by Alys Clare
‘She’s beautiful,’ Josse said. ‘What is she?’
‘A peregrine falcon.’ Tobias had come to a halt, and now, as his horse stood patiently, he stroked the falcon’s head with his free hand. ‘Do you know why they’re called that?’
‘I don’t.’
‘It means pilgrimage hawk. Because they’re caught on their passage from their breeding places.’
‘Oh.’ Was the young man deliberately setting out to charm, so as to distract Josse from wondering what he was doing there? If so, he wasn’t quite succeeding. ‘You have come from home this morning?’
‘This morning?’ A fractional hesitation. Then, with a wide smile, ‘No, indeed! I have friends hereabouts, good fellows who share my – my interests, who kindly offer me hospitality when I am this way.’
‘Men with whom you hunt?’
Again, a flashing smile. ‘Hunt? Aye, Sir Josse.’ Turning from interviewee to questioner with a ruthless speed that almost caught Josse unawares, he said, ‘And you, Sir Knight? Where are you going?’
Since the track led straight into the forest, there was really only one answer. Josse said, ‘Into the forest. A man was killed there last night. Murdered. As the King’s representative, I am investigating the death.’
King Richard, Josse was well aware, had no idea either that there had been a killing or that Josse was even in the vicinity. But there was no need to reveal that to Tobias Durant.
The young man, however, did not react, or not, at least, in the way Josse had expected. Not even a look of mild apprehension. Instead, Tobias was turning his horse, as, with an eager expression, he said, ‘How terrible! You must let me help you, Sir Josse! For one thing, two heads are better than one, and, for another, if there is a murderer abroad, then you should not go into the woods alone!’
Company was the very last thing Josse wanted. Firmly he put out a restraining arm. ‘It is good of you, Tobias, but I prefer to work alone. Those inexperienced in such matters can unwittingly disturb significant clues, if you’ll forgive my bluntness. Footprints, you know, that sort of thing.’
Tobias was nodding understandingly. ‘Yes, I see. You don’t want my clumsy great feet trampling the evidence!’ He laughed. ‘Then I’ll bid you good day, and good hunting, and let you go on your way.’ He bowed, smiled, and, wheeling his horse again, set off once more down the track leading away from the trees.
As Josse went on into the forest, he reflected that it would have been a shame to have dampened the young man’s spirits by confronting him with Ewen’s place of death. The body might be gone, but the blood would still be there.
It was not a sight for a happy, carefree fellow out hawking on a sunny morning.
* * *
In the end, there was very little evidence for Josse to find at the murder scene. The blood was indeed still there, and that which had not seeped down into the ground was now congealing slowly. There were signs of a struggle – broken branches, trampled undergrowth – and Josse thought he could tell which direction Ewen had come from. But he’d known that already, since he’d seen the man leave the clearing where the fallen trees were.
And that was about all.
Thinking hard, Josse paced around the place of death. Ewen came from here, he thought, walking back a few yards and then returning, and someone jumped him. From where, though? From behind? Or in front?
If it had been Seth, and Josse was wrong about the knife, then, since Josse had witnessed him leave the clearing after Ewen, he must have leapt on him from behind. There could be no way that Seth could have overtaken Ewen and come at him from the front. Trying to be objective, Josse studied the ground again. There were no tracks approaching the place where Ewen had been killed from either side; the underbrush was quite undisturbed. And the tracks that led away from it had been widened, even if not made, by those who had found and borne away the body.
So in which direction did the murderer go?
Ewen had been cut down as he fled along a minor path, little more than an animal run. Referring to his mental map, Josse realised that the man must have been heading for home, cutting off into the thicket because he wanted to take the shortest route. It was not the easiest way, though, and so not the route that anyone lying in wait for him would have expected him to take.
Seth would have known, though. Because Seth was coming after him.
Josse sat down on a fallen log, puzzling. And the more he puzzled, the more it seemed likely, much as he hated to admit it, that the sheriff’s swift and ill-thought-out conclusion must be the right one.
Seth and Ewen had gone back last night, by the light of the full moon, to fetch the last of whatever valuables they’d discovered in the clearing. With Hamm Robinson conveniently dead, the treasure could now be shared between the two of them. Ewen had taken fright and rushed off, and Seth, the braver of the two, had stayed behind. Found something else – something large and bulky, Josse recalled, picturing Seth cramming it into the sack.
Yes! he decided abruptly. That’s it! Seth found the last object, perhaps the most precious thing in the whole hoard, and he didn’t want to share it with Ewen. Why should he, indeed, when Ewen had already fled in fright? It was Seth’s and Seth’s alone! the man would have reasoned. So off he went in pursuit, and, catching Ewen up as he ran for home, Seth knifed him to death.
Leaving Seth as sole possessor of whatever it was they had dug up.
Slowly Josse got to his feet, brushing leaves from his tunic. He untied Horace’s reins from the branch where he’d slung them, and, mounting, tried to suppress his pique.
A man is dead, he told himself severely. And his killer must be brought to justice. If it is indeed Seth, then the sheriff is acting correctly, and I, much as it will pain me, must tell him I think so.
As he rode off in the direction of Hawkenlye and the distant Abbey, Josse reflected that he would also have to break the news of his findings to the Abbess.
Now that, he thought ruefully, was really going to hurt.
* * *
She watched him with a hint of compassion in her grey eyes.
‘It is manful of you to admit that you were wrong,’ she said when he had finished.
‘Well, I suppose even someone as dense as Sheriff Pelham has to get it right sometimes,’ he replied, trying to smile.
‘You’re certain that he has done, in this instance?’ the Abbess said.
‘Certain?’ Josse stared out across the sunlit Abbey courtyard. ‘No. I’m not certain. But it’s logical that Seth is the killer. He must, I can only conclude, have used a weapon he did not normally carry. Which, I assume, he threw away afterwards.’ Briefly he met the Abbess’s eyes. ‘I’m quite sure Sheriff Pelham would have informed us, had he discovered a bloodied dagger in Seth’s possession. Aren’t you?’
‘Indeed.’ She held his eyes. ‘He would probably have raced up here to tell you in person.’
There was a brief pause. Then: ‘I hear that his men did find, if not a dagger, then an assortment of other objects in Seth’s cottage,’ the Abbess said. ‘From what little I’ve been told, it seems to be a collection of coins and metal objects; plates, I believe. Seth is protesting his innocence, saying he found them under his hen run.’
‘Roman coins?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea.’ She glanced at him. ‘I imagine that the few people who have seen the things so far wouldn’t know a Roman coin if they were to be hit in the eye by it.’
‘Hmm.’ He would very much like to have a look at the hoard, although it was hardly relevant to the investigation.
He was still nursing the wound to his pride of having to acknowledge the sheriff had been right, when the Abbess said tentatively, ‘Sir Josse?’
‘Hm? Yes?’
‘It may be agreed that Seth killed Ewen. But can he, do you think, also have killed Hamm?’
Josse got up, paced as far as the end of the cloister, then returned to where they had been sitting. No, of course not, he thought. And why didn’t I t
hink of that?
‘No, Abbess,’ he said. ‘Even if I have to admit I was wrong, and that Seth did own a dagger, then I’m quite sure he possessed neither a spear nor the skill to throw it so accurately. A flint head,’ he mused. ‘I’d have liked to see that.’
The Abbess got to her feet, and, without a word, walked swiftly along to her room. Presently she returned.
Carrying in her hands a long-shafted, flint-headed spear.
‘I’ve cleaned it thoroughly,’ she murmured as he took it from her.
After some time he asked, ‘Why did you keep it?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh – I don’t really know. I suppose I thought it might come in useful as evidence, although that makes little sense.’ She met his eyes, and her expression seemed bashful. Ashamed, almost. ‘No. That’s not the truth.’ She took a breath, then said, ‘I kept it because the workmanship is so fine. For all that this thing was the means of a cruel death’ – she stroked a careful finger down the central spine of the flint spear-head – ‘it is so very beautifully made.’
Josse studied it. ‘Aye,’ he said softly. ‘It is.’ He gave a snort of laughter, instantly recognising it as inappropriate.
She looked up at him questioningly. ‘Sir Josse?’
‘I was just thinking that I can’t see Seth Miller making such an object.’
The ghost of a smile twised her lips. ‘Neither can I.’
* * *
Some time later, Josse reluctantly got to his feet and announced he should be on his way; although he and the Abbess had been arguing the merits of various possible next steps regarding Seth Miller, they had reached no conclusion.
Josse was aware that he was holding something back. But he didn’t know that she was, too.
He said to the Abbess, who was walking beside him as he went to collect his horse, ‘I’m wondering if there’s any value in putting a watch on Seth’s cottage, if indeed it could be arranged discreetly.’
‘I suppose it could,’ she said after a moment’s pause. ‘But why? What would be the point?’
‘I have an idea—’ He hesitated. ‘Because,’ he said instead, ‘it might be revealing to see if anyone went to the place to look for the treasure trove. It would tell us whether Hamm, Ewen and Seth had let anybody else in on the secret.’
‘But—’
‘Abbess, I’ve been thinking,’ he went on urgently. ‘What possible good would Roman coins and plate be to a band of petty thieves? They’re simple countrymen, the three of them, born and bred not a mile from here. How could they realistically have hoped to gain by their treasure trove, unless they knew someone who would buy it off them?’ Someone rather more sophisticated, he added silently. Someone who knew his way around the rich and the wealthy of this world. Who might, say, know exactly which clandestine patron of the historic arts would be prepared to pay a small fortune for genuine Roman silver and gold. Who, more importantly, had not sufficient respect for the law to worry that two men had been murdered in the process of acquiring the precious goods.’
The Abbess was nodding. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And, in principle, your idea is good. But, Sir Josse, the treasure is in Sheriff Pelham’s keeping. And, before you ask, no, I doubt very much that he would be prepared to give up one or two items with which to bait your trap.’
‘Oh.’ And, Josse thought, annoyed with himself for even mentioning the plan, anyone sophisticated enough to peddle antique treasure would, equally, be sufficiently worldly to know perfectly well that there would be nothing left to find in Seth Miller’s little hovel.
‘You have, I believe, someone in mind for this shady role of middle man,’ the Abbess said softly.
‘I have.’
Typically, she did not press him. And he, wondering why he did not want to implicate in this crime, even to her, a man who might well be innocent, kept his peace.
It was not until he had one foot in the stirrup and was about to mount that he remembered to ask her: ‘Abbess, I all but forgot! You learned nothing from the girl, from Esyllt?’
‘No,’ she agreed, watching him settle in the saddle. ‘But how, Sir Josse, can you be so sure of that?’
‘Because if you’d discovered anything of value, you’d have said so.’
‘Indeed,’ she murmured.
‘No sinister explanation for her presence in the woods last night?’
‘No explanation at all.’ The Abbess looked worried. Turning her face up to look at him, she added, ‘But something hangs heavy on her conscience.’
He pictured Esyllt. Well-built, strong … Strong enough to have made those savage cuts?
His eyes still on the Abbess’s, he guessed she was thinking the same. ‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘No, Abbess, I cannot believe it. The girl has a loving heart, I’d stake my reputation on it.’
‘Even the most loving heart can be roused to fury,’ she whispered. ‘If —’ She did not go on.
‘If what?’ he pressed.
She looked at him now with, he thought, almost a pleading expression in the grey eyes. After a small infinity of time, she said, ‘Nothing. I’m sure – I pray – you are right.’
He reached down and briefly touched her sleeve. ‘Count on it.’
But she was still looking worried. ‘I think –’ she began.
‘What?’
Lifting her chin as if reaching a difficult decision, she said, ‘Another is involved here, Sir Josse.’
Could she, he wondered, be thinking about Tobias? Surely not, for she had no way of knowing that he had been seen in the vicinity this morning. Had she? ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘Sister Caliste,’ she said simply.
‘Caliste!’ He had forgotten about her. ‘Yes!’ All he knew, he now thought, was that, when he had arrived back at the Abbey soon after midnight, it was to find that the novice had returned. ‘When did she get back?’
‘She was waiting outside the church when we came out of Compline.’
She had returned, then, some three hours before Josse.
‘And with no explanation for her absence, either?’
‘Only this ridiculous story of walking among the trees and forgetting the time.’
Josse slowly shook his head. Caliste, Seth, Ewen, Esyllt. And, if he was right, Tobias, waiting near at hand to receive the treasure. Hoping swiftly to pay off his work force and be on his way to his wealthy buyer.
Caliste, Seth, Ewen and Esyllt had all been in the forest last night, though, deep within it. Hadn’t they? How did they all connect?
With a sound of impatience, he jerked Horace’s head up and said to the Abbess, ‘There’s a complicated story here and no mistake, but I’m all at sea, I can’t make head nor tail of it.’
She murmured something: ‘… afraid to…’ and more words he didn’t catch.
‘Abbess?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I’m going home,’ he announced, not without a certain edge to his voice; if the Abbess could not bring herself to share her thoughts with him, then there was little point in pursuing the matter. ‘If there are any developments, will you let me know?’
Her face once more turned up to his, she gave him a thin smile. ‘Of course.’
‘Until then…’ He left the sentence unfinished, and, kicking Horace into a trot, headed off along the road for New Winnowlands.
* * *
Helewise, left to the pain of her unspoken anxiety, made her way slowly back towards her room.
Then, changing her mind, instead she went into the church.
But not, this time, to pray, unless it was for God’s guidance in this matter. Instead, she settled on a narrow bench at the back of the great building, and, in its atmosphere of power combined so affectingly with peace, tried to straighten out the tangle of her thoughts and her emotions.
She had noticed – as it had become obvious that Josse had not – that, as Esyllt had come flying through the trees towards them last night, bloodied and terrified out of her wits, there had been somethin
g else unusual about her.
She had raised the long, full skirt of her gown, the better to run through the forest.
And, underneath that gown, Helewise had seen that Esyllt had been naked from the waist down.
Oh, dear God, it didn’t mean, did it, that Ewen had come across her and attacked her? Stripped off her underclothes, tried to rape her? Succeeded?
And that Esyllt, in her horror and despair, had grabbed his own weapon and killed him? She was strong enough, heaven knew, with those well-muscled arms of hers, those powerful shoulders …
Head bent over her folded hands, Helewise was praying in earnest now. ‘Dear Lord, if that is what happened, then please, of Thy mercy, give Esyllt the courage to speak out. If she was defending herself, then surely it is no mortal sin to have killed him?’
It was that – the judgement that would fall on Esyllt – that was holding Helewise back. Because, if she were wrong and such a killing was to be viewed as a mortal sin, then Esyllt would hang for murder.
And, once dead, her soul would go to hell.
In the silence of the Abbey church, Helewise covered her face with her hands and tried to decide what to do.
Chapter Twelve
Arriving back at his new home, Josse was unsurprised to hear the sound of hammering. No doubt, he thought wearily, there had been yet another delay. Even now, the foreman was probably wondering how best to inform Josse that the work on New Winnowlands wouldn’t be completed this side of Christmas.
But, other than that – in fact, matters weren’t quite that bad, since the foreman promised everything would be finished in a week, two at the most – Josse’s welcome home was all that a man could wish for. Will came out to take Horace, and, as Josse well knew, the man would care for the horse as diligently as Josse himself would have done. Furthermore, Josse’s swift but penetrating look around the courtyard and outbuildings of his new domain was sufficient to indicate that everything was neat and tidy.
Inside the house, it was the same. Ella had clearly busied herself clearing up after the workmen, and not so much as a small pile of sawdust marred the polished sheen of the flagstones in the hall. She had rubbed beeswax into the fine wood of Josse’s table, chair and benches, and bowls of flowers stood in the deep stone window embrasures.
