Chapter Twenty-one

Hawkenlye Abbey was in total darkness when Josse got back, which, given the hour, was hardly surprising. Heading down into the vale, he unsaddled Hector, put a hobble on him to stop him roaming far, then, slapping the horse’s rump, turned him out into the sweet grass of the little valley.

Then he made straight for the bed-roll he had abandoned in such a rush all those hours before. Wrestling around till he’d got himself comfortable, he closed his eyes and was soon deeply asleep.

* * *

Brother Saul woke him with bread, a slice of salty cheese and a mug of weak ale.

‘You were late back last night, Sir Josse,’ he said as Josse ate.

‘Aye.’

‘I have taken your horse up to the Abbey stables,’ Saul went on, ‘where Sister Martha is again tending to his every whim.’

Josse grinned. ‘A fine touch with horses, that woman.’

‘And with a particular fondness for yours,’ Saul agreed.

‘Thank you, Saul,’ Josse added, ‘both for seeing to old Horace and for bringing me my breakfast.’

Saul bowed his head in acknowledgement. ‘Sir Josse, I also bring a message from the Abbess, who says that, when you are ready, would you please-’

‘-go and see her,’ Josse finished, getting up and brushing food crumbs off himself. ‘Aye, Saul, that I will.’

He found the Abbess seated at the table in her room. She looked up at him, compassion in her face. ‘You look tired,’ she observed.

‘I’ll do,’ he replied, grinning. Then, straightening his face, he told her what had happened in the Durand hall.

‘Tobias dead!’ she whispered. ‘By such a mishap!’

He had been trying to decide all the way home the previous night if he would tell her the truth. Now, looking down at her, this wise, understanding woman, with whom he had shared so much, he decided he couldn’t have her go on believing a lie.

So he told her how Tobias Durand had died.

She made no comment. He felt strangely robbed, as if he had been expecting her affirmation that, in not revealing Petronilla’s part in the death, he had acted right.

As if, perhaps, he had needed that affirmation.

But, after a silence that he, for one, was beginning to find uncomfortable, she said, ‘It just goes to show, Sir Josse, does it not, how unwise it is to have unruly hounds free to trip a man at the top of his own steps?’

And he had all the affirmation he could have wished for.

* * *

Then he told her of Esyllt’s involvement.

‘A lover!’ she said, astonished. ‘Dear Lord, Josse, why didn’t we — I beg your pardon, why didn’t I — think of that? A young woman such as she, so lovely, so ripe, so at ease with life, why, it stands to reason that she was as she was because she both loved and knew herself to be loved in return. That, with him out there in the forest, she-’ Abruptly she stopped. With a faint blush, she said, ‘Well, best not to think of that, with the poor young man dead.’

‘It is charitable of you, Abbess, to think kindly on him, considering how he sinned,’ Josse said.

She looked up at him. ‘Who are we to judge?’ she asked. ‘And, in truth, he has paid dearly for his sin.’ She shook her head. ‘Such a waste, and-’ She stopped. Aghast, she whispered. ‘Does Esyllt know he is dead?’

‘Good God!’ Josse had uttered the blasphemy before he had stopped to think. ‘Your pardon, Abbess, I did not mean to offend.’

Frowning, preoccupied, she waved her hand in dismissal. ‘I know that, Josse, I know. She — Esyllt — was absent from the Abbey yesterday, and, as far as I know, has not yet returned. Sister Emanuel is gravely concerned about her, as indeed am I. She gave him a brief but sweet smile. ‘May I prevail upon you once more, and ask you if you will go and look for her?’

‘Of course.’ He smiled back.

‘Naturally, I will help,’ she said, getting up. ‘As soon as we have said Sext, I will set out.’

* * *

But Josse, who did not have to wait until after Sext, began to look for Esyllt straight away.

They met, those two lovers, up in the forest, he thought, walking out through the Abbey gates. In some clearing, probably not very far in, just far enough to be safe from the world’s eyes.

And-

He would not, after all, have to go back into the forest. For, walking slowly down one of the smaller tracks, on a route that would take her round the side of the Abbey and in at the rear gate, was Esyllt.

He ducked back through the front entrance, turned, and started walking, in no special hurry; it would take the girl more time to reach the old people’s home than it would him. At the far end of the infirmary he stopped, and, his body hidden by its stout walls, peered round to look out at the rear gate.

A few moments later, she appeared.

She still moved slowly, almost like a sleepwalker. Her head was bent so that he couldn’t see her face, but her whole demeanour spoke of misery and dejection.

As she drew level with the infirmary, he emerged from his hiding place and fell into step beside her.

Hearing his footsteps, she looked up.

‘Hello, Sir Josse,’ she said. Her voice was low.

‘Hello, Esyllt.’

They walked on towards the door of the retirement home.

‘Have you come to see my old dearies?’ she asked, with a faint shadow of her former sparkle. ‘You promised, you would, you know. And a true man doesn’t break his word, unless he cannot help it.’ A spasm crossed her face.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he said. ‘I will come, Esyllt, but not today. For now, I have to talk to you.’ He took hold of her arm, and they went round to sit on one of the sun-bathed stone benches.

He said gently, ‘I have come from Tobias’s house, Esyllt. I know about — I know what you and he were to one another.’

She nodded slowly. ‘Yes.’ Then: ‘What we were.’ Her eyes flew to his. ‘Oh, dear sweet Lord, then I was right!’

He put his arm aroud her. ‘Right about what, my dear child?’

‘He’s dead. Isn’t he?’

As kindly as he could, Josse said, ‘Aye, Esyllt. I’m afraid he is.’

‘How?’

‘By sheer accident. A hound tripped him, and he fell and hit his head.’

She gave a soft laugh. ‘Those hounds! I used to tell him he should train them better, they were always…’

But, as if she realised it didn’t matter any more, she stopped.

Then she said, ‘I knew. When he didn’t come last night, I knew.’

‘You were that close?’ Josse asked wonderingly.

‘Yes. And, you see, nothing would have kept him away. Nothing ever did.’

‘Except death,’ he said.

‘Except death.’

He waited, knowing what would happen. And sure enough, after a while, as the ill tidings sank in and she began to realise that, from now on, she would have to face life without him, gradually the strength went out of her. Crumpling, she sagged against Josse and cried as if she would never stop.

* * *

But, as people always do, she did.

And, later, when talking of Tobias was all she wanted to do — all she could do — she told Josse.

Told him much that he already knew, but, in addition, something he hadn’t even guessed.

It was the one thing, Josse surmised, listening to her, which would allow her to derive some faint comfort from her lover’s death. Because, now that he was beyond harm, beyond the reach of all earthly justice and retribution, Esyllt could reveal that Tobias Durand had killed Ewen Asher.

And that, on the full moon night when she had come running out of the forest straight into Josse and the Abbess, bloodstained, naked from the waist down, she had been running from the trysting place which Tobias had found for them.

‘We were making love,’ she told Josse with a reminiscent glow of joy. ‘He was deep inside me, we were so enthralled in one another that we never even heard Ewen racing and crashing through the undergrowth until he was almost on top of us. Then Tobias leapt up, all bare, his manhood still stiff and proud, and that Ewen, he said, Tobias Durant, by my faith! What are you doing here?’

‘How did they know one another?’ Josse asked.

Again, a brief smile. ‘Ewen sold Tobias a hawk once, but it took sick and died.’

‘Ah.’

‘Then Tobias picked up his dagger and killed him,’ her quiet voice went on. ‘He had to kill him, you see,’ she said earnestly, ‘because otherwise he’d have told her. Told Petronilla. And Tobias didn’t want that.’

‘It’s hardly surprising,’ Josse said wryly. ‘Clever people like Tobias don’t slay the goose that lays the golden egg.’

Esyllt took a moment to work that out, then, turning to him, said, ‘No, Sir Josse. You’re wrong. Oh, Tobias liked being a rich woman’s husband, of course he did. So would any man, brought up in miserable poverty like he was. But the reason he didn’t want Ewen Asher telling Petronilla was because he didn’t want to hurt her.’

‘You’re telling me,’ Josse said slowly, ‘that Tobias cared for his wife?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Esyllt said easily. ‘He had a loving heart, did Tobias. There was room for us both in it, her and me, only she didn’t see it that way.’

‘No, she wouldn’t,’ Josse murmured.

‘Hm?’

But the remark hadn’t really been intended for her ears. He said, ‘Nothing.’

* * *

He sat on with her for some time, still with his arm around her. She seemed calmer now, and it encouraged him to ask her what she would do now.

‘Now? Now, I’m going down to Tonbridge to tell that Sheriff Pelham. he can let Seth Miller go. There’s no reason for me to keep my secret, now Tobias is beyond the reach of the law.’ Briefly her face fell, but then, rallying, she gave a fleeting smile. ‘Not that folks will thank me for getting Seth set free, it’s been nicer hereabouts since the three of them, Ramm, Ewen and Seth, were out of the way. Still,’ she sighed, ‘you can’t execute a man just for being a rascal and a nuisance, can you?’

‘No,’ Josse agreed. ‘Just as well, there’d be bodies hanging from every gibbet in the land if we could.’

It was a feeble joke, but she gave an obliging chuckle.

He said, after a while, ‘I didn’t actually mean now, this minute, Esyllt. I meant, what will you do with your life?’

She sighed. ‘What a question, sir knight. I have no idea.’

‘You are valued here in the Abbey,’ he said.

‘You think I should become a nun?’

‘No, Esyllt, heaven forbid! I certainly do not!’ he exclaimed. This time, her laugh sounded more like the Esyllt of old. ‘I meant that I think you might consider staying right where you are, working with your old dears.’

She drew a sharp breath. ‘Stay here! Without him! Oh, but I don’t think I could do that.’

‘My lovely girl,’ Josse said gently, ‘you will miss him wherever you are. But here, although the memories will be more poignant, at least you will be engaged in valuable work, and work, moreover, for which you appear to have a singular aptitude. Would not that be a consolation, to be needed?’ He hugged her to him. ‘And, too, at least here you would be surrounded by familiar faces — friendly faces — to help you when you grieve.’

‘They’ll still be my friends?’ she asked, astonished, pulling away slightly and staring at him in disbelief. ‘Even when they know what I’ve done?’

‘Aye, child.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘Many of the good nuns, despite what you may think, probably have hidden memories of long-ago love, passion, even. Some of them may understand. And I don’t believe they would condemn you, not when Our Lord Himself, whom they worship and serve, taught us that we should love one another. And, although I know that the Abbess looks and, on occasions, sounds like a lion, I can assure you that she’s got a kind heart and a forgiving nature.’

Esyllt shot him a shrewd look. ‘And you speak as one who knows,’ she murmured.

‘Eh? What was that?’

At last, she gave a wholehearted smile that actually put a dimple back in her cheek. Laughing, she said, ‘Never you mind.’

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