The Enchanter's Forest (38 page)

     She paused. Then, surprising Josse with the firm conviction behind her words, stated baldly, ‘Whoever else they may or may not belong to, those are not the bones of Merlin.’

     ‘So Sir Josse also believes, Sister, having been shown a mysterious site in Brittany which appears to have a better claim to be Merlin’s burial place. But—’

     ‘Forgive me for interrupting, my lady, but that’s not the point.’ The infirmarer’s face was flushed. ‘Those aren’t any man’s bones. For all their size, I know I’m right because in this instance I know what I’m talking about.’ She paused. Then she said, ‘Those are the bones of a woman.’

Chapter 18

‘Sister Euphemia, how can you possibly be so sure?’ the Abbess demanded.

     They were back in the Abbess’s room, she herself seated behind her table, the infirmarer, Josse and Sister Caliste standing in a row before her.

     Sister Euphemia did not seem at all put out by her superior’s impatient question. ‘I have long worked as a healer, my lady, as you well know,’ she replied calmly. ‘Before I entered Hawkenlye, I was a midwife. I have laid out my fair share of dead bodies and sometimes those I prepared for their graves had been long dead. I know full well the differences between the skeletons of a man and a woman. There are two main things to look for,’ she went on eagerly, ‘first, the skull, where normally the ridges above the eyes are much more pronounced in a man than in a woman.’

     ‘The skull had quite large brow ridges,’ the Abbess remarked.

     ‘Aye, my lady, but the woman in that grave must have been a veritable giantess and that doesn’t surprise me. It’s the other difference that makes me so sure.’

     ‘And that is?’ demanded the Abbess.

     ‘The pelvis, my lady. It’s one shape in a man, quite another in a woman. Stands to reason, really, when you keep in mind that a woman’s designed to bear children. You need a good, wide opening between the bones to let a baby pass out and, believe me, I’ve seen what problems can crop up when a woman’s too narrow down there. Why, sometimes—’

     ‘Thank you, Sister,’ murmured the Abbess.

     ‘Sorry, my lady.’

     ‘That’s quite all right.’

     There was a small silence. Then the Abbess said, ‘So you are in absolutely no doubt that the skeleton in Merlin’s Grave is female?’

     ‘None whatsoever.’

     Another silence, again broken by the Abbess, who, addressing the room in general, asked, ‘Has anyone else a relevant observation to report?’

     Josse held his peace. He believed he had noticed several things, but it would be interesting to see if either of the nuns had anything to offer.

     Sister Caliste, flushing slightly, said, ‘I have, my lady.’

     ‘Go on, Sister.’

     ‘I – oh, I’m probably wrong, but I thought that the lady Primevère was pregnant.’

     ‘So did I,’ said the infirmarer.

     ‘Goodness!’ the Abbess exclaimed. ‘What grounds have either of you for your supposition?’

     Sister Euphemia glanced at Sister Caliste and then, with an apologetic smile at her junior, spoke. ‘You said that when you saw her the first time, she lay abed and pale, although the rest of her was a picture of health.’

     ‘That’s right, I did,’ the Abbess agreed. ‘I went back to Hadfeld with her mother after Melusine had identified Florian’s body and together we went up to Primevère’s bedchamber.’

     ‘Could she not have taken to her bed out of grief?’ Josse asked. ‘It would also account for looking so pale.’

     ‘But she was in bed and pale
before
she knew he was dead and, although it was true that he had not been home for several days, this was apparently not unusual and, according to her mother, Primevère was not unduly worried,’ the Abbess said. ‘I did wonder if she had deliberately made herself look pale, perhaps by dabbing flour into her cheeks, although why she should do such a thing I cannot say.’

     ‘Such an appearance – pale face but otherwise a veritable glow of well-being – is typical of pregnant women,’ the infirmarer assured them. ‘A woman can be healthy as you like but still affected by sickness, usually in the morning although sometimes at other times; it depends on the woman. My guess, my lady, is that the first time you met young Primevère, she had the radiance of pregnancy but it was marred by her having just brought up her dinner.’

     ‘It seems a slim fact on which to say with certainty that the lady is pregnant,’ the Abbess protested.

     ‘She is very full in the breasts,’ Sister Caliste put in.

     ‘Aye, and more so than when first I saw her almost three weeks back,’ Josse added.

     He smiled as, outnumbered, the Abbess sat back and threw up her hands. ‘Very well!’ she cried. ‘Primevère is pregnant; I accept what you all urge me to believe. It does but increase my pity for the poor girl, since she must face the daunting prospect of bringing a fatherless child into the world . . .’ She broke off, frowning.

     ‘My lady?’ Josse said.

     She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. Now,’ she got to her feet, ‘Sister Euphemia, Sister Caliste, thank you for accompanying me today and for your most valuable contributions. Please, now go about your duties and I am sorry to have kept you from them for so long.’

     She waited until the two nuns’ footsteps had faded away. Then, nodding to Josse to close the door, she said, ‘So we must conclude that Florian of Southfrith committed a deliberate fraud in claiming that the bones that he found and planted in the forest were those of Merlin; it was nothing but a way to earn money.’

     ‘I believe that is so,’ Josse agreed. ‘Were the young man not dead, he would have much to answer for before the sheriff.’

     ‘When will Gervase de Gifford return?’ she asked.

     ‘I cannot say, my lady. He has had the time even by now to have visited Nantes and be well on the way home, especially if his ship had the same favourable wind which we – which I enjoyed.’

   
We
, he thought. Joanna, Meggie and me.

     He firmly closed his mind on that.

     She had noticed; he knew she had. But, bless her for her tact, she did not pick it up. ‘Will he call here on his way home to Tonbridge, think you?’ she asked instead.

     ‘He might, although I imagine that Sabin will be very anxious to get back to her old grandfather.’

     ‘Then, Sir Josse, we can but wait for him and then pass the burden of resolving this sorry business of the shrine over to him. Whether he will feel any action is necessary, the originator of the fraudulent shrine being dead, your guess is as good as mine.’

     ‘He may well feel that there is little point,’ Josse said, ‘unless he feels the matter of the shrine is relevant to the robbery and Florian’s murder, for that is a crime whose perpetrator he will for certain wish to bring to justice.’

     ‘Oh, Sir Josse, but of course! Is there, do you think, any hope that the murderer will be caught?’

     ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. It would have been unfair to add that he didn’t much care.

     She was watching him. ‘A young man is dead,’ she said gently. ‘He may have been greedy and unscrupulous, but he did not deserve to die at another’s hands. For myself, I believe we must pass on to Gervase de Gifford all that we know and have thought concerning who could have wanted Florian dead.’

     ‘You are right, my lady,’ he conceded with a sigh. ‘When I get the chance, that is exactly what I shall do.’

Leaving the Abbess’s room, he set off aimlessly in the direction of the Vale. But it was as yet only mid-afternoon; there were hours to go till bedtime and little down there to distract him. With visitors still a rarity, even the monks were reduced to mending things that weren’t really broken and endlessly sweeping dust off paths that nobody trod.

     I’ll ride down to Tonbridge, he thought suddenly. I’ll see if Gervase is back and if so, maybe he’ll offer me supper while we discuss our journeys. If not, I’ll drop in on Goody Anne and see what tavern fare is on offer this evening.

     Brightening at the prospect – not much, but even a little was a help – he turned and headed for the stables. Sister Martha greeted him with a kindly smile and, despite his protests that there was no need for her to stop what she was doing since he could easily prepare his horse himself, had Horace tacked up and ready within moments.

     Thanking her, he set off at a smart pace and was soon taking the turning down the hill that led to Tonbridge.

He knew Gervase was back even before he rode up to the door from the sheer amount of noise emanating from the house. There were voices – Sabin’s and the thin, reedy tones of old Benoît – and a shout of laughter from Gervase. It would be good, Josse thought, to be among happy people.

     A young lad rushed up to take his horse, giving him a shy smile of welcome, and Josse strode up the steps and into the house.

     The old grandfather was sitting in his accustomed place on the bench by the hearth and Sabin sat beside him, holding both his hands and talking away very rapidly in her own tongue. Benoît was nodding and smiling, as if whatever she was telling him was good to hear. Gervase stood relaxed, a mug of wine in his hand which he was using to make occasional gestures as he backed up some remark of Sabin’s. He has come on in his knowledge and use of his bride-to-be’s language while they have been away, Josse thought; it was no surprise, for Gervase was a quick-witted and intelligent man.

     It was Benoît who noticed Josse first. Hearing some small movement, he turned his cloudy eyes in the direction of the door and said, ‘There’s someone there!’

     Sabin and Gervase turned, saw Josse and both rushed to greet him. He was hugged and kissed by Sabin, had his hand shaken and his back slapped by Gervase, and was then escorted to a seat beside Benoît and given a mug of the excellent wine. Benoît put his face right up against Josse’s and said, ‘Why, it’s that fellow, what’s-his-name!’

     ‘How long have you two been back?’ Josse asked Gervase when he could get a word in.

     ‘We rode up from the coast and arrived soon after noon,’ Gervase said. ‘We looked out for you in Dinan, hoping to take ship home to England with you, but there was neither sign nor word of you.’

     ‘No. We – er, we came back by another route.’ He frowned at Gervase who, understanding, gave a swift nod. ‘We’ll speak of it later,’ Josse muttered to him, and again he nodded.

     ‘Did you find the proof that you went searching for?’ Sabin asked.

     ‘Aye, I suppose so, although it is irrelevant now.’ He hesitated. Was it all right to speak of this before Sabin and the old fellow? Well, she was about to be the sheriff’s wife and Benoît his father-in-law; they’d have to get used to violence, robbery and murder sooner or later. ‘The man behind the tomb out at Hadfeld is dead,’ he said baldly.

     ‘How did he die?’ Gervase asked.

     Josse gave a thin smile. ‘Not from natural causes, that’s for sure. He was robbed and killed late one night on his way home from the tomb.’

     Sabin was watching, her eyes wide. Benoît was muttering to himself about men not being safe even in their own beds; he did not seem to have entirely understood.

     ‘Any idea who might have killed him?’ Gervase asked. ‘The motive was robbery, presumably?’

     Briefly Josse related the story, including details of yesterday’s visit to the young widow at Hadfeld. When he had finished, Gervase demanded, ‘Who is this supportive and avuncular neighbour?’

     ‘Ranulf of Crowbergh.’

     The name was clearly familiar to Gervase. ‘I see,’ he said slowly.

     ‘You know the man?’

     ‘I know of him,’ Gervase replied.

     ‘You do not like him,’ Sabin put in. ‘I can tell from your voice.’

     Gervase smiled at her. ‘I wouldn’t say that, although I do have reason to be suspicious of him.’ He frowned. ‘There may well be no justification for my suspicion, however, for as I say I have not met him and what I was told was hearsay, indeed little more than taproom gossip. It was never proved.’

     Josse’s curiosity was aroused. ‘What was not proved?’