Heart of Ice

Chapter 12

Josse and Augustus found no trace of Sabin de Retz on the journey back to Hawkenlye. That was not to say, as Augustus remarked, that she was not there, hidden away in some house where, out of charity, they had taken her in before the dread threat of the pestilence became common knowledge.

It was possible, Josse agreed, although from his knowledge of how gossip travelled in country districts — it was as unstoppable as rats in a hay barn — he privately considered it unlikely. Had the young woman in fact found sanctuary somewhere along the road, then he reckoned that one of the handful of people who had reluctantly opened their doors a crack to speak to him would have known about it. And, with no reason to keep it secret, they would have told him all about her, probably adding all sorts of highly colourful and unlikely speculative details for good measure.

Deep in the country, he mused as they approached Hawkenlye, it was so rare for anything unusual to happen that, when it did, people habitually made the very most of it.

‘D’you reckon she’s putting up in Tonbridge, then, Sir Josse?’ Augustus said, coming to ride alongside him as the track broadened; they were only a few miles from the Abbey now and soon would pass the turning that led down to the town.

Josse glanced at him, pleased to note that a day in the fresh air and away from his anxieties had put colour in the lad’s face. ‘She may be,’ he agreed, ‘although if she is and has been enquiring after Nicol Romley, then I imagine news of that would have reached Gervase de Gifford and he would have told us.’

‘He keeps his eyes and ears open, that one,’ Augustus remarked solemnly. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, ‘They do say he has spies everywhere.’

‘Do they?’ Josse hid a smile, amused at the concept of an innocent young lay brother such as Augustus knowing all about the sophisticated professional practices of the sheriff of Tonbridge.

‘Oh, aye,’ Augustus was saying, ‘we talk to lots of folks from down in the town when they come up to the Vale for the water and for Sister Tiphaine’s simples. They suffer terribly from the rheum down there, you know, Sir Josse — it’s all that water and marshland so close to where they live. It’s said you can’t tell a sheriff’s man from an innocent traveller putting in at Goody Anne’s for a mug of ale and a piece of pie, so well do they blend in with the company.’

‘How so?’ Josse was curious, and also cross with himself for his patronising attitude; just because a boy chose to live in an Abbey did not mean he had cut himself off from all contact with the rest of the world.

‘Because the sheriff recruits men and then tells them not to reveal that they work for him,’ Augustus said. ‘That way folks enjoying a drink at the end of a hard day’s work speak freely and it all gets back to the sheriff.’ Shaking his head with a frown, he added, ‘I couldn’t do that. Pretend to be friendly just so as to make a man talk, then sift out the important details and run to tell the sheriff.’ His intent eyes met Josse’s. ‘Could you, sir?’

‘I-’ Yes, I could, would be the honest answer but somehow he felt it would diminish him in Gus’s eyes. ‘Well, it would depend on the circumstances,’ he said evasively.

Augustus nodded. ‘I dare say there’s times in the sort of world you move in when such things are necessary,’ he said gravely.

The sort of world I move in, Josse echoed to himself.

The trouble was that sometimes he was no longer sure what that world was. .

Jerking his thoughts back to the present, he reminded himself that he had a job to do. As they approached the Tonbridge road, he said, ‘Gus, I’m going to ride down to the town right now to see if anyone has seen Sabin.’

‘Want me to come with you, Sir Josse?’

‘No, thank you. But I should be grateful if you would ride on to the Abbey and tell the Abbess where I am and that I shall report back to her on my return.’

‘I’ll do that,’ Augustus said. ‘Good luck, sir.’

The tavern was almost empty when Josse arrived and he was served with his mug of ale almost immediately. Goody Anne came hurrying in, apparently as pressed as ever, and, spotting Josse, immediately put a hand to the spotless cap covering her hair, straightened her voluminous apron and came over to the fire to speak to him.

‘Thought you’d found yourself another woman and abandoned me,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘How are you, Sir Josse?’

‘Well, thank you. And you, Goody Anne?’

The humour left her face and she sighed. ‘I am well, too, thank God,’ she said, ‘but business is dreadful. It’s these rumours of sickness up at Hawkenlye.’ Staring at him, suddenly she went ashen and took two very large paces back. ‘You’ve come from there?’ she whispered.

‘Aye, but do not fear, for they know how to keep the sick well away from the healthy.’

She did not look reassured. Keeping her distance, she said, ‘No offence, Sir Josse, and it’s not like me to turn away custom, especially now when things are so bad and when I’m that glad to see your friendly face, but would you be so kind as to finish your ale and leave?’

His initial hurt feelings quickly subsided as he studied her expression; her request clearly distressed her more than it did him. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I understand, and it was thoughtless of me to have come, my connection with the Abbey being common knowledge.’

Goody Anne nodded. ‘Knew you’d be reasonable, a fine man like you,’ she muttered. Then, as an afterthought, ‘Why did you come? They serve a good mug of ale up at the Abbey, so I’ve always been told, so you’re not here just for my brew.’

‘No. I’m looking for someone. A young woman, well dressed, mounted on a grey mare. She arrived in Hastings, went to Newenden and then came to seek me up at the Abbey, only-’

But Goody Anne’s pallor was back. ‘She followed the plague route, then,’ she whispered. ‘Hastings, Newenden, Hawkenlye.’

Josse had imagined this to be a secret known to few. He might have known better. ‘You have had no such guests here at the inn?’ he asked, already knowing what her response would be.

‘No.’ Goody Anne shook her head. ‘I’ve had no travellers putting up here with me in a week or more, Sir Josse. Folks are frightened and they stay within their own walls as much as they can.’

‘Is there anywhere else in the town that this young woman might be staying?’ he persisted.

Goody Anne thought for a moment. Then she said firmly, ‘No. I reckon not. I’d have heard about her if she were here.’

Josse finished his ale. ‘Will you let me know if she comes?’ he asked. ‘Her name is Sabin de Retz.’

‘If she comes, I’ll let you know.’ Goody Anne had already picked up his empty mug and was moving away towards the scullery. ‘If,’ she added, with a trace of her smile, ‘I can find anyone brave enough to ride up to Hawkenlye and seek you out.’

Josse rode next to Gervase de Gifford’s house on the edge of the town. De Gifford was relaxing before a blazing fire and just about to eat; he persuaded Josse to join him. Between mouthfuls of roast fowl with garlic sauce, Josse told the sheriff about the mysterious woman and her quest to find Nicol Romley, and how he and Augustus had gone to speak to Adam Morton.

‘. . but now she’s disappeared,’ he concluded. ‘No sign of her in Newenden or on the road, and Goody Anne says she’s not staying here in the town.’

De Gifford poured more beer into Josse’s mug, nodding. ‘I imagine Goody Anne is right,’ he said. ‘The young woman came from Hastings, you said, so could she have returned there?’

Josse sighed at the prospect of yet another couple of days in the saddle. ‘I suppose so,’ he said miserably. ‘Yet surely, if she is intent on finding out what happened to Nicol Romley, she would stay near to the place where he died?’

‘Does she know he’s dead?’ de Gifford asked.

‘She-’ Josse stopped. It was a good question and, he realised, one to which the answer might well be no. Adam Morton hadn’t told her, for when he encountered her Nicol was, as far as Morton knew, still alive. And surely Sister Ursel would have had more tact and kindness than to blurt out news of Nicol’s death the moment someone came asking for him.

‘She may not,’ he admitted.

‘The trail has led her to Hawkenlye,’ de Gifford said, ‘and to you. Wherever she is, I would guess that she is not far away for, until she has found you and learned news of the man she seeks, she will need to return there.’

‘I can’t just sit and wait for her to come back!’ Josse protested.

De Gifford smiled. ‘Unless you can find out where she’s hiding, you may have to.’ The smile left his face and he said quietly, ‘If you find this Sabin de Retz, Josse, persuade her, if you can, to see me.’ Before Josse could comment, de Gifford added, ‘Amid all our other concerns, let us not forget that I have poor Nicol Romley’s murderer to find and to bring to justice.’

It was fully dark by the time Josse got back to the Abbey. De Gifford had pressed him to stay for the night but Josse was anxious to speak to the Abbess. Hoping there would still be a light shining through the gap under her door, he walked as quietly as he could along the cloister.

She opened the door as he put up a hand to knock. ‘I thought you would not retire before we had spoken,’ she said by way of greeting. ‘Come in, Sir Josse, and warm yourself.’

He did as she said, removing his heavy gauntlets and stretching out his ice-cold hands to the small brazier that stood in one corner of the little room. Without turning round, once more he gave a report of his day’s findings.

She heard him out in silence and made no comment even when he had finished. Turning, he said, ‘My lady?’ but even as he spoke, it occurred to him that all but the final piece of news she would have already heard from Augustus.

Perhaps that explained her distracted look. .

She raised her head, met his eyes and said, ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse, I was listening but-’ She broke off with a small shrug, as if explaining herself were beyond her.

‘You’ve a great deal on your mind, my lady,’ he said kindly, ‘and, in truth, there is little in what I have just said to keep the attention.’ She made to speak but he went on, ‘Any new cases of the sickness?’

‘Sister Judith has a fever,’ she said dully. ‘And Sister Beata is very unwell with the bowel flux.’

‘I regret deeply that I have no power to use the Eye of Jerusalem,’ he said. ‘If only-’

‘Sir Josse, what if-’ she began, but instantly closed her mouth on whatever speculation she was about to make.

‘What if?’ he prompted her. ‘Please, my lady, share your thought with me.’

But she shook her head. ‘It is late,’ she said, ‘and I am weary beyond imagination, as indeed you must be too.’ She managed a faint smile. ‘Let us speak in the morning, Sir Josse.’

He watched her but she would not look at him. With unease stirring deep within him, he bowed and left the room.

She might be sufficiently exhausted to sleep, he thought a long time afterwards. I thought I was, too.

But there was something wrong, something she could not bring herself to tell him. Knowing her as well as he did, it had been a surprise to see an expression on her face that he had never seen before.

When she had started to ask him something, only to stop again almost instantly, she had looked almost. . He thought hard for the right word.

She had looked ashamed.

Helewise had been asleep but it had been a brief surrendering to her fatigue and had only lasted a few hours. Now she lay wide awake, demons racing around her head.

I have begun on a course of action that will bring Josse face to face with something that will change his life, she thought miserably. I have done this for a very good reason and, when he finds out, he will understand that I had to do everything within my power to save the lives of the sick who have come here for help.

He may well understand, the thought continued. But will he ever forgive me?

And I have sent Sister Tiphaine into danger, she went on remorselessly, determined to face up to the full horror of her actions. She went into the forest — or so I conclude, for she has not been seen in the Abbey all day — and she has not come back.

Oh, supposing something had happened to her! Supposing night had come upon her when she was alone out there, lost in that terrible place, and even now she was lying injured, with wolves circling and those strange forest people threatening her with death for having trespassed in their lands!

Sister Tiphaine is in no danger from the forest people, the sensible part of Helewise’s mind told her firmly. She has regular contact with them and knows their ways better than you do; she will be fully aware what she can and cannot do out in the forest and she is probably tucked up quite safely somewhere. The only reason for her continuing absence is probably that she has not yet fulfilled her mission.

It was a comforting thought but Helewise soon came up with something else to worry about.

Her mission. Yes, Sister Tiphaine’s mission.

And, unfortunately for Helewise, that brought her straight back to Josse.

She lay awake, restless and very anxious, for what remained of the night.

In the morning Josse made it his first task to seek out Sister Ursel.

‘The young woman who came here looking for Nicol Romley,’ he began, after greeting her and exchanging a few remarks about the weather, which was still cold and clear.

‘Sabin de Retz,’ Sister Ursel said promptly.

‘Aye. Sister’ — he paused, wondering how to phrase his question without giving offence — ‘Sister, when she asked after him, obviously the name was familiar to you and you knew to whom she referred, but-’

‘I didn’t tell her he was dead, if that’s what you’re asking,’ Sister Ursel interrupted, not looking the least offended. ‘I knew what his name was, of course — you can’t keep a thing like that a secret in a community such as Hawkenlye — and I recognised it when she spoke it. But it wasn’t my place to break the news to the poor lass, Sir Josse, especially not when she’d just asked to speak to you. I knew you’d be able to tell her far more about the whole sorry business than I could,’ she added confidently.

I don’t know that I could have done, Josse thought ruefully. ‘I see,’ he said.

‘Anyway,’ Sister Ursel concluded, ‘standing by the gate is no place to receive bad news, eh, Sir Josse?’

Smiling, pleased with himself for having so accurately guessed what Sister Ursel would say, he agreed that it was not. He left the porteress with strict instructions to inform him the instant Sabin de Retz returned — if she returned — and was just trying to decide whether now was the moment to speak to the Abbess and demand to know what was the matter with her — apart from a murder on her doorstep and a ward full of desperately sick people, he thought ruefully — when someone called out his name.

Turning, he saw Brother Augustus running towards him.

‘Good morning, Gussie,’ Josse greeted him. A sudden chill caught at him; was Augustus racing to bring bad news? ‘How is Brother Firmin?’

Augustus stopped, panting, and said, ‘He is still holding out, Sir Josse. I have been praying since I awoke and they tell me Brother Firmin is praying too.’

‘When — if the moment comes, Gus,’ Josse said gently, ‘then surely he will soon be with God in heaven.’

Augustus looked faintly surprised that Josse might even be thinking anything to the contrary. Then, with a shake of his head as if to drive out that thought and proceed to another, he said, ‘It’s not about him that I’ve come looking for you. It’s about the young woman.’

‘Sabin de Retz?’ As if there could be any other young woman.

‘Aye.’ Augustus sounded impatient, as if he too thought the interjection unnecessary. ‘Sir Josse, when I wasn’t praying for Brother Firmin I’ve been thinking about where she might be. Like we were saying yesterday, it’s unlikely anyone’s taken her in, what with the sickness and that, and I’d guess you found no trace of her in Tonbridge for the same reason.’

‘You guess right,’ Josse agreed.

‘Well, there’s one sort of place where they never turn people away even if the whole county falls ill,’ Augustus pressed on eagerly. Then, when Josse didn’t instantly reply, he cried, ‘Places like Hawkenlye! Religious foundations!’

God’s boots, but the lad was right! ‘Well done, Gussie,’ Josse said, clapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. ‘Even now she could be joining the community at their prayers in. .’ He realised he had no idea where the nearest religious house was. ‘Er, where might she be, d’you think, Gus?’

Augustus smiled. ‘There’s West Abbey,’ he began, ‘that’s north of here and they’re Benedictine nuns, only the place burned down a few years ago and I don’t know if they’ve rebuilt their guest quarters. There’s the canons down at Otham, but they’re in the middle of plans to move their foundation somewhere more suitable and I doubt they’ve much accommodation for guests either. There’s St Martin’s at Battle and then there’s. .’

But Josse had remembered something. A year ago, when word had first come of King Richard’s capture and imprisonment, Queen Eleanor, beside herself with anxiety, had sent two trusted abbots out to Speyer to see the king and report back to her. One abbot came from. . where was it? Boxley, aye, that was it, and wasn’t Boxley up near Rochester? The other envoy was the abbot of Pont Robert, or Robertsbridge, as the people called it. And Robertsbridge was only some fifteen miles south of Hawkenlye.

‘Robertsbridge!’ he cried.

Augustus shot him a glance. ‘I was just going to say Robertsbridge.’

‘What do we know of the place?’ Josse demanded eagerly.

Augustus had a think and then said, ‘It’s run by the White Monks and they’re farmers and foresters. The Abbey’s tucked away in the forest, like all Cistercian houses, because the monks aren’t allowed near towns.’

‘Would they accommodate a young woman like Sabin de Retz?’

Augustus shrugged. ‘I can’t say for certain, but the Cistercians are known for their charity and their care of the poor.’

‘It doesn’t sound as if Sabin is poor,’ Josse said, half to himself, thinking of the grey mare and the fur-lined gloves.

‘Maybe the old White Monks wouldn’t be above letting her stay anyway but rattling the poor box under her nose,’ Augustus said shrewdly.

Josse grinned. ‘Very possibly,’ he agreed. ‘Is it a good road to Robertsbridge, Gus?’

‘Reckon so, Sir Josse. It’s the Hastings road nearly all the way.’ Returning Josse’s smile, he said, ‘Want me to ask leave to go with you?’

‘Aye, do that, lad. I’ll go and tap on the Abbess Helewise’s door and explain where we’re going.’

He found the Abbess sitting behind her table. She seemed to have plenty to do, judging by the rolls of parchment spread out in front of her and the stylus in its horn of ink, but Josse had the distinct impression that, immediately before he went in, she had been staring into space. The look of anxiety on her face barely diminished as she greeted him.

‘Sister Beata is dead,’ she said.

It had been expected, Josse well knew, but nevertheless the news hit him like a fist in the stomach. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘She was a loving and a lovable woman.’

‘She was,’ the Abbess agreed. Raising dull eyes briefly to meet his before she looked away again, she said, ‘What is it, Sir Josse? As you see, I am busy.’

What is the matter with her? he wondered yet again. The death of Sister Beata was hard to accept, aye, but normally under such circumstances the Abbess would surely have derived comfort from talking over her grief and pain with Josse. And here she was, hinting that the sooner he said what he had to say and got himself out of her presence, the better she would like it.

Coolly he said, ‘Brother Augustus has come up with the bright suggestion that Sabin de Retz is probably lodging in a religious house. He and I are off down to Robertsbridge, it being the nearest one to us, to see if we can find her.’

‘I see,’ the Abbess said neutrally.

He waited, but it did not appear that she was going to say any more. ‘I’ll come and find you when we return.’ He realised he had sounded curt but just at that moment he didn’t care.

He spun round and strode out of the room, closing the door rather forcefully behind him. He thought he heard her cry out his name but when he paused to see if she would call again, there was nothing but silence.

He hurried on to the stables, where he found that Augustus had prepared the horses and, wrapped warmly in his cloak, was already mounted on the Abbey cob. Trying to put the Abbess out of his mind, Josse got up on to Horace’s broad back and led the way out through the gate and away south-eastwards.

Helewise sat, miserable and alone, in her room. She knew she must get up and set about the preparations for Sister Beata’s interment but she had no heart for the task. She knew too how the death of one of their own was going to affect an Abbey full of people already stretched beyond the limit and that somehow she must find the words to rally the community, remind them that God’s purpose is often unclear and exhort them to go on giving of their very best without expecting any immediate reward.

She had little heart for that, either.

Sickness, misery, death and grief. Am I, she cried in silent agony, expected to be immune from distress? Sister Beata is dead, Sister Judith is very ill and Brother Firmin is at death’s door, and there is no time for me to lament, to weep, to ask God why this pestilence has come to us.

And above all that — as if it were not enough — she was expecting at any moment to receive word that Sister Tiphaine had returned. Trying to control her turbulent, panicky thoughts, Helewise realised that she did not know which of the two possible outcomes she was hoping for: that Tiphaine would return without Joanna, thereby losing any chance the Abbey nursing nuns might have had of employing the Eye of Jerusalem; or that the herbalist would bring Joanna back with her and that Helewise would have to find a way of breaking the news to Josse, when he got back, that the woman he had loved and lost was within the Abbey precincts.

Neither outcome, Helewise’s miserable thoughts concluded, would happen if Tiphaine were lost or hurt within the mighty forest. .

Not expecting any great measure of success, she pulled a parchment towards her, picked up her stylus and listlessly set herself to work.