by Alys Clare
Denys de Courtenay now looked as if the infirmary was – after the leper house – the last place on earth he wanted to visit.
She edged past him, and, from within, said, ‘Come along. We should keep our disturbance of the sick as brief as we can.’
Relentlessly she led him all round the infirmary. Sister Euphemia came bustling up to attend her visitors, and needed no encouragement from Helewise to expound on the symptoms of her patients.
While she was doing so, Helewise caught sight of Brother Saul, who had come in to bring a message to a man lying in a cot next to the door, a broken right thighbone strapped between splints. Murmuring an excuse, she glided over to him.
‘Brother Saul!’ she called.
He turned from the cot. ‘Abbess Helewise?’
She beckoned him close, then, speaking softly, said, ‘Saul, de Courtenay is asking for Sir Josse. I did wonder, might it be an idea to—’
‘To forewarn him?’ Saul, too, seemed blessedly informed of exactly what was going on. ‘Of course, Abbess. My business here is done – I’ll go straight away.’
‘You will find him at home at New Winnowlands, or so I believe,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to round up the horse. Sister Martha’s turned him out.’
Brother Saul grinned. ‘She’s just been to fetch him,’ he said. ‘I saw her bringing him in.’
‘Oh, well done, Sister Martha!’ Helewise breathed. ‘God’s speed, Saul.’
He bowed his head while she gave him a swift blessing, then hurried away.
Helewise returned to de Courtenay and Sister Euphemia, who had the young man by the sleeve and was making him look at an elderly woman whose face was covered with red pustules, some of which had burst to emit yellow matter. Euphemia seemed to be asking him if he’d ever seen anything like it before.
‘Just a few more patients to see,’ Helewise said – de Courtenay, she noticed, appeared very relieved at her interruption – ‘so let’s hurry on, shall we?’
They finished the tour of the infirmary’s patients and went back outside. Helewise led him on without speaking; she was praying.
‘And the last place to visit,’ she said, after her silent and fervent Amen, ‘is the little sewing room.’ She opened the door and stood back to let him look inside.
Sister Caliste’s black-veiled head was bent over her mending, and, beside her, a small white-veiled figure copied her actions.
‘Sister Caliste is our youngest fully-professed nun,’ Helewise said conversationally, ‘and I often ask her to work with our novices, she being nearest to them in age. Here, she is mending torn bedding, and Sister Felice is learning the skill.’
She watched him watching the two nuns. Then, her own eyes moving to the sisters, suddenly her heart gave a great leap of alarm. She willed Caliste to look up, and, to her huge relief, she did. Helewise very deliberately folded her arms, tucking her hands in the opposite sleeves. With a faint nod, she indicated for Caliste to do the same. Caliste glanced at her companion, and her eyes widened briefly; she gave her a nudge, and the young novice put down her needlework and also folded away her hands.
De Courtenay stood staring down at the two bowed heads.
The moment lengthened till Helewise wanted to scream.
Then he said, ‘Why have they stopped sewing?’
She said quietly, ‘They are respecting the presence of a visitor. They will not resume until we leave.’
He spun round and strode out of the room. Waving his arm, he said, ‘Oh, let them get on with it.’
Helewise felt for a moment that she might faint. But that would have been plain stupid, so she pulled herself together and set off after de Courtenay, who, with his angry disappointment evident in the way he was striding along, was heading for the gates.
As she walked, Helewise sent up a prayer of deep gratitude for Caliste’s observant eyes and quick wits.
She reached the gates to find de Courtenay yelling for his men; they had grown tired of lounging against the Abbey walls poking fun at Sister Ursel, and had wandered off along the track, leading their horses and aiming punches at them when they tried to put their heads down to rake up mouthfuls of the thin winter grass.
‘Get mounted!’ de Courtenay bellowed. ‘You there, bring me my horse!’
Sister Ursel came to stand beside Helewise. They watched de Courtenay’s men inelegantly mounting up, and stared openly at de Courtenay himself, whose horse, still tempted by the delights of the vegetation beside the track, was reluctant to stand still for him.
‘Oh, dear,’ Helewise said with pretend concern, ‘are you going to manage? Or should one of us come and hold his head for you?’
He shot her a thunderous look. One final effort got him into the saddle, and, putting harsh spurs to his horse’s sides, he led his men off at a canter.
Sister Ursel muttered something: Helewise thought she heard one or two words not in common use among nuns.
‘I shall pretend, Sister Ursel, that I didn’t hear that,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Abbess.’ Sister Ursel blew her cheeks out. ‘Phew, I’m glad to see their dust. Lord, but what a rotten bunch!’
‘They are, and their leader the rottenest.’
‘Aye, aye.’ Sister Ursel grinned briefly. ‘Just as well for you, Abbess dear, that looks can’t kill. That last stare he gave you would have had you breathing your last.’
‘Quite,’ agreed Helewise. ‘Now, Sister Ursel, would you please refasten the gates? I must go and speak to Sister Euphemia.’
And, she thought, refraining from saying so aloud, convey to that wonderful, quick-thinking Sister Caliste my heartfelt thanks …
Death by the Blade
Chapter Fifteen
Leaving the Abbey church after Compline, Helewise was wracked with anxiety over Brother Saul.
He still had not returned from his mission to New Winnow-lands.
There was probably nothing to worry about, she kept trying to reassure herself. After all, Saul hadn’t set off until gone noon and, even making the best speed – not very fast, on that old cob – he would have been hard put to it to get to New Winnow-lands and back to Hawkenlye by nightfall. And that was assuming he’d been able instantly to locate Josse, to give him the message that Denys de Courtenay was looking for him. Even then, Josse surely wouldn’t have let Saul set out again straight away – he’d have taken him inside, let him warm himself by the fire, given him something heartening to drink, possibly prevailed upon him to stay for a bite to eat. To rest there for the night.
Oh, yes. It all sounded most plausible.
Why, then, could the Abbess not rid herself of the dreadful fear that something terrible had happened?
Helewise sat alone in her room while the rest of the community set about turning in for the night. When at last all was quiet, the Abbey gates barred and bolted and the lanterns extinguished, she made her way back inside the church. The soft glow of the sanctuary lamp seemed to welcome her, and, kneeling down before the altar, she sensed a strong hand reaching down to her.
She began on her formal prayers. But, interrupting her concentration, she kept seeing the face of Brother Saul. Most reliable, most likeable, most trusted of friends, she was very afraid that she had sent him into danger.
Unable to think of anything but him, her prayers turned into a simple repetition of the same phrase: ‘Oh, dear Lord, of thy mercy, please look after Brother Saul.’
* * *
Josse and Joanna had spent a delightful day. Or, at least, it had been delightful for Josse, although, judging by the preoccupied expression which he sometimes caught sight of on Joanna’s face, at times her problems and anxieties must have intruded on her happiness.
Only to be expected, he told himself, trying not to allow dismay to ruin the day. Naturally she’ll worry about Ninian, about the whole sorry mess she’s in, and it’s no reflection on the joy we’ve found together if, occasionally, her thoughts revert to her problems.
The bright
sky of morning had clouded over as the hours went on, and, as the short February daylight came to a premature end, Josse watched Joanna, seated by the fire, staring into the flames. She had, he reflected, an air of expectancy. Any small sound made her start up, stare at the door. As if she were waiting for something …
To turn his mind from fretting about her, he thought back over everything they had done together since waking, in his bed, soon after first light. She had scorned his suggestion that she return to the small guest chamber which Ella had prepared for her: ‘I am not ashamed to have lain here with you,’ she said grandly, sitting up in bed and waving an arrogant arm, ‘and I don’t care a fig for what your servants mutter about me.’ She had given him a look through narrowed eyelids. ‘If you, however, wish to be secretive about what you and I have become to one another, then naturally I will do as you ask, and set about making the bed assigned to me look as if I have been sleeping chastely in it all night.’
‘I didn’t ask,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘It was only a suggestion.’
She leaned over him, pinning him down with a hand either side of his head, her face hovering inches above his. ‘I’ll go if you really want,’ she said softly. ‘I was only teasing. After all, you’ll be the one who goes on—’ Abruptly she stopped.
‘Goes on what?’
‘Nothing.’
He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close. ‘Stay,’ he said, nuzzling into her thick, soft hair. ‘I don’t care what Ella tells Will. I don’t care what they think. Stay.’
She had lowered the length of her body down on to his, and he could feel her breasts, her belly, the firm thigh muscles. ‘If they thought you hadn’t bedded me,’ she murmured right into his ear – her warm breath sent great shivers of excitement up and down his spine – ‘they might mutter about your manhood.’ As she said manhood, her hand slid down across his stomach and into his groin, making him throb so that he gasped aloud. She chuckled. ‘Ah, he’s saying good morning!’ A pause. ‘My, he’s eager!’ She put her mouth to his, kissing him at length. ‘Just let Ella ask me about your manhood,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll soon reassure her…’
* * *
They had gone out after breakfast. Will had saddled Horace and Joanna’s mare, and they had ridden around the New Winnow-lands estate. Not that it took very long: Josse’s manor was modest. Drawing rein on a low rise, he had pointed out the road leading to the house of his nearest neighbour.
‘He’s a decent fellow,’ he said, ‘we enjoy an occasional visit when I’m in residence here.’ He watched her. ‘Would you like to call on him?’
‘No,’ she said instantly. Then, as if fearing she’d offended him, ‘Josse, under any other circumstances I’d love to meet your friends. But just at the moment, I feel that the fewer people who know I’m here, the better.’
‘Of course.’ He could have kicked himself for his dullness. But, riding out with her, watching her free, flowing movements, hearing her talk, hearing her laugh, just for a moment he’d forgotten.
* * *
Ella had prepared a fine midday meal, and, after that, Josse and Joanna had settled in front of the fire. He sat in his chair, and she curled up on the floor at his feet. He had wanted to ask her more about herself, but, forestalling him, she said, ‘Now, I’ve told you enough about me. Please, Josse, what about you? Acquin – where is that?’
So he had told her. Told her everything there was to tell about himself, really, since there was nothing he wanted to keep secret. Not from her.
And, as they sat cosy and warm inside, gradually the day wound to a close.
Josse had just sat down again after putting more logs on the fire when there came the sound of voices from the courtyard. Will’s voice and another, one that was shouting something … Something about a man, attacked, lying beside the track out there, frozen half to death, poor soul …
Josse leapt up. Taking Joanna by the shoulders for a hurried instant, he said, with all the command he could muster, ‘Stay here. Bolt the door behind me, don’t open it again till you hear me tell you to.’
‘But—’
He gave her a little shake. ‘Stay here!’
After a moment, she gave a meek nod.
He raced outside, jumping down the steps and running across the yard to the gates. Will, looking highly relieved to see him, said, ‘This here fellow tells me there’s a man injured, out in the road. I was on the point of going to have a look, only—’
‘Quite.’ Josse gave him a warning look; no need to elaborate in front of a stranger, to reveal that Josse had given Will orders not to open the gates to anybody, all the while Joanna was with them. ‘Thank you, Will, you did right.’
Will, with a nod, stepped back, and Josse went up to the gate. ‘Someone lying injured?’ he said to the man outside, a rough-looking fellow dressed in a sacking cloak, the end of which he had draped over his head, presumably in an attempt to shelter his face and ears from the keen wind.
The man edged closer and put one hand on the gate. ‘Aye, that he does! Been struck on the head, I reckon, there’s blood trickling down his face.’
Josse was torn. What should he do? Go out and tend to this poor soul, attacked on the road? Or do as his instinct strongly told him to, and ignore this as an elaborate bid to get him to open up and go out?
Once I am outside, he thought, Joanna will be alone within.
But supposing there really was an injured traveller out on the road! It was quite possible the man had merely taken a tumble from his horse, it might just be Josse’s heightened sense of danger that was making a threatening situation out of something perfectly innocent.
‘Any sign of a horse?’ he asked. ‘Could the man have had a fall?’
‘Oh.’ The peasant at the gate appeared to think about it. ‘Could have, I reckon. Could have crumped his head as he fell, aye.’
Josse made up his mind. He said to the peasant, ‘A moment.’ Then, turning, he beckoned to Will and, when he was close enough to speak to without the man at the gates overhearing, he said, ‘Come with me.’
He led the way up the steps, rapped on the door and said, ‘Joanna, open up.’ She did so instantly; she must have been standing right by the door.
Once inside, Josse strapped on his sword and stuck his dagger in his belt. As an afterthought, he collected a heavy bolt of wood from the stack by the fire; it was a clumsy weapon, but would serve as a club in an emergency.
Joanna was beside him. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘Tell me! Where are you going?’
He turned to her. ‘There’s a rough-looking fellow at the gate, who claims he’s found an injured man on the road. It’s possible he’s been thrown from his horse. He’s hurt his head, so I’m told. I’m going out to have a look.’
She was shaking her head. ‘You mustn’t,’ she said urgently. ‘It’s a trap, Josse. They – he – Denys is behind this, I’m sure.’
He stared into her eyes. It was strange, but, while he read in them a thrilled response to this sudden danger, he read no fear. No alarm.
‘What do you suggest?’ he asked softly.
‘I don’t – I’m not—’ She looked down, frowning. Then, meeting his eyes again, she said, ‘No. I do see, you have to investigate.’
‘Oh.’ He would almost rather she had pleaded with him a little longer.
She gave him a quick, hard hug. ‘Be careful,’ she said.
‘I shall.’ He pushed her away gently, staring down at her. ‘Hide yourself,’ he urged. ‘Get Will to help you, and get into some secret corner where nobody can find you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘What for?’
He said, exasperated, ‘In case this is a trap and I’m overcome! If that happens, Joanna my sweet, then they’ll be in here, quick as you please, and looking for you.’
Again, there was that odd lack of fear. Nodding her agreement, she let Will hurry her out of the hall. It was, Josse thought, almost as if she’d had all this worked out beforehand …
/> But then he was outside again and the man at the gate was waiting.
Josse opened the gate, slipped out and said, ‘Come along, then. Show me your injured man.’
‘Aye, aye,’ the man said eagerly, ‘he’s along here … just you follow me, sir … past this open stretch of track, then in under here, where the trees make a shadowy overhang. Maybe you’re right, now, sir, and his horse spooked at sommat in the darkness, throwing him off, like. There!’ Stopping, he pointed ahead.
Josse stared into the gloom beneath the trees. He could make out the edge of the track, and, beside it, a narrow grass verge which sloped down into a ditch. There were deeper patches of shadow behind the ditch, where the undergrowth encroached.
On the lip of the ditch was a long shape. A man’s body, dressed in dark clothing. And, at one end, the pale blur of a face.
Josse ran forward.
He did not see the trap until hands descended on him, grasping him by the upper arms, smothering movement, effectively preventing him from reaching for his sword or his dagger. The makeshift club was knocked out of his hand and fell to the ground with a thud.
There were two of them, the man who had come up to the gates and another, who must have been hiding in the shadows. As Josse wrestled with them, managing to throw one of them off him and, with a swift kick to the head, put him out of action, a third man leapt up out of the ditch to take the downed man’s place.
And, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness, Josse could see clearly what lay on the lip of the ditch.
Brother Saul.
His black habit was wound tightly round his legs, secured with a length of twine, and his hands were tied behind him. The man who had been crouching behind him – in his dark cloak, invisible in the darkness – had had a hand over Saul’s mouth, preventing him from shouting a warning. Now that there was no more need for silence, the man removed his hand, straightened up, jumped nimbly across the ditch and stood before Josse.
And Denys de Courtenay said, ‘Josse d’Acquin, we meet at last!’