‘We think there is a third group who hunt you,’ she went on, her confidence growing. ‘Men of their number are skilled with the bow. It was-’ She had been about to say that one of the unknown group had killed Kathnir, but she stopped. It was not wise to reveal too much too soon.
‘You think correctly,’ he muttered. Then, putting down the knife, he said, ‘There is abbess here?’
‘Er-’ Should she tell him who she was? Again, caution prevailed: ‘Yes, that’s right. Abbess Helewise.’
‘She is good woman?’
How, Helewise wondered, should she answer that? ‘They say so,’ she said guardedly.
‘And fair? Just?’
‘She would not condemn anybody without hearing what they had to say,’ she said firmly. ‘Even then her inclination would be towards mercy rather than condemnation, for she does her best to follow in the steps of her master, Our Lord.’
‘This is what I have heard,’ the man whispered.
‘Why do you ask?’
He looked at her for what seemed a long time. She sensed tension in the air like crackling frost. Then he growled, ‘I have come a very long way and I have been threatened over every mile and at every turn by these three parties. One party alone hunts for me. The others search for the Englishman.’
‘The runaway monk,’ she said, wanting to be quite clear.
‘He is not-’ The man stopped. ‘Yes.’
‘Is he close by?’ she whispered. Something went through her — some strange sense of heightened awareness — as she spoke the words. When, very slowly, the man nodded his confirmation, she had the peculiar sense that she had already known.
‘He cannot come here,’ the man said softly. ‘It is not safe.’
‘Because of the presence of Thibault, yes, I understand.’
‘Not-’ Again he stopped. Then: ‘Yes, Sister, that is so.’ She thought there was a different quality in his voice: he sounded almost… regretful.
Letting her instinct guide her — after all, thinking and reasoning did not seem to be getting her very far — she said, ‘Would you like to meet the Abbess?’
There was a pause and then slowly he nodded.
‘Come, then,’ she said. ‘I will take you to her.’
Again he shrank back. ‘It is late. She will be sleeping.’
‘She has been working late tonight.’ That at least was the truth. ‘I will take you to her private room, where there is a small fire and candles for light. There you may reveal to her why you are here.’
‘I cannot-’ He seemed to be debating with himself. Then, once again, he nodded. Sliding the knife into a sheath on his belt, he swung his legs down, gathered up his satchel, swirled his wide cloak around him and, jumping off the wooden chest, stood beside her.
He was perhaps her own height; possibly just a little taller, but then she was a tall woman and stood eye to eye with many men. He was lightly built and, as they moved off, she noticed that he was catlike on his feet. Even in the heavy boots he made little noise.
He told me he is not Fadil, she thought, and from his reaction I am quite sure that he is not. But he must be John Damianos: the style of dress, the hesitant speech of a foreigner speaking an alien tongue, it all matches. I’m pretty certain he’s been brought back from Outremer and abandoned, Josse had said. Well, if this young man was in truth not Fadil then perhaps Josse had been right in the first place. The runaway monk could easily have brought a Saracen body servant with him.
They had reached the great doors and she led the way out through the smaller side door. Very aware of him walking beside her, she strode on past the infirmary and into the cloister, then along to her little room.
‘Now, sit here on this stool,’ she said, pushing it forward, ‘and I will add firewood to the brazier. It was banked down only recently and the embers will soon ignite the new fuel.’ She worked swiftly and, when the flames caught, held out her hands to the warmth, watching him out of the corner of her eye.
He was staring around him, as well he might. ‘Where is she?’ he demanded, careful to keep his face away from the light of the fire. ‘Where is the Abbess? You said she would be here!’ There was a faint but definite note of suspicion — of fear? — in the low voice.
She walked around her table and lit the candle she had been using earlier. She had brought the cresset lamp over from the church and she put it down beside the candle. She glanced at the man. He was sitting on the stool, hunched into himself. His headdress was still drawn closely around his head and she could barely see anything of his face.
This will not do, she told herself. We are circling each other like two wary dogs.
She drew out her throne-like chair and sat down. Then she said, ‘I am Abbess Helewise. Tell me who you are and what you want of me.’
Sixteen
The young man seemed to take her revelation in his stride although since she could see so little of him it was hard to tell. When he spoke it was in the same gruff voice.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘I ask to see you. You see me.’
She inclined her head. ‘You are welcome.’
He had turned away and when he spoke again, he appeared to be addressing the wall rather than her.
‘I tell you of Fadil,’ he announced.
It seemed an odd place to start but at least he was starting. ‘Very well.’
‘Fadil fight with Muslim army and is taken prisoner. He is beloved of man named Hisham. Hisham claim Fadil is his young brother but this is not so. Relationship is — different.’ He hesitated. ‘Bad.’
‘I see.’ Helewise thought she knew what he meant.
‘Hisham approach Knights Hospitaller and make offer to exchange Fadil for something of very great value. Knights agree and meeting in desert at night is arranged. But knights and Hisham are alike. Both wish to keep prisoner and ransom. Very bad things happen — I cannot describe for I not there — and Hisham is wounded and many of his servants die but Hisham very clever, very devious, and he hide more men — fighting men — and more horses out in dark desert. These men help others to kill knights. They take Hisham away to where healers treat his wounds.’
‘Both parties tried to cheat?’ Helewise asked.
‘Very much at stake,’ the young man said. ‘Even good men will do bad things in such circumstances.’
Helewise had noticed something. Careful so as not to alert him, she said, ‘The monk who survived took the prisoner — Fadil — and fled, didn’t he?’
‘Yes. He take ransom as well.’
She nodded. ‘So Hisham sent his men Kathnir and Akhbir to chase after them and the Hospitallers sent Thibault and his companions. Both pursuing parties wanted to recapture the prisoner and take possession of the ransom. Is that not so?’
The young man turned his swathed face her way and just for an instant the light of the candle flames illuminated his eyes.
Had Helewise not been paying such close attention and waiting tensely for just such a chance, she would have missed it. As it was she saw: just a glimpse in a split second. Her suspicion was confirmed.
Whoever this young man might be, he was not a Saracen. For one thing, as he told his tale the halting speech of someone speaking an alien language vanished. For another, Helewise was fairly certain that Saracens did not have jade-green eyes. He must not know that I have seen, she thought. For some reason it is very important to him that I believe in this false identity.
‘Two parties pursue, yes,’ he was saying. ‘But only one cares about Fadil.’
‘Hisham wanted his — er, his-’
