Faithful Dead (23 page)

‘And wondering if there was a connection,’ she finished for him. ‘Yes. So was I.’

They watched as Sister Euphemia washed the dirt and the dust from the corpse. Then, with a gentle hand, she swept the hair back from the white face, gathering it up and twisting it into a knot which she pushed beneath the back of the head where it rested on the clean linen.

She gave a soft exclamation and said, ‘Sir Josse? What do you make of this?’

He stepped forward and she took his hand, guiding his fingers to the back of the dead boy’s neck. He felt an indentation . . . Quite deep, and extending from beneath his left ear to just past where the spine made a raised bump under the skin.

‘Could he – is this the mark of a garrotte?’ he wondered aloud.

‘You think he was
murdered
?’ Sister Euphemia breathed. ‘Strangled with some cord or rope wrapped tight around his throat till it throttled him?

‘I am not sure . . .’

‘It is possible,’ the infirmarer said. ‘Indeed it is, for I can find no other mark upon him that can have led to his death.’

Josse stood in silence for a moment. Then he said decisively, ‘I am wrong. He cannot have been throttled. The marks go only around the back of his neck, whereas to throttle someone, the front of the throat must be constricted. And here’ – he lightly touched a finger on to the Adam’s apple – ‘although I see faint discoloration, I see the mark of no garrotte.’

The Abbess had moved forward and now stood at his side, gazing down at the boy. She was holding the pectoral cross that hung around her neck. She said quietly, ‘Sir Josse?’ Then, having attracted his attention, she raised the cross on its cord and pulled at it.

After an instant, he understood.

‘Aye,’ he breathed. ‘Aye.’

The infirmarer said quite sharply, ‘What?’

The Abbess turned to her. She was still holding the cross. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Someone has grabbed hold of this, wishing to rob me of it.’ She pulled hard on it. ‘They tear it from me and, before the cord breaks, it digs into the flesh on the back of my neck.’

Sister Euphemia was already nodding before the Abbess had finished her demonstration. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I see it now.’

She turned back to the dead youth. ‘Murdered for what he wore around his neck?’ she asked, of nobody in particular. ‘May the good Lord have mercy on us.’

Although he did not believe that it would serve any useful purpose, Josse went along with the Abbess’s suggestion that they ask some of the monks in the Vale to come and see if they could identify the corpse. Glad of the chance to get out of the infirmary and into the fresh air, he beckoned to Yves, who had gone to find shelter from the soft rain that had begun to fall, and led the way out of the rear gate and down into the Vale below.

Brother Saul and Brother Augustus were in the shelter beside the shrine, helping a visitor repair a damaged wheel on his handcart. Abandoning the task immediately – Saul muttered something to the disgruntled peasant, who seemed to object at the sudden withdrawal of Saul and Augustus’s help – they leapt up to follow Josse and Yves back to the Abbey.

It was clear, as soon as the two lay brothers stood looking down at the dead boy, that they recognised him.

Brother Saul spoke. ‘It’s the lad that arrived with the old man, the one that had a cough and died. Back in August.’

Augustus looked at Josse. ‘We told you about him,’ he said. ‘When you asked Saul, me and Erse. We thought––’ He swallowed, his distress evident. ‘We all wondered if the body that the little girl found was him. The old man’s servant, I mean. But it can’t have been, because he is.’ His eyes fell back to the boy on the bed and, as Josse watched him, his lips began to move in silent prayer.

You’re a good lad, Augustus, Josse thought.

And, her warm tone suggesting that she shared his opinion, the Abbess said quietly, ‘Be comforted, Brother Augustus. He is out of his pain now, whatever it was. And we will do our utmost for his soul, I promise you.’

Augustus flashed her a grateful look. Then he returned to his prayers.

Saul, too, was studying the dead body. He said tentatively, ‘Was it a natural death, Sir Josse? Only – I don’t like to think of the poor lad, running away when his master died and falling foul of some murderous villain.’

‘I cannot yet say, Saul,’ Josse replied. But, busy with a thought sparked off by Saul’s words, he was hardly aware of what he said. Turning to the Abbess, he muttered, ‘The boy can’t have been dead long – I warrant the sheriff believed he was still alive. So––’

‘So he has been surviving out there, living rough, for – let me see – for six weeks or more.’

‘Only just surviving, by the look of him,’ Josse said. ‘No flesh left on those bones, is there? He was close to starving.’ Another thought struck him. ‘Could that have caused his death?’

‘Sister Euphemia thinks not,’ the Abbess said.

‘Do you reckon,’ Josse said, continuing with his earlier thought, ‘that he was on his way back here?’ Excitement coursing through him, he went on, ‘You asked earlier, my lady, where we thought the Eye of Jerusalem was now. Well, what about this? Galbertius Sidonius bore it as far as Hawkenlye but, back in August, he died. Then his young servant – this lad here, we know that – stole it. Ran off with it, abandoning his dead master. But out there in the world, friendless, nowhere to turn, nothing to eat, nowhere to take shelter, he is overcome with remorse, and he sets out back to Hawkenlye to return what he stole. Only he never gets here, because he dies on his way up out of Tonbridge.’

‘And his master’s precious burden, which he now wears around his own neck, is torn from him,’ she finished. ‘Oh, Sir Josse, you may well be right. But how does it advance us when, yet again, we are one step behind the theft of your jewel?’

He shook his head, his face grave. Mistaking his emotion, she said, ‘Have heart! We shall resolve this, somehow.’

He turned to her, grateful for her kindness. ‘My lady, I was not sorrowing over my lost treasure. It is not lost to me, never having been mine in the first place. No, I am sad for this boy.’

He stepped up to the bed again. Hardly thinking what he was doing – he was very aware of the Abbess just behind him and, on the opposite side of the corpse, the watchful eyes of Saul and Augustus. But, as if someone else were guiding his hand, he stretched out his fingers and touched that strange discolouration on the dead boy’s throat.

And out of nowhere came a memory. Of a stocky, tough and incredibly strong little man who had trained Josse and his fellow soldiers, all those years ago.

To accompany the memory came words . . .
you can kill a man with your bare hands, aye, with one bare hand, if you know where to strike. Harden your hands, my boys, hit the outer edge of your palm against a stone until it’s as hard as that stone, and you’ve got yourself a killing weapon
. Flash of a hand, lightning-fast, swinging up through the air with the energy of the man’s whole body behind it.
One blow to the front of the throat, and your man’s down, dead as a pole-axed ox
.

Coming out of his reverie, Josse thought, it is the method of an expert. Of one who excels at killing.

He looked at the Abbess, then at Saul and Augustus. ‘I’ll tell you what increases my sorrow,’ he said softly. ‘The boy was murdered. And I can show you exactly how.’

The Abbess was preparing to see Josse and Yves on their way the next day when, for the second time, their mission was thwarted, this time before they had even left Hawkenlye.

Sister Ursel, the porteress, was standing at the gate, all ready to form part of the valedictory guard, when, hearing the sound of hooves, she turned to look down the road.

‘There’s a band of horsemen approaching,’ she reported to Helewise. ‘Twelve, fourteen of them at least.’

Helewise went over to where Josse was about to mount up. ‘Sir Josse? Can it be that we are about to receive another visit from Sheriff Pelham?’

‘Not if there are fourteen men mounted in the group,’ he replied. ‘I once saw Pelham astride a tired old cob, but I doubt that his men have mounts.’

She walked to stand beside Sister Ursel. ‘They are well mounted,’ she said, as the company drew nearer. ‘Well dressed, too.’

She sensed Josse at her side. Looking down the track, he said neutrally, ‘If you have a fatted calf, my lady, I suggest you order it killed straight away. The Abbey is about to receive a visit from Prince John.’

The Prince was travelling with what, for him, was a small retinue. Nevertheless, Helewise experienced several moments of alarm – and one or two of downright panic – as she set about organising her nuns to cater for a royal visitor and fifteen courtiers.

Observing the reaction of the sisters as the news spread swiftly through the Abbey, she knew that, above all, she must retain a serene demeanour, and act as if visits from princes were all in a day’s work. My nuns will look to me, she told herself as she tried to listen to two sisters talking at once, one reporting on stocks of the good wine, one saying anxiously that the refectory roof had developed a leak and was the Abbess quite sure it was all right to entertain the Prince in there? Then, like a blessing, she had a sudden image of Queen Eleanor, who was a frequent visitor to Hawkenlye and who neither expected nor wanted any fuss made of her.

We do not entertain Prince John’s mother so lavishly that we have to be on short rations for weeks, she reminded herself. Nor would the Queen dream of complaining if a drip or two of autumn rain found its way through the roof and landed in her soup. Why, then, should we do more for her son?

Turning to the cellarer, she said, ‘Sister Goodeth, you may draw one jug of the good wine, for the Prince and his immediate circle. Otherwise, serve the wine that we drink.’

Sister Goodeth’s mouth opened in a ‘But––’ Then, looking at her Abbess’s resolute expression, she bowed her head and said meekly, ‘Yes, my lady.’

‘And, Sister Anne, we shall organise a repair of the refectory roof when Brother Saul and Brother Erse can spare the time. For now, Prince John and his men will have to take us as they find us.’

Sister Anne’s round eyes were fixed on Helewise as she spoke; Helewise had the sudden unsettling notion that Anne was memorising her words to repeat them to the rest of the kitchen staff.

Ah, well. There was nothing she could do about that.

As she left the refectory, Josse materialised at her side. ‘Abbess Helewise, what can I do to help?’

She turned to him gratefully and, as she had done so many times before, offered up a swift and silent prayer of thanks for his strength and his reliability. ‘We need time to prepare a meal. Would you care to entertain them while we do so?’

Josse grinned. ‘Gladly. Yves and I will take them down to the Vale, and Brother Firmin can show them the Holy Water shrine. By the time he’s finished telling them every last detail and fact, you and the good sisters could have a week’s worth of food prepared.’

‘I sincerely hope it will not come to that.’

He leaned towards her and said quietly, ‘It will not. I think we know why he is here, and the sooner he finds out what he wants to know, the sooner he’ll be gone.’

Watching him as he strode away, calling out to Yves, who hurried to his side, she hoped he was right.

The hastily prepared meal, if not a feast, was adequate. Prince John thanked the Abbess and her nuns in a rather flowery speech – Helewise observed Sister Anne watching him intently, no doubt recording every word of
that
utterance, too – and one or two of the younger and more impressionable of the novices, affected by his looks and his charm, simpered with delight.

He was a handsome man, Helewise had to admit. Nevertheless, charming and handsome though he might be, she was heartily relieved when, drawing her aside for a private word, he said that he would not dream of imposing his company on her further and was therefore dispatching the majority of his companions off to where they lodged, with one of his knights whose manor was nearby.

‘As you wish, Sire,’ she replied.

‘But I would stay on, my lady, if it does not inconvenience you.’ The blue eyes bored into hers.

‘Of course not,’ she said quickly. ‘I will arrange quarters for you.’

‘No need for that.’ Now the smile spread across his handsome face. ‘I note that Sir Josse and his brother lodge with the monks in the Vale, and that will be quite good enough for us.’

Wondering if ‘us’ was a sudden use of the royal ‘we’ or denoted a party consisting of more than the one person, she said, ‘We?’

‘The Magister will remain with me, as will two of my knights.’ ‘Very well, Sire.’ She made him a graceful bow and, noticing as she straightened up that he was already walking away, presumed herself dismissed.

You could not, Helewise realised, raise an item for discussion with a Prince; you just had to wait, biting your nails with impatience, until you were summoned to the presence and the matter was introduced by him.