Alys Clare - Ashes of the Elements

The Abbess was nodding. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And, in principle, your idea is good. But, Sir Josse, the treasure is in Sheriff Pelham’s keeping. And, before you ask, no, I doubt very much that he would be prepared to give up one or two items with which to bait your trap.’

‘Oh.’ And, Josse thought, annoyed with himself for even mentioning the plan, anyone sophisticated enough to peddle antique treasure would, equally, be sufficiently worldly to know perfectly well that there would be nothing left to find in Seth Miller’s little hovel.

‘You have, I believe, someone in mind for this shady role of middle man,’ the Abbess said softly.

‘I have.’

Typically, she did not press him. And he, wondering why he did not want to implicate in this crime, even to her, a man who might well be innocent, kept his peace.

It was not until he had one foot in the stirrup and was about to mount that he remembered to ask her: ‘Abbess, I all but forgot! You learned nothing from the girl, from Esyllt?’

‘No,’ she agreed, watching him settle in the saddle. ‘But how, Sir Josse, can you be so sure of that?’

‘Because if you’d discovered anything of value, you’d have said so.’

‘Indeed,’ she murmured.

‘No sinister explanation for her presence in the woods last night?’

‘No explanation at all.’ The Abbess looked worried. Turning her face up to look at him, she added, ‘But something hangs heavy on her conscience.’

He pictured Esyllt. Well-built, strong … Strong enough to have made those savage cuts?

His eyes still on the Abbess’s, he guessed she was thinking the same. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘No, Abbess, I cannot believe it. The girl has a loving heart, I’d stake my reputation on it.’

‘Even the most loving heart can be roused to fury,’ she whispered. ‘If — ’ She did not go on.

‘If what?’ he pressed.

She looked at him now with, he thought, almost a pleading expression in the grey eyes. After a small infinity of time, she said, ‘Nothing. I’m sure — I pray — you are right.’

He reached down and briefly touched her sleeve. ‘Count on it.’

But she was still looking worried. ‘I think — ’ she began.

‘What?’

Lifting her chin as if reaching a difficult decision, she said, ‘Another is involved here, Sir Josse.’

Could she, he wondered, be thinking about Tobias? Surely not, for she had no way of knowing that he had been seen in the vicinity this morning. Had she? ‘Go on,’ he said.

‘Sister Caliste,’ she said simply.

‘Caliste!’ He had forgotten about her. ‘Yes!’ All he knew, he now thought, was that, when he had arrived back at the Abbey soon after midnight, it was to find that the novice had returned. ‘When did she get back?’

‘She was waiting outside the church when we came out of Compline.’

She had returned, then, some three hours before Josse.

‘And with no explanation for her absence, either?’

‘Only this ridiculous story of walking among the trees and forgetting the time.’

Josse slowly shook his head. Caliste, Seth, Ewen, Esyllt. And, if he was right, Tobias, waiting near at hand to receive the treasure. Hoping swiftly to pay off his work force and be on his way to his wealthy buyer.

Caliste, Seth, Ewen and Esyllt had all been in the forest last night, though, deep within it. Hadn’t they? How did they all connect?

With a sound of impatience, he jerked Horace’s head up and said to the Abbess, ‘There’s a complicated story here and no mistake, but I’m all at sea, I can’t make head nor tail of it.’

She murmured something: ‘… afraid to…’ and more words he didn’t catch.

‘Abbess?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I’m going home,’ he announced, not without a certain edge to his voice; if the Abbess could not bring herself to share her thoughts with him, then there was little point in pursuing the matter. ‘If there are any developments, will you let me know?’

Her face once more turned up to his, she gave him a thin smile. ‘Of course.’

‘Until then…’ He left the sentence unfinished, and, kicking Horace into a trot, headed off along the road for New Winnowlands.

* * *

Helewise, left to the pain of her unspoken anxiety, made her way slowly back towards her room.

Then, changing her mind, instead she went into the church.

But not, this time, to pray, unless it was for God’s guidance in this matter. Instead, she settled on a narrow bench at the back of the great building, and, in its atmosphere of power combined so affectingly with peace, tried to straighten out the tangle of her thoughts and her emotions.

She had noticed — as it had become obvious that Josse had not — that, as Esyllt had come flying through the trees towards them last night, bloodied and terrified out of her wits, there had been something else unusual about her.

She had raised the long, full skirt of her gown, the better to run through the forest.

And, underneath that gown, Helewise had seen that Esyllt had been naked from the waist down.

Oh, dear God, it didn’t mean, did it, that Ewen had come across her and attacked her? Stripped off her underclothes, tried to rape her? Succeeded?

And that Esyllt, in her horror and despair, had grabbed his own weapon and killed him? She was strong enough, heaven knew, with those well-muscled arms of hers, those powerful shoulders …

Head bent over her folded hands, Helewise was praying in earnest now. ‘Dear Lord, if that is what happened, then please, of Thy mercy, give Esyllt the courage to speak out. If she was defending herself, then surely it is no mortal sin to have killed him?’

It was that — the judgement that would fall on Esyllt — that was holding Helewise back. Because, if she were wrong and such a killing was to be viewed as a mortal sin, then Esyllt would hang for murder.

And, once dead, her soul would go to hell.

In the silence of the Abbey church, Helewise covered her face with her hands and tried to decide what to do.

Arriving back at his new home, Josse was unsurprised to hear the sound of hammering. No doubt, he thought wearily, there had been yet another delay. Even now, the foreman was probably wondering how best to inform Josse that the work on New Winnowlands wouldn’t be completed this side of Christmas.

But, other than that — in fact, matters weren’t quite that bad, since the foreman promised everything would be finished in a week, two at the most — Josse’s welcome home was all that a man could wish for. Will came out to take Horace, and, as Josse well knew, the man would care for the horse as diligently as Josse himself would have done. Furthermore, Josse’s swift but penetrating look around the courtyard and outbuildings of his new domain was sufficient to indicate that everything was neat and tidy.

Inside the house, it was the same. Ella had clearly busied herself clearing up after the workmen, and not so much as a small pile of sawdust marred the polished sheen of the flagstones in the hall. She had rubbed beeswax into the fine wood of Josse’s table, chair and benches, and bowls of flowers stood in the deep stone window embrasures.

Greeting him, she said, ‘Will you eat, sir? I have a pot of stew simmering, duck, it is, and Will’s pulled some lovely young onions, white and smooth, they are.’

Josse’s mouth was watering. ‘That sounds wonderful. Yes please, Ella.’

* * *

He was relaxing in the mid-afternoon heat — not asleep, he told himself firmly, merely resting with his eyes closed — when he heard someone ride into the yard. Getting up, he crossed the hall to the open doorway and looked down the steps into the courtyard. Will was in conversation with a mounted messenger.