Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

For a brief moment, Esyllt leaned against the Abbess, allowing herself to be comforted. But then she pulled away.

Staring into Helewise’s eyes, she said, ‘Don’t be kind to me, Abbess!’

‘But-’

Esyllt began to cry. Brushing away the tears, she stood up. She was half-way back to her wash house when she turned, gave Helewise a brave attempt at a smile and said, ‘Save your kindness for others. Much as I wish I could accept it, I can’t.’

The smile faded as, in a whisper, she added, ‘I’m not worthy.’

Then she went back inside and closed the door.

Helewise sat on for a while in the sunshine, thinking hard. She was tempted to call Esyllt back there and then, and face the girl with one or two very pertinent questions.

But would it do any good?

Would it not be better to give Esyllt a chance to calm down, come to her senses? Goodness, the child was probably still suffering from shock!

Helewise was becoming more and more convinced that she knew why Esyllt had been in the forest, and why she couldn’t — wouldn’t — explain herself. She was, the Abbess reflected, an honourable girl, in her own way.

With a sigh, Helewise got up and went in search of Sister Caliste.

* * *

A short while later, going into the Abbey church a good half hour before Sext to give herself time for some private prayer, Helewise tried to quell her irritation with Sister Caliste.

Because, despite Helewise’s probings, despite having the paucity of her version of events thrown in her face, Caliste was sticking stubbornly to her story.

She went into the forest the previous day for a little walk. And, entranced by the flowers and the trees, she forgot the time.

Falling to her knees, Helewise began quietly, ‘Dear Lord, please help me to find the truth.’

The one thing about which she was absolutely sure was that she had got nowhere near it yet.

Josse met with as little help in his search for Ewen’s killer as he had when he tried to investigate who might have slain Hamm. Ewen had indeed lived with his mean-spirited and whingeing widowed mother until her death, which was, according to the old man who was Josse’s only faintly useful informant, ‘a right blessing for the old misery-guts, Ewen being the wastrel and the worry that ’e were.’

A picture emerged of a youth who, without a father and with a nagging, narrow-minded mother, had absented himself from home as much as possible, never putting his shoulder to even the least demanding of wheels, either physically or symbolically, and who had earned his meagre livelihood by a bit of desultory poaching and thieving. Who, according to the same old man, ‘didn’t do a ’and’s turn iffen someone else’d do it for ’im.’

Until, Josse thought, filling in the many blanks, life took on a new turn. When Ewen joined forces with Hamm Robinson and Seth Miller in the venture that killed him. Killed Hamm, too, come to that.

And, like Hamm, Ewen Asher did not, on the face of it, seem a great loss to the world.

But that, Josse told himself firmly, is thinking as Sheriff Pelham would think. Ewen is dead, cut to death in a brutal assault.

And Josse himself had heard the man’s screams. It had not, as Josse was all too well aware, been either a quick death or a painless one.

He spoke last to a couple of men herding their pigs back towards some miserable-looking dwellings half a mile up the road from where Hamm’s widow lived. They could add little more to Josse’s knowledge of Ewen, except to remark that ‘it were more’n likely Seth Miller did for ’im, ’e’s always ’ad a temper on ’im.’ And, echoing Josse’s own shameful conclusion, ‘We’re well rid of ’im, aye, and that ’amm Robinson ’n all.’

If Sheriff Pelham speaks to those two, Josse thought, thanking the men and riding away, then Seth will be strung up on the nearest gallows the very next day.

* * *

Heading up the track into the forest, his mind was already concentrating on what he should look out for at the murder scene when he saw a mounted figure coming towards him.

Coming out of the forest.

‘Good day, Sir Josse!’ the man called when he was within hailing distance. He was young, no more than thirty, and bareheaded. Dressed well, he rode a fine horse, with what looked like new harness, beautifully crafted. On one wrist he wore a heavy leather glove, on which, tethered by jesses, perched a hooded hawk.

Josse said, ‘Good day to you, Tobias.’

‘Fine morning for hawking!’ Tobias exclaimed. He glanced at the bird. ‘She’s caught a rabbit and two voles, and we haven’t been out more than an hour!’

‘She’s beautiful,’ Josse said. ‘What is she?’

‘A peregrine falcon.’ Tobias had come to a halt, and now, as his horse stood patiently, he stroked the falcon’s head with his free hand. ‘Do you know why they’re called that?’

‘I don’t.’

‘It means pilgrimage hawk. Because they’re caught on their passage from their breeding places.’

‘Oh.’ Was the young man deliberately setting out to charm, so as to distract Josse from wondering what he was doing there? If so, he wasn’t quite succeeding. ‘You have come from home this morning?’

‘This morning?’ A fractional hesitation. Then, with a wide smile, ‘No, indeed! I have friends hereabouts, good fellows who share my — my interests, who kindly offer me hospitality when I am this way.’

‘Men with whom you hunt?’

Again, a flashing smile. ‘Hunt? Aye, Sir Josse.’ Turning from interviewee to questioner with a ruthless speed that almost caught Josse unawares, he said, ‘And you, Sir Knight? Where are you going?’

Since the track led straight into the forest, there was really only one answer. Josse said, ‘Into the forest. A man was killed there last night. Murdered. As the King’s representative, I am investigating the death.’

King Richard, Josse was well aware, had no idea either that there had been a killing or that Josse was even in the vicinity. But there was no need to reveal that to Tobias Durant.

The young man, however, did not react, or not, at least, in the way Josse had expected. Not even a look of mild apprehension. Instead, Tobias was turning his horse, as, with an eager expression, he said, ‘How terrible! You must let me help you, Sir Josse! For one thing, two heads are better than one, and, for another, if there is a murderer abroad, then you should not go into the woods alone!’

Company was the very last thing Josse wanted. Firmly he put out a restraining arm. ‘It is good of you, Tobias, but I prefer to work alone. Those inexperienced in such matters can unwittingly disturb significant clues, if you’ll forgive my bluntness. Footprints, you know, that sort of thing.’

Tobias was nodding understandingly. ‘Yes, I see. You don’t want my clumsy great feet trampling the evidence!’ He laughed. ‘Then I’ll bid you good day, and good hunting, and let you go on your way.’ He bowed, smiled, and, wheeling his horse again, set off once more down the track leading away from the trees.

As Josse went on into the forest, he reflected that it would have been a shame to have dampened the young man’s spirits by confronting him with Ewen’s place of death. The body might be gone, but the blood would still be there.

It was not a sight for a happy, carefree fellow out hawking on a sunny morning.

* * *

In the end, there was very little evidence for Josse to find at the murder scene. The blood was indeed still there, and that which had not seeped down into the ground was now congealing slowly. There were signs of a struggle — broken branches, trampled undergrowth — and Josse thought he could tell which direction Ewen had come from. But he’d known that already, since he’d seen the man leave the clearing where the fallen trees were.