gently.
Thibault lowered his hand and stared straight into Josse’s eyes. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Whoever came into our room murdered poor Jeremiah. That I will swear before God and before any court in the land.’
‘But you did not actually see the deed,’ the Abbess said. ‘Could the sounds have had another source?’
Thibault looked at her. ‘No, my lady. I could make out more by then. Either my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness or the dawn was lightening the sky; I cannot say. But I saw the outline of that raised arm and I knew without doubt the target of those dreadful blows.’
‘And then the fire started?’ Josse asked. It was clearly causing Thibault great distress to speak of his brother monk’s murder and it seemed charitable to move on. He was also aware of time passing; Sister Caliste would soon step forward and say in that soft but imperious voice, ‘Enough.’
‘The fire; yes, the fire,’ Thibault breathed. ‘The two things seemed to happen simultaneously, although I do not see how a man can commit murder and set a blaze at the same time.’ Josse could see one very obvious answer but, not wanting to interrupt, he kept his peace. ‘I smelt the smoke,’ Thibault was saying, ‘and I heard the sound of kindling crackling. Then there was a whoosh and a great sheet of flame leapt up just outside the door.’
‘Where was the murderer?’ the Abbess asked. ‘Could you see him in the light of the fire?’
‘I saw a cloaked shape, black against the light,’ Thibault replied. ‘His hood was over his head and face and I caught no more than an impression as he whipped round and shot out through the open door.’
Knowing that the fire was about to start, Josse thought, the man had probably wetted his cloak and wrapped a soaked cloth around his nose and mouth. Thus prepared, he would have been able to dash through a sheet of flame with reasonable safety.
‘I got out of bed and threw on my robe,’ Thibault said. ‘Brother Otto was on his feet and yelling at the top of his voice; well, until he breathed in the smoke and began to choke. He sings bass baritone, you know, and I think that may have saved us, for he has a good loud voice. We gathered up poor Brother Jeremiah and began to drag him towards the door, but already two of the walls and the roof were ablaze and burning reed straw was falling all around us. We put up our hoods but very soon our garments were singeing and beginning to burn. The canons had evidently heard Brother Otto’s cries for help for they came running, and Canon Mark burst into the room through the fire and helped us pull Brother Jeremiah outside, where we laid him on the ground. The rest of the canons had formed a chain with buckets of water but before many had been thrown the fire went out.’
‘That’s exactly what Canon Mark told me!’ Josse exclaimed. He still found it barely credible. ‘You just said, Thibault, that the fire had taken hold of the walls and the roof. How, if there was still combustible material to be consumed, can it possibly have gone out?’
‘There was in fact little left of the guest wing to burn, but the fire did not spread to neighbouring buildings,’ Thibault corrected. ‘Why, I do not know.’ He spoke somewhat stiffly. ‘All I can tell you is what happened.’
‘I am sorry,’ Josse said instantly. ‘I do not doubt your word but I’ve never known a fire behave like that.’
‘Neither have I,’ Thibault agreed. He appeared mollified by Josse’s apology. Then, thoughtfully, he added, ‘Have you ever seen a fire-eater at the fair? That’s what it was like, as if someone had lit their outward breath and, as soon as it had all been consumed, the fire went out.’
‘Then it was some sort of a trick?’ Josse asked.
Thibault shrugged. ‘I do not know.’ He sighed deeply. ‘It took the life of one of my brethren, whatever it was.’
Josse met the Abbess’s eyes. He was torn between the need to ask further vital questions and the desire to give Thibault a few moments to mourn the dead monk. Presently the Abbess gave a very small nod; taking this as encouragement, Josse said, ‘Thibault, you say that Brother Jeremiah was not of your original company but that you encountered him on your way up from the coast?’
‘That is correct,’ Thibault said wearily. ‘It was just after Robertsbridge. Brother Jeremiah was, as I said, bound for Clerkenwell and fell into step with Brother Otto and me. He had never left his native land — he was only a young man — and he was eager to hear our tales of Outremer and our long journey over land and sea. The good Lord filled his heart with zeal and after only a day or so he had made up his mind to ask permission to go on crusade himself.’ He sighed again. ‘That will not now come to pass,’ he said sadly.
Josse knew what he must ask next. ‘Thibault,’ he began, ‘you said that since Brother Jeremiah was sleeping in the bed closest to the door, it was he whom the murderer came to first. Do you think that is the only reason why he attacked Brother Jeremiah? Or do you think he deliberately targeted the poor young man?’
Slowly Thibault shook his head. ‘I have asked myself that same question over and over again,’ he muttered. ‘If the assailant wished to kill Jeremiah — and I cannot for the life of me see why — then it would not have been difficult to discover which bed he slept in. As I told you, we had already spent one night at the priory and anyone could have looked in and seen which bed each of us occupied. We go early to our rest and we sleep deeply. Not one of us would have been aware of someone spying.’
Josse nodded. ‘Thank you, Thibault. So, Brother Jeremiah could very easily have been the intended victim and, as Canon Mark suggested, the fire was started in an attempt to hide the fact that he had already been murdered. But why should anyone want to kill him?’
‘He was eager, friendly, devout and, I believe, hard-working,’ Thibault affirmed. ‘I cannot imagine that in his young life he had done any harm to anyone.’ His face crumpled. ‘I grieve for him,’ he whispered. ‘God rest his soul.’
‘Amen,’ said the Abbess.
Josse was looking down at the sleeping Brother Otto. He could hear the wheeze and rattle of air in the monk’s throat and chest. He sings bass baritone, Thibault had said. Would he ever sing again?
‘He won’t be ready to speak to you yet awhile,’ Thibault said, mistaking the reason for Josse’s interest. ‘And he won’t be able to tell you any more. He did not wake up until the flames started to roar.’
Josse put a hand on Thibault’s shoulder; one of his few undamaged areas of flesh. ‘I am sorry,’ he said sincerely. ‘It must have been unspeakable.’
Thibault nodded. ‘It was.’
The Abbess was moving towards the gap in the curtains. ‘We have disturbed you for long enough,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Thibault, for going through your terrible experience again. It cannot have been easy.’
‘No, my lady, but it is done now.’ Thibault’s expression seemed to lighten and for a moment he was almost smiling. ‘It’s strange, but I feel better.’
‘I will make sure that Gervase de Gifford hears your story,’ Josse said. ‘We will do whatever we can to catch Brother Jeremiah’s killer; that I promise you.’
Thibault eyed him. ‘It won’t bring him back,’ he said quietly.
There was really no answer to that. With a brief bow, Josse left the recess and the Abbess followed him.
He walked beside her to her room. She seemed deep in thought and it was with reluctance that he broke into her reverie.
‘My lady,’ he said tentatively, ‘Thibault said he did not see how the assailant could have slain Brother Jeremiah inside the guest room and set the fire outside at the same time, but-’
‘There must have been two of them,’ she interrupted calmly.
‘Aye, that was what I was about to say. Who were they? Why did they want poor Jeremiah to die?’
‘It has been occupying me since we knew the poor young man had been so cruelly killed,’ she said. ‘He seems to have lived a short and fairly limited life. What can he possibly have done to earn such retribution?’
‘We’ll have to find out more about him,’ Josse said glumly; he did not relish the prospect. ‘No doubt Thibault will be able to tell us where he was based and, perhaps, what business was taking him to Clerkenwell. We shall have to notify his brethren of his death.’
‘We shall,’ she repeated dully.
He suddenly realized how tired he was. ‘I am going to bed,’ he announced. ‘My head is full of shadows and vague shapes that I feel I ought to recognize yet cannot. I will see more clearly after a good night’s sleep.’
She turned to him and he saw that she looked as weary as he felt. ‘Sleep well, Sir Josse,’ she said. ‘I shall try to do likewise.’
Josse slept deeply for many hours. But then he fell into a vivid and alarming dream in which he and Abbess Helewise rode on a huge white horse along a narrow dusty track, following two shadowy figures. One of them was dressed in the black habit of a Knight Hospitaller; the other wore a flowing brown robe and carried a leather
