Alys Clare - The Paths of the Air

Helewise was so glad to have Josse’s solid presence back at Hawkenlye that she insisted on seeing him as far as the track down to the Vale; he was going to seek out his usual overnight spot with the lay brothers. The visit down into the crypt had brought back all the horror she was trying to forget.

Her common sense told her that there was no danger to anyone at Hawkenlye, for this was surely not a random killing. You did not torture a man if he was a stranger. If the motive was robbery — the likely cause of most random killings — then you would hit your victim over the head and make off with his purse or his horse, or both, without even going to the bother of stopping to see if he was still alive.

No. Whoever had attacked the man on the forest track had known him and had wanted something from him.

It was, in a way, a reassuring thought. But all the same, whether or not there was a direct threat to the Hawkenlye community, it felt good to have Josse with them. He was standing with his hand on the gate, looking at her with a faint frown. She knew him well enough to know that, far from suggesting he was frowning at her, this probably just meant he was deep in thought.

‘And so, Sir Josse, what next?’ she asked.

‘Hm?’ He came out of his reverie and she hid a smile. ‘Sorry, my lady, I was thinking.’

‘Yes, Josse,’ she murmured.

But she didn’t think he heard. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘I’m going back to where the dead man was found. It’s unlikely I’ll find anything, because both that merchant fellow and the lay brothers had a good look round. Then,’ he added more decisively, ‘with your permission, my lady, I shall send for Gervase de Gifford and see what he makes of this.’

‘I have already done that,’ she said. ‘Brother Saul rode down to Tonbridge first thing today to tell him about the brutalized body and ask him to come up to the Abbey. Sabin told Saul that her husband was away from home and expected back late this evening, and she undertook to ask him to ride up here in the morning.’

Josse was watching her, slowly shaking his head. ‘I should have realized,’ he said. ‘A foul murder so close to the Abbey? Of course you would inform the sheriff. I’m glad, my lady, for it means we shall have the benefit of Gervase’s wisdom all the sooner.’

He had gone through the gate now and was closing it behind him. ‘Make sure you bolt it,’ he warned.

‘I am doing so.’ She shot the two heavy bolts home.

‘Until tomorrow,’ came his voice from the far side.

‘Sleep well.’

She heard the jingle of his spurs as he hastened away down into the Vale. Then she turned and walked quickly back to her room.

Josse watched Gervase de Gifford ride through the Abbey gates early the next morning.

Gervase had married Sabin de Retz in the spring and Josse had danced at the wedding. It had been a joyful day, for Sabin and Gervase were deeply in love and, having taken the decision to stay in Tonbridge rather than return to her native Brittany, Sabin appeared to have every intention of throwing herself wholeheartedly into her new life. Her old grandfather had come to England with her. Like Sabin, he was an apothecary and he was going to continue to teach her as she set about practising her skill in Tonbridge.

Josse had heard that Sabin was pregnant. He would have liked to congratulate the prospective father but now was hardly the time. It seemed wrong to celebrate the conception of a new life when one had just been so savagely brought to an end.

He stepped forward to greet Gervase as he dismounted. The two men embraced and Josse muttered, ‘It is good to see you, Gervase. A dreadful thing has happened and-’

‘Josse, I am sorry but I bring more bad tidings. Shall we find the Abbess?’ He glanced at Sister Ursel, hovering close by, and at Sister Martha, holding out her hand for the reins.

Understanding, Josse led the way to the Abbess’s private room. She was seated at her big table and she got up to greet the sheriff. ‘Gervase, thank you for coming. We-’

‘Something else has happened, my lady,’ Josse said. He glanced at Gervase, whose handsome face wore a sombre expression. ‘Gervase?’

‘In the early hours of this morning there was a fire in the new guest quarters of the priory at Tonbridge,’ he said baldly. ‘They are still busy with building work and it is suggested that the fire may have started in a brazier left smouldering when the workmen left the site last night.’

Josse thought that it sounded unlikely, since for one thing, braziers did a good job of containing fires, even fierce ones, and for another, workmen were fully aware of the risk of fire to timber-framed buildings and were extremely careful with it. He heard the Abbess ask the question which he too should have thought of first: she said, ‘Was anyone hurt?’

‘One man killed, my lady. Two injured, one very badly. There were but the three of them in the guest accommodation last night.’

‘Are the wounded men well enough to be brought here? My infirmarer has great skill and undoubtedly she could help them, unless transporting them is impossible?’

‘I was hoping that perhaps Sister Euphemia might come down to Tonbridge,’ Gervase replied. ‘My initial thought was indeed that the survivors would be best off here at Hawkenlye, but I would prefer to have a healer look at them before they are moved.’

‘Sister Euphemia is skilled in the use of analgesics,’ the Abbess said. ‘It would be best to dull their pain before attempting to move them.’

The ghost of a tender smile crossed Gervase’s face. ‘Sabin has already administered one of her concoctions,’ he said. ‘Both men are now sleeping.’

‘Thank God for your Sabin,’ the Abbess exclaimed warmly.

‘Amen,’ murmured Gervase.

‘I will ask Sister Euphemia to accompany you back to Tonbridge,’ the Abbess announced, walking towards the door. ‘Do you need me to send some lay brothers to help bring the men back here?’

‘No, my lady, thank you. One of my men is already organizing a cart.’ Gervase opened the door and then turned to Josse, standing silent by his side. ‘Will you come with me, Josse? I am disturbed by this fire, which so neatly destroyed only the guest accommodation.’

‘You don’t suspect it was started deliberately?’

‘It is a convenient way of killing someone,’ Gervase answered. ‘And we both know of another fire, in another land, where the motive was murder, although that time the murderer did not succeed.’

‘Aye,’ Josse said. He knew that Gervase referred to an episode in Sabin’s past. ‘It is a grave accusation.’

Gervase shrugged. ‘I will say no more now. Come and see for yourself, Josse.’

They turned to hurry away but the Abbess called them back. ‘I do not wish to detain you, Gervase,’ she said, ‘but is the identity of these three men known?’

‘Yes, my lady. Neither survivor is in a condition to speak, but I asked the canon in charge of the guest quarters. He told me they are Knights Hospitaller and their leader’s name is Thibault of Margat.’

‘Then they are the trio who came here!’ she cried. ‘They arrived a couple of days ago and were going on to Tonbridge and then to their Order’s headquarters at Clerkenwell. Why did they not ask to stay here with us? We have excellent facilities in our guest quarters or, if they preferred something simpler, they could have put up with the brethren down in the Vale. Either way, we would have made them welcome! Oh, if they had done so, this tragedy would have been avoided!’

Josse pitied her anguish. He knew why the Hospitallers had elected to stay with the canons at Tonbridge rather than the Hawkenlye community: because at the priory there were no women. Thibault of Margat, Josse had observed, was a misogynist whose revulsion for the female sex appeared to extend to nuns.