Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

Beside him, Caliste giggled. ‘It’s not really very wise to do that, Sir Josse,’ she said. ‘The herbs are powerful just now. You have to treat them with respect.’

‘I see what you mean,’ Josse said. Gingerly, he stepped forward; the dizziness seemed to have gone.

‘This way,’ Caliste said, stepping out along a narrow path bordered neatly with box hedging. ‘Sister Tiphaine’s workroom is just ahead.’

He waited outside the little shed while Caliste went in to fetch whatever it was she had been sent for. She was not gone long, but, even so, her absence gave sufficient time for a warm exchange of words between her and the herbalist. And a soft outburst of laughter.

‘You used to work with Sister Tiphaine, I believe,’ he said as he and Caliste made their way back to the infirmary. ‘Do you regret being moved to nursing duties?’

‘I-’ Caliste hesitated, shooting a quick, assessing glance at him. ‘I will tell you the truth, Sir Knight,’ she said, obviously deciding in his favour. ‘I loved working with Sister Tiphaine, who was kind to me and generous with the sharing of her wide knowledge. When I was told of my new duties, I was sad. But I am a nun, and I must do what I am told.’

Moved to pity, he said, ‘I am sorry for you, child. I know what it is to have to obey, when the dictates of one’s heart say differently.’

‘Do you?’ She stopped, staring at him. ‘Yes,’ she murmured, ‘I believe you do.’ As if recognising in him a kindred spirit, she smiled. But this time, the expression seemed to include all of her soul.

Quite shaken, he smiled back.

After a pause, he said, ‘Have you settled down in your new work? Are you happy, Sister Caliste?’

She replied, ‘I have, and I am. I tell myself that, if I am to make a good nun, then I must learn not to have — what was it you said? Dictates of the heart? Yes. Not to have those. And I am happy.’

There seemed nothing else to say. They walked, in silence, side by side back to the infirmary.

But, as she stood back to let him go in first, Caliste said, ‘Thank you for asking, Sir Knight. It was kindly done.’

In a barely audible whisper, she added, ‘And I do not forget a kindness.’

When Helewise finally emerged from the infirmary and spared a few moments to greet Josse, he realised without her having to tell him that she was both preoccupied and very busy. In addition to the dying man, a woman in the nuns’ care had just given birth to twins, one of whom was sickly. So sickly that the Abbess was anxious to fetch the priest and arrange for immediate baptism. ‘Just in case,’ she added, with a sad little smile.

Also, one of the monks from the vale was being treated for a septic foot, and Brother Firmin had asked the Abbess to send down an extra pair of hands to help deal with the sudden rush of pilgrims, encouraged by the fine weather to come and take of the holy waters.

‘Does Brother Firmin not appreciate how busy you are, you and the sisters, with your own concerns?’ Josse asked her mildly.

A flash of anger briefly lit the Abbess’s grey eyes, there and gone in an instant. After taking a rather audible deep breath, she said, ‘Brother Firmin’s duty is to his pilgrims, Sir Josse. If he feels that he is short-staffed and cannot fulfil his duties properly, then he is right to ask for help.’

‘Ah,’ Josse said quietly. And folded his lips over what he would have liked to say next.

‘I’m sorry that I can’t help you in this matter of the murdered man,’ the Abbess said, looking around her as she did so. ‘Now, where is Brother Saul? I want him to act as my messenger, and go to find Father Gilbert…’

‘I wouldn’t dream of imposing,’ Josse said. ‘I shall proceed on my own, Abbess, and, in due course, report my findings. If I may?’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, still looking for Brother Saul. ‘Ah! I see him.’ She hurried off towards the distant figure of Brother Saul, raising a hand and hailing him as she did so. Then abruptly she stopped, turned, and called back to Josse, ‘He lived in a tiny hovel down by the ford. His woman is called Matty, and he has two fellow-poachers named Ewen and Seth. Seth, I believe, is Hamm’s cousin.’

As Josse thanked her, he wondered how, in the midst of all she had on her mind, she had, first, discovered that information, and, second, stored it away and remembered it to pass on to him.

A remarkable woman, the Abbess of Hawkenlye.

* * *

Hovel, he reflected as he rode down the track to the ford, had been about right.

The track petered out into a muddy slipway as it neared the water. The stream issuing out of the forest was quite wide just there, fast-running over a good, firm base, the water slightly brown from the peat, and from the centuries upon centuries of fallen leaves that had gone into the making of the stream’s banks and bed.

It would have been a lovely spot, had it not been for the row of dwellings straggling up the track on the far side.

Two were deserted; even the most desperate of people, surely, could not live in a house with no roof and half its walls gone. The middle three were reasonably sound, and the last in the row was no more than a lean-to built against its neighbour, now being used to house livestock. A scrawny pig and a handful of miserable-looking chickens raised their heads as Josse splashed through the water, and a dog on a short length of fraying rope dashed out, gave a token few barks, then ran back into the lean-to with its tail curving tightly over its backside, as if in anticipation of a good hard kick.

Somewhere within one of the dwellings a baby cried, until it was silenced by a woman’s harsh voice.

Dismounting, Josse put his head into the doorway of the first hovel. The baby was sitting on the mud floor, naked but for a tattered shirt several sizes too big. It had its fist in its mouth, streaks of greenish snot ran from its nostrils, and the filth on its cheeks was lined by the tracks of tears. Close to its small right buttock was a turd, its end smeared from where the child had sat on it. There was no sign of the woman with the harsh voice.

He went on to the next doorway. The door was closed, and through a gap at the top, he peered inside. There was nobody there.

In the third house, a woman sat on the step, just inside the door. From the chipped pot on the floor beside her and the meagre pile of earth-covered turnips and carrots in her lap, it seemed she was meant to be preparing vegetables. In fact, she was staring listlessly in front of her, face cast down into lines of dejection. If she had heard Josse’s approach, she was not sufficiently interested to peer out and see who it was come a-visiting.

Josse said, ‘Are you the widow of the late Hamm Robinson?’

She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. At some time, she had suffered a broken nose; there was a big lump midway between the tip and the bridge. She had also lost several teeth. She said dully, ‘Aye.’

Josse went to stand beside the woman. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ he said.

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. ‘Don’t know what’ll become of me,’ she said mournfully, sliding a quick glance up at him. Her voice took on the familiar whine of the professional beggar. ‘Nowhere to call me own, no man to bring in a bit of this and that,’ she moaned. ‘Where me next meal’s a-coming from, the dear Lord above only knows.’

Josse reached into the purse at his belt and took out some coins. ‘Perhaps these will tide you over.’ He dropped them into her lap.

Her hand shot out and the coins disappeared. ‘Thankee,’ she said.

Josse hesitated. There seemed little point in asking this browbeaten, dejected woman if her husband had had any enemies. Would she know? And, if she did, would she tell Josse?