Alys Clare - The Chatter of the Maidens

Helewise sat with Brother Saul and Brother Firmin in the rough shelter where the pilgrims took their meals. Brother Firmin, who headed the fully professed monks in the little community, was clearly distraught and not a great deal of help; Helewise had to arrest the swift wish that he would go away and find something else to do and send her one of his other monks instead. Not that any of them would be a great deal better, she reflected; they were excellent at tending the shrine and seeing to the small needs of their visitors, and their devotion to the Virgin and her Holy Place was remarkable. But when a practical mind and a deft pair of hands were required. .

Each to his own, the Abbess told herself firmly. God calls us all, but sets each of us on a different path.

‘Brother Saul,’ she said, meeting the alert eyes of her secret favourite among the lay brothers, ‘your summary?’

Brother Saul paused, brows together in a frown of concentration as he gathered his thoughts. Then, with admirable brevity, he said, ‘I would judge that the dead man was an habitual and well-travelled pilgrim. The souvenir badges suggest extensive journeys, and both the scrip and the boots show wear. He may have come from far away, he travelled alone, and he liked to keep himself to himself.’ Saul paused again. ‘We know that he sat here, in this very shelter, for the evening meal, and we surmise that he went for a walk before settling for the night, where he encountered his killer.’

‘He was deliberately killed?’ Helewise asked. ‘It cannot have been an accidental death?’

Again, Saul seemed to think carefully about his reply. Then: ‘Had the weapon been a stone, then it might just have been possible that he had slipped and bashed his skull against the stone as he fell. But the thick knot at the top of his staff shows blood and hair, and the hair seems to look very like that of the dead man.’

‘And it is surely beyond the bounds of possibility for a man to kill himself by falling on his own staff,’ Helewise concluded for him.

He nodded. ‘Yes. And, Abbess, there are the wounds to the forehead to consider. A fall could scarcely inflict damage to both the back and the front of the head simultaneously.’

‘Indeed not. Thank you, Brother Saul.’

It was her turn to think. Beside her, Brother Firmin was fretting, his hands busy with the end of the cord that he wore knotted around his waist. He was muttering under his breath, and Helewise wished he would stop. Saul, by contrast, sat still as a rock, eyes focused on some spot in the middle distance.

Presently Helewise said, ‘Are any other pilgrims absent this morning? Who were here yesterday, I mean?’

‘All are present, Abbess,’ Brother Firmin said. ‘No more new arrivals, for which we must thank the good Lord, since it would only add to our burden to have newcomers in our midst, making everything more complicated.’

‘Quite.’ Helewise suddenly turned to Saul; something in Brother Firmin’s little outburst had reminded her of a question she should have asked already. ‘Brother Saul, was there anything about the position of the body to suggest whether the man had been coming to the shrine or going away from it?’

Saul must have been thinking the same thing, for instantly he said, ‘Going away, I would judge, Abbess. I should say that he was walking along the path when somebody crept up on him from behind — perhaps they were tiptoeing in the grass, so as to be quite silent — and struck him from behind.’

‘With his own staff,’ she mused.

‘Aye.’

She met Saul’s eyes. ‘Did they wrest it from him to strike him, then?’

Saul shook his head. ‘I cannot imagine that was how it was, Abbess. Taking the staff from the dead man would have alerted him to the fact that someone was attacking him, and surely, in that case, the heaviest blows would have fallen on the front of his head. They’d have been face to face, wouldn’t they?’

‘Yes, they would.’ She was thinking hard. ‘Then, Brother Saul, can it be that, setting out merely for a stroll, he didn’t take his staff, but left it here, by his bedroll? And that someone else crept in to fetch it, then followed the poor man and killed him?’

Brother Saul began to speak, but Brother Firmin overrode him. ‘Abbess Helewise, you speak of the Holy Vale as if it were a den of thieves and cut-throats!’ he protested. ‘Killers stealing staffs and stalking each other? Caving in each other’s heads on the path? And now some girl has gone missing, they say? Dear Lord above, but all this cannot be true!’

For a tiny instant, Helewise caught a flash of sympathy in Brother Saul’s eyes as he looked at her, as if to say, see what we have to put up with?

She made quite sure her expression was bland as she turned to Brother Firmin. ‘It is shocking and dreadful, Brother Firmin, I agree. Particularly for you who tend this precious place. However, it is not the first time that we have had violent death here, and I do not suppose it will be the last. For the sake of the dead man and, indeed, for all of us, our duty now is to find out what happened, and, with God’s help and if it is within our power, see that the perpetrator is brought to justice.’

‘Amen,’ Brother Saul murmured.

Brother Firmin crossed himself. Then he said, ‘You have Sir Josse d’Acquin in the infirmary, Abbess?’ She nodded. The same thought had occurred to her. ‘Might I suggest that you talk this over with him?’

Her faint irritation with the old monk vanished as she stared into his earnest, anxious eyes. ‘I shall indeed, provided he is strong enough.’ She rose to her feet and, courteously, the two brothers did the same. ‘Thank you both for your help,’ — she nodded to them — ‘and I will keep you informed.’

Brother Saul walked with her back up the path from the shrine to the Abbey. Neither of them spoke until he left her at the gate. Then he said quietly, ‘It’s a nasty business, Abbess Helewise. I shall pray for your success in resolving it quickly.’

It was, she thought as she went into the Abbey, a heartening thing to know that Brother Saul was praying for you.

Josse had reached the stage of convalescence when he was well enough no longer to sleep all day but not sufficiently strong to get out of bed. Not that he hadn’t tried to; contravening Sister Euphemia’s strict orders, he had made an attempt to walk to the latrine. And, just as she had predicted, had fainted and suffered the ignominy of being carried back to his bed.

He had made it clear that he needed someone to talk to, and, to his delight, the cheerful, bubbly Berthe had become his most frequent visitor. Not only did she keep him informed about the small — and not so small — happenings in the community; she also got him playing the most absurd, childish games. It did him good to hear her laugh, and even more good to laugh with her.

A couple of days ago, she had brought her sister Meriel with her. Studying the elder girl’s sad, pale face, Josse had felt a great sympathy for her. He tried to draw her into the conversation, asking her about her work — she was helping Sister Emanuel in the home where elderly nuns and monks were cared for — but the girl was monosyllabic in her answers.

Was this sister in accord with Alba’s order that they all be nuns? Josse wondered. Was her misery a reaction to what was in store for her? Poor lass, it cut deep, he thought, whatever sorrow she bore.

The girls had left his bedside together, Berthe leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek — she smelt of fresh air — and Meriel giving him a little bow. But, as they left, Meriel turned and smiled at him. And suddenly he had seen what a beautiful young woman she was.