Ashes of the Elements

Chapter Twenty-two

It was many weeks before Josse went back to Hawkenlye Abbey.

With the solutions to both murders now found, there had been no excuse for a visit. And Josse found that the prospect of calling on the Abbess purely for a friendly chat was, since that night in the forest, distinctly embarrassing.

We were not ourselves, he repeatedly told himself. We had been drugged, although nobody had intended it to happen. And anything we did or said under the influence of whatever that powerful potion was, we can scarcely be held responsible.

But, reason as he might, he found it hard to banish from his mind the image of a suddenly young-looking woman with reddish curly hair, whose throat was unexpectedly smooth and who nestled her bottom into his crotch as if she had been wed to him for a decade or more …

He took himself off to France, and paid his family in Acquin a prolonged visit. He stayed with them well into October, long enough to celebrate bringing home the last of the apple harvest and to enjoy with them the few days of leisure they allowed themselves after all the hard toil.

Sitting next to his sister-in-law Marie one evening, after a prolonged meal at which rather too much cider had been served, he found himself telling her all about Hawkenlye Abbey. And its Abbess.

‘A formidable woman,’ Marie commented, when, his lengthy reminiscences at last over, she could get a word in.

‘Formidable? No!’ he began, the protest instinctive. But, on reflection, that was probably how the Abbess would seem, to someone hearing about her at second hand. ‘Well, maybe,’ he amended. ‘But a good person to have at your side in a crisis.’

‘Evidently,’ remarked Marie. The baby at her breast ceased its suckling and gave a strangely adult-sounding little sigh. Marie looked down, her face full of love. ‘Had enough, ma petite?’ she asked softly.

‘She’s a beautiful child,’ Josse said, smoothing his smallest niece’s soft baby hair with his fingertips. ‘I’m glad I was here to attend her christening.’

‘As a good uncle should,’ Marie said. She shifted the baby on to her shoulder, rubbing the little back, and the child emitted a belch. ‘Ah, there’s a clever girl! Well done, my Madoline.’

The christening had taken place over a month ago. Thinking back, it made Josse realise how long he had been staying with his family.

‘I think I shall return to England soon,’ he said. ‘If I delay much longer, travelling will become steadily more uncomfortable.’ Wet roads that became like quagmires, and the ever present threat of autumnal gales in the Channel, were not an attractive prospect.

‘You won’t stay for Christmas?’ Marie asked.

Christmas! Good Lord, that was two months away! ‘No,’ Josse said vehemently. Then, since that was hardly courteous, added, ‘Tempted though I am, Marie ma cherie, I really want to be back in my own home well before that.’

She shot him an understanding look. She could, he was well aware, have made a far fuller response, but all she said was, ‘Very well.’

* * *

The country to which Josse returned, in a rare spell of warm, fine weather in the late autumn of 1191, was a land which had already begun to suffer from having an absentee king.

A land whose people were starting to feel uneasy. Or, at least, those of its inhabitants whose daily round took them to places where they heard the gossip that filtered down from the country’s centres of power.

Josse met a merchant on the boat that took him from France to England, and, within minutes of striking up a conversation, the man was complaining.

‘Mixed news from Outremer, so they’re saying in high places,’ the merchant remarked. ‘And we’ll all have to pay for it, I shouldn’t wonder, in the end. Victories and setbacks, so I was told.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Josse responded neutrally.

‘Aye.’ The merchant, leaning against the deck rail, shifted his position and made himself more comfortable. There was a brisk wind blowing from the south-west, right up the Channel, and the ship was bouncing like a lively horse. ‘Our King Richard, God bless him, thought to make a bigger difference than he actually managed, so I’ve been led to believe.’ He sniffed, hawked and spat over the rail. ‘Seems Acre’s still holding out tight against our Holy Christian army.’

Josse wondered where the man had acquired his information. Even a merchant with contacts throughout court circles surely had no magical way of divining what was going on half a world away. Did he? Yet, Josse had to admit, what the man said sounded unpleasantly likely.

‘King Richard is a great soldier and a fine leader of men,’ he replied, trying not to sound as if he were disapproving; the voyage across the Channel would be long and probably uncomfortable, and a decent bit of gossip would certainly help to pass the time. It wouldn’t do to give his sole fellow passenger the brush-off so soon after setting sail.

‘Aye, aye, I’m not saying he isn’t,’ the merchant said impatiently. ‘Still, there’s other things for a king to do, isn’t there?’ He gave Josse a sly look. ‘Other duties, if you take my meaning.’

Josse was quite sure he did. ‘You speak of the King’s marriage?’

‘Aye, I do that. Some exotic beauty, they say, from a hot southern land where oranges fall off the tree into your hand, where the sun burns a man’s skin to black, and where the women are wild-blooded and passionate.’ He swallowed, recovered himself and said more calmly, ‘Least, that’s what I heard. Lucky old King Richard, I say.’

Josse decided it was unlikely the man had ever travelled to Navarre. The lurid description of that country’s people didn’t accord at all with what Josse knew of them. ‘Queen Berengaria is said to be one of the beauties of the age,’ he observed.

‘Well, they say that about every lass ever crowned queen,’ the merchant said. ‘Still let’s hope for our good King Richard’s sake that they’re right this time, eh?’

‘Indeed,’ Josse mumured.

There was a brief and fairly companionable silence. Then the merchant reached down into a large pack at his feet, drew out a flask and, removing its stopper, offered it to Josse. He accepted gratefully — it was getting cold out on deck, and the wind was carrying spiteful drifts of hard, icy raindrops — drank, and felt the pleasant warmth of spirits flow down his throat.

‘Thank you,’ he said, returning it to the merchant, who took a rather larger sip.

‘To the King and the Queen,’ the merchant said, raising his flask. He shot Josse a look. ‘And to the fruit of their marriage bed.’

Josse said, with deep sincerity, ‘Amen.’

‘Been out of England long?’ the merchant asked presently.

‘Hm? Oh, a few weeks.’

‘You’ll not know what the King’s brother’s up to, then,’ the merchant said, the sudden glint in his eyes suggesting he was looking forward to enlightening this innocent stranger.

‘You speak of Prince John?’

‘Aye, I do.’

‘What has he done?’

The merchant chuckled. ‘Seems he’s made up his mind the King’s never coming back,’ he said. ‘Thick as thieves with that half-brother of his, Geoffrey, the one they made Archbishop of York, although for the life of me I never knew a man less suited to high church office, that I didn’t.’

‘They’re plotting, Prince John and the Archbishop?’ This was worrying news. ‘I understood that the King had banished his half-brother Geoffrey, banned him from ever setting foot in England again?’

‘Aye, he did, and a sensible move it was. Mind, he made the same ruling about Prince John, only his lady mother, the Queen Eleanor, persuaded him to relent.’ He gave a faint sigh. ‘Far be it for me to question the great and the good, but I do wonder what the dear Queen had in mind, bless her heart. Still, mother love knows no reason, does it, sir?’ Josse agreed that it probably didn’t. ‘Archbishop Geoffrey now, he came back even without being told he could — seems he put it about that it was ridiculous, him being archbishop of a city in a country he wasn’t allowed to live in!’

Yes, Josse thought, it was absurd. But, in the light of this new and disturbing information, how right King Richard had been, to try to keep his meddlesome, dangerous brothers out of his kingdom. Especially when he was so far away.

He was just about to ask the merchant to elaborate on what Geoffrey and John were up to when the merchant said, ‘Mind you, the King himself slipped up over that weasel Longchamp.’

‘His regent? Why, what’s he been doing?’

‘Pride’s gone to his head and lodged there, tight as a boot in a muddy ditch. Walks about with a sneer on his face, he does, like there’s a constant bad smell under his nose. Probably is, come to think of it.’ The merchant laughed briefly, and Josse joined in. ‘Our dear Prince John’s not the only one as finds him pompous and stuffed up with airs and graces.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Josse said lamely.

The merchant laughed again, a short bark that caused an answering squawk in a seagull hovering nearby. ‘You’ll not have heard what happened between them, Longchamp and Archbishop Geoffrey, when Geoffrey sneaked back into England? Stop me if you have, but it makes a good tale.’

‘I haven’t,’ Josse agreed. ‘Go ahead.’

The merchant shifted his position again, bracing one foot against the ship’s increasing motion. ‘Well, it was like this. When the Archbishop arrived at Dover, Longchamp’s men were waiting for him, and, being good and faithful King’s men, they didn’t hesitate in applying their absent King’s ruling.’ He grinned. ‘With more zeal than King Richard might have wished, I dare say, they seized Archbishop Geoffrey and flung him into Dover jail.’

‘A fine way to treat an archbishop,’ Josse said, with mock disapproval.

‘Aye, you’re right there! And Prince John, he didn’t hesitate to use it for his own advantage. Pretending to be outraged, he summoned all them bishops and justices and what-have-you to Reading, and persuaded them that Longchamp had no business being so high-handed with the half-brother of the King, and should be called to account straight away, and kicked out of office as soon as possible.’

‘He’s gone? Longchamp has gone?’ Josse demanded.

The merchant held up a finger. He was, it seemed, going to tell his tale his way. ‘Just you wait,’ he said, ‘and I’ll tell you. Longchamp, see, he isn’t anybody’s fool. He has his spies, everyone knows that, and he got advanced warning which way the wind blew. He told all them high-ups at Reading that he were too sick to travel, then he hid himself in the Tower of London. The bishops and that decided they didn’t need him present to deal with him, so they did. Deal with him, I mean. He’s out, out on his ear, and there’s not a man regrets it. And guess what Longchamp did then! Go on, guess! Bet you can’t!’

‘I’m not even going to try,’ Josse said, grinning. ‘You tell me.’

The merchant guffawed. ‘He only flees off out of England dressed as a woman!’ he said. ‘Him that hates the whole female sex! He’s a tiddly little fellow, and they say he made a fine woman, all done up in a green gown!’

Josse found himself joining in the laughter. He had met William Longchamp, briefly, and could imagine him dressed in woman’s clothes. Almost.

The merchant’s mirth was growing. Chuckling again, he said, ‘Just let me tell you what happened next, friend, then I’ll give you a chance to do a bit of the talking.’

‘I doubt if I could match you,’ Josse remarked, but the merchant didn’t seem to hear.

‘He gets to Dover, our Lady Longchamp, see, and starts looking round sharpish for a ship to take him across to France,’ the merchant said, interrupting himself with renewed laughter. ‘He’s standing there on the quay, looking this way and that, and up comes a sailor fresh from a long voyage, desperate for a woman to warm his bed, and the sailor puts his arm round Longchamp and says, good day, my pretty, fancy a bit of fun?’

‘Ha!’ Josse could picture it. ‘And did he? Fancy some fun?’

With a feigned frown, the merchant said, ‘I’m quite sure he didn’t. Not that sort of man, for all his unpleasant ways.’ Then, reaching once more for his flask, he gave Josse an encouraging look and said, ‘Now, sir, it’s your turn. Tell me what news you have of France.’

* * *

Josse’s homecoming to New Winnowlands was cause for celebration. Will and Ella, who had been expecting him for weeks, had taken a lot of trouble to make his welcome a thorough one, and, since Will had made sure that even the meanest household on the estate knew what a good master they had, Josse found himself hailed and cheerily greeted by everyone he met.

Sitting in his own hall, feet on a footstool in front of a huge blazing fire, a jug of Ella’s excellent mead to hand, Josse decided it was great to be home.

* * *

He went to pay a courtesy call on the community at Hawkenlye a fortnight before Christmas.

Sister Martha came out to take his horse, Brother Michael looked up from his sweeping to pass the time of day, Brother Saul, spotting Josse from some way off and actually running over to him, wrung his hand with pleasure.

It was, Josse thought happily as he went across the cloister to the Abbess’s room, as if he had never been away.

The Abbess, too, greeted him warmly. She asked him what he had been doing since the summer, and listened to his accounts of his family in Acquin and of his homecoming to New Winnowlands. He, in turn, asked after the Hawkenlye community, and she assured him that everything went well.

He said, after a small silence, ‘Is Esyllt still here?’

The Abbess smiled. ‘She is. I wondered when you would ask.’

‘May I see her?’

‘Of course. You know where to find her.’

* * *

As he approached the door of the retirement house, he heard Esyllt singing.

Ah, he thought. Then she is better.

He let himself in, quickly closing the door after him; there was a vicious easterly wind. He could see Sister Emanuel at the far end of the large room, bending over a patient who was inhaling the steam from some hot potion in a broad, shallow bowl. Esyllt was folding clean sheets.

She looked up and saw him.

A slow smile spread over her face as, putting down her laundry, she came to greet him.

‘I promised I’d come,’ he said softly.

‘You did,’ she agreed. ‘I knew you would, one day.’

Taking his hand, she led him right round the room, introducing him to her old people, stopping for a chat with those of her patients who were alert enough to want to talk to a stranger, passing by those who didn’t with a brief nod. One sweet-faced old nun, whose bright blue eyes gave the impression of missing absolutely nothing, took hold of Esyllt’s hand, squeezed it and said to Josse, as her loving glance bathed Esyllt, ‘She’s our delight, this lassie. She has a touch as gentle as a mother’s. Is it any wonder we love her?’

Esyllt, with a becoming blush, bent and dropped a kiss on the yellowing, deeply wrinkled flesh of the old woman’s cheek and muttered something that sounded like, ‘Pish!’

When Josse and Esyllt had completed the circuit, they went to stand just inside the door.

‘You decided to stay, then,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘A good decision, Esyllt,’ he murmured.

‘For now,’ she replied swiftly.

‘Only for now?’

She raised her face, and he looked into her bright eyes. For an instant, he felt he knew exactly what she was thinking: she was young, she had won and lost one love, but there was a world of lovers out there. Was it the only future for her, to stay shut away with her old dears, no matter how much she might care about them?

Aye, he thought sadly, aye.

But neither she nor he spoke of what must have been in both their minds. Instead, after a pause, she merely echoed his and her own words: ‘Only for now.’

* * *

He went back to sit with the Abbess, who had promised him a jug of mulled wine. As he knocked on the door and entered her room, he caught the aroma of spices.

‘That smells delicious,’ he said, sitting down.

‘It is delicious,’ the Abbess replied. She filled a pewter goblet, handed it to him, then, raising her own, said, ‘Welcome back.’

‘Thank you.’ He sipped at the wine. Wonderful! Then: ‘Young Esyllt will not, I fear, remain an old people’s nurse for ever.’

‘No, indeed,’ the Abbess agreed calmly. ‘She will marry, raise a large family, and then, God willing, remember her skills and return to the work she does so well.’

‘You think so?’

She smiled. ‘I pray so. Such a woman as she will always be needed.’

‘Hm.’ He paused, drank again, then said, ‘And Sister Caliste? What about her?’

‘Ah, Sister Caliste! Yes. For all that she is one of the youngest nuns ever to embark on her first final vows here with us, it was right, I think, to have admitted her as one of the fully professed. She is so happy, Sir Josse!’

‘I am glad,’ he said simply. One thought led to another, and he asked, ‘Did anything further happen, following that business in the summer? Seth Miller was released, I presume?’

‘Indeed.’ She frowned briefly. ‘No great cause for celebration, but I do hear tell that his near-miss with the hangman has had the effect of making him mend his ways.’ She sighed. ‘One can only pray that the improvement will be permanent, but I have my doubts.’

‘Have faith, Abbess,’ he said, in mock admonishment.

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘I do, Sir Josse. But I also have experience.’

‘Ah, yes.’ He inclined his head. Then, returning to his original question, said, ‘No further arrests were made, I take it, in connection with the two deaths?’

‘Three deaths,’ she corrected him.

‘Aye, three.’ He had temporarily forgotten about Tobias, and about poor Petronilla in her new widowhood.

‘No, no more arrests. Sheriff Pelham was content to conclude that the Forest People murdered Hamm Robinson, and Esyllt told him that Tobias killed Ewen Asher. Since the former are probably hundreds of miles away by now and the latter is even further from the Sheriff’s reach, there is, I suppose, little else he can do.’

‘Just as well,’ Josse murmured. A sudden image entered his mind, of a handsome young man, falcon on his wrist, riding out of the forest on a sunny summer’s morning. Tobias, he reflected, had given not the slightest sign that he was anything other than he claimed to be, a carefree fellow enjoying a morning’s hawking.

Whereas, but a few hours before, he had made love to his woman and stuck a dagger into the poor wretch who happened to disturb him.

A thought struck him. ‘Of course!’ he muttered.

‘Sir Josse?’

‘I was just thinking about Tobias, that morning I met him after we had discovered Ewen Asher’s body.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Aye. I’d always wondered what he was doing there, and I concluded that he was putting up a smoke screen. That, by being right there, so close to the murder scene, he was trying to persuade us that he’d had absolutely nothing to do with it.’

‘Quite a good idea,’ commented the Abbess. ‘Considering that it worked.’

‘Aye.’ He ignored her mild irony. ‘But, Abbess, that wasn’t the reason!’

‘No?’

‘No! Remember how Esyllt was dressed? Or, rather, not dressed? Mother-naked, from the waist down.’

‘I remember.’

He read in her slightly cool tone a faint reproof: must we speak of such things?

But he had his reasons. ‘Abbess, did you not wonder what had become of Esyllt’s undergarments? He-’

‘Tobias went back to fetch them!’ she finished for him, her voice excited, all coolness vanished. ‘Yes. Of course. How very incriminating, to find a woman’s clothing so close to poor Ewen’s body! And, once the connections had been made — the clothes belonged to Esyllt, and Tobias was her lover — then the trail would have led straight to him.’

‘Aye, aye,’ Josse said thoughtfully. Glancing at the Abbess, he said tentatively, ‘I can’t help thinking, Abbess, that maybe it’s for the best that events turned out as they did.’

She returned his gaze for a long moment. Then she said, ‘Neither can I.’

‘Hm. But I sometimes ache to tell someone what we saw, out there in the glade. Purely, I suppose, because I know I can’t.’

‘Do you, indeed?’ She looked amused. ‘I don’t.’ She paused. ‘But then,’ she went on softly, ‘I’ve already told someone.’

‘You have?’ Oh, dear God, he thought, has she really? Must the space between my shoulder blades itch for ever more in anticipation of a well-thrown flint-headed spear finding its mark?

‘Don’t look so worried, Sir Josse,’ she said, smiling. ‘I told a friend, an ever-present and steadfast friend, who loves me as he loves us all, and will not betray my confidence.’

‘Ah. Oh, I see.’ Yes. Of course. She had told the Lord, and He, no doubt, already knew.

She was watching him. ‘You should try it,’ she suggested.

He met her eyes. ‘Perhaps I will.’

* * *

He did not stay late at Hawkenlye. Darkness would fall early, and he was eager to be by his own fireside.

The Abbess came out to see him on his way.

Putting a detaining hand on Horace’s rein, she said, ‘I never thanked you, Josse, for what you did. In the summer.’

‘I did little,’ he replied. ‘The solution to the killings was hardly my work.’

‘Perhaps not,’ she said. Unusually for her, she appeared slightly awkward. ‘What I was thanking you for, actually, was saving my life.’

She did remember.

Trying to ignore the warm glow of happiness that was rapidly spreading through him, he said, ‘You wouldn’t have died, Helewise. Not one as strong as you.’

She shrugged. ‘Who can say?’

Then she let go of the rein and turned to go.

He called after her, ‘You know where I am, should you need me.’

But her only answer was a wave of her hand.