‘They say he is the man responsible for the three men’s deaths, and for Matthew’s flogging and Rufus’s killing,’ Josse said. He and Helewise were sitting together in the cell by St Edmund’s Chapel, and, for the time being, they were alone. Little Helewise was once more helping the nursing nuns in the Hawkenlye infirmary, and there had been no sign of Tiphaine for a couple of days.
Meggie had not returned.
Josse had told himself many times each day that his daughter could take care of herself; that seeing her companion arrested and taken away must have been very frightening, driving her to hurry away and hide somewhere that nobody could find her. Meggie knew the forest better than anyone other than its own people; she would have found somewhere safe by now.
Somewhere safe. Following the usual natural progression, his thoughts moved on to Ninian. Was he safe? Where was he?
Josse thought back to the brief and unsatisfactory meeting that he and Helewise had had with Gervase de Gifford. The sheriff had told them bluntly that the matter of the prisoner in the Hawkenlye punishment cell was out of his hands, Lord Benedict de Vitré having issued Gervase with a direct command not to interfere. It had hurt the sheriff’s pride, Josse and Helewise had agreed afterwards, to make that admission.
Josse had found a moment to ask Gervase about the possibility of getting a secret message out to the Cathar community in the Languedoc; with an ironic lift of an eyebrow, Gervase replied that, while communications did occasionally reach him from the south – although none had done since winter – he had not the least idea how to initiate the passing of a message in the opposite direction. He added, sounding more than a little offended, that, had such a means of communication been available, didn’t Josse think he’d have suggested it long ago, the moment Ninian’s name had been cleared?
But it wasn’t available. Josse and his missing family were on their own.
As he had also done many times each day, Josse forced himself now to think about something else.
Word had spread that Lord Benedict de Vitré had been informed of the prisoner in the punishment cell. It was rumoured that he was in no hurry to come and collect him. Lord Benedict, Josse thought, must have a cruel streak and was relishing the thought of a man being confined in a cell so small that he could not stretch out; so dark and airless that sometimes he must gasp for breath.
As if her thoughts echoed his own, Helewise said, ‘I hate to think of him in that dreadful place. His guards have orders to make sure he stays alive, but I do not imagine they are providing anything but the most basic food and water.’
Josse doubted they were doing even that. Water, aye, probably they’d give him water, but it took several weeks for a man to die of hunger.
He looked at her. She was pale, thin, and had dark circles beneath her eyes. He guessed she had sacrificed rest and sleep in order to pray for the prisoner. Sensing him watching her, she raised her head and met his eyes. ‘Do you think he is guilty?’
‘They claim to have a witness who saw him running from the site of the Tonbridge man Rufus’s death.’
Her scornful expression told him what she thought of that. ‘We should ask ourselves what motive he has for the killings,’ she persisted. ‘Who is he? Why has he taken it upon himself to deal out vengeance on the victims of crime? That’s supposed to be the sheriff’s job,’ she muttered, ‘and, ultimately, God’s.’
God, Josse reflected, didn’t seem too bothered just then about taking revenge on the cruel and the heartless, the robbers, rapists and murderers. But he did not think he ought to say so. ‘I don’t believe anyone knows who he is,’ he said. ‘He’s just the Brown Man, as Sister Estella would say.’
Helewise was looking thoughtful. As he studied her, her expression changed, and now she looked slightly abashed. ‘I suppose—’ she began, then stopped.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
She smiled ruefully. ‘Oh, I’m probably just being silly, but I was just wondering . . . Josse, it is the Brown Man who’s in the cell, isn’t it? He was dressed in brown, after all – you and I saw his garments, even if not his head and his face – and we have all assumed he’s the man who met Sister Estella in the vale when he was looking for a priest.’
‘And we’ve all assumed also that the Brown Man is responsible for the beating and the deaths, because he was here in the area at the right times and was seeking forgiveness for a grave sin.’ Josse was on his feet, grabbing Helewise by the hand. ‘Come on.’
She knew without his having to explain what he intended to do. She pulled her hand away, shaking her head. ‘You go,’ she urged.
And he remembered that she still would not go within the abbey. Giving her an encouraging smile, he hurried out of the little cell and ran off down the slope to the abbey.
He knew he ought to have sought out Abbess Caliste first, but he could not wait. He did not know where the sister he must find usually worked, and so wasted time searching down in the vale and in the infirmary, where a harassed nun carrying a reeking bowl of bloody bandages told him curtly to go and look in the herbalist’s hut.
Where, very shortly afterwards, he found her, calmly pouring a glutinous liquid into a small bottle.
‘I’m sure it’s not meant to be as thick as this,’ she greeted him. ‘I really need Tiphaine’s help, but she seems to have disappeared.’
‘Sister Estella,’ he said, leaning against the worn wooden workbench and trying to get his breath back, ‘I’ve come to ask you a favour, and I’m afraid it’s something quite unpleasant, although I hope that won’t prevent you agreeing.’
She put the bottle down carefully on the bench, then wiped her hands on her apron and turned to him, the big blue eyes serious. ‘I will help if I can, Sir Josse,’ she said. ‘What is it you want me to do?’
‘There’s a man in the punishment cell,’ he began, ‘and he’s been accused of—’
A look of relief spread across her round face. ‘Sir Josse, if you’re going to ask if I’ll take some remedies and bathe his wounds, you can set your mind at rest because it’s already been done.’ She looked down. ‘I must confess that it was not I who tended him, for I only went to help Tiphaine, and she did the work.’ Meeting his eyes again, she added, ‘We left him a special little pot of stuff that’s very good at preventing scarring, so probably he’ll mend well.’ The beaming smile she gave him suggested he would be as delighted as she was at this good news.
She really was a very sweet girl, Josse thought.
He reached out and took hold of her hand. Trying to think how best to phrase the question, he said, ‘Did you catch sight of his face, Sister? He was hooded when I saw him, but I recall that the guards took the hood off, once he was in the punishment cell.’
She was nodding. ‘Yes, they did. He was lying facing the wall when I went in to join Tiphaine, but then he turned and looked at us, and it was then I realized.’
She believes I already know, Josse thought.
Still careful not to betray his desperate impatience, he said, ‘Realized what, Estella?’
‘That he wasn’t the man who I spoke to down in the vale. The one I told you and Abbess Caliste about, when you wanted to know if there had been any strangers about back in January,’ she added helpfully.
He kept hold of her hand. ‘Are you quite sure?’ he asked urgently. ‘It’s dark in the punishment cell.’
But she was smiling, confidence radiating from her. ‘I am absolutely certain,’ she said. ‘I told you, didn’t I, about the Brown Man? How his skin was a beautiful colour, like glossy leather, and he had a beard and an earring and very dark eyes?’
‘Aye,’ he agreed, ‘you did.’
‘Well, the only brown thing about the prisoner in the cell is his robe, which, as you probably noticed, is an earthy sort of colour, and quite dirty, as if he’s been sleeping outdoors. Oh, his hair’s brown, too, but, as I told you, I never saw the Brown Man’s hair because he wore a cloth wrapped round his head, but his beard was black, not brown. The man in the punishment cell’s got very pale skin, nothing like the Brown Man’s, and his eyes are blue.’ There was a short silence. ‘Actually, he’s very handsome too,’ Sister Estella said thoughtfully.
‘I don’t suppose,’ Josse said, with more optimism than expectation, ‘you know who he is?’
Her face fell. Josse guessed that, having thought she was being so helpful, it was disappointing not to be able to provide the answer to his question.
‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. ‘Sorry, Sir Josse.’
Ninian was nearing the end of his journey. He was south-west of Paris, and now the roads were in better condition. The weather stayed fine, so he managed to keep up a consistent number of miles covered per day. Garnet was in good health – Ninian said a daily prayer of thanks each morning for that small miracle – and so was Ninian himself. To save the horse that had carried him faithfully over so many miles, often Ninian would dismount and walk for the last part of the day.
As he had travelled steadily north, he had been dismayed to find so many people going in the opposite direction. There were great companies of mounted knights, calling to one another in loud, braying voices about the exploits they were about to undertake, the fine lands in the south they were going to win. The heretic blood they were going to shed. There were also long lines of foot soldiers, slogging along with their heads down, determined expressions on their faces. They, too, were seeking the shedding of blood, and all in the Lord’s name. Even the lowliest of them expected to receive the reward of the promised remission of sins and the hope of fewer days in purgatory that the priests said awaited all the faithful who answered the call and went on crusade.
Ninian feared for the friends he had left behind. On many occasions, he had felt the urge to turn round and go back. Each time a firm voice in his head had said no. As he neared Chartres, the forbidding voice had become more authoritative, and he was quite sure it was his mother’s. Sometimes he even fancied a man’s voice joined hers, and the fancy took him that it might be that of his illustrious father . . .
Not that it was in the least likely, since, as far as he knew, his parents had not so much as set eyes on each other after the Christmas that he had been conceived. Josse was Ninian’s father; if not in the flesh and in the blood, then in the heart and the strong love between them. Nevertheless, Ninian could not prevent himself from wondering, just occasionally, about the man who had sired him. Would he have turned round and gone to help the bonshommes in their desperate fight?
No, came the voice in his head, because that fight is unwinnable. Only a fool takes up arms in a struggle in which he has no hope of victory.
Perhaps it was his father, after all.
Tiphaine had done all she could. Now there was nothing to do but wait; and, from the rumours flying around, she knew the wait would not be long.
She had slipped, unnoticed, back inside the abbey, and she was quietly working away in the little hut that had been her domain when she was Sister Tiphaine, the Hawkenlye herbalist. Abbess Caliste, bless her understanding heart, made no objection to Tiphaine’s presence, and the other nuns all took their cue from the abbess. Tiphaine still worked as hard as she had ever done, and she knew that the many ointments and remedies she constantly turned out were much appreciated. As was her wealth of wisdom, acquired over a long lifetime, much of which she was now intent on passing on to young Estella. Now she was a promising healer if ever there was one.
The rumours were spreading right there within the abbey walls, and it was precisely to pick them up that Tiphaine had returned. She smiled grimly to herself as she worked, thinking about the guards that Lord Benedict’s man, Tomas, had left to watch the prisoner. They obviously knew practically nothing about life within an abbey, and they had neither the intelligence nor the common sense to work out what it might be like. They appeared to think that women and men vowed to the service of God would be above gossiping like old wives round the well, and, in consequence, they didn’t bother to lower their voices when they spoke of confidential matters. Such as what the rider who had raced through the abbey gates that afternoon, both he and his horse in a lather of sweat, had come to tell them. And the effect his news had had on arrangements for the prisoner.
Two lay brothers tending the blowing horse, and a nursing nun heading for the infirmary had overheard the muttered conversation. It was not long before virtually the whole abbey knew what the messenger had come to say. Lord Benedict de Vitré had apparently had enough of making his prisoner suffer inside the punishment cell and was coming in person to fetch him next morning. The messenger had added a directive from Tomas to his men: Lord Benedict had commanded that the prisoner be kept fed and watered, so the guards had better make sure he got something to eat and drink, and they’d better clean him up a bit before morning.
Now Tiphaine was praying as she worked, her lips moving soundlessly as she repeated the same incantation, over and over again. It has to be tonight. Let it be tonight.
The plans had been laid, and everything was ready. They had not appreciated the urgency when the finishing touches had been put in place, but Tiphaine did not think it made any difference. Once they saw that the idea had a good chance of working, nobody was going to delay it by even a day.
It would be tonight. Tiphaine was quite sure of it.
As the day drew to a close, Josse wondered if he ought to set off for the House in the Woods. He did not in the least want to, for he was as tired as he ever recalled being. He was lying stretched out on Meggie’s bed in the cell by the chapel, boots off, soft pillow under his head, warmed by the glowing fire in the hearth. He and Helewise had been out all day, searching near and far through the forest once more, looking for any sign of Meggie, but they had found nothing. They had been forced to conclude that, wherever she was, she was far beyond their reach.
They had no answer for the question that had been burning through Josse since he had spoken to Sister Estella: if the unknown man in the punishment cell was the killer of the three brigands and Rufus, then with whom had Meggie had ridden away? If the prisoner wasn’t the Brown Man, then perhaps that dark stranger really was Meggie’s companion; but, if so, then why had he come to Hawkenlye, what was the sin he was preparing to commit when he had spoken to Sister Estella, and why – presumably having done whatever he was planning to do – had he hung around in the immediate vicinity for a further six weeks?
And, if the man in the punishment cell wasn’t the Brown Man, who was he?
It was too much for one head to contain, Josse thought with a deep sigh. Helewise, hearing him, looked up from her sewing. She was sitting on her own cot, her face glowing from the warmth of the hearth, and the scene would have been one of cosy domesticity had it not been for the anxiety that ripped the air like summer lightning.
‘Do you want to talk about it again?’ Helewise asked.
He smiled at her. ‘Not really,’ he admitted. ‘I can’t think of anything new to add, and you and I have been over it all so many times that my head’s spinning.’
‘Mine too,’ she said feelingly. She looked down at the neat darn she was making in the hem of one of Little Helewise’s robes. ‘At least I can keep my hands busy. It helps, believe me.’
‘Perhaps I should take up sewing,’ he said.
She had folded the garment and set it aside, and now she got up and went over to the corner where they stored their food. ‘I’m going to start on the meal,’ she announced, ‘such as it is.’
He, too, got up. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘You get on with the darning.’
She smiled at him. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I hope you’re not doubting my ability,’ he said.
‘Not in the least.’ There was a twinkle in her eyes that suggested the contrary.
He set water on to boil, and then peeled a few very tired-looking carrots to add, with some handfuls of oats, once it was ready. There was a little of the stock saved from yesterday’s pot, which would add some much-needed flavour, and half a mangy cabbage to shred into the mix. Little Helewise had promised to bring a loaf of bread back from the abbey when she returned. It was the most basic food, Josse reflected as he chopped and shredded, but probably better than most people would eat that night.
The pot was bubbling nicely when Little Helewise came in, her face flushed from the chill in the outside air. She flung the bread down beside Josse and, before he even had time to acknowledge it, said, ‘Josse, I’ve remembered something!’
Helewise, picking up her agitation, had swiftly got up and was now standing beside her, an arm round her waist. The girl leaned against her, and Josse noticed in that instant that both faces wore the same expression and were suddenly very alike.
‘Sit down,’ Helewise commanded, gently but firmly pushing Little Helewise on to her bed. ‘Get your breath back.’
Little Helewise was indeed out of breath, panting hard.
‘It’s the growing bump in the belly,’ Helewise said over her shoulder to Josse. ‘You can’t seem to breathe as deeply as you want to.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Josse said.
Little Helewise, recovering, gave her grandmother a smile. Then, eyes on Josse, she said, ‘I told you how I was awake when Meggie came to fetch her pack?’
He nodded, tense with anticipation.
‘Well, she said she’d found a way to bring Ninian home. That’s the bit that stuck in my mind, because suddenly I began to hope he might actually be with me again before – well, before the baby.’ Her hands went to the bump under her gown. ‘But just this evening I was talking to a woman in the infirmary, and she very much wanted to give thanks to God because she’s recovered from a fever, and since she’s got four children, all under six years old, it’s really important that she’s healthy, and she— Sorry, I’m digressing. Anyway, she was saying it was a shame nobody was allowed to go into the abbey church any more, and even the shrine in the vale was locked, and so I said she ought to slip away and come up to St Edmund’s Chapel, because nobody seems to watch it and it’s stayed open. I didn’t tell her about the secret down in the crypt, but I did say there’s a power in the chapel that particularly watches over mothers and children, and she said it was nice to think of a church being more about women and babies than men and their need for power, and then I remembered what else Meggie said!’
Her triumphant expression suggested she thought Josse and Helewise would understand without her telling them. With a frustrated frown at Josse, Helewise crouched by her granddaughter’s side and said, ‘You’ll have to tell us, since we weren’t there.’
‘No, sorry, of course you weren’t.’ Little Helewise took a steadying breath. ‘I’m pretty sure she – Meggie – thought I was more asleep that I was, because she was muttering quite a lot, and it didn’t really make much sense. She said something about the goddess’s resting place, and a summoning voice, and links in a chain, and she mentioned Ninian and her mother.’ She glanced at Josse, a quick look with an unspoken apology in her eyes. ‘She seemed to be driven, as if she’d heard a voice calling and suddenly everything made sense. As if—’ she paused, searching for the right words – ‘as if something that had greatly puzzled and worried her did so no longer, for the way was now clear.’ She stopped, eyes going from Josse to Helewise and back again. ‘Does it mean anything to you?’ she asked, her gaze resting on Josse. When he didn’t speak, she went on, ‘Oh, I’m sorry if I’ve raised your hopes for nothing, but I—’
He reached out and took hold of her hand, clasping it firmly. ‘Not for nothing, dear girl,’ he said, a grin spreading over his face. ‘And as for meaning anything, oh, aye, it does that, all right.’
He looked up at Helewise, whose expression suggested she understood the implications as well as he did. ‘What do you think?’ he asked her softly. ‘Shall you and I ride off again, with a little more purpose this time?’
She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to, for he could see her answer in her shining eyes.