relaxed into his pillows and closed his eyes and swiftly Josse went over their conversation to see if he could pick out what it was.
After some concentrated effort he thought he had it.
Nobody there has seen a solitary Hospitaller, Thibault said. And, Brother Otto and I went there shortly before we met up with Brother Jeremiah.
Thibault and Brother Otto were not the only ones hunting for the runaway monk and his companion. Kathnir and Akhbir had been after the monk’s companion, Fadil, which meant they were also following the monk since he was travelling with Fadil. In addition, there was also the pair of bowmen who had avenged their Turkish companion’s death by killing Kathnir. And now there was a mysterious crossbow-wielding archer as well…
Could one of these parties have been close enough to Thibault and Brother Otto to witness the visit to Gerome de Villieres? They must have known that the two Hospitallers were looking for one of their own, and if their intelligence was good, they could also have known that the runaway went out to Outremer with de Villieres and would be likely to seek sanctuary there. Supposing one or other of these pursuing groups saw Thibault and Brother Otto before Robertsbridge and the visit to Gerome de Villieres, when it was just the two of them, and again after Robertsbridge, when all of a sudden they had a third monk with them? Surely the pursuers would reach the obvious conclusion: that Thibault and Brother Otto had found the runaway hiding at the home of his former master and that now they were taking him on up to Clerkenwell to face the judgement of his Order.
Oh, it made sense! Josse thought triumphantly. Then whoever it was — the Saracens or the two bowmen — had followed the Hospitallers first to Hawkenlye Abbey and then on to Tonbridge, where they had lodged in the guest wing. Still believing poor innocent Brother Jeremiah to be the man they sought, they had marked which bed was his, then slipped in at night and killed him, starting the fire to cover the murder.
The more he thought it over, the more he was convinced he was right. Had Thibault reached the same conclusion? The poor man had had long enough to think about it; had he too worked it out? There was only one way to find out.
‘Thibault?’ Josse said softly.
He thought the Hospitaller had dropped off to sleep but Thibault’s eyes shot open and he said, ‘What is it?’ There was a wary look on his face.
‘I believe I know why Brother Jeremiah was killed.’
Thibault watched him steadily. ‘Go on.’
Josse outlined his theory. He did not mention the Saracens or the bowmen specifically, merely referring to them as parties on the trail of the runaway. Thibault did not interrupt, and when Josse finished he gave a heavy sigh and said, ‘I believe you are right. This is how I too have reasoned.’ He shifted slightly, wincing. ‘Brother Jeremiah was young, eager and, as far as I could judge on so brief an acquaintance, had lived an innocent life. He chatted freely to Brother Otto and me as we walked up from Robertsbridge and we learned a great deal about him. He gave us the impression that he was a man with nothing to hide and I have not been able to think of any reason why anyone should have wished to kill him. Unless they thought he was somebody else.’
‘Such as your runaway monk.’
‘Exactly.’
Something else was stirring in Josse’s mind; slowly he teased it out. He did not believe that Brother Jeremiah was murdered by the same hand that killed the Turk, for the method was quite different. The killer had tried to extract information out of the Turk; Brother Jeremiah’s killing had been more of an execution. Either the killer knew that the man for whom they had mistaken Brother Jeremiah did not have the information they were after — which was very unlikely — or else they were not after the information.
They had a different reason for wanting the runaway monk dead.
Dear God, Josse thought, his head aching with the intense concentration, but it’s a tangled business!
‘Sir Josse?’ Thibault’s voice broke into his thoughts.
‘Aye?’
‘Brother Otto and I were not the only men pursuing our runaway,’ Thibault said. ‘I know of one other party and I suspect the presence of a third.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Josse asked.
‘Because I am forced to remain here,’ Thibault said with poorly suppressed, frustrated anger. ‘I fear for my quarry, Sir Josse. We wish to apprehend him and take him to our superiors for interrogation, for he has-’ Thibault shut his mouth like a trap. ‘If we catch him and overcome him there will be punishment but there is no danger that his life will be forfeit. I cannot say the same for others who pursue him.’
‘What will happen if they get to him first?’
Thibault sighed. He seemed to be wrestling with himself over how much to reveal and Josse was sure that he would not be giving away anything at all were it not for the fact that his injuries kept him in his bed. He seemed to murmur a brief prayer then, his eyes on Josse, he said, ‘I have decided to tell you something in the hope that you will agree to take my place and hunt down my missing monk.’
‘I am more than willing to do so,’ Josse said promptly.
‘Thank you.’ Then, picking up where he had earlier left off: ‘After the disaster in the desert, our prisoner’s brother was as desperate to recover his young sibling and his treasure as we were to find our runaway monk. The elder brother was wounded but he immediately selected two trusted warriors of his household and sent them on the trail of the monk.’
‘And the prisoner,’ Josse added.
Thibault pursed his lips but did not respond. ‘These two men are almost certainly now in England,’ he said, ‘and, I sense, close on our runaway’s heels. They must not find him, Sir Josse. They are desperate to get that which he- They know what happened in the desert that night and they will try to make Brother- They will force him to give up that with which he was entrusted.’
Irritated all over again by Thibault’s stubborn refusal to reveal the whole truth, Josse said curtly, ‘They will not find him or make him talk. They are dead.’
‘They are — dead?’
‘Aye. One — the leader — took an arrow in the chest. The other was shot through the heart with a crossbow bolt.’
‘You are sure?’
‘Aye. I saw them both die.’
‘And there is no doubt that they were the two Saracens sent by — sent by the prisoner’s elder brother?’
‘Sent by Hisham?’ Josse smiled grimly. ‘See, Thibault: I know his name. And there is no doubt they are Hisham’s warriors. With their deaths, one threat to your runaway has been removed.’
Thibault sank back into his pillows. His relief was evident and Josse saw the ghost of a smile on his face.
It was time to leave him to rest, Josse thought. In the morning he would return and see if Thibault had managed to persuade himself that if Josse was to find his runaway before anyone else did, then it made sense to reveal a few more facts. For now, Thibault should sleep.
He got up and stepped across to the curtains. As he parted them something occurred to him. ‘Thibault?’
‘Sir Josse?’
‘You speak Arabic?’
‘I do.’
‘Can you tell me what simyager means?’
‘Where did you hear this?’ Thibault whispered.
‘From one of the Saracens. He was describing his master Hisham and he said he was a merchant from Tripoli and then he said he was a simyager.’
Thibault said, ‘It is not Arabic but Turkish.’ Then with an indifference that was just too studied to be genuine, he added, ‘It simply means merchant.’
‘I see.’ Josse twitched back the curtain and stepped out into the main ward. ‘Sleep well, Thibault. I will visit you again tomorrow.’
He hurried down to the Vale. It was fully dark now and very cold. He sent up a prayer for Fadil and the runaway monk. Wherever they were, he hoped they had a fire. In the lay brothers’ quarters he sat before the dying hearth with Brother Saul and Brother Urse for a short time, sharing the last of their mulled ale, then he excused
