The Winter King (10 page)

Sabin had gone chalk white. ‘What did you find?’ she said in a whisper.

‘That little crust of blood, which you thought was a scratched pimple or insect bite, was nothing of the sort.’ Once more, she took hold of Sabin’s hand, as if physical contact could lessen the blow. ‘It was a stab wound. A very fine stab wound, made by a long, sharp object such as a meat skewer, driven, I imagine, straight into the heart. Death was instant,’ she added, ‘as we know by the fact that the wound did not bleed: the heart had stopped.’

‘A
meat skewer
,’ Sabin breathed, eyes wide with horror.

‘It was done by someone who knew exactly what he or she was doing,’ Meggie went on, ‘because the hand that killed Lord Benedict drove the skewer between the ribs and upwards at exactly the right angle to find the heart.’ Sabin did not speak. ‘When they hunt for the murderer, they’ll be looking for someone with detailed knowledge of the human body.’

Sabin closed her eyes. ‘Someone such as a healer,’ she murmured. ‘Or an apothecary.’

Then her hand slid out of Meggie’s as she slumped to the ground in a dead faint.

‘W
here’s the other one?’

Helewise’s quiet voice broke the silence within the sanctuary. Josse looked up, meeting her anxious eyes.

‘He said, “He slew Symon right before my eyes,”’ she whispered. ‘We should search for this Symon, Josse.’

He held her gaze. ‘The poor fellow is undoubtedly dead,’ he said gently. ‘As you have just reminded us, our own young man here said he saw him slain.’

‘Yes, I know –’ her voice was eager now – ‘but presumably the killer thought that
our
man was dead, and yet he wasn’t. Might he not have been similarly careless with the other one?’

‘He is dead now,’ Ninian pointed out gravely.

‘I
know
,’ Helewise said again, with the air of someone trying to keep their patience under trying circumstances. ‘But he wasn’t when I found him. Had it been Meggie who heard him call out, she might have stitched the wound, stemmed the bleeding and saved him.’

Josse exchanged a look with Ninian. Ninian gave a faint shrug, as if yielding to the inevitable.

Josse got to his feet. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You stay here, Helewise. Ninian and I will take a couple of lamps and have a look around.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Her eyes shone.
She believes in me
, Josse thought. In that instant, it was something to be regretted: he’d been planning to have a cursory search and then hurry back to the sanctuary, promising a more rigorous job in the morning. Now, given her touching faith in his abilities, he would have to be more thorough.

He and Ninian searched the path up to the track and the undergrowth on either side, and then they separated, he following the road towards the turning down to Tonbridge and, beyond it, Hawkenlye Abbey, while Ninian went east around the great bulge of the forest. When Josse returned to the place where the path branched off to the sanctuary, Ninian was waiting for him.

‘Nothing,’ Ninian said. ‘Well, nothing on the road or beside it. I called and called, but, if there’s a man lying gravely wounded in there under the trees, either he didn’t hear me or he chose not to answer. Either way, we cannot hope to find him tonight.’

‘Aye, I agree,’ Josse replied. ‘I did consider going on to the abbey, in case he has somehow managed to get himself there, but they’ll have locked up for the night.’

‘If he
is
there, they’ll take care of him,’ Ninian observed.

Josse grinned. ‘The voice of reason,’ he said.

He heard Ninian chuckle in the darkness. ‘D’you think Helewise will see it that way?’

She looked up as they quietly let themselves into the sanctuary, her eyes bright with expectation. Seeing their expressions, her face fell. ‘Oh.’

‘We will search again once we have light to see by,’ Josse said, crouching beside her and taking her hands in his.

She did not need to speak, for the look in her eyes said all too clearly:
It’ll be too late by then
.

‘Come on,’ he said gruffly, pulling her to her feet. ‘It’s time we were heading home.’

But she resisted. ‘You two go,’ she said quietly. ‘I shall stay here.’

‘You’ll be all alone,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t like the thought of that.’

‘I’ll be quite safe,’ she replied serenely. ‘This place is protected, you know.’

‘I wish I could be sure of that,’ he said, not quite sufficiently under his breath.

‘Oh, you can be.’ Her tone held utter confidence.

‘But—’ he began.

She interrupted, putting a hand on his arm. ‘Dear Josse, I am staying, and that is final,’ she said firmly. ‘I do not want to leave this poor young man alone. He probably has family – people who love him – and when we find out who he is and, hopefully, I meet those people, I wish to be able to tell them that he did not lie unattended the night he died.’

‘Then I’ll stay with you.’

‘No, Josse, you won’t. There is absolutely no need. I am perfectly safe here, and you should be at home, so that you can organize the search as soon as it is light.’

He held her eyes for a long moment. Then, recognizing that he was not going to win, he nodded his acceptance.

‘It’ll be a corpse we’ll be hunting for in the morning,’ Ninian said as he and Josse strode back along the well-worn track from the sanctuary to the House in the Woods.

‘Aye, I fear you’re right,’ Josse agreed.

‘He’ll be somewhere close at hand,’ Ninian went on, ‘assuming he was attacked in the same place as the man Helewise found.’

‘Because the dead man in the sanctuary couldn’t have gone far in that state,’ Josse added. ‘I reason the same way.’

‘Unless, of course, he was mounted,’ Ninian went on. ‘In which case he—’

‘Enough,’ Josse said firmly. ‘It’s late and I’m tired.’ He was also deeply anxious about having left Helewise alone, and wishing now that he had insisted on staying with her.

Ninian touched his arm. ‘She wouldn’t have let you,’ he murmured.

It was quite uncanny, Josse reflected, how the lad occasionally read his mind so accurately.

The House in the Woods was in darkness save for one lamp left burning, and Josse, assuming everyone had gone to bed, bade Ninian goodnight, heading for his own quarters. But as he set off along the passage, a soft voice called out, ‘Father!’

Spinning round, he headed back into the hall. Lying on the thick fur rug beside the hearth was Meggie, propping herself up on one elbow and rubbing her eyes.

He hurried to her side. ‘I didn’t see you there!’ he exclaimed.

‘I fell asleep,’ she admitted. ‘I didn’t wake till I heard you and Ninian saying goodnight.’

He sat down on the furs beside her, not wanting to speak for a moment, content simply to be close to this beloved child. She reached out and took his hand, leaning against him, and he put his arm round her, bending to kiss the top of her head.

After a while he said, ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she replied. ‘Where have you been? Why weren’t you here when I got in? And where’s Helewise?’

‘She was still at the sanctuary when night fell, and Ninian and I went to find her,’ he said. ‘She’d found a young man, dying, on the path leading into the forest from the road.’ He told her what little information he had, concluding with Helewise’s firm decision to stay with the body overnight.

‘She’s sitting vigil,’ Meggie said softly. ‘Keeping his departing spirit company. It’s a difficult time,’ she added, ‘the transition between life and death.’

‘Er – aye,’ Josse muttered.

‘Never mind, Father,’ Meggie said, and he heard in her voice that she was smiling. ‘Nobody’s forcing you to confront things you’d rather leave alone.’ She twisted round so that she could look into his face. Her smile faded. ‘You do look tired.’

‘I am,’ he admitted. ‘And I have to organize a search party in the morning.’ He told her about the dead young man’s companion.

‘I’ll help,’ she offered. ‘I’m good at tracking. You know I am.’

‘Aye, sweeting, I do. Thank you.’ Slowly, painfully – he was sure he could hear his bones creaking – he got up. ‘Bed. Now,’ he said, heading for the door. But then, remembering, he spun round. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me.’ Sudden anxiety flooded through him. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

Watching her closely, he thought perhaps her smile was a little forced. ‘Nothing,’ she said brightly. ‘It’ll wait till morning.’ She too was on her feet, straightening the pile of furs, checking the fire in the wide hearth. She came up to him, kissing him. ‘Goodnight, Father. Sleep well.’

In the morning, Josse and his household assembled early. Gus and Will set off for the sanctuary, Will pushing a handcart with which to transport the dead body to Hawkenlye Abbey. Out in the yard, Josse prepared to set off on horseback to search further along the road, while Meggie, Geoffroi and Ninian drew on stout boots in preparation for venturing into the forest around the sanctuary. Eloise, with Inana in her arms, came out to see them off, and Tilly distributed hot bread rolls which she had cut open to insert a slab of freshly fried bacon.

Josse rode first to Hawkenlye Abbey. He nodded to the nun on duty at the gate, left his horse in the care of the sister busy in the stables, and hurried along to Abbess Caliste’s room.

She looked up with a smile when she saw who was disturbing her in her work. ‘Sir Josse!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s good to see you. How may we help?’

Swiftly he told her about the dead man, describing briefly where and how he had been found, adding, ‘Will and Gus are bringing him here this morning, my lady. It seemed best.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘I will send word to the infirmary that he is on his way.’ She got up, crossing to the door and summoning one of the nuns working nearby.

When she was seated once more, Josse went on to explain how he and his household were now hunting for the companion who had been with him when he was attacked. ‘It seems almost certain the other man is dead,’ he added, ‘for, just before he died, the man at the sanctuary said he watched as his cousin was slain.’

‘His cousin,’ the abbess repeated thoughtfully.

‘Aye. His name was Symon. And, even if this Symon didn’t die immediately, he’d have been lying out in the open all night, badly wounded. I don’t hold out much for his chances, my lady.’

‘No, I understand,’ she said. ‘We shall pray for him; for both of them.’

‘I did wonder if the other one – Symon – might have made his way here, but I imagine not, or you would have told me?’ He couldn’t help turning the statement into a question.

‘Indeed I would,’ the abbess agreed. ‘No, we have received no new admissions into the infirmary, either yesterday, overnight or this morning. And, among our existing patients, there is none with the sort of wounds inflicted when someone is trying to kill a man.’ Her lips moved silently, and Josse guessed she was praying.

Aye
, he thought, picturing the dead man and recalling his words:
It’s a horror that’s worthy of a prayer
. He glanced around the little room, feeling awkward about watching the abbess in prayer.

When at length he turned back to her, he found she was looking at him. ‘We do not have your missing man here, Sir Josse,’ she said, ‘but, nevertheless, I believe I may be able to offer you some assistance. Indeed, you are already aware of what I’m about to tell you, for I have mentioned it to you before.’

He stared at her. His mind raced back over all that had happened in the last day or so. Yesterday (only yesterday!) he’d come to see dear old Saul, and called in for a chat with the abbess on the way, and they’d spoken about Benedict de Vitré’s death, and she’d mentioned that there seemed to be rather a lot of important visitors to the area, and …

Aye. Of course!
Memory returned, vivid and powerful, and he couldn’t think why he had failed to make the connection before. Eyes on hers, he said, ‘Your two bright young men. You think one of those is our dead man, and the other, his cousin Symon.’

‘It is possible, Sir Josse.’ She got up. ‘Wait here, if you will, and I shall fetch the sister who actually saw the pair.’

He heard her hurrying footsteps as she hastened off along the cloister. Quite soon she returned, and with her was the nun who had admitted him through the abbey gates. She was in the middle years, tall and thin, and something about her suggested wiry strength. She watched him with steady hazel eyes, her face expressionless.

‘This is Sister Madelin,’ Abbess Caliste said, ‘who has recently finished her novitiate and joined the fully professed.’
One of those
, Josse thought,
who takes the veil later in life.
‘Sister, this is Sir Josse d’Acquin, a good and long-time friend of Hawkenlye.’

Sister Madelin ventured a quick smile, there and gone in an instant. ‘Sir Josse,’ she murmured.

‘Sister,’ he replied, bowing his head.

‘Please, Sister,’ the abbess said, ‘will you tell Sir Josse what you told me, concerning the two young men who asked you for directions?’

If Sister Madelin was surprised at the request, it did not show in her impassive face. She paused briefly, as if collecting her thoughts, then spoke. ‘It was the day before yesterday,’ she began, her voice low and pleasant to the ear. ‘Quite late in the day.’ She paused again, frowning slightly. ‘Some time after nones and a little before vespers.’
Still light, then
,
Josse thought,
but
not long to go before it began to get dark
. ‘I was watching the gate and, hearing the sound of horses approaching, I stepped outside on to the road,’ Sister Madelin continued. ‘There were two of them, both young men, mounted on fine animals. Bays,’ she added, ‘well-groomed and glossy-coated, and the saddles and bridles were of high quality. One horse had a star on its brow and a white off-front foot.’

An observant woman
, Josse mused. He wondered fleetingly what roads her life had led her down before she had come to Hawkenlye.

‘Both men were dressed in costly garments,’ the nun went on, ‘and I caught a glimpse of vividly coloured tunics beneath their heavy travelling cloaks. One man’s was light crimson, and the other’s was emerald green. Their cloaks were trimmed with fur and, the day being sunny, they had thrown back their hoods and wore caps with feathers in them. One man’s hair was fair, stylishly cut – the lad in the emerald-green tunic – and the other’s was dark, with a curl to it. I remember remarking to myself that he’d have had to cram his hat down hard on that hair, or the cap would blow away.’