ One more thing suddenly came to mind. ‘The king that the pirate murdered was a Saxon.’

And, with a nod, the memory of the ancient tales and legends told to her long ago by her grandfather filling her mind, she said, ‘Yes. I thought he might have been.’

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that I should go there.’

‘To Deadfall.’ She wanted to be sure that she understood. ‘Even though the very name holds dread for you?’ That it really did was clear to her; he had appeared to be genuinely affected by the tale he told her. It was often the way, she thought; as children, we are very ready to be frightened out of our wits and sometimes the things that scared us then still hold power over us when we have grown up, despite our adult comprehension and rationalisation.

‘Aye.’ He sighed and, she reflected, did not look any too eager for his mission.

‘Would you like someone to accompany you?’ she asked. ‘You have ridden out with Brother Saul and Brother Augustus before now and I am sure that either would be more than willing to go with you again.’

He gave her a sketchy smile. ‘A kind offer, my lady, but I feel I should conquer my demons on my own. The good brothers rode with me when there was a possibility that we went into danger, but I cannot see that there is any peril in visiting Galiena’s original home to inform her blood kin of her death.’

As he spoke the words blood kin , she felt a frisson of fear run down her back. But why? It was just a phrase and, for someone like Galiena who had been adopted, an accurate and surely innocent one? ‘I hope that they will be grateful for your trouble,’ she said, the mundane remark helping to put that strange moment behind her. ‘Your reminding them of the daughter they gave up may not be tactful, Sir Josse.’

‘Aye, I know.’ He met her eyes, and the expression in his was candid. ‘But, as you and I both realise, my lady, my purpose is not simply to tell them that she is dead.’

She smiled. ‘I cannot make any accusations, since I am as guilty as you, having sent Saul and Augustus on a similar mission to Ryemarsh. If there is truly a need to excuse our actions, then it is that by our subterfuge we hope to discover why Galiena died.’

‘And who killed her,’ he added.

His face, she noticed, had darkened angrily. ‘Sir Josse?’ she said enquiringly. ‘You have a theory as to who that might be?’

Approaching her table once again, he said quietly, ‘Aye, but it is for your ears only, my lady, since, if I am wide of the mark, I shall be accusing the very last person on whom suspicion should fall.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, the evidence is slight, and that’s probably an exaggeration, but it is this. When I was with Galiena’s parents — her adoptive parents, that is, Raelf and Audra de Readingbrooke — I mentioned that we had thought it possible Galiena had gathered berries or mushrooms in the forest and that eating one or the other had poisoned her. But instantly Raelf refuted the suggestion because, apart from the fact that it is not the season for berries and too warm and dry for fungi, Galiena was a skilled herbalist and would never have made such a mistake.’

She nodded. ‘As we ought to have thought out for ourselves and — oh!’ Suddenly she understood. ‘You are saying that Ambrose, who on his own admission has good reason to know of his wife’s skills, should also have remarked upon that?’

‘Aye.’

‘And the fact that he did not makes you wonder if he welcomed these putative berries and such like as a convenient scapegoat for the poison that he himself administered to her, and- Oh, no, Sir Josse! I cannot accept that!’

He did not speak, merely stood watching her. And, as her instinctive protests — Ambrose loved her! He was grief-stricken when he knew she was dead! — slowly faded, she wondered if he could be right.

‘Why would he want her dead?’ she whispered.

‘She was carrying another man’s child,’ he replied.

‘But Ambrose did not know! Why, he arranged for her to come here to be treated so that she could become pregnant! He even consulted you first to see if you thought we could help!’

‘I know,’ said Josse. ‘Moreover-’

She felt tension in him, as if he wanted to tell her something but was reluctant. ‘What?’

Not meeting her eyes, he said, ‘Something Ambrose said. When he was confiding in me about her — er, her problem, he said, my lassie goes on bleeding .’ Raising his head, he muttered, ‘I remember particularly because the phrase struck me as moving. And now-’ He broke off.

She stared at him. ‘You are saying that all that was an act? That he deliberately spoke to you in the intimate way that he did to persuade you that what he said was the truth? That he planned the whole sequence of events with the deliberate purpose of deceiving us?’

Josse shrugged.

‘And all the while he planned to kill her for her infidelity?’

After a short pause he said, ‘It is possible.’

And she had to admit that he was right.

He announced that he would set out for Deadfall that afternoon. He did not expect to reach his destination that day but, as he said, it was ideal weather for sleeping out under the stars and he looked forward to doing so. Helewise, watching him, wondered if the decision was so as to ensure that he reached Deadfall in the bright light of morning rather than late at night. Well, if the very name of the place truly held dread for him, then he was, she decided stoutly, brave to go there at all, never mind by night.

She came to the gates to see him on his way and, as she had done so many times before, wished him God’s speed and safe return.

Watching Horace’s dust slowly circling in the warm, still air, she had the sudden rebellious thought: I should be the one to ride out! The girl died here, in the Abbey over which I have charge. It should be I who informs the relatives and who uses my eyes and my wits to discover the truth. But yet I stay here, and I send others to act for me.

For a wild moment she thought of calling out, Wait, Sir Josse! Wait while I have the golden mare saddled, because I’m coming with you!

But time passed, and she did not.

When the dust had settled and there remained no sign to tell of Josse’s passing, she turned and walked slowly back to her room.

In the late afternoon, Sister Ursel tapped on the door to tell her that Brother Saul and Brother Augustus had returned. They had ridden hard, she reported, and were washing off the dust and sweat of their journey before presenting themselves to their Abbess.

‘They have indeed ridden hard!’ Helewise exclaimed, ‘for they have been to Ryemarsh, carried out their mission there, presumably, and returned, all in little over a day!’