The Song of the Nightingale

by Alys Clare

  Her visitor had been back. This time his attempt to copy her knot in the rope that fastened the door was better; he must have studied hers carefully, and he had almost got it right.

  She opened the door and went in. The temperature inside the little room was higher than that outside. She crouched down by the hearth – neatly swept, with kindling and small logs laid ready beside it – and put her hand on the ground. It was warm.

  She climbed up the ladder to inspect the sleeping platform. Her own bedding was rolled up and stored at one end, and did not appear to have been disturbed. However, it appeared that a long shape had recently lain there, leaving an impression on the straw-filled mattress. Something caught her eye: at the end where the head would have been – where her own head had rested the night before last – there was a small, shining object.

  She reached out and picked it up.

  It was a knife, fashioned in the form of a miniature sword. The blade was about the length of her hand, and it was very sharp. The hilt was in the shape of a graceful curve, its ends pointing downwards. Set in the top of the hilt was a tiny, deep-red stone that she guessed was a garnet. The warrior’s stone; it was a talisman against injury and death, and was believed to bring victory.

  Her unknown visitor appeared to have left her a present, perhaps in thanks for her unwitting hospitality. Thoughtfully, she reached inside the purse she carried at her waist and took out a small coin, putting it exactly where the knife had lain.

  Tradition demanded that the gift of a knife must be paid for, otherwise it would cut the friendship.

  Although Meggie did not know why, she had the strong sense that whoever had been sharing her hut with her was going to be a friend.

  It was with some effort that she dragged herself out of the strange paths of her thoughts and back into the present. She set kindling in the hearth, lighting it with her flint, and, as the flames took hold, built up the fire with the smallest pieces of wood. Soon she had a good blaze going. She went outside to fill her pot with water from the stream and suspended it over the fire. While the water came to the boil, she searched her shelves for the ingredients she wanted.

  Then she settled down cross-legged on the floor and, with some reluctance, set about making the potion that Tiphaine had asked for.

  Josse had told himself that his purpose in going to the abbey was to find out if there had been developments in the hunt for the three dead men’s killer. Assuming him to be the same man who had dealt out retribution to Benedict de Vitré’s man Matthew, then he must still be in the vicinity, and maybe someone at Hawkenlye had seen him. If it was indeed Sister Estella’s Brown Man who was responsible, perhaps he had come seeking absolution for the flogging he had meted out . . .

  However, even as he rode in through the gates, Josse was staring up towards the forest, straining his eyes to see if he could make out any of the three women living in the cell. Were they all right? Had they enough to eat, and were they keeping warm enough at night? Promising himself that he would go and ask them later, he turned his mind to the coming interview with the abbess.

  He tapped on the door and went into her room to find Gervase already there. Not pausing for a greeting, Gervase said, ‘He’s struck again.’

  Josse glanced briefly at Abbess Caliste, whose face was pale and drawn. Turning back to Gervase, he said, ‘What’s happened?’

  Gervase passed a hand over his face; before he had uttered another word, Josse knew that what he had to say was going to be bad. ‘It’s a nasty story, Josse,’ Gervase began. ‘There’s been a family group living down on the wetlands along the river to the east of Tonbridge. There’s an old, tumbledown hovel there.’

  ‘I know of it,’ Josse replied. He’d had reason to go there, years ago, and it had been in a poor state even then. He was amazed it was still standing.

  ‘I knew the people were there,’ Gervase went on, ‘and they’ve been given a bit of help, only nobody’s got much to spare. There’s sickness in their family.’

  ‘Could they not have been taken to the canons at Tonbridge?’ Josse had good memories of Canon Mark.

  ‘No they couldn’t,’ Gervase said shortly. ‘Two of them have a sweating fever, one’s already died of it and the remaining three are complaining of headaches and cramps. If they’re allowed any nearer to the town, this sickness will run through the whole population.’

  ‘With little to eat, and at the end of a long, hard winter, people succumb all too easily to disease,’ Abbess Caliste said. Josse looked at her. ‘We should have said the same had Hawkenlye been the nearest point of succour, Sir Josse,’ she added gently. ‘We would have taken food and medicaments out to them, but we cannot risk the lives of the many for the sake of the few.’

  Josse grunted an acknowledgement. ‘Go on,’ he said to Gervase.

  Gervase sighed. ‘Some of the townspeople have been rabble-rousing, one man in particular. I’m ashamed to say he’s been employed on occasion by one of my deputies when we’ve needed men for search parties and guard duties, since he happens to be strong, well built and lacking the imagination to feel fear. He’s also a fine shot with a crossbow.’

  ‘I can see that he’d have his uses,’ Josse remarked.

  ‘Quite. Anyway, this man – he’s called Rufus because of his red hair – decided to take matters into his own hands. He was in the tavern last night, making threats against the family living in the valley. He got a gang together – because he’s worked for us, people tend to think he speaks with authority – and, late in the night, he led them out of the town, across the wetlands and along to the hovel. They surrounded it, and Rufus yelled out that the family had to get out and leave the area. “We don’t want you filthy rats spreading your foul sickness among decent folks,” is apparently what he said. Then he ordered his gang to pile dead wood around the hovel and set light to it. The five people inside tried to flee, running off in all directions, the stronger ones helping and supporting the sick, and Rufus took up his crossbow and ordered them to stop. Then, making sure to keep his distance, he made them line up and marched them away down the river. He and his men escorted them as far as the crossing out to the east of Tonbridge, then they forced them to go over to the north bank. Rufus told them that if they showed their faces again, they’d regret it.’

  ‘He had no authority for this action?’ Josse asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Gervase said scornfully.

  There had to be more. ‘The people came back, didn’t they?’

  ‘No, Josse.’ Gervase sighed. ‘The river was high last night after the rain. The crossing was impassable.’

  ‘So—?’

  ‘The family were caught between the water and Rufus’s crossbow. They tried to get across, and one of them slipped on the stones at the edge of the water and fell in. She was little more than a child. One of the adults tried to grab her, but he fell in too. I’m not sure of the exact sequence of events, but they all drowned. Rufus watched as they were swept away.’

  ‘Nobody tried to save them?’

  ‘Apparently not. Rufus commanded his men not to.’

  ‘But that’s—’

  ‘I know what it is, Josse,’ Gervase said tightly. ‘One of the gang came to me early this morning, overcome with remorse, or so he says, and I set out with a couple of my deputies straight away to bring Rufus in. He lives at the southern end of the town, in a row that runs along close by the river. Someone beat me to it; we found him lying face down in the water.’

  ‘And I’m sure you’re not going to tell me his death was an accident,’ Josse said softly.

  ‘No. There was nothing accidental about the knife wound to his heart.’

  ‘Like the other three?’

  ‘Exactly like. Our man, it seems,’ Gervase added, ‘prefers the quick, clean kill. Rufus was put in the river, I presume, to ram home the message that he’d been killed in retribution for those whose lives he failed to save.’

  ‘Our man,’ Josse repeated. ‘The motive of ven
geance appears to be consistent, and so—’

  But Gervase held up a hand. ‘There’s more, Josse.’ He paused, as if reluctant to say what he must. ‘I know what you feel about this man, and I admit that, in my heart, I have some sympathy with you. But we cannot allow him to continue, for a system under which a man with a grudge – even a genuine one – gets away with taking the law into his own hands is open to the worst possible abuse.’

  ‘This man is acting to avenge deeds that amount to more than grudges!’ Josse cried angrily. ‘He—’

  ‘He must not continue,’ Gervase repeated, more forcefully this time. Then, before Josse could protest again, he said, his tone carefully neutral, ‘He was unlucky, this time. Someone spotted him as he fled the scene of Rufus’s execution. Unfortunately, this person elected not to come straight to me with the information; they went instead to Lord Benedict de Vitré.’

  ‘Him!’ Josse exclaimed. ‘But why? Tonbridge isn’t within his jurisdiction, surely?’

  ‘Don’t be naive, Josse. Lord Benedict has the favour of the king because, by fair means or foul, he’s extremely successful at extracting money for him. Everywhere and anywhere is within Lord Benedict’s jurisdiction, if he wants it to be.’

  Understanding dawned. ‘Lord Benedict, I presume, uses some of this money to pay for information,’ Josse said. ‘A fact of which most of the hard-up people of Tonbridge are well aware.’

  ‘I cannot speak for them all,’ Gervase murmured, ‘but the woman who saw Rufus’s killer slip away into the mist knew exactly where to go. Lord Benedict has already sent out a search party,’ he went on, ‘and, in all likelihood, they’ll hunt the killer down, succeeding where I have failed because Lord Benedict has far more men at his disposal, and whereas my men go about on their own two feet, armed, in general, only with clubs and stout sticks, he has the means to provide his supporters with good horses and fine weapons. When his search party find their quarry,’ he concluded, ‘no doubt they’ll extract a little vengeance of their own to pay him back for what he did to their friend Matthew.’

  Josse opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say. It was all wrong. The man even now being hunted had committed violent crimes – including the ultimate one of murder – but for a very good reason. The prospect of his capture by Lord Benedict’s men was utterly repellent, and Josse knew that if it were in his own power to seek out the man and warn him, he would do so. But how can I, he thought desperately, when I do not know who or where he is?

  He looked at Gervase, then at the abbess. ‘What can we do?’ he asked in a whisper.

  Slowly, Abbess Caliste shook her head.

  His anger and frustration evident in the single word, Gervase said, ‘Nothing.’

  TEN

  Josse made his way up to the clearing by St Edmund’s Chapel. His heart was sore, and he longed more than anything to share his burden with Helewise.

  As he crossed the clearing, he saw her emerge from the chapel. She was facing away from him, and when he called out to her, she spun round. In that first instant, her expression was one of simple delight at seeing him. He hurried across to her, and, even as he ran, it seemed to him that she deliberately straightened her face. Whatever was amiss between them, it certainly hadn’t been put right by a couple of days’ absence from each other . . .

  ‘Is Meggie here?’ he asked coolly, coming to a halt a couple of paces away from her. ‘I need to speak to you both.’

  ‘No,’ Helewise replied. ‘She’s gone out to the hut to fetch some supplies that Tiphaine needs. My granddaughter,’ she added with a soft smile, ‘is down at the abbey, helping out in the infirmary.’

  ‘Tiphaine’s here?’

  ‘She was. She’s gone again now.’

  Josse realized it was some time since he had seen the former herbalist of Hawkenlye Abbey. ‘Is she all right?’

  Helewise shrugged. ‘She looks tired and strained, but who doesn’t?’ Then in a gentler tone, she added, ‘Will you come inside the cell and take a warm drink? You said you need to speak to Meggie and me, but will I do?’

  It’s you I most want to talk to, he thought. If only you knew. ‘Aye,’ he said shortly.

  She led the way inside the small cell. The women had made it very comfortable, and, with a fire glowing gently in the hearth, it was warm and cosy. As if noticing his reaction, Helewise said, ‘The one big advantage of living in a tiny stone-walled space is that it’s very easy to heat, which is just as well since we’re all too busy to spend much time foraging for firewood.’

  His heart sank. If they were busy, it meant that pilgrims were finding their way to the clearing. ‘You have many visitors, then?’

  She gave him a smile, apparently reading his mind. ‘Yes, Josse, I’m afraid we do.’

  His private little hope that, finding nobody came to seek her out, she would give up this whole venture and come home, quietly faded and died.

  She poured out two mugs of a spicy concoction sweetened with honey and handed one to him. She sat down on what he supposed was her own cot, and he sat on the one beside it. He sipped his drink. It was delicious, and he said as much.

  ‘It is rather good, isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘I must remember to tell my granddaughter.’

  ‘Little Helewise made it?’

  ‘Indeed she did. We are keeping her busy, and she’s a very willing pupil. Already, she looks much happier and healthier than when she joined us. She’s—’ But whatever she had been about to say, she stopped. ‘Now, Josse, what did you want to discuss?’

  He realized just how long it had been since they had sat down together like this to chew over some puzzle, and how very much he had missed it. There was a lot to tell her: he ordered his thoughts and began.

  ‘So the fact that these acts of revenge are continuing leads you to believe that Sister Estella’s Brown Man – if, indeed, it is he who is perpetrating the deeds – is still in the vicinity, and perhaps still looking for a priest to absolve him?’ she said when he had finished.

  ‘Aye, that’s about it,’ he agreed.

  ‘You are sure that he is responsible?’ she asked. ‘It seems a large conclusion to draw from scanty evidence.’

  ‘I know,’ he said in frustration. ‘But the facts are these: one, the long list of brutal crimes that Gervase knew of came to a halt when the three dead men at Hawkenlye were killed. Two, at around the same time, a stranger told Sister Estella that he needed to talk to a priest because he was about to do something bad. Three, similar acts of vengeance are being carried out again, specifically, the flogging of Lord Benedict’s man Matthew and the killing of Gervase’s Rufus. In each case, the punishment echoes the crime.’

  She was nodding thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I do see,’ she said. ‘And no doubt you are going to tell me that neither Gervase nor you have any other suspects in mind.’

  ‘No, we haven’t,’ he grunted. ‘There’s more,’ he added, before she could speak. And he told her how the man who killed Rufus had been spotted, and that Lord Benedict’s men, their blood up and violence on their minds, were even now out hunting him.

  Silence fell when he stopped speaking. After a moment, she reached out and took his hand. ‘And you, dear Josse, are suffering deeply because in your heart you do not believe this man is guilty of any crime.’

  ‘Aye, and apparently it’s dangerous to say so,’ he agreed bitterly. ‘Gervase tells me such talk is treason.’

  ‘He’s right,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know about the dead men down at the abbey, but the other two are officers of the law, even though they are cruel and heartless ones. Anyone who harms them is automatically guilty.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be like that!’ Josse cried.

  ‘I know, but it is.’ She let go of his hand. After a moment, she said, ‘What shall we do?’

  He appreciated the we. ‘I’ve been endlessly asking myself the same thing, and all I can think of is that we try to find him ourselves and warn him,’ he said.

  She looked taken
aback. ‘But – you’re proposing we should set out for Tonbridge and try to pick up his trail? Wouldn’t Lord Benedict’s men notice us and realize what we were doing?’

  Josse smiled. ‘If it’s really the Brown Man, then he won’t be anywhere near Tonbridge. He’s already been to the abbey, or at least to the vale, where he encountered Sister Estella. Unless he’s blind and stupid – and I don’t believe he’s either – he’ll have noticed that Hawkenlye Abbey stands on the edge of a very large forest.’

  In the hut in the forest, Meggie sat cross-legged by the hearth wondering if she had done the right thing. She had made the potion – she had no doubt that it would work – and Tiphaine had collected it late in the afternoon. Would that poor young woman already have taken it? Meggie wondered. If so, she was in for a rough night. Tiphaine had undertaken to look after her, and Meggie could think of nobody better. Tiphaine was kind, in her own brusque way, and she would make quite sure that the girl – Melania – would understand what was happening to her. Most importantly, Tiphaine would have no doubts that it was up to Melania to make her hard decision, and that nobody had the right to make her feel guilty about it.

  The guilt, Meggie thought, is for me.

  With a sigh, she got to her feet, stretching. The daylight was beginning to fade, and she knew she should get back to the cell. But she wanted more than anything to stay where she was, in the snug safety of her mother’s hut. She decided to return to the cell, eat supper with Helewise and her granddaughter and then, once they were asleep, do as she’d done before and slip out again.

  The lift to the heart that the decision brought quite surprised her. Smiling, she fetched firewood and laid it ready, then climbed up to the sleeping platform to plump up the pillows and spread out the covers, making sure the shiny coin was visible.

  I will be back soon, she said silently as she fastened the door. Then, a spring in her step, she set off for the clearing.