Alys Clare - Fortune Like the Moon

He had to come back for it! Surely he did! And quickly, before Elanor’s bed was allocated to another new postulant who might discover what was hidden there. I’d waste not a moment in searching for it, Josse thought, if I were in his place. It reveals the true identity of the postulant Elvera, and, once it is known that she is Elanor d’Arcy, then Milon is automatically involved.

His mind returned to the other two crosses, belonging to Gunnora and Dillian. Milon, he thought, must somehow have got hold of Dillian’s cross. Had it perhaps been left to her aunt, Milon’s mother-in-law, on Dillian’s death? Likely, since the woman was Dillian’s only surviving female relation other than Elanor, who already had her own cross. Well, however he had got his hands on it, he had known what to do with it. Leave it by Gunnora’s body, as if dropped by a panicking, fleeing thief, so that those who found her would think she had been killed during a robbery.

But they hadn’t thought that. Because Abbess Helewise had known it couldn’t be Gunnora’s own cross, which was then, and still was, securely in her care.

His mind was becoming fudged. I need to do something, he decided, something positive and, hopefully, useful, to fill the day ahead.

He decided, after brief thought, to go down to Tonbridge. It was possible he might hear word of Milon, if he asked a few questions; the lad wasn’t easy to overlook, with his fancy clothes and haircut. It seemed unlikely that he would risk putting up at an inn in the town, but, on the other hand, he had to eat. And there were precious few places selling food in the Wealden Forest.

I will ride down to Tonbridge, Josse thought, and treat myself to a decent dinner and a few mugs of Goody Anne’s excellent ale.

Then tonight, when it begins to get dark, I shall return here and wait for Milon.

Tonbridge was full of people; it was, Josse realised, market day.

All activity in the little town centred around the church today. Glancing up at it, Josse observed that, some time in the fairly recent past, it had been enlarged; more evidence, he reflected, on the growing fortunes of the town. On three sides, the church was surrounded by stalls, as if the merchants and stallholders were crouching under the sandstone walls for protection. There was the sound of chatter and laughter as people bartered with the stallholders and gossiped with one another; the occasion was as much for the exchange of news as for the purchase of new goods and chattels.

Were they, Josse wondered, talking about the murders up at the Abbey?

Of course they were. He did not fool himself for a moment that this wouldn’t be the chief topic of conversation. And whatever was said here stood a good chance of being repeated in more influential circles up in London.

Promising himself that he would lay a thoroughly satisfying solution before the King as soon as he possibly could, Josse pushed on through the market.

Many of the stalls sold local produce, including, on the outer fringes, livestock; there were also craftsmen’s stalls, where, had Josse wished to, he could have bought himself a new belt or a nicely turned wooden milking stool. In addition, and reflecting the proximity of the town to the main trade route from Hastings and Winchelsea up to London, there were a handful of stalls selling more exotic wares. Fine linen, spices, some brilliant pieces of jewellery which, Josse was sure, would lose their shine before the month was out …

Catching a waft of some spicy smell that instantly transported him back to the Languedoc, resolutely he turned his back on the delights of the market and elbowed his way through the throng back towards the bridge.

* * *

The inn, too, was busy, and Goody Anne was doing a robust trade in food and drink.

She greeted Josse as if he were a regular customer who had inexplicably been absent for months.

‘There you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘How are you, now? Well, I trust? A mug of ale this warm day? There! That’s the idea!’

Josse wondered if she had greeted her regulars with such affectionate enthusiasm when she had still plied her former trade. If so, then he wasn’t in the least surprised she had made enough money to set herself up in the inn.

‘I’m well, thank you, Mistress,’ he said when he could get a word in. ‘Grateful for your good ale, and hungry enough for ten men.’

‘What will you take?’ She was pouring ale for another customer as she spoke. ‘I’ve choice in plenty today, being as how it’s market day.’

‘Aye, I noticed.’ He looked at the platters of neighbouring customers; carp in some sort of sauce, eels, mutton stew, hare, what appeared to be a sort of game pie … The pie seemed to be going down particularly well. ‘A portion of your pie, please.’

She loaded a platter, deftly cutting a hunk of bread and balancing it on top of the pie crust, then put the meal down in front of him with a thump. ‘Eat up,’ she said, eyeing his body, ‘a man with a fine, big frame like yours needs a good helping of food regular.’ She put her head on one side, giving him a considering glance. ‘Not to mention his other appetites.’

Was it his imagination, or did she raise an enquiring eyebrow?

Well, even if she had done, and even if he’d felt like a quick roll with her, there wasn’t time. She was still looking at him; whatever sort of toll her former profession had demanded, it hadn’t affected her too adversely. Her skin was still good, and she had most of her teeth. And she really did have beautiful breasts …

It was, Josse reflected as, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he turned his attention to the delicious pie, just as well he was here on important business.

When Anne had gone — with a swirl of her hips which seemed to say, you don’t know what you’re missing! — Josse glanced round to see if any of the men he had met the other day were about. He thought he saw Matthew, and, finishing his food, went over to speak to him.

It was indeed Matthew. ‘Morning, stranger,’ he greeted Josse. ‘Come to make your purchases at market? Or are you come to sell your birds?’ He smiled as he spoke; Josse was not dressed as a chicken farmer.

‘Come to search for someone,’ Josse said. What harm could it do to ask one or two people if they’d seen Milon? Even if word got back to him that Josse was on his trail, it could hardly come as a surprise. If, that was, Josse was right about his guilt.

And Josse entertained no doubts about that.

‘Oh, aye?’ Matthew said.

‘A young man, hardly more than a lad, really. Slim, fashionably dressed, yellow hair cut in a fringe, with a curl on his forehead?’

Matthew muttered something on the lines of, ‘Sounds like a right pretty boy.’ Then, his brow creased in concentration, he said, ‘That’s familiar, that is. Reckon I did see a lad looking like that, but it was a while ago.’

‘Did you?’

‘Aah. I did that. I remember, I watched him ride by — it were over Castle Hill way, going up towards the ridge there.’

The Castle Hill ridge, Josse thought. That lies between Tonbridge and Hawkenlye. If Matthew’s memory was serving him truly, then this was news indeed.

‘Of course, I’ve only given you a fairly vague description,’ he said, trying to sound casual. ‘There are probably dozens of young men that answer it. People from London, visiting the castle, merchants on the road, passing through.’

‘This lad I’m thinking of weren’t no merchant, nor no guest up at the castle,’ Matthew said decisively.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because he weren’t anywhere near the castle, nor the market neither.’ Matthew sighed, as if to say, isn’t it obvious? ‘Like I said, he were up there towards the ridge. Well, he was the first time I saw him. Second time, he were skulking around the back of the baker’s house. Hungry, I reckoned he was.’