by Alys Clare
‘And she could not bear to have one of her sisters seduced away from her,’ he concluded. ‘Presumably this pilgrim wishes to take Alba away to face the consequences of her action, back in East Anglia, where the crime happened?’
‘I suppose he must do,’ the Abbess whispered. ‘All that he has said so far is that I must not on any account release Alba, since if I do, she will find Meriel and Jerome and she will kill Jerome.’
‘As she well might, in the light of her previous behaviour,’ Josse said. A thought struck him. ‘Did you tell him that Jerome and Meriel had been living in hiding nearby? That they have now fled?’
‘For shame, Sir Josse!’ She managed a weak smile. ‘Mistrusting him as I did – as I still do – of course not!’
‘I apologise, Abbess.’
‘There is no need.’
‘Is he a sheriff, this pilgrim of yours?’ he asked.
‘I don’t think so.’ She frowned. ‘I was so taken up in his tale that I confess I didn’t think to ask him.’ She paused. ‘He was – that is, he gave the air of being a man of quality. For all that he dresses as a pilgrim, he is not a poor man, nor an unimportant man. Of that I am quite certain.’ She met Josse’s eyes with a brief apologetic grimace. ‘I regret that I cannot substantiate my remark, Sir Josse. It is purely an impression.’
‘Your impressions, Abbess, are good enough for me,’ he said gallantly.
She smiled faintly, but it was clear her thoughts were elsewhere than on his little compliment. ‘He said something about his predecessors having made Alba’s father take responsibility for her when her mother died,’ she said. ‘She – Alba – was the child of a village prostitute; the younger girls’ mother was in fact her stepmother.’
‘I see.’ That explained quite a lot, Josse thought.
‘And he also referred to both Jerome and the friend who died being orphans, looked after by distant kin. They were cousins, and they were both Bastian’s nephews; one the son of his late sister, one of his dead brother.’
‘Bastian is the name of your stranger?’
‘Yes. Didn’t I say?’
‘No.’ He was thinking hard. ‘Abbess, what about this? Your Bastian, although he’s dressed as a poor pilgrim, is in fact in disguise. He is really a knight, with his own household. If he’s sufficiently rich and influential, he may well be responsible for law and order and the administration of justice in his area, as his forefathers were before him. That would explain why he said that it was his predecessors who arranged for the baby Alba’s placement with her father. It would also suggest that both his nephews might well have lived with him. That this place where they went to be cared for by distant kin was actually their uncle Bastian’s house. Does that tally with what he told you?’
She hesitated, clearly deep in thought. Then she said slowly, ‘I think it does. But. . . .’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, probably nothing. It’s just that I can’t see Bastian as a rich and influential knight. He’s too . . . too . . .’ Giving a helpless shrug, she trailed off.
This, Josse thought, was getting them nowhere. ‘Can you describe him?’ he suggested. ‘I think you’re going to have to try to put these impressions of yours into words. It might help you isolate exactly what it is about him that says he is not a knight.’
She gave him a grateful smile. ‘What a good idea.’ She closed her eyes as if picturing the stranger. Opening them again, she said, ‘Quite tall, slim, strong-looking. Dressed simply in a rough brown robe, worn over something quite bulky underneath. Bareheaded, with short cropped hair. Dark eyes, tanned face, bearded, and he has this way of bowing that reminds me of—’
But Josse had stopped listening. ‘Bearded?’
‘Yes. Like the pilgrim who was murdered in the Vale.’
‘He had a beard too? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Aye, he was thinking, aye! It all begins to fall into place!
‘. . . cannot think why it was important,’ the Abbess was saying.
‘Eh? What did you say?’
‘I said that I expect I didn’t mention the dead man’s beard because I can hardly think it was relevant,’ she repeated rather frostily. ‘Really, Sir Josse, I can’t think why you’re being so—’
‘Abbess,’ he interrupted her, ‘in an age where the fashion for men is to wear their hair long and their faces clean-shaven, who, can you think, habitually go against the general tide? Who are well known for their cropped hair and their uncut beards?’
At first she shook her head in denial. ‘I don’t know who you mean!’ But then, as realisation dawned, she whispered, ‘The warrior monks!’
‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘The Knights Templar. Your Bastian, Abbess, is a Templar, I’d bet a tidy sum on it. As was the fellow who was killed.’ Another thought struck him. If the dead pilgrim was indeed a Templar, then in all likelihood Bastian was not solely there to look after his nephew Jerome and make sure Alba did not attack him.
Bastian was also there because one of his brother monks was killed in the Vale.
‘There are Templars at Denney!’ the Abbess cried suddenly. ‘The monk whom I saw at Ely told me about them and, when Saul and Augustine and I were threatened by an approaching storm, we took shelter with them! We thought they were the Benedictine nuns,’ she said, with the air of one giving an explanation; her remark left Josse quite foxed. ‘Oh, let me think! What can I recall of them?’ She was wringing her hands together as she tried to remember.
She does not serve herself well by this near panic, Josse thought. Reaching out a steadying hand, he said, ‘Abbess, take it slowly. Someone at Ely directed you to this house, did they? Denney, was it?’
She stared at him for a moment. Then, as if realising what he was doing, she smiled faintly, visibly relaxing. ‘Yes, that’s right. The monk at Ely said there was a home for the insane at Denney, run by Benedictine nuns, and also a Templar preceptory. Running from the coming storm, Saul, Augustine and I ended up at the wrong place. The Templars put us up for the night, in some comfort, I should say.’ She was frowning, clearly thinking hard.
He waited.
After some time, she said, ‘We only saw two of the brethren. The young monk who saw to our needs said something about the members of the community being preoccupied with some serious trouble, and that was why more of the monks did not socialise with us. Then when we were leaving—’ She broke off. The sudden light in her eyes made him suspect she had thought of something important.
‘Abbess?’ he prompted gently.
‘I asked the young monk if he knew of Sedgebeck – that was Alba’s convent, if you recall?’ He nodded. ‘We were headed there next. He – the young brother – said he thought he knew the name, and he’d just remembered why he knew it when another, older monk came into the room and shooed him away.’ A wondering expression flooded her face. ‘As if, whatever it was he knew about Sedgebeck, the older man didn’t want him to reveal it!’
Catching her excitement, Josse said, ‘Can they have known about Alba?’
‘If my young monk did, then he kept it from me,’ she replied. ‘I told him of our mission. I am almost sure that I even mentioned Alba by name.’
‘Perhaps your monk didn’t know the whole story,’ Josse suggested. ‘It’s possible, surely, that he had overheard the name Sedgebeck mentioned, but had not been told the details.’
‘Indeed it is,’ she agreed. ‘He was, as I have said, young. No doubt serious problems, such as the business of Alba and her family, are not made common knowledge in a Templar community.’
‘If the Denney Templars are somehow involved,’ Josse said slowly, thinking it out as he spoke, ‘then it increases the likelihood of your Bastian being one of the brethren. Don’t you think?’
‘Indeed I do.’ She raised troubled eyes to meet Josse’s. ‘Oh, it all seems to fit!’ she exclaimed. ‘Bastian must have meant that the two boys – his orphaned nephews – were at Denney, brought up and cared for by him and the other Templars.’
/> ‘I was not aware that the Templars took in orphans,’ Josse remarked. Too domestic for them, he thought to himself; protecting the unarmed along the great pilgrim routes and weighing in against the infidel was one thing, acting as nursemaid to orphaned children quite another.
‘But if they were his own kin, and they had nowhere else to go,’ the Abbess said, ‘in Christian charity, Bastian owed them his protection.’
‘And I suppose they could have been looked upon as two new recruits for the brotherhood,’ Josse added. ‘So, Abbess, does that alter the picture? If we are right, how do you feel about releasing Alba into the care of a Knight Templar whose nephew she murdered?’
‘I don’t know.’ She met his eyes. ‘Yes, I do. Although I should not speak ill of the fellow avowed, I must admit that I fear for Alba, if she is to be judged and sentenced by the Templars.’
‘I, too,’ he agreed. ‘And, Abbess, consider this. If the man who was slain in the Vale was indeed of Bastian’s community, then it is almost certain that he, too, was here because of Alba and her sisters. And I think we must not rule out the possibility that Alba recognised him – or he recognised her – and, knowing why he was here, she attacked him.’
‘She was terrified when Berthe was sent to work down in the Vale,’ the Abbess said.
‘If she feared somebody would come looking for her because they knew she’d murdered the youth in the cottage, then her fear is understandable,’ he replied. ‘She’d know that everyone from her old home knew all three sisters. Someone searching for Alba would only have to spot Berthe or Meriel to know that Alba was nearby.’
Abruptly she stood up. ‘Sir Josse, I have agreed to receive Bastian again after Sext. I should be most grateful if you would agree to be a party to our discussion.’
He gave her a smile. ‘Gladly.’
He stood back against the wall of the Abbess’s room, behind her as she sat at her table. Bastian, who had just arrived, was invited to sit on the visitors’ stool.
It was a relief, Josse thought, to have this confrontation at last. Although it was not long past noon, the day had already seemed endless. Although Josse knew quite well that he was not guilty of spreading rumours, and he was equally certain that the Abbess would not have done, somehow word seemed to have leaked as to who Bastian was and what he was there for. An uneasy mood had permeated the Abbey; it was time to stop the speculation and take action.
Josse studied Bastian. He noted the formal bow which he gave to the Abbess – I’ll wager that’s what told her he was no knight, he thought – and he took in the strength in the slim, wiry frame. There was power in the man, he concluded. Both physical and spiritual power, and a great deal of it.
‘I have considered your request that I do not release Alba from her imprisonment,’ the Abbess said after having returned Bastian’s greeting, ‘and I would like to ask you a question.’
‘Please,’ Bastian said.
Without even glancing at Josse – to whom Bastian had been introduced, and whose presence he had acknowledged with a brief, wry smile – she said, ‘You tell me that you have a witness who will presumably attest to the fact that Alba murdered your nephew, Felix.’
‘As I told you, Abbess Helewise, the witness is but a child,’ Bastian said gently. ‘But yes, he will attest before us.’
Us, Josse thought.
The Abbess had picked that up too. ‘Bastian, who exactly is us?’ she asked.
‘The people with whom I lodge,’ he said smoothly. ‘My – er, my household.’
‘The Knights Templar of Denney,’ she said, equally smoothly.
For a moment, Josse thought he would deny it. But, with a brief apologetic bow, he said, ‘I see that my disguise of a simple pilgrim has been penetrated. Yes, Abbess. I am Bastian de Waelsham, Knight Templar, from the house of Denney.’
‘And you know quite well, for all that you have not mentioned it to me,’ the Abbess said, ‘that one of your brethren, also in the guise of a pilgrim, died in our Vale recently.’
‘I do,’ he admitted. ‘I regret, Abbess, that I made no mention of it last night. But, as I am sure you will appreciate, to reveal that I knew of the death would have made you suspicious, since I did not arrive at the shrine until well after the event, and your monks, you will be glad to hear, do not gossip with new arrivals about matters pertaining to those who preceded them.’ He sighed. ‘However, as it transpires, I might as well have told you, since you have discovered who I am without assistance.’ He shot a glance at Josse. ‘Without my assistance, anyway.’
The Abbess said coolly, ‘Sir Josse and I are used to working together. He has often been my confidant, and his advice has been instrumental in the resolution of many grave problems.’
‘I see,’ Bastian said. ‘Well, Abbess? Now that you know the whole story, what have you decided to do about Alba? Not that it is in truth your decision,’ he added softly, ‘since, as you said, she is no longer a member of your community. She is no longer even a nun.’
‘I am aware of that, thank you, Brother Bastian,’ the Abbess said. Josse noted how, once his identity had been confirmed, she addressed Bastian by his proper title. ‘What concerns me is this, if I may speak plainly. Alba is guilty of the murder of your nephew, Felix, you tell us, and, although you have not said so, I guess that you believe she may also have attacked your brother monk in the Vale.’ Bastian began to speak, but she held up her hand for silence. ‘I fear that the emotions of you and your brethren will run high, and this is understandable since one of your own has died, but—’
‘Two of our own,’ Bastian put in. He gave her a sly look. ‘Felix was about to enter the Order.’
‘Very well, two of your own.’ She was staring straight at Bastian, Josse noted. Brave woman, he thought; he had an idea of what she was about to say. ‘And I very much fear, Brother Bastian, that, under the circumstances, Alba may not receive a fair trial. My inclination, therefore, is to keep her here until she may be tried in this area, where we may—’
Bastian’s face was pale with anger. ‘Not receive a fair trial?’ he repeated. ‘Abbess Helewise, remember to whom you speak! I am a Templar, and we do not pervert the course of justice!’
‘Brother Bastian, I have learned much of Alba and her sisters over recent days and weeks,’ the Abbess said. ‘I accept that she may be responsible for these acts of extreme violence, but, in the name of God’s holy mercy, should we not bear in mind that the woman has had a dreadful background, which may well have affected her adversely? You told me yourself that her mother died in giving birth to her, and you spoke of the character of Wilfrid, and—’
But Bastian could contain himself no longer. ‘These matters will be addressed, Abbess!’ he cried, ‘and you insult both me and my Order by implying that they will not! And, besides, what choice do you really have? You cannot release Alba to freedom, now that you know what she has done, and it may be months before she can be tried here in Kent. Put her in my care, and I will take her straight back to Denney, where her fate will be decided immediately!’
‘Brother Bastian, it serves no purpose merely to repeat your arguments,’ the Abbess answered, with what Josse thought was admirable calm. ‘I believe that the best thing—’
But neither Josse nor Bastian were to hear what she thought the best thing was. For at that moment there came the sound of running footsteps from the cloister outside. After a token thump on the door, it was flung open and Sister Martha stood there, red faced and panting.
‘Abbess, oh, Abbess, I’m sorry to interrupt but you have to know, right away! I just went down to take Alba some fresh food and water, and the door was wide open – she’s gone!’
Chapter Twenty
Brother Bastian, his face working, demanded instantly, ‘Who let her out? Do they not know the danger?’
‘Danger?’ Sister Martha echoed, staring blankly at Bastian and clearly wondering why a pilgrim visitor to Hawkenlye was being so pushy and rude. Why, indeed, he was standing in the Abb
ess’s room.
The Abbess, already getting to her feet, said, ‘Sister Martha? Have you any idea how this has happened?’
‘No, Abbess, indeed I have not!’ Sister Martha said hotly, as if she felt Bastian were accusing her of being personally responsible. ‘Only the three of us have been taking turns seeing to poor Alba, and we’re all very careful, I can assure you! Why, we usually make sure we’ve got—’
‘That will do, Sister Martha,’ the Abbess interrupted gently. ‘You found the door open when you went down into the undercroft, you said?’
‘Yes, wide open, and no sign of the woman!’
‘Then somebody must have let Alba out before you got there, and it can hardly be called your fault,’ the Abbess concluded. With a swift glance at Brother Bastian, fuming beside her and giving the impression that he wanted to wrest authority from her hands and take over, she went on calmly, ‘The important thing now is to find her. Sister Martha, summon three lay brothers and six nuns and divide them into three search parties. Sir Josse here, Brother Bastian and I will form a fourth. We shall meet in the courtyard as soon as we are all ready, and I will tell each party where to go. Hurry up!’
With a last glance at Bastian – Brother Bastian? she seemed to be wondering – Sister Martha sped away.
While the search parties were gathering, Brother Bastian excused himself and hurried off towards the Vale. When, a short while later, he returned, he had removed his coarse brown robe; now he wore openly the white surcoat of the warrior monks, emblazoned on the breast with a red cross. At his side hung a sword.
‘Brother Bastian, for pity!’ Helewise exclaimed as she saw the latter. ‘We hunt for one miserable woman, not a band of murderous brigands!’
‘I pray my sword will remain sheathed, Abbess,’ he replied grimly. ‘But I intend to take no foolish risks.’
Angrily she turned away from him, and her eyes met Josse’s. Be calm, he seemed to say.
As always, his very presence was a comfort. We shall be with Bastian to watch what he does, she thought, cheered, and he will not make any over-reckless move against Alba before two witnesses.