Fortune Like the Moon

The Second Death
Chapter Ten

Josse had been offered accommodation in the shelter down in the vale, where pilgrims coming to the shrine were put up. Just as he had suspected, it was not particularly comfortable, but the floor was swept and the straw filling of his palliasse was reasonably fresh.

Whether or not it was because rumours had spread about the recent murder, at present there were no visitors to the shrine. Few, if any, pilgrims were arriving during the long, warm summer days to take the miracle waters; certainly, none were asking to be accommodated overnight.

Josse was inclined to be impatient with a man — or a woman — who would let a surely unreasonable, superstitious fear stand between them and a possible cure for whatever sickness or trouble ailed them. Why, the greatest fool in the kingdom could see, couldn’t he, that this was no random crime of violence? That, whoever had slaughtered Gunnora, he had somehow been involved in her secretive, complicated life?

No. He corrected himself. Of course they couldn’t see it. For Josse’s speculations had been shared with no one but the abbess, and she, he was quite sure, hadn’t been passing them on.

No. As far as the outside world was concerned, this murder remained what it had been from the start. A random crime committed by a released prisoner.

Mentally putting spurs to himself, Josse vowed to increase his efforts and prove, once and for all, otherwise.

Settling down as best he could in his solitary discomfort, he closed his eyes and made himself relax.

* * *

He did not sleep well. Disturbed by dreams of violence and by the conviction that there were living things within the straw, things, moreover, determined to feast off his blood, it was a relief when the faint grey of dawn lightened the eastern sky.

He got up and, scratching, went outside and walked the short distance to the latrine, hidden behind a paling fence. He held his breath as he relieved himself. It appeared to be some time since the trench had been dug, and the contents now neared ground level. Then he crossed to where a trough of water stood against the wall to the rear of the shelter. Plunging his head into it, he scrubbed at his short-cropped hair and splashed the back of his neck. It served to bring him to full wakefulness, even if he didn’t feel a great deal cleaner. On his wrists, he noticed, were several rough circles of small red bites, which, he was sure, hadn’t been there when he went to bed.

I’m getting soft, he decided as he stood staring out at the scene before him, the details gradually clarifying as daylight brightened. Shaking the drops of water out of his ears, he thought, fleas, lice, a hard pallet and the constant stench of shit, what should they matter to a former soldier? I’m too used to the comforts of court, to the pleasure of cleanliness. To the sweet perfumes of the ladies of Aquitaine. I must accustom myself to different standards here.

Outside the narrow world of the convent, the English, Josse had been discovering, stank.

His thoughts wound to a halt as his eyes focused on an object on the path. The smaller path, the one that led to the pool.

The path where Gunnora had been found.

Not pausing to raise the alarm, he was off, running as fast as he could. Although, even then, some deep awareness within him was telling him it was too late for haste.

She was lying face-down, and her head and shoulders were under the water. Grabbing her by the tops of her arms, he dragged her backwards, then, turning her on to her back, he put his cheek right by the partly open mouth.

He could feel not a whisper of breath.

Her face was dead white, the lips blueish. Her tongue, protruding slightly, looked swollen. Rolling her over on to her front, he pressed down with his hands and leaned his weight on her back, at the level of the lungs: he had seen a man saved that way once, seen how the pressure squeezed the water from the body, brought the victim back from the brink so that he coughed out the muck in his throat and drew a life-restoring breath …

But that man had been under water for a matter of minutes. And this girl, this poor girl, had, Josse was forced to recognise, been immersed for hours.

She was quite dead.

He sat back on his heels, staring down at her. He felt tears running down his face, and brushed them away.

Her hair, he noticed absently, had been reddish. Curly, springy. It would have been sad when the day came to clip it short for the donning of barbette and wimple. He hadn’t noticed it yesterday … No. Of course not. Yesterday she had been wearing the short black veil of the postulant.

He took off his tunic and draped it over her head and the upper part of her body. Then, bare-chested, he went to find Abbess Helewise to tell her that Elvera had drowned.

* * *

If the Abbess were surprised at being summoned by a half-naked man before Prime, she gave no sign. Very shortly after Josse had located one of the sisters on night duty in the hospital, and told her the brief details of his urgent mission, Helewise had appeared, gliding down the steps from the dormitory, perfectly dressed, bringing with her a faint scent of lavender.

She, Josse thought absently, was indeed the exception to the general rule. She was as sweet-smelling as an Aquitaine gentlewoman.

‘Good day, Sir Josse,’ she greeted him. ‘It was you who found her, Sister Beata tells me?’

‘Aye, lady.’

‘Drowned.’

‘Aye. Drowned.’

She was having the same dreadful thought; he could read it in her eyes. She glanced over her shoulder, but Sister Beata had gone back to the hospital. Drowned postulants, her attitude seemed to say, were not her business, not while she had the sick and the suffering in her charge.

‘Do you think she died at her own hand?’ Helewise asked quietly.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It’s possible.’

She was nodding slowly. ‘We both noticed her state of mind yesterday,’ she said, in the same quiet, controlled tone. But he noticed the agitated hands, the strong fingers pulling at each other. As if she realised, she folded her hands and hid them away inside her sleeves. ‘I should have stayed with her, comforted her,’ she went on. ‘If she took her own life, I am to blame.’

He wanted to shake her. Tell her that, ultimately, every man and woman on God’s earth is responsible for themselves. That, if a soul is intent on self-destruction, that is their choice.

He said simply, ‘If she took her own life, Abbess, it was because it had gone so terribly awry that she considered it no longer worth the living. And that, you must agree, is not something for which you must blame yourself.’

She didn’t answer for some time. Then, after a faint sigh, she said, ‘We had better arrange for her body to be brought up to the Abbey.’

‘Not just yet.’ He heard the urgency in his voice. ‘I only had the briefest look at her. Let us return together. There may be things we can learn.’

She gazed at him. She seemed hardly to hear, and he wondered if she were in shock. Then abruptly she gave herself a shake, and said, ‘Of course. Lead the way.’

* * *

She made a detour from the track to go to the lay brothers’ quarters, and he heard her telling one of them about this latest death. ‘Come along in a little while,’ she said, ‘and bring something on which to carry her.’

The lay brother glanced at Josse, made some remark, and disappeared inside the shelter, to emerge with a brown robe in his hands. He nodded towards Josse.

The Abbess, returning to him, handed him the robe. ‘With Brother Saul’s compliments,’ she said.

‘I am sorry to appear before you like this,’ Josse said belatedly, putting on the robe. ‘My tunic covers her face.’

The Abbess nodded.

Then, silently, they went on to Elvera.

* * *

It was Abbess Helewise who noticed the marks on Elvera’s throat, purely because, out of delicacy, Josse had left it to her to unfasten the neck of the robe and expose the soft, creamy flesh.

Josse had been inspecting the girl’s hands — the right, which had been in the water, was dead white and crinkled, but the left had been on dry land, and there was something about it he wanted to show the Abbess — when he suddenly noticed Helewise’s stillness.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘What is it?’

Helewise pointed.

Elvera had a long neck, slim, graceful. At the front, neatly, side by side, were two clear thumb marks. And descending down the soft skin behind each ear were two rows of finger marks.

As Josse watched, Helewise put her own hand over the marks. Whoever had done this had hands considerably larger than hers.

‘She was throttled,’ Josse said quietly. ‘I would think, by a man.’

Helewise was stroking the bruised neck, tenderly, as if trying to assuage the pain of the wounds. ‘Throttled,’ she repeated. Then, looking up, she met Josse’s eyes. ‘God help me, but I am so very glad. I was so afraid that she had killed herself,’ she said, speaking rapidly.

He understood. Knew, too, even from his brief experience of her, that, by and by, she would realise what she had just said.

He did not have to wait long. With a sort of gasp, she stopped her ministrations, put both hands to her face and said from behind them, ‘What have I said? Oh, dear God, I’m sorry!’

He watched her anguish, aching with sympathy. He did not know what to do; on balance, it seemed best to do nothing. Pretend he hadn’t noticed. He gave a brief rueful smile; that would be impossible.

After some moments, he said, ‘Abbess, I don’t want to intrude, but Brother Saul…’

She removed her hands from her face. She was ashen, and the anguish in her eyes made his heart ache for her. She said, very quietly, ‘Thank you for the reminder.’ With a visible effort, she pulled herself together. She bent over Elvera’s body, and, as if she were tucking the covers around a sleeping child, rearranged Josse’s tunic over the girl’s head. Then, standing up, she turned to look up the path towards the shrine. ‘Brother Saul is on his way,’ she said, in what sounded very like her normal tone.

Josse looked too. ‘Aye.’ Then, suddenly remembering the mass of footprints at the place where Gunnora had been found, obscuring any trace a fleeing killer might have left, he hurried along the track and spoke briefly to Saul. Then, very aware of both Saul’s and the Abbess’s eyes on him, he began to walk slowly along the path in the other direction.

The short grass on the path was dry, the earth hard-baked, and there was little chance he’d find anything. But then he saw a disturbance in the longer grass between the path and the pond; it looked as if someone’s foot had missed the path and slipped sideways into the softer gound at the edge of the water.

Hardly daring to hope, he knelt down and went forward on all fours.

Very gently, he parted the long grass. And saw, quite clearly, the marks of running feet. Whoever it was had taken three … four … five paces on the softer ground. Perhaps he had been looking back over his shoulder at what he had left behind him, and not noticed that he was no longer running on the path. But he had certainly been running, there was no doubt of that. The prints were of the front part of the foot, and the toes had dug deep into the soft ground as if he had been pushing himself as hard as he could.

Josse stared down at the footprints.

And, as he did so, pieces of the puzzle started to fit together.

He got up and walked back to the Abbess, beckoning to Brother Saul; it was safe for him to advance now. For any number of people to churn up the ground, as long as nobody obscured those tell-tale prints on the margin of the pond. Not, at least, until Josse had found some way to make a cast of them.

* * *

Helewise walked up the slope to the Abbey behind Josse and Brother Saul, neither of whom seemed to find their sad burden very heavy. They had lain her on a hurdle — was it, Helewise wondered absently, the one on which Gunnora had been carried? — and both Saul, at the head, and Josse, at the feet, seemed slumped in sorrow.

They entered inside the walls. Brother Saul turned to her. ‘To the infirmary, Abbess?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. Wait, Saul, I’ll ask Sister Euphemia where we should put her.’

She walked ahead, and Sister Euphemia came out to meet her. With a brisk nod — Euphemia, Helewise was well aware, always coped with grief by an ostentatious display of efficiency — she indicated a little side ward, nothing more than a curtained-off recess. ‘In here, please,’ she said.

It was where she had laid out Gunnora.

The men carried Elvera’s body inside, and Helewise watched as they placed it on the narrow cot. They were turning to go when Helewise, removing Josse’s tunic from the corpse, silently returned it to him. For a moment he stared at her, and she could not read what was in his face. Then, with his usual brief bow of reverence, he was gone.

I do not deserve reverence, Helewise thought. Not this morning.

Guilt was still strong in her. She had a fierce need to put herself to some disagreeable task, force herself, in charity, to do something she hated.

Taking a deep breath, she said to Sister Euphemia, ‘It is not fair that you alone should bear the burden of the laying-out of a second young victim, Euphemia. If you will permit it, I will assist you.’

Sister Euphemia’s round eyes reflected her astonishment. ‘But, Abbess, you-’ Abruptly she stopped. She was too well-schooled to question her superior, even though, as Helewise well knew, she must be perfectly aware of Helewise’s squeamishness. ‘Very well,’ she said instead. ‘First thing is to get the poor lass’s habit off her — it’s wet almost as far as the waist. We’ll put her in a dry one for burial.’

Helewise made her reluctant hands get to work, unfastening the black gown, peeling it off the poor cold body as Euphemia propped the dead girl up. The bruises on the girl’s neck were livid now, showing up more clearly than they had done down by the water. As the garment came clear of the breasts, Euphemia made a small exclamation.

‘What is it?’ Helewise asked.

Euphemia didn’t answer. Instead she took the neck of the robe in both hands and, more swiftly than Helewise had been doing, pulled it right down to the girl’s thighs. Then she unfastened the undergarments and removed them too.

Then she put her hand on the girl’s belly, low down, just above the pubic bone. Frowning, she paused for a moment, her hand exploring the area. Then she said to Helewise, ‘Abbess, I must make an internal examination. I’m sorry, but it’s necessary.’

Helewise had opened her mouth to protest. But then she closed it again, and gave a quick nod.

She couldn’t bring herself to watch.

After a short time, Euphemia said, ‘You can open your eyes. I’m done.’

Helewise did so. She noted with relief that Euphemia had covered Elvera from shoulders to thighs with a piece of sheeting. Reaching beneath it, Euphemia stripped the dead girl’s clothes right off her body.

Then, without looking at Helewise, said, ‘She was pregnant. About three months gone, I’d say at a guess, maybe a little more. I thought she was when I saw her breasts — that darkening of the nipples is a fairly reliable sign, young girls usually have rosy pink ones, specially redheads like her. But when I felt her belly, I knew. I can feel the enlarged womb.’

Helewise, shocked to her core, stood staring at Euphemia in utter silence.

Mistaking this, Euphemia said, ‘I’m quite sure, Abbess. There’s no doubt about it.’

‘I wasn’t doubting you.’ Helewise had difficulty speaking with a suddenly dry mouth. ‘Three months gone, you said.’

‘Perhaps more. The womb’s just peeping above the pubic bone.’

Helewise nodded absently. A couple of weeks here or there didn’t really make a lot of difference. The crucial fact — from Helewise’s viewpoint, at least — was that Elvera had been pregnant before she entered the convent. By at least two months.

‘Did she — would she have known?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes.’ Euphemia nodded for emphasis. ‘She couldn’t not have done, unless she was a total innocent, which somehow I doubt.’ She gave the body on the cot an affectionate look. ‘Little chatterbox, she was, and many’s the time I’ve had to reprove her for her light-hearted ways, even in the short time she’s been with us. But I’d not have said she was the sheltered sort of lass who didn’t know the facts of life. She’d have missed her courses, a couple or three times, her breasts would have been tender, she’d have needed to pass her water more than usual. She’d have been sick a few times, likely as not, and sometimes found herself suddenly bone-achingly tired.’

Helewise could well recall the symptoms of early pregnancy. ‘Quite so.’ Her brain was working hard, trying to remember the full details of the background Elvera had related on her admission to her postulancy.

A background, Helewise now realised, which was total fiction. For, although some aspects would not come readily to mind, the one thing she did remember — because Elvera had emphasised it by at least one repetition — was that she was not interested in men and could never envisage herself having children.

Both of which statements, in the light of this new and alarming discovery, were complete falsehoods.