Alys Clare - The Paths of the Air

Oh, yes, she thought. I appreciate that all right. And how very convenient for Thibault to be able to produce such an unbreakably sound reason for not telling us what we so much want to know.

Josse was addressing Thibault. She made herself listen.

‘Your monk,’ he was saying, ‘is a fighting man?’

‘He is,’ Thibault replied warily.

‘He uses which weapons?’

‘Lance and sword.’

‘Can he shoot a bow?’

‘Most men can shoot a bow.’

‘Aye. I am asking if he is a good shot.’

Thibault shrugged. ‘Average, perhaps. I cannot say.’

‘And if a Knight Hospitaller such as he were to use a bow, of what type would it be?’

‘Probably the longbow.’

‘So you do not think it likely that your runaway is a deadly shot with the crossbow?’

‘If he is, I never heard tell of it,’ Thibault said decisively. ‘And if he were as good as that, then those in charge of his training would have discovered the talent and put it to use.’

‘Thank you,’ Josse said.

Helewise shot him a quick look; he raised his eyebrows at her and she nodded.

He had just established that if the shots that had killed Akhbir and driven Josse off had been fired by the fugitive monk and his Saracen prisoner, then the bowman had to have been Fadil.

For the first time Gervase spoke. ‘Thibault, I have taken note of all you have said and I am inclined to believe that your monk did not fire the shot that killed Akhbir. However, we — that is, my lady Abbess, Sir Josse and I — are convinced that he is involved in all four of the deaths that have recently occurred in this area. I will join forces with Sir Josse in our hunt for your runaway. If he is found, he will have to answer to the law of this land before he can be called to account by your Order.’

Helewise could see that Thibault objected to this statement. Perhaps Gervase realized it too for, before Thibault could say a word, he had turned smartly on his heel and could be heard marching away out of the infirmary.

Josse appeared to be concentrating very hard on Thibault. Helewise wondered why; the question was answered as Josse spoke. ‘I am going hunting,’ he announced. ‘First I shall ride over to New Winnowlands, keeping my eyes open and asking anyone I meet if they have seen two strangers, one dressed in a Saracen’s garb and the other in the robes of a Knight Hospitaller.’ Thibault regarded him steadily. ‘Then,’ he went on, ‘I shall go to Robertsbridge and speak to Gerome de Villieres.’

If Josse’s intention was to provoke a reaction, Helewise thought admiringly, he had succeeded surely beyond his wildest hopes. Thibault paled and shot out a bandaged hand, grasping at Josse’s sleeve as if he would detain him by force if he had to. But his self-control was excellent and his turmoil was not evident in his tone of voice: ‘I would not bother going there,’ he said calmly. ‘Brother Otto and I spoke to Gerome de Villieres, as I told you. The man whom we seek is not there and there is no likelihood at all that he will visit in the future.’ There was a small and, Helewise thought, telling pause. ‘There was a dispute,’ Thibault went on. Then, grudgingly: ‘The runaway caused grave distress to the family’s household out in Antioch. The lady Aurelie, a distant cousin of Gerome, had cause to report in the most reproachful terms to her English kinsman. Believe me,’ he concluded earnestly, ‘you would be wasting your time, Sir Josse, if you went there.’

Josse nodded. ‘Thank you for that advice.’ Helewise noticed — and she was quite sure Thibault did too — that Josse did not say whether or not he was going to take it.

‘We will leave you to rest, Thibault,’ she said. She glanced down at Brother Otto, who was looking at her out of dazed eyes. ‘You too, Brother,’ she added softly. She touched his shoulder very gently with her fingertips and the monk gave her a smile. ‘How are you feeling?’ she whispered, bending down over his bed.

Brother Otto tried to say something, but all that emerged was the whistling sound of air passing out through his lips.

‘His throat was burned,’ Thibault said. ‘He cannot speak.’

Helewise crouched down beside Brother Otto. ‘We will help you,’ she said. ‘Have faith, try to keep your spirits up and we will do all we can to make you better.’

Brother Otto nodded his thanks. Then he closed his eyes.

Helewise led the way out through the gap in the curtains, Josse behind her. On the way out of the infirmary she caught the eye of Sister Euphemia who, understanding that it was a summons, stopped what she was doing and came over to give her superior a bow of reverence. ‘My lady?’

‘Sir Josse and I have just been visiting Thibault and Brother Otto,’ she said. ‘How are they?’

‘Thibault is determined to be out of his bed and off about his business as soon as he can,’ the infirmarer replied, ‘and his resolve certainly seems to be aiding his recovery. His burns are healing well and he has insisted that we reduce the amount of pain relief. Although I am quite sure he suffers a great deal, his mind is much less clouded.’

‘I see. And Brother Otto?’

‘That poor young man has lost the power of speech. We are treating him with soothing herbal drinks to heal his burned throat but only time will tell if we will be successful.’

‘And the burns to his body?’

‘He progresses, but it is very slow. So far we have managed to keep infection away, thanks be to the good Lord,’ — and to your and Sister Caliste’s scrupulous care, Helewise thought — ‘so there is a good chance that he will make a reasonable recovery. It will take time, however.’

‘Thank you, Sister.’ Helewise patted the infirmarer’s shoulder. ‘We will leave you to your work.’

Outside, she and Josse stood in the cold morning air and she noticed that, like her, he too was taking deep breaths. Even in an infirmary as well run as Sister Euphemia’s there was no avoiding foul smells.

‘So, Sir Josse, you ride now to New Winnowlands?’ she asked.

‘Aye. John Damianos came there for refuge before, and now he has been driven away from the house in the woods, there is a chance he may come back.’

‘You still believe that he is Fadil?’

‘Aye, I do. Thibault has said that his monk does not use the crossbow, yet whoever killed Akhbir and fired those carefully aimed bolts at me was a first-rate exponent of the weapon. Which means that it must have been Fadil, an assumption that is reinforced by-’ He stopped abruptly.

‘Yes, Sir Josse? Reinforced by what?’

He looked bashful. ‘Well, Fadil — John Damianos — must have recognized me. He might well have wanted me to back off, but he did not want to hurt me. I just think — I mean, it’s likely that-’

‘Of course he did not wish to hurt you,’ she said warmly. ‘You took him in; your Will made up a comfortable place where he could rest and Ella cooked good, nourishing meals for him. You acted in the true spirit of loving kindness, Sir Josse, and whatever Fadil may be or may have done, it would be a thankless, vicious man who turned on his benefactor.’

‘Or a desperate one,’ Josse said glumly.

She thought about it. Yes, he was right. There were circumstances under which one might have to do such a terrible deed: to save one’s own life, perhaps. Or that of a loved one. ‘Take care,’ she said, reaching out to take his hand. ‘Oh, do take care, dear Josse. Will you take one or two of the lay brothers with you? Brother Saul and Brother Augustus have often accompanied you into danger.’

‘It is a kind thought, my lady, but I prefer to go alone. We would be more of a threat riding three abreast and I do not want Fadil to think we mean him harm.’