by Alys Clare
He recovered as swiftly. So swiftly that she could almost have thought she had been mistaken.
Almost.
‘Abbess, Abbess,’ he smiled, ‘what can you know of the world of fighting men?’ Quite a lot, she could have answered. ‘I see I must enlighten you!’
‘Please, don’t trouble yourself,’ she said quickly. ‘My ignorance must remain, for there are weightier matters for our attention. You were speaking of your niece’s friend, the woman with whom she may be lodging.’
‘Yes, yes, so I was.’
‘What is the woman’s name?’
Again, there was that strange reluctance to divulge details. Instead of answering Helewise’s question, Denys said, ‘I suppose it is too vain a hope to ask if she has been here? Joanna, that is?’
‘Here?’ After her initial surprise, suddenly Helewise was quite sure this was what de Courtenay had been leading up to. The simple question: have you seen her? Then why all the rigmarole? Why all the acting? ‘Has she been to the Abbey, do you mean? Or to the Holy Shrine down in the Vale?’
She thought it was the first he had heard of any Holy Shrine. ‘Oh – here, I meant. Seeking food or shelter, perhaps…?’
‘I recall nobody named Joanna among our recent visitors,’ Helewise said. ‘More importantly, for she could easily have used a different name, I recall no young noblewoman. Our visitors, sir, tend more usually to be the poor and the sick.’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said smoothly.
‘What name does she go by?’ Helewise asked. ‘I ask in order that I may enquire of my nuns, monks and lay brothers, those, that is, who have dealings with the outside worlds.’
He had got to his feet, and she thought for a moment he wasn’t going to answer. His expression was stern, distracted, almost …
Then, replacing the seriousness with another smile, he said, ‘Her name? Did I not tell you?’
‘No,’ Helewise said. ‘You only said she was called Joanna.’
‘She was born Joanna de Courtenay,’ he said, ‘the daughter of one Robert de Courtenay.’
‘Your brother.’ So must the woman’s father have been, for Denys de Courtenay to be her uncle.
‘No, Robert de Courtenay’s father and my father were brothers.’ Denys laughed lightly, as if indulging a perfectly natural mistake.
‘Then,’ Helewise persevered pedantically ‘I believe that makes you and Joanna second cousins, or in fact first cousins with one degree of removal. But not uncle and niece.’
‘Does it indeed?’ He laughed again. ‘I never was very good at the complicated network of kin relationships. Not that it matters the smallest bit!’
‘Only if you wished to marry her,’ Helewise observed. ‘Second cousins have been known to be wed, given the proper dispensation, whereas uncle and niece cannot, such unions being commonly regarded as incestuous.’
There was an instant’s icy silence in the room. Then Denys de Courtenay swept his cloak across his shoulder, bowed to Helewise and said, ‘Ah, well. There it is. Now, I fear, Abbess Helewise, that I have wasted your time.’
‘But what of your niece’s friend?’ Helewise said. ‘Her woman friend? Surely—’
But he acted as if he hadn’t heard. Bowing low, he said, ‘I would ask, Abbess, that you and your nuns keep Joanna in your prayers. If it please God, I pray that she and I may soon be reunited.’ His eyes on Helewise’s, he went on, ‘You will tell me if you hear word of her, won’t you? Or if, by God’s grace, she comes here?’
Helewise didn’t want to undertake that she would. Adopting her guest’s evasive tactics, she said instead, ‘And how will we find you to tell you, if we do have news?’
He said, ‘No need for that. I will find you.’
And just why, Helewise wondered, does that sound so ominously like a threat?
‘Now,’ de Courtenay was saying, ‘I have, as I said, taken up far too much of your precious time, so I will take my leave.’
Bowing again, he had let himself out and closed the door behind him before Helewise could say another word.
It did not occur to her for some time that, if Joanna de Courtenay had been married, then her name must now be something other than de Courtenay.
Something else which her uncle – in fact, her cousin – had chosen not to divulge.
* * *
She went straight over to tell Josse.
He was awake, in the middle of eating what appeared to be quite a substantial meal. He was, as she had hoped, riveted by what she had to say.
‘He has to be Tilly’s handsome stranger!’ he said, his mouth full of boiled hare. ‘Your description and hers tally far too closely for him not to be.’
‘It does seem likely,’ she agreed. ‘Denys de Courtenay. A King’s man. Have you ever heard of him, Sir Josse?’
Josse shook his head. ‘No, but that alone doesn’t mean he’s lying. About his royal connections, anyway. And, if he was the man I saw at Tonbridge Castle, that implies a link with the Clares and they certainly have court connections.’
‘If, if, if,’ Helewise said dismally.
‘One less if now!’Josse reminded her.
‘Probably,’ she said.
‘Oh, Abbess, let’s be rash! It is the same man!’
‘Very well. Which leads to the next question: is your mysterious woman in the woods the missing Joanna de Courtenay?’
‘She could well be,’ Josse said. ‘Although her name is not de Courtenay, or, at least, her son’s name isn’t. It’s de Lehon, and it’s a French name.’ He fixed Helewise with an intent look. ‘Did this Denys say she’d lived in France?’
Helewise thought back. ‘No. But, there again, he didn’t say she hadn’t. He was, as I said, very reluctant to tell me anything definite.’
‘Strange,’ Josse mused. ‘And, Abbess, I’ll tell you what else is strange. Your friend Denys didn’t seem to know that Joanna had a son. Did he?’
‘He didn’t mention any child,’ Helewise agreed.
There was a reflective silence. Josse finished his meal, wiped his hands, and, taking a long drink, lay back on his pillows. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he offered. ‘Well, I’ll tell you two.’
‘Yes?’
‘First, if he’s the man responsible for my sore head, then it’s just as well we didn’t come face to face just now. I should not want blood spilled in the sacred confines of Hawkenlye Abbey.’ He smiled at her, but she wasn’t at all sure that he wasn’t deadly serious.
‘And the second thing?’
‘If we’re right in our guessing and it is Joanna whom de Courtenay is searching for, then, believe me, she doesn’t want him to find her.’
Helewise saw the man again in her mind’s eye. Tall, strong, oozing a charm that was far too obviously false. And, worst of all, that frightening moment when he had lowered his guard and allowed her to see him for what he really was.
She shivered. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I believe you readily enough.’ She raised her eyes to meet Josse’s. ‘And, having met him, truly, I can’t say that I blame her.’
Death by Drowning
Chapter Seven
Josse discharged himself from Sister Euphemia’s care the next morning.
‘I don’t know!’ she complained, giving the wounds on the back of his head a final inspection. ‘You and the Abbess Helewise, you’re a right pair! You both believe the world’ll come to an end if you’re not around to make sure it doesn’t.’
‘How true,’ Josse agreed. ‘Of myself, in any case. I always was an arrogant fellow, Sister Euphemia.’ He gave her a wink, and she blushed faintly.
‘Go on with you!’
‘I’m going.’
‘You hurry straight back, now,’ she said, trotting along the long, open space between the infirmary’s many beds to keep up with his strides, ‘the moment you start to get head pains, or dizziness, or—’
But, with an acknowledging wave of his hand, he had gone.
* * *
In
the crisp morning air, the heavy frost sparkled pure, dazzling white. Horace’s breath hung in clouds, like the smoke of some idling dragon.
Josse met nobody on the road down into Tonbridge. Which was no surprise: it was too cold a day to venture out of doors and go off journeying unless you really had to.
He rode straight for the castle.
He hadn’t really hoped he would find his stranger there, which was just as well since he didn’t. The drawbridge was now fully up and the castle looked, if it were possible, even more abandoned than it had on Josse’s last visit.
A woman passed by, a bundle of kindling under one arm.
‘You’ll get no welcome from them,’ she remarked, nodding in the direction of the castle. ‘They’re away. Gone, they have, and gone they’ll stay, s’long as there’s sickness in the valley.’ She sniffed. ‘Don’t have no truck with the idea of helping the sick and needy, they don’t.’
‘Ah.’ Trying to sound casual – a passer-by venturing a conversational remark – he said, ‘I’m surprised they don’t leave at least a small staff, though. After all, there must be caretaking duties and there’s security to think of…’ He trailed off, hoping she would take up the opportunity of a bit of a gossip.
She did. Putting down her kindling and folding her arms, she said, ‘Security? I don’t imagine that bothers them, not with that ruddy great drawbridge pulled up. I mean, who’s going to try to climb up there?’ She jerked her head towards the castle’s formidable walls. ‘And why bother, that’s what I say! If them grand folks don’t want to associate with the likes of us, then there’s no call for us to go bothering them.’
An independently-minded woman, Josse reflected. ‘Is there truly nobody within?’
‘Oh, there’s your caretakers, all right.’ She sniffed again, then suddenly her face lightened into a smile of genuine humour. ‘You’re not thinking, mate,’ she said. ‘Course there’s got to be someone inside, else how’d they raise the drawbridge?’
He grinned in response. ‘Aye. You’re right there.’
‘There’s any number of them,’ she continued. ‘Caretakers, like. But they ain’t going to come out all the while there’s food and water within. They’ll see the advantages of keeping themselves apart from the sickness, same as their precious lords and masters. You mark my word, there’ll be no comings and goings over that drawbridge till spring.’
‘I did have a faint hope of finding an acquaintance of mine here. I heard tell he lodged with the family…?’
The woman shook her head. ‘Unlikely. As I’ve already told you –’ she was eyeing Josse suspiciously now, as if trying to decide if he had evil intentions or was just plain stupid – ‘the family’s away. If your acquaintance is in there, he must be a guest of the caretakers, not the Clares.’ Another assessing look. ‘And you’ll be a better judge than me, sir, as to the likelihood of that.’
‘No, no, as you say, he can’t be. I must have been mistaken.’ Keen to allay her curiosity – he didn’t like the idea of her passing on details of her meeting with a man nosing around outside the castle and asking daft questions – he said, ‘I’m for the tavern. A mug of ale and a spell of warming my toes by Goody Anne’s fire sounds just the thing for me. I wish you good day.’ He bowed, swung up on to Horace, and set off down the track towards the river.
When he risked a glance behind him, the woman had picked up her bundle and was striding away.
* * *
The inn was bustling. There seemed to be as many people milling around in the yard as within, Josse thought as he pushed his way inside. And there was a deal of animated chattering going on, too.
Goody Anne was in the tap room, sleeves rolled up to display her well-muscled forearms, handing out jugs of ale to a band of men.
‘How goes it, Mistress Anne?’ Josse asked when, catching sight of him, she nodded a greeting.
‘Rushed off my feet, as ever.’ She gave him a friendly grin. ‘Thanks to you, sir, people haven’t been scared off.’ She winked. ‘If you get my meaning.’
He did. Standing beside her now, he said softly, ‘Glad to have been of service.’
‘Any news as to who did for poor old Peter Ely?’
‘No.’
‘And now there’s this new business. I really don’t—’ A voice demanded service, followed by a chorus of others, and, interrupting herself, Anne said, ‘You’ll have to excuse me, sir, I’m that busy.’
‘Of course.’
He took his ale and went to lean against the wall. What new business? Tuning in to conversations around him, he tried to find out.
It didn’t take long.
‘… seems she’d been there for days!’ a man beside him said in an awed voice. ‘Well, ain’t no surprise, right out there in the wilds.’
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ agreed another, and his two companions nodded sagely. ‘Reckon she’d her own reasons for keeping herself apart, an’ all.’
A cold hand took hold of Josse’s heart. He said to the man nearest to him, ‘What’s happened? Who are you talking about?’
The man, fortunately, was too fascinated by the tale to worry about why a stranger should be so eager to know. ‘Why, they’ve found a body, in the woods. Dead, she is, found with her head in a foot of water.’
‘Who was she? Does anybody know?’ Josse looked wildly from face to face. ‘Come on, one of you must know something!’
‘Steady on, there, sir!’ one of the men protested. ‘No need to get agitated, like!’
‘It were that old biddy as does the spells,’ another man said, putting a hand up to his mouth and whispering from behind it. ‘Can’t say as I know her name.’
‘Nor I,’ said another.
But Josse wasn’t listening. Grasping the shoulder of the man who had first volunteered information, he said urgently, ‘Old. You said she was old. Can you be sure?’
‘Aye, aye, sir!’ The man gave an uneasy laugh. ‘She were old, all right. Not only my mam but my grand-mam an’ all used to speak of her and her potions.’
A huge relief was sweeping through Josse, so that, inappropriate though it was, he felt like cheering. Instead, he offered to fill each of the men’s mugs, then, having been given directions for how he might find the scene of the drowning – the information was pretty vague, but better than nothing – he was on his way.
* * *
He would not have found the pond so readily had it not been surrounded by a large group of the Sheriff’s men. Might not, even, have found it at all, for it was in a secluded spot deep in the forest, and it was the sound of loud voices that had drawn him to it.
He stood on the edge of the small clearing, surveying the scene.
The pond was about five paces by ten and along its far bank was a row of willows, now quite bare of leaves. On the near bank was a vegetable patch, showing evidence of regular and diligent care. Behind the vegetable patch was a little hut made of a sturdy framework of posts filled in with wattle and daub. The roof – made of reed thatch – looked well-maintained.
On the far side of the hut, in a place where, Josse judged, it had been put so as to catch what sunshine made its way into the clearing, was a herb garden.
The body lay half on its side, with its legs and lower torso on the bank. Its head, shoulders, arms and chest were in the pond.
Josse moved forward and approached Sheriff Pelham, whom he assumed to be in charge.
‘Good day to you, Sheriff,’ he called, still sitting astride his horse. ‘I heard tell of this death while I was at the inn, and came to—’
‘Came to poke your nose in, as usual. King’s man,’ the Sheriff finished. ‘Well, I don’t reckon there’s much to interest you here. She slipped, it seems, fell with her head under the water and she drowned.’
Josse dismounted, tethered Horace to a stout branch, and went to the pond’s edge. Crouching down, he realised straight away why nobody had yet removed the dead woman from the pond.
The water had frozen hard aro
und her.
He said to the Sheriff, ‘Does anything strike you about her, Sheriff Pelham?’
The Sheriff glanced around at a few of his men to make sure they were listening. ‘She’s dead,’ he said, with an unpleasant laugh. ‘Or didn’t you notice?’ He was rewarded with a few guffaws. ‘People do die, with their heads stuck in ponds. They drown, like.’
Josse said, ‘People drown in water. This pond is covered in a thick layer of ice, and has been, I would guess, for –’ he paused, calculating, ‘for the last three days, I’d say.’ Yes. That was right. It had been milder, the night he’d slept in Ninian’s camp. Then, the next night, the temperature had gone down sharply and Joanna’s pity had led her to take that great risk of bringing a strange man into the shelter of her secret hiding-place.
The Sheriff said aggressively, ‘So? What of it?’
Josse suppressed a sigh. ‘Then this woman must have been lying here for three days. At least.’
‘How can you be sure?’ demanded the Sheriff.
‘Because she must have gone in when the pond was water,’ Josse said patiently. ‘Which was either three days ago, when the weather relented a little, or some time before that.’ He glanced down at the body. ‘I would doubt, however, that she has been here long.’
‘Got a scrying glass, have you?’ the Sheriff asked nastily, raising a few more guffaws, although Josse doubted very much if many of the men knew what a scrying glass was; he was quite surprised that the Sheriff did.
‘No. I don’t need one,’ he replied. He pointed to the corpse’s abdomen, touching it gently. ‘There’s no bloating, whereas, if she’d been here much longer than three days, she would have begun to swell up.’ He had observed such things in battlefield corpses. It was one reason for burying your dead quickly; corpses became progressively more unpleasant to deal with if you delayed.
‘Got any bright ideas as to how we’re going to get her out, have you?’ Sheriff Pelham asked caustically; he was, Josse noticed, getting more irascible the more his weaknesses were exposed. But it was so difficult not to expose them …
