step away and presently he’ll come and find us.’
She wiped her eyes, nodded and allowed Josse to lead her outside into the chilly sunshine.
Akhbir came out to them quite a long time later. They had left the courtyard and were seated by the fire in the kitchen. Ella, shy with strangers, had made herself scarce and she and Will could be heard from their own little room off the kitchen exchanging the occasional remark in low, awed voices.
Akhbir bowed very formally to them both in turn and said, ‘You try. I thank you. I am grateful.’
‘I am sorry we could not save him,’ Josse said.
The ghost of a smile crossed Akhbir’s thin face. ‘He say no use. When arrow go in he say he feel something very bad, very deep. He say leave me, bury me here but I put him on horse and come here.’ His face crumpled. ‘I do my best. But no good.’
There was so much that Josse wanted to ask. So much that, he was sure, Akhbir could tell him. But the man was grieving and in shock; he needed food, drink and rest. Josse stepped towards him and put an arm across his narrow shoulders. Akhbir flinched, then relaxed.
‘We will look after you,’ Josse said. ‘Tell us what you want to do with the body and we will carry out your wishes. Then we will give you food and drink and a place to sleep.’
Akhbir was crying now. Covering his face with his hands, he said, ‘You are good people. I stay for now.’
Sister Caliste went to stand on his other side and together she and Josse escorted him slowly back along the passage and into the hall.
They buried Kathnir in a corner of the orchard at New Winnowlands that caught the westering sun; before the last of the light fell below the horizon, he was in his grave. Josse, Will and a couple of labourers who had helped Akhbir dig the grave and bear out the body stayed with bowed heads for a little while and then they crept away and left Akhbir to his grief.
Josse insisted that Sister Caliste accept his bed and he had Ella make it up with fresh linen. He set out shakedown beds for himself and Akhbir in the hall. A long time after he had settled down for the night, he heard Akhbir come in. He had neither eaten nor drunk, although food and drink had been offered. He had stayed out there alone in the cold night beside his companion’s grave.
As he lay down, Josse could hear him sobbing.
Josse and Sister Caliste returned to Hawkenlye the next morning and Akhbir borrowed Will’s horse and rode with them. He was silent, deathly pale and the flesh around his dark eyes looked bruised. Sister Caliste, watching him anxiously, asked Josse in a whisper if he had accepted anything to eat. Josse shook his head.
As they covered the miles to the Abbey, he wondered what on earth they were going to do with the poor man.
On arrival, his half-hearted suggestion that he take Akhbir to the Abbess so that she and Josse could ask him a few questions was met with a shake of the head from Sister Caliste. ‘I am sorry to contradict you, Sir Josse,’ she said, ‘but Akhbir is not fit to answer questions, no matter how gently put. I fear he is very near collapse.’
‘Is he ill?’ Josse asked. He was quite relieved that Sister Caliste was being so decisive; asking delicate questions of a man so obviously in shock was not a prospect he relished.
‘I do not think so,’ Sister Caliste answered. ‘He has neither eaten nor drunk, you tell me, and he has suffered the terrible strain of seeing his companion wounded and trying, unsuccessfully, to save his life. He needs to rest in a quiet and safe place. Once he is himself again, then you may speak to him.’
‘May I make a suggestion, Sister?’
She was already blushing; he guessed, at having given what amounted to an order to someone who greatly outranked her. She lowered her eyes. ‘Of course, Sir Josse.’
‘It is possible that Akhbir and his late companion may have some involvement in the death of the man out on the forest track. There is also the matter of the fire at the priory, which it seems was deliberately set. Two of the victims of that act lie in the infirmary; their brother monk died in the fire. I suggest that-’
‘That we do not house Akhbir anywhere near the two Hospitallers,’ she finished for him. ‘I will ensure that he is kept well away.’ She looked across to the infirmary and then her gaze went on past it. ‘He does not need any treatment, other than someone making sure he drinks and eats,’ she mused. ‘Should we ask the lay brethren in the Vale to look after him?’
‘Aye, Sister,’ Josse agreed. The suggestion suited him very well. Since his own accommodation was down in the Vale, he could make sure that, with Akhbir being housed there too, he was the first to know when the man was ready to talk. He could also put the word around that Akhbir was to be subtly watched; Gervase de Gifford would undoubtedly wish to interview him as soon as he was up to it. It was probably just as well for Akhbir, Josse reflected, that the sheriff was not there with them now because he would not be as considerate as Sister Caliste and Josse with a man suspected of being involved in two murders. ‘I will come with you to install him in the lay brothers’ quarters,’ he added.
‘Should we not first ask the Abbess?’
‘I will report back to her as soon as Akhbir is comfortable,’ he assured her. ‘You have my word.’
His word was, apparently, good enough; Sister Caliste gave a relieved smile and, with Josse trying to form the words of a simple explanation to inform the stunned and silent Akhbir what was happening, they set off for the Vale.
‘The arrow that killed Kathnir was of the same manufacture as the one I pulled out of the tree,’ Josse said to the Abbess a short time later. ‘Whoever killed him was one of the pair who aimed the warning shots at Gervase and me to drive us away from where their Turkoman companion died.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Aye, my lady.’
She raised her hands in a gesture of frustration. ‘What are we to make of it all, Sir Josse? We now have two bands of murderers in the area.’
‘It appears that they are busy killing off each other,’ he said grimly. ‘First one of the group of archers is tortured and killed, and his companions value him enough to return to the spot and make a simple sort of shrine. Then one of their arrows kills Kathnir, whom we already suspect of knowing about the death of the Turk and who might well have killed him. I think we can now be sure of that. Kathnir — the leader out of him and Akhbir — mistook the Turk for his real quarry, whom we believe to be Fadil, going under the name of John Damianos. Kathnir and Akhbir capture the Turk and try to extract from him the whereabouts of whatever it was that the runaway monk stole.’
‘They are surely aware that the English monk and Fadil are in league,’ the Abbess said. ‘They must be, since they assumed that Fadil knew where the treasure is hidden.’
‘Aye. So, Kathnir fails to extract the information he seeks — because the victim isn’t Fadil — and he murders him. The Turk’s companions find his body and they know who killed him. They bide their time and when the moment presents itself, one of them fires an arrow which finds its mark and kills Kathnir. Vengeance is done.’
‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord,’ the Abbess quoted softly.
‘I do not think, my lady, that the Lord comes into this very much.’
There was a short silence. The Abbess broke it. ‘What of the man Akhbir?’
Josse shrugged. ‘He is broken, a soul in despair. Whatever he has done, he is suffering grievously. Sister Caliste said quite rightly that we should not attempt to question him yet.’
‘Sister Caliste is charitable,’ the Abbess said neutrally. ‘But Akhbir was present at a brutal scene of mutilation and death.’
‘Aye, my lady. I know.’ He paused. ‘I have the advantage over you in that I have met and spoken to Akhbir,’ he said diplomatically. ‘Had you too had that experience, I am sure you would agree that he is not a ruthless, vicious killer and that it is best to accord him time to absorb his grief and begin to recover himself.’
He watched her nervously and soon a slow smile spread over her face. ‘How tactful you are, Sir Josse,’ she murmured. ‘Very well.’
‘I will not hesitate to inform you when that time comes,’ Josse said, relieved. ‘My lady, we must send someone down to Tonbridge in the morning to tell Gervase what has happened. He will want to come straight here to speak to Akhbir, but we will instruct our messenger to explain that the man is unwell and that it would be better to wait for a day or so.’ Something occurred to him: there was another mission he had been going to pursue when Will brought news of the wounded Kathnir and drove everything else out of his mind… Ah yes! ‘I will go to see Brice of Rotherbridge and ask about local interests in Outremer. Unless, that is, you have anything from Thibault
