Alys Clare: Ashes of the Elements

Yes, I have much to thank you for, Sir Josse, Helewise thought now, as she watched him mount up. It occurred to her, not for the first time, that, at some point in his life, Josse d’Acquin must have become very used to the command of men …

‘Oh, Abbess, I almost forgot!’ He stilled the circling horse and gave Helewise a rueful grin. ‘I encountered a friend of yours on the road, a man named Tobias Durand. He asked to be remembered to you.’

‘Tobias Durand?’ She frowned, then recalled. But she would scarcely have called him a friend, having barely met him. ‘Indeed? And was there a message for me?’ Perhaps he had sent word regarding the Queen, who must surely have left for France by now.

‘No message,’ Josse replied. ‘Merely to send the Abbess Helewise of Hawkenlye his respects.’

‘Charming,’ Helewise murmured. Then, aloud, ‘Where did you say you met him?’

‘I didn’t. In fact it was on the track leading from the forest, some five miles off to the north-east.’ Josse waved a hand behind him. ‘The fellow was hawking. Said it was good land there, where the trees give way to fields and hedgerows. Plenty of small game, for the training of a new bird.’

‘Oh!’ Helewise was faintly surprised, since she had understood from Queen Eleanor that Tobias and Petronilla lived quite close to the coast. It seemed unnecessary, to come all the way to this particular stretch of the Wealden Forest, when there must surely be good hawking to be had nearer to home.

Still, it was none of her business.

‘Perhaps Tobias will pay us a call,’ she said.

‘Not today, he won’t.’ Josse turned his horse. ‘Said he was off home when I saw him.’

‘But I thought you said you met him this morning?’

‘Aye, I did.’ He steadied the horse, who was impatient to be, away. ‘Wait, Horace! We’ll be off directly!’

Then Tobias must have left his home very early, Helewise thought, still puzzled. Unless he had been staying with friends hereabouts? Yes! That must be it!

‘Was he alone? Tobias, I mean?’ she asked Josse. ‘Or with a company?’

‘What?’ Josse, clearly, wasn’t really interested. ‘Oh, quite alone. Now, Abbess, I must be on my way. Good day to you!’

‘Good day, Sir Josse. Come to see us again.’

‘I will.’ Josse grinned. ‘Apart from the pleasure of your company, Abbess, I’m intrigued by this poor dead body you trod on.’

‘I didn’t-’ she began. But, with a wave of his hand, he was gone.

Yes, she thought, walking back towards the cloister and her room. I might have known. Mention the words ‘suspicious death’ to Josse d’Acquin, and you ensure yourself of the pleasure of his company. At least, until the murder is solved.

* * *

The new arrangements were put into effect straight away and, as far as Helewise could tell, seemed to work well. Esyllt, who had a strong and melodious singing voice, which she liked to use as she worked, quickly became a favourite with the old monks and nuns living out their retirement at Hawkenlye Abbey. True, one or two of the more straight-laced old people expressed shock, that a young woman who wasn’t of the community should be allowed to tend them, and one old monk in particular took exception to Esyllt’s song about the young lad and his lass, and what they got up to on a moonlit harvest night. But the dissenters were overruled by the majority, who grew to cherish Esyllt for her brimming happiness and her loving touch on ancient, painful bodies.

Quite what it was that made Esyllt so cheerful, nobody knew or thought to enquire. Everybody worked hard at Hawkenlye Abbey; to have someone among them who had a pleasant word for all, who sang as she went about even the most crude of tasks, seemed like a gift from a thoughtful God, to brighten the long days.

Sister Caliste settled down too, in the infirmary. Sister Beata had at first confessed to Helewise that she was afraid the remarks of the infirmary patients might affect Caliste; most of those cared for by the nuns were from the outside world, and many didn’t know about convent etiquette, that forbade the making of personal remarks. Caliste, whose beauty shone like a beacon, was, in Sister Beata’s opinion, the recipient of far too many compliments.

But even Sister Beata had to admit that the girl hardly seemed to hear. ‘In fact, Abbess,’ Sister Beata went on, ‘sometimes it’s quite hard to make her hear anything! It’s as if-’ Sister Beata’s face crumpled into an uncharacteristic frown as she sought the words. ‘As if she’s listening to inner voices. Or music, perhaps, since, quite often, she starts to hum softly, as if she’s joining in.’

‘I see.’ Helewise did see, all too clearly; it was that strange humming of Caliste’s that had so disturbed the Abbess, the night she had found the girl sleepwalking.

Caliste might appear settled in her new work. But Helewise was very afraid that there were currents moving beneath the smooth surface. Currents that would, she feared, bring trouble.

* * *

Josse had discovered, in the first few days of his homecoming, that his impression of work on New Winnowlands being all but finished had been an illusion.

The builders were still busy on the kitchen, and there was a problem with the solar, which, apparently, only the master builder himself could put right. It was entirely Josse’s fault, was the implication, for being so daft as to want a solar in the first place.

Josse tried to help, making suggestions, rolling up his sleeves and offering his strong arms and back.

But it was made quite obvious that he was not wanted; the builders, who never actually said so, managed to imply that, by hanging around where they were working, Josse was offending against some unwritten but unbreakable rule.

So he retired to his hall.

But there was nothing to do!

The long summer days drew him outside, yet, once there, he had to keep dodging workmen. In desperation, he remembered the Hawkenlye murder.

And thought, damnation and hellfire, I’ll see if I can do better than that sheriff fellow!

* * *

He arrived in Tonbridge, where, enquiring for Sheriff Harry Pelham — bless the Abbess, for informing Josse what the man’s name was — he learned that, it being the midday hour, the sheriff would likely be taking his dinner.

Fortunately for Josse, the sheriff’s preferred inn was the one where Josse had himself once put up; leading his horse into the yard, he met the innkeeper, Goody Anne, hurrying across from one of her storehouses with a side of ham under one strong arm.

‘Well! Good day to you, stranger!’ she cried, giving him a broad smile. ‘And just where have you been all this time?’

Grinning back, Josse said, ‘Here and there, Anne. How are you?’

‘I’m well. We’re very busy, but that’s how I like it. Are you eating? I’ve a side of beef just broached, and this here ham’s in its prime.’ She gave the haunch a friendly slap.

‘I’m ravenous,’ Josse said. ‘ And I’ve a thirst on me like a man lost in the desert.’

Anne batted her eyelids at him. ‘You’ve come to the right place to see to your appetites,’ she said. With a seductive swing of her ample bottom, she disappeared through the door into the kitchen. Faintly her voice reached him: ‘ All your appetites!’

In the taproom, Josse ordered beer and food. Then, casting his eyes round the company, he tried to guess which man might be Sheriff Pelham.

He was in luck. A newcomer entering the room shouted out, ‘Sheriff? I’ve a message for you!’ and a stout, strongly built man in a battered leather tunic stood up and said, ‘Here!’

Josse waited until the newcomer had given his message and left. Then, casually, he sauntered across to where the sheriff was tucking into his meal and said, ‘May I sit beside you?’