people made up their minds to go to the Abbey and show their respect for its Abbess by cheering the young couple and wishing them well.
It was just as well that the Abbey could accommodate a crowd.
Helewise had ordered Dominic to face Thibault of Margat with the truth. Together mother and son went to see the Hospitaller, who, although slowly recovering, was still very unwell, and Dominic explained that he was going to entrust the formula to the safest place on earth. Thibault might have guessed where that was. He made a desultory attempt to question Dominic but soon gave up.
Looking at him with deep compassion, Helewise realized that the fight had leaked out of him. The single- minded, fierce and powerful man had gone, perhaps burned away in the fire that almost killed him and forced upon him this agonizing convalescence. He had been dosed and dosed again with Sister Tiphaine’s potions, wielded with a determined hand by Sister Euphemia. Their strength might be diminishing but the quantity that Thibault had consumed must now be considerable. And, as both the herbalist and the infirmarer often pointed out, you just did not know what else a powerful remedy did besides relieve pain.
Helewise studied Thibault as he looked up at the young man whose footsteps he had dogged so far and for so long. With a faint smile he said, ‘This thing… It is too powerful. I have seen what the lust for it will make men do and I’ve had enough of it all.’ He sighed. ‘I will not see Outremer again, for I shall never now voyage so far. When Brother Otto and I are able to travel, we shall go to Clerkenwell. I shall request a private meeting with the Grand Master and I shall report that the formula is gone.’
Dominic studied him for several moments, and it seemed to Helewise that he was thinking hard. Then he said very softly, ‘It could be retrieved, you know, were there to be incontestable need.’
The Hospitaller gave a small gasp. Then he nodded. He understood.
Josse went out to the forest to keep his tryst with Joanna. When he revealed the true identity of the young man whom she had known as John Damianos, he had the clear impression that it was not in fact news at all.
‘You knew, didn’t you?’
She smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘Remember when Abbess Helewise was so sick and we thought she might die?’
‘Aye. You called her back to life.’
‘I — well yes, sort of. But in the place where she was, she could see things that were going to happen, although I don’t think she realized it then or recalls it now. And one of the things she — we — saw was Dominic’s return. So when you brought him here to my hut, I recognized him.’
He shook his head in wonder. I ought to be used to her and her weird powers by now, he thought, but I’m not. I’m not sure if any normal, human man ever could be. The thought that swiftly followed — if a human couldn’t hope to understand Joanna, then what did that make her? — slipped in and out of his consciousness so swiftly that he barely noticed it. It was dark, Meggie was fast asleep and Joanna was lying in his arms.
He had other things on his mind.
The dead had to be accounted for.
Gervase de Gifford was satisfied that in several cases the murderer was dead: Kathnir killed the Turk Touros and died at the hands of William and Tancred, who were also responsible for the death of Brother Jeremiah and the fire in Tonbridge Priory’s guest wing. Tancred died fighting Josse and John Damianos, and William was slain by Josse to save John’s life.
‘Except that he’s not really called John Damianos, is he?’ Gervase said with an ironic lift of his eyebrows. He and Josse were riding out to the old manor house in the forest, Dominic and Paradisa behind them.
‘No,’ Josse agreed.
Gervase looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘I must get used to calling him Dominic Warin, I suppose,’ he said. Then, bitingly: ‘And I only have his and your word, Josse, as to how these two Franks were slain.’ Pretending surprise, he added, ‘Both killed by you, as it happens, fighting for your life, you say, alongside this son of your extremely good friend Abbess Helewise.’
Josse waited until he had his anger under control. Then he said, not for the first time, ‘Tancred would have killed me had I not struck the fatal blow before he did. And William virtually had his knife in Dominic’s throat and was about to kill him.’ He added stiffly, ‘I will swear to it if you wish.’
There was quite a long pause. Then Gervase said, ‘Your word is enough.’
The mood between them was definitely chilly. Gervase had been intensely curious about that strange, round indentation in William’s forehead and Josse’s explanation — that William fell on his face and the stone must have embedded itself, only to fall out and roll away into the grass — sounded feeble, even to Josse’s ears. He was tempted to say more but it was not his secret to tell.
They rode on in silence until at last — and it was not nearly soon enough for Josse — the old manor came into view.
Paradisa told her story and again Josse noticed the scepticism in Gervase’s eyes. It was as if the sheriff was thinking, ah, but it is too easy! These people all swear that the killings were justified, done in self-defence or in defence of the innocent, but since they all bear witness for each other, how am I to decide if they speak the truth?
Paradisa led them to the place in the trees where she had buried the body of Akhbir. Gervase stared down in silence and then observed that it was a long way for a woman to carry the body of a grown man.
Paradisa said tonelessly, ‘I did not carry him. I tied a rope around him and fastened the other end to my horse’s saddle. I dragged him to his grave, and I bitterly regret both the treatment and the fact that I was not able to dig the grave deep enough. I have had dreams of his body being dug up and eaten by wild creatures.’ A sob escaped her, hastily suppressed, and she put her hands up to hide her face. Dominic put his arm around her. Gervase went on staring down at the man-shaped mound of earth. Then abruptly he turned away.
He and Josse rode back towards Hawkenlye without a word being spoken. When they reached the place where Gervase’s road down to Tonbridge branched off, he drew rein. He looked Josse in the eye and, nodding in the direction of the young couple, said, ‘You can tell them I’m satisfied.’
‘I will,’ Josse said. ‘Thank you.’
‘But, Josse, next time-’ Gervase bit off whatever he had been about to say. Then: ‘Just remember who’s sheriff around here.’
He touched his cap, put spurs to his horse and cantered away.
Perhaps Sabin de Gifford had sufficient tact and understanding to reason the sheriff out of his bad mood at what he clearly saw as a challenge to his authority, if not worse. Either that or he came to his senses by himself. Sabin sent word that she and Gervase would come to the Abbey on Dominic and Paradisa’s wedding day to add their congratulations and good wishes.
Josse learned of this with relief. Gervase was just too good a friend to lose.
The day of the wedding began misty and dank and there was a soft, chilly rain in the air. The nuns and the monks, eyeing the weather and trying to smile, endlessly repeated the old saying rain at dawn, sun by mid-morn, and at least some of them believed it. The sceptics were proved wrong. As the church emptied after sext, the congregation looked up to see that the clouds had cleared. By the time Dominic and Paradisa stood side by side at the church door, the sun was shining brightly down from a pale winter sky.
Dominic was the first to make his vow, saying in a strong voice that carried right to the back of the crowd, ‘I do take you, Paradisa, as my wife,’ and straight away she echoed the words. Rings were handed to Father Gilbert to be blessed, and then he returned them to the young couple and they placed them on each other’s hands. The priest led them into the church and up to the altar, where they knelt while he prayed. Then he blessed them and the entire congregation broke into joyous song.
After the ceremony came the celebration.
Josse moved among the crowds spilling out into the cloister, the stable yard and every other available space. He had a pewter mug of excellent French wine in his hand. He was grabbed and greeted by many people: the Abbess’s elder son, Leofgar, was there with his wife Rohaise, four-year-old Timus and his two-year-old sister, Little Helewise, the children dressed in their best and bubbling with excitement. Leofgar looked pale and Rohaise confided to Josse that her husband and his brother had been up most of the previous night catching up on the years of Dominic’s absence, ‘and talking is such thirsty work, is it not, Josse?’ she added with a lovely smile.
He moved on, stopping — or being stopped — with increasing frequency. Among the guests were former
