Dark Night Hidden

by Alys Clare

  ‘Thank God nobody was inside last night,’ Saul breathed.

  And they all said, ‘Amen.’

  ‘How long do you think it will take?’ Josse asked. He was thinking of Hawkenlye’s visitors, the sick, the injured and the needy who came to take the healing waters and pray with the monks for relief from their afflictions. What were those poor folk to do if they arrived in this bitter weather to find no shelter, no comfort, nothing but the cold, hard ground?

  Brother Erse was eyeing the collapsed shelter as if it were a dangerous animal, rubbing his chin absently with one square hand and swinging the hammer in the other. ‘Won’t be an easy job,’ he remarked. ‘Ain’t no way we can ask the old ’uns to lend a hand – they’d be more of a liability than a help. Reckon a week, maybe more, with just the three of us.’

  Several thoughts ran through Josse’s head. He pictured some poor family with a sick child making the fraught winter journey to Hawkenlye and finding nowhere to shelter. He thought of the welcome that the monks and the nuns always gave to everyone, him included. And he thought how long it was since he had thrown himself into a satisfying job of manual work.

  Making up his mind – not that it took long – he said, ‘Not three of you, Erse. Four. If you’re prepared to put me up a while longer, I’ll stay and help.’

  4

  It was not long before Helewise heard about the new labourer working down in the Vale. Brother Firmin considered it his duty to inform her, which he did with his usual amount of conversational preamble. Was she in good health? Did she not find the very cold weather a trial? How good it was of her to permit the lighting of an evening-time fire in the monks’ home.

  Trying not to show her impatience – there were at least twenty tasks that she had promised herself she would complete before midday – she interrupted him with a gentle, ‘How may I be of assistance, Brother Firmin?’

  He had to scratch his head in thought before replying; even he, it seemed, had forgotten the purpose of his visit.

  ‘Ah, yes!’ he said after a moment. ‘The pilgrims’ shelter had been damaged, my lady Abbess. The branch of a tree fell on it, damaged, it is thought, by the hard frost. We are putting it – the damage, I mean – to rights. That is, Brother Saul, Brother Erse and Brother Augustus are. And Sir Josse has very kindly said he will help.’

  ‘Has he, indeed?’

  ‘Aye.’ Brother Firmin nodded eagerly. ‘We are, of course, offering him what hospitality we can, and he says he is well used to sleeping down in the Vale.’

  ‘We are lucky in our friends, are we not, Brother Firmin?’ she said quietly.

  ‘Oh, yes, my lady. Yes. Er . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘We – that is, I was wondering . . . Might you spare a moment to come down and see how work progresses? Your presence would, I am sure, spur our little workforce to yet greater efforts.’

  ‘I will, Brother Firmin. And I will take the chance to thank Sir Josse.’ She went on smiling at the old monk, feeling her cheeks begin to ache with the sustained effort. He went on smiling back. Finally she said kindly, ‘Was there anything else? Only I am rather busy . . .’

  Bowing, apologising and backing out of the room all at the same time, he wished her good day and left her.

  Helewise eventually went down to the Vale as the short afternoon was ending. As she descended the path she saw with dismay that the pilgrims’ shelter was all but demolished. Hastening her steps, she hurried towards the four black-clad figures working in its ruins.

  Someone had found a monk’s habit for Josse to work in. It was a little too short; she had a rather disconcerting sight of strong, muscular, hairy calves above firmly tendoned ankles. She had not appreciated how broad he was; in his usual garb of padded tunic, it was impossible to tell where the man ended and the garment began. But, dressed in the single black woollen garment – which, she now perceived, strained across Josse’s shoulders as he worked – she saw just what a fine figure of a man he was.

  Stop it, she ordered herself firmly. Stop looking at him like that.

  Pausing to arrange her face into a suitably nun-like and innocent expression – none of the men had noticed her approach – she folded her hands in the opposite sleeves of her habit and glided up to the shelter.

  ‘How goes the work, brothers?’ she called.

  Saul and Augustus were fixing the vertical planks of the outer wall to the horizontal supporting beams; Josse and Erse were working one each end of a large saw and appeared to be preparing more planks. All four men stopped what they were doing and, as best they could given that they were clutching either a large piece of wood or the end of a saw, gave her a courteous bow in greeting.

  ‘We have strengthened the basic structure of the shelter, my lady,’ Brother Erse said, panting from his recent exertions, ‘and now we are replacing the walls.’

  ‘You have all worked hard,’ she observed. Appreciating, now that Erse had explained, just what a task they had set themselves, she thought that ‘hard’ understated the case. ‘You must be exhausted!’

  Josse wiped a hand across his brow. ‘No, my lady. And the advantage is that the effort has kept us nice and warm!’ He gave her a happy grin.

  ‘We are in your debt, Sir Josse.’ She returned his smile. ‘Once again, you lend us your strength in our time of need.’

  ‘I do so gladly,’ he said simply. Then, the grin once more breaking out, ‘I can’t recall when I spent such a satisfying day!’

  She was moved by him. By all of them, these four good men who threw themselves so honestly into this hard and exacting job. Not wanting her sudden emotion to show, she said brightly, ‘How long until you finish?’

  ‘We hope to have the new shelter built in another two or three days, my lady,’ Brother Saul said. ‘We’re not receiving many visitors just now – too cold for travel – and those few who decide to make the journey and need a place to stay can come in the monks’ house along with all of us. By the time this cold snap takes itself off, we’ll be ready.’

  ‘Good, good.’ She nodded. She wondered what she could do to help; an idea occurred to her. With a private smile, she nodded again and bade them farewell.

  As the monks, lay brothers and Josse settled down for a bite to eat before turning in, they were surprised – and very pleased – to receive, along with the soup and the bread, a large jug of hot, spiced wine. ‘With the Abbess’s compliments,’ said the young cookhouse nun who brought it, ‘and she hopes there’s enough for the workers and the rest of you and all.’

  Sleep, Josse reflected drowsily as he lay down on his straw mattress and arranged the blankets around him, came a good deal more readily after a hard day’s work, a hot meal and a mug of good, strong wine . . .

  Two days later, in the early afternoon, the shelter was all but finished. Brother Erse was putting the final touches to the roof, Brother Augustus was giving the beaten earth floor a good sweeping, Saul and Josse were preparing the small amount of furnishings, making them ready for being replaced in the shelter as soon as it was ready. They had thoroughly scrubbed the rickety table, and Erse had done what he could to make it a little less rickety. They had given the long benches similar treatment, and now were engaged in beating the dust and dirt of years from the thin palliasses and the much-mended blankets. Augustus had earlier taken the old, worn trenchers and mugs away and washed them ready to be put back on the freshly scrubbed shelf where they were habitually stored.

  Folding the last of the blankets and adding it to the neat pile, Saul said, ‘You know, Sir Josse I reckon that there old branch did us a favour. We’ve had to rebuild the shelter, aye, but in doing so we’ve given it a clean and a tidy-out the like of which it hasn’t seen in years.’

  Josse glanced at him, noting the smile of satisfaction. ‘Aye, Saul,’ he agreed, ‘a job well done, eh?’

  ‘And a job completed just in time,’ Augustus added, emerging from the shelter and coming to stand beside them. ‘There, if I’m not mistaken, c
ome the first occupants.’

  Josse and Saul turned to look where he was pointing. A party of five was making its way along the track that ran beside the lake, frozen now into deep winter stillness. A man led the way, holding the rein of a donkey. Perched on the animal was a woman holding a small child in her arms, and walking along behind was an older woman and a boy of about seven.

  Someone inside the monks’ dwelling must have been keeping lookout. Three monks emerged, walking out to meet the visitors, taking the donkey’s rein from the man, helping the woman to dismount and relieving her of her burden. There was the sound of enquiring voices, tired answers. One of the monks turned to look towards the shelter; Saul called out, ‘It’s ready. Give us a moment and the visitors can come in and make themselves comfortable.’

  Within an hour, the pilgrims had been fed, given hot drinks and were seated on the shelter’s benches before a cheerful fire. There were two sick among them: the smaller child and the old woman. The child had a persistent cough, and Saul had already gone to fetch Sister Euphemia and ask for some of Sister Tiphaine’s white horehound cough mixture. The old woman’s trouble was less straightforward; she was complaining of a dragging feeling in her belly and Brother Firmin, who was overheard muttering about ‘women’s troubles’, had announced it to be clearly a matter for the infirmarer.

  In the meantime, the monks had taken the little family into the shrine for prayers and Brother Firmin had given them all a draught of the healing waters. By bedtime, all five were in much better spirits and already hopeful of recovery.

  Sister Euphemia came down to see the old woman the next day. Josse had no idea what transpired during the consultation; the infirmarer had very firmly and pointedly closed the door of the newly rebuilt shelter and said that she wished for privacy. Whatever she did must have been effective; the old woman emerged with a smile on her face and a lightness of step that certainly had not been there when she arrived.

  The family, once freed of their anxieties, proved to be entertaining guests. They had not come far; their village was no more than a short morning’s walk away. They brought news of violent happenings: a few days ago, a sheriff ’s officer guarding the gaol just outside the village had been attacked and killed. The two prisoners who had been in his custody, a man and a youth, had disappeared. Nobody seemed to mourn the sheriff ’s officer, who, according to the younger woman, had been a ‘right bastard, vicious and a bully an’ all’. When Brother Firmin timidly asked if there was anything to fear from the escaped prisoners, the man of the party scratched his head, furrowed his brow in thought for a moment and finally said, ‘Dunno.’

  There was considerable fascinated speculation. Josse, listening, occasionally smiled to himself at some of the wilder conjectures. The talk was harmless, though, and understandable; the monks lived an isolated and monotonous life down in the Vale and exciting events reported from the outside world always generated a lot of gossip.

  Among the chatter he suddenly heard his own name mentioned. Alert, he listened in to the conversation.

  ‘ . . . want to get Sir Josse here to investigate,’ Brother Erse was saying to the man and the old woman.

  ‘Eh? Sir what? Ain’t he a monk?’

  ‘No, indeed he is not. He’s only dressed that way because he’s been helping us to rebuild the shelter,’ Erse explained in an all too audible whisper. Then, looking up and noticing that Josse was listening, he reddened faintly and said, ‘They say there’s a bit of a mystery, Sir Josse. The dead man was hit in the face, seemingly, only it wasn’t such a blow as should have killed him. I was saying, you’re a bit of an expert on such things and maybe you’d . . . ?’ Apparently overcome by the daring nature of his proposal, Erse dropped his chin and shook his head in confusion. ‘But there, I dare say you’ve more important things to do with your time,’ he muttered.

  Forestalling the old woman’s remark – she began to protest that it was important, at least to the people of her village – Josse said, ‘I will be happy to come, if that is what you wish?’ He raised his eyebrows at the man.

  ‘Well,’ he replied slowly. ‘Well, I don’t know as if I should—’

  ‘Never mind if you should!’ his wife protested. ‘There’s a matter needs resolving and here’s someone willing and, it appears, able to do just that.’ Josse could not but admire her summing-up of the matter. ‘Why not take advantage of him, that’s what I say! If you’re truly willing, sir knight?’

  ‘Aye,’ he replied, grinning at her. She smiled back, and her pretty mouth was only slightly marred by a missing tooth. ‘I am. When you depart from here for home, I will accompany you.’

  Josse went to see the Abbess in the morning. The family was planning to set out as soon as they had eaten and he wanted to be mounted and ready so as not to delay them.

  He told her what he intended to do and she nodded. ‘You do not need my permission, Sir Josse,’ she reminded him gently.

  ‘No, I know I don’t. But I wanted you to be aware that the shelter is finished; I am not deserting one task in order to take up another that is more to my liking.’

  ‘The thought had not entered my head.’ She paused, then said, ‘Sir Josse, is any more known of this family or of the officer who died other than these sparse facts that you present to me?’

  ‘No, my lady.’ He waited for her to enlarge and, soon, she did so.

  ‘I am thinking that there may be grounds for suspicion.’

  ‘Oh? How so?’

  She hesitated, then said, ‘Probably I see danger where none exists. But we speak of a death; for all that the officer seems only to have suffered a minor blow, yet it has killed him. I fear . . .’ She did not say what she feared. Instead: ‘Will you take Brother Augustus with you, Sir Josse? Simply so that you will have someone young, fit and capable to watch out for you?’

  He would have liked to say no. To add that he could take care of himself and did not need a guardian. But the Abbess’s words, he had to admit, echoed his own vague uneasiness; there was something strange about this matter. And who but a fool ventured alone into a mystery when he was offered a reliable companion?

  ‘Thank you, my lady, for your consideration and your sense,’ he said. ‘Aye, I’ll take young Augustus, if he’s willing to come.’

  ‘He will be,’ the Abbess murmured. Then, in a louder voice, ‘Tell him to take the old cob. The animal could do with some exercise; Sister Martha says he’s getting far too fat and lazy.’

  The sun came out to see the travellers on their way. As before, the man led the donkey with his wife and younger child – now almost free of his cough – riding on the animal’s back. The older boy walked beside his mother. The older woman had been pushed and pulled astride the Abbey’s cob, and Augustus walked at the stirrup. Chortling, she said she’d never had such a fine ride in all her life.

  Josse rode at the rear. He had offered the older child a seat in front of him up on Horace’s back, but the child, apparently frightened, had violently shaken his head. It was understandable; Horace was restless and kept rolling his eyes and pulling at the bit, a sight quite alarming enough to scare a child into keeping his distance. Josse guessed that Sister Martha had been spoiling the horse; she usually did when he was in her care. When they were clear of the frozen pond and the track widened out, Josse took Horace out in front and kicked him into a canter, riding him hard for a mile or so before reining in and trotting back to meet the rest of the party. Having got the playfulness out of him, Josse settled down for a quiet morning’s ride.

  He and Augustus saw the family safely back to their little dwelling and asked for directions to the building that housed the gaol. Then, bidding them farewell, they rode on.

  The presence of a mule and a couple of horses indicated that the representatives of law and order were still inside the gaol building. Tethering their own mounts and going inside, Josse and Augustus heard raised voices. Two men were arguing, another plaintively interrupting.

  Josse called out. ‘Ha
llo there!’ The dissenting voices abruptly ceased. Then, from some hidden place at the end of a passage, there came the sound of footsteps.

  ‘I’m coming!’ a man’s voice panted. ‘These cursed steps will be the death of me!’ And into view came a short and very fat man in a leather tunic over saggy, soiled hose. ‘Yes?’

  Josse introduced Augustus and himself, saying where they were from and how they came to be there. ‘I was informed,’ he went on regally, ‘that there was a dead man and some mystery as to how he met his death. I have some experience in these things and have come to offer my services.’

  The fat man seemed to be amazed that anyone should bother. ‘He weren’t a well-liked fellow,’ he said, face creasing in puzzlement. ‘Reckon there ain’t no more mystery than that one of his prisoners thumped him in the face and the pair of ’em – him and the other one – legged it.’ He grinned.

  ‘They were locked up?’ Josse asked.

  ‘Aye, course they were. This here’s a gaol.’ The faint sarcasm was evident.

  ‘And the sheriff ’s officer would have entered the cell to take in food?’

  ‘Nah, not him! There’s a trap door in the wall, see, and he opens the flap, shoves the food in then locks it up again.’

  ‘I see. Then how, do you imagine, did the prisoner manage to achieve the blow to the guard’s face?’

  ‘Oh. Er. Hm.’ The fat man lifted the front of his jerkin and began an enthusiastic scratching of his crotch. ‘Hm.’

  ‘I should like to see the body.’ Josse stood over the fat man, trying to awe him into obedience.

  ‘Oh. Suppose you can if you want. Come with me.’

  The fat man led the way along the passage and down a short flight of steep stone steps. Below, three small cells opened off a corridor. The doors to all three were open and the foul stench from within each cell made Josse want to retch.