the shaking boy and said, ‘Let’s have it, then. You’ve seen something bad and you’ve come here for help?’
‘Yes. Yes,’ the lad stammered. ‘Me and the master, we’re riding along the track that skirts the forest on our way down to Tonbridge — Master, he’s a merchant and he had some goods he were taking to sell — and all of a sudden his horse starts and almost throws him. We could smell it ourselves then, both of us — the stench was like a butcher’s block, I’m telling you.’ He shuddered. ‘Anyway — ’ he rallied — ‘Master dismounts, goes to have a look and I follows. It — he — is lying there under the trees and there’s blood and spilled guts and he’s-’
But trying to describe the horror was beyond him. Dumbly shaking his head, the lad began to weep.
‘Your master told you to mount his horse and come on here for help?’ Josse suggested. ‘Is that what happened?’
‘Yes, sir, it were just like that,’ the boy said, turning pathetically grateful eyes on Josse. ‘Me, I ride a mule but he’s a lazy old bugger — sorry — and it takes all my strength to get him moving, let alone hurrying, so Master says to ride his horse.’ The lad glanced up at the horse, now being soothed by Brother Augustus. ‘He’s all in a sweat,’ the lad said. ‘Master’ll be cross.’ His face crumpled anew.
‘I’ll see to the horse,’ Augustus said kindly. He glanced at Josse, who nodded again, and then he led the horse away to Sister Martha’s stables.
The Abbess had now joined the group. ‘I don’t think this poor boy is capable of telling you any more,’ she murmured in Josse’s ear. ‘Would it perhaps be wise to get him to take you to where this accident occurred? Perhaps if you were to take Brother Saul and Brother Augustus, they could carry a hurdle on which to bring the unfortunate victim here to us?’
He turned to her. ‘Aye, my lady,’ he said quietly, ‘that was exactly what I had in mind.’
Sister Martha volunteered to take over the big sweating horse. Will took charge of Horace and his own and Ella’s mounts, following Sister Martha to the stables with Ella clutching on to his arm. Very soon Josse and the two lay brothers were ready to leave. The lad still seemed overawed by Josse and so Brother Augustus — much closer in size and age — quietly fell into step beside the boy. Josse and Brother Saul, walking behind, heard him say cheerfully, ‘They’re good people at the Abbey and you did well coming to us for help. I’m called Brother Augustus but my friends usually call me Gussie. What’s your name?’
The boy looked up with the very beginnings of a smile and said something — it sounded like ‘It’s Dickon’ — in reply. Then Gussie, exhibiting an unexpected gift for small talk, began to chatter about the weather, the quality of the food at the Abbey and just what a lay brother’s daily round consisted of and quite soon the lad was joining in and even giving the occasional chuckle.
Josse observed it all. He was grateful to Augustus for making the boy relax — people in shock weren’t much use for anything — but nevertheless he felt deeply disturbed.
He was lying there under the trees.
So much blood and spilled guts.
Glancing down at the hazel hurdle that the silent Brother Saul carried under one arm, he wondered if it would be a living man or a corpse that they bore back to the Abbey.
He thought more likely the latter.
Three
The body had been savaged.
It was naked and the wounds were clear to see. There was a large lump on the forehead, and bruising and a couple of grazes on the jaw. There was a series of deep cuts across the chest and the right arm had been all but severed just above the wrist. It was as if the dead man had defended himself — with sword, with knife? — and his attacker, or more likely attackers, had gone for the right arm to prevent the defensive blade thrust.
The belly had been sliced open, allowing the purplish-white folds of the guts to push out. This would have undoubtedly killed him but his murderers had been merciful. They had slit his throat.
Not just slit it; they had carved out a wide slice from jaw to larynx, leaving a terrible gash in the shape of the young moon.
Dear God, Josse thought.
In front of him Dickon and Brother Augustus had stopped. Josse and Brother Saul drew level and all four stood staring. Josse glanced at Dickon, pale as new snow beside him. ‘Go and stand on the track down there where it curves round to the right,’ he ordered. ‘Stop anyone coming along the path.’
Dickon’s look of gratitude was eloquent reward. Not only was he excused from going any nearer to that terrible thing under the trees but in addition Josse had saved his pride by giving him a job to do.
Leaving the lay brothers on the path, Josse approached the bloody body. There was a cloaked figure standing some distance beyond it, next to two mules tethered to a tree. The man hurried forward.
‘You are from Hawkenlye Abbey?’ he called.
‘Aye,’ Josse said. ‘I am Josse d’Acquin. The brethren with the hurdle are Brothers Saul and Augustus.’
The man nodded. ‘I am Guiot of Robertsbridge, on my way to Tonbridge with nutmegs and cloves for the market. That’s my lad Dickon. He’s a tad lacking in the wits but he’s willing and he has a way with a heavily laden mule that I’ve rarely seen bettered.’ Having thus identified himself — a wise notion, Josse reflected, when standing over a mutilated corpse — Guiot of Robertsbridge dropped his voice and muttered, ‘Someone had it in for this poor fellow.’
Josse had crouched down over the body. ‘Aye.’
‘I’ve been wondering if-’ began Guiot. But, evidently sensing that Josse would prefer silence, abruptly he shut his mouth and stepped back a pace.
Slowly and steadily Josse took in the details of the dead man, from the top of his head to his pale, bare feet. His shoulder-length hair was so dark that it looked black, lying slick and smooth on his skull. His eyes, partly open, were also dark; having noted this detail, Josse gently lowered the lids. The man’s nose was sharp and the cheekbones were set high, giving a hawkish look to the face. The skin was olive in tone. His chest was well muscled and he was broad-shouldered, with a toned belly and long legs with sturdy thighs. The penis, flaccid below the smooth black body hair, had been circumcised.
Josse looked up at Guiot. ‘Any sign of his clothing?’
‘No. This is exactly how he was when the lad and I stumbled across him: mother-naked, unarmed and no pack, purse or wallet.’ Unable to curb his curiosity, he added, ‘Robbery, do you think? Some wretch jumping out on a man travelling alone in the early hours of the morning?’
Intrigued, Josse said, ‘How do you know he was attacked in the early hours?’
Guiot looked smug. ‘Because Dickon and I left home around dawn and Dickon had been up some time before that getting the mule packed. He pointed out that it was a good thing we didn’t set out earlier because we’d have been caught in the downpour we’d just had.’ The smile spreading, Guiot went on, ‘The body’s wet, so it was lying here when the rain fell, but the ground under the body is dry, so he must have fallen just before the rain shower.’
Josse was impressed. But he could see a slight flaw in the argument: ‘Could there not have been another shower earlier in the night?’
‘No,’ Guiot said firmly. ‘I’m a light sleeper and I’d have heard rain on the roof. D’you reckon it was a robber killed him?’ he persisted. ‘Seems likely, since whoever did for him took his belongings and every stitch of clothing.’
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. He was not really listening; he was trying to make up his mind about something.
It was difficult to say with certainty, for with the clothing and the satchel missing there was nothing to go by. The face was exposed, that was true, but then Josse had nothing with which to make a comparison. Still, the height and the general build were right, as was the swarthy skin tone.
And the man he was thinking of was, after all, missing…
Making up his mind, Josse stood up. He looked at Guiot and said, ‘We must take him to the Abbey and prepare his body for burial.’
He turned and beckoned to the two lay brothers who, with no display of emotion save that their touch on the dead man’s body was noticeably gentle and respectful, loaded him onto the hurdle.
