Alys Clare - Faithful Dead

After some time, Josse was able to corner Brother Saul, Brother Erse and young Brother Augustus. Leaving the other monks to their thrilled gossiping, he indicated with a nod of his head that he would like a quiet word, and the three brothers followed him off along the path to the pond.

He studied them as they walked.

Brother Saul he knew well; his opinion of the lay brother accorded with that of the Abbess. Brother Augustus he had met but briefly; the lad had borrowed Josse’s horse in order to act as one half of Abbess Helewise’s escort on a trip she had made earlier in the year, and Josse had been impressed with the young man’s sense and quiet confidence. He was the son of travelling folk, and had heard the Lord’s call when his sick mother had been cured by Hawkenlye’s Holy Waters.

Brother Erse, now, Josse hardly knew at all. The carpenter was a silent man, broad-built with strong, well-shaped hands. His workmanship had been pointed out to Josse, who was impressed with the craft of a man who could turn his hand to the practical and the beautiful with equal flair and competence. The community, he thought, was lucky to have Brother Erse. And, just now, hadn’t he spoken with the voice of cool logic in the face of Brother Micah’s wild and woolly speculation?

Yes. These three, Josse decided, were the best of the bunch.

‘The Abbess is troubled,’ he began when, some distance out of earshot of the community of monks, they stopped. ‘I know we’ll all do what we can to help, and it seems to me that, as for myself, I can best serve her by trying to find out the dead man’s identity and have a try at discovering who killed him.’ The three brothers nodded their agreement. ‘So, first of all, I need you to tell me about everyone who has been here over, shall we say, the last two months? Say, since the start of August.’

It was a tall order. He knew it, even before it was confirmed by the men’s dubious expressions. Then Brother Saul spoke.

‘We keep records of numbers all right, Sir Josse,’ he said. ‘We have to do that, since everything we order and use has to be accounted for.’

‘Aye.’ Josse was aware of it. Once he had taken a peek at the endless books of accounts that the Abbess used to keep, before she had been persuaded that that was one particular duty which could safely be delegated to another nun whose scholarly qualifications were, if anything, even better than those of the Abbess.

‘But,’ Saul was saying, ‘as to who everyone is, well, that’s a problem. We don’t always ask, you see, sir, not when folks come in dire need of help. Asking a man to tell us his name and where he comes from doesn’t always seem the most important thing, when he’s come seeking the cure for his son crippled in the legs, his wife in the throes of a fever, or his mother wrong in her head.’

‘I do see, Saul,’ Josse said gently. ‘But of those whom you do know about, will you tell me what you can?’

‘Aye, and gladly.’ Saul sounded relieved. ‘Shall I start, brothers, and you put in when I forget?’ He looked intently at Erse and Augustus, face anxious. They both nodded their agreement.

It was surprising, in fact, just how much the three of them did remember, between them, of the comings and goings of the past two months. Their different recollections had a similarity about them: sometimes it was a well-to-do merchant and his wife seeking a cure for her barrenness, sometimes it was some worthy of the town with a sick baby, sometimes it was a nobleman who could not rid himself of a troublesome bellyache.

But, in the main, it was the lowly, ordinary folk of England who came. Peasants who gathered up their few precious possessions in a pack and set off on the long road to Hawkenlye, not knowing how long they would be away from home and not trusting that they would find their goods untouched on their eventual return. They usually came on foot so that, as Saul remarked ruefully, often the first duty of the loving brothers in the Vale was to bed them down and feed them up to counter their exhaustion.

None of the brothers remembered a young man on his own who might have arrived some time in early August.

‘Folks rarely come all by themselves,’ Brother Erse said. ‘Well, stands to reason. Who would travel the roads and byways alone when they could have company? Safer, that way. Somebody to watch your back.’

‘Aye, you’re right, Brother Erse,’ Josse agreed glumly.

Perhaps noticing the defeatist tone in his voice and wishing to offer some encouragement, Augustus said suddenly, ‘There was that old feller who died. Remember, Saul? He was thin, dressed poorly, and he had a nasty cough. Died in his sleep one night, and then in the morning-’

‘In the morning, his young servant had gone!’ Brother Saul interrupted. ‘Oh, well remembered, Gus! Why did we not think of him before?’ But, as quickly as it had come, the happy smile left his face. Looking aghast, he said, ‘Oh, no. Not the young man in the bracken?’

Josse, trying to follow the rapid exchange, said, ‘What old man was this? And what’s this about the servant?’

Brother Saul turned to him. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse. Let me explain. An old man came to us in. . yes, in August. Round about the middle of August. There had been a hot spell followed by a storm, and he had a bad chest, which was greatly troubled by the sudden drop in temperature and the damp after the storm. We made him as comfortable as we could and he was due to take the waters in the morning, but he died in the night.’

‘And was that an expected death?’ Josse asked.

‘Expected. .? Oh, yes indeed. Sister Euphemia had attended him on his arrival, and she spoke to me in private afterwards and said she was gravely worried about him. Sir Josse, I think we can be fairly sure that there were no suspicious circumstances concerning that death.’

‘But what of the young servant?’

Saul’s face clouded again. ‘He vanished. He was there when we retired for the night — indeed, we remarked on the care with which he tended his master — but when we woke and found the old man dead, the boy had gone.’

The four of them stood silently, nobody, apparently, wanting to voice the conclusion to which they had all leapt. Finally Josse said, ‘Brother Saul, Brother Augustus, the two of you saw both the living young man and the dead body. Yes?’ They both nodded. ‘Then can you say whether or not the two were one and the same?’

Saul spoke first, and that only after some moments’ thought. ‘It is possible, aye, Sir Josse. But in the absence of a recognisable face. .’ He did not finish. Which, Josse thought, was understandable; the face of the corpse, bloated, half-eaten, a mass of purplish flesh and bare white bone where the skull showed through, had not been a sight to dwell on.

‘Augustus?’ he said gently, turning to the boy.

‘I cannot be sure, either,’ Augustus said. ‘All that I would venture is that it is not impossible that the dead man was the old man’s servant.’

‘Very well.’ Josse nodded. There was no point in pursuing the matter; Saul and Augustus had done their best. Instead he now asked, ‘I suppose neither the old man nor the servant gave you their name?’

As one, the three men shook their heads.

Then Brother Erse said, ‘They were foreign. Leastways, the lad was.’

‘Foreign?’ Josse spun round to face him.

‘Aye. He was dark-complexioned. Skin was sort of. .’ He paused, clearly thinking. ‘Sort of oak-coloured. If you know what I mean. And he had black hair.’

‘But many people have dark colouring without being foreign,’ Josse observed. ‘Are you sure, Brother Erse?’

‘I’m sure,’ the carpenter insisted. ‘He spoke funny.’