‘Really?’ She felt her own excitement rising. ‘From where and what has this man fled?’
‘I cannot say, my lady,’ the old monk admitted, ‘save that the knights implied their chase had been most arduous and lengthy.’
Had they trailed their quarry all the way from Outremer? she wondered. Was it likely that three warrior monks would follow a runaway all that distance? Was it even possible to dog a man’s footsteps for all those hundreds and hundreds of miles over both land and sea…?
‘They did say,’ Brother Firmin added darkly, ‘that the runaway was an English monk.’
‘Did they?’ She was not sure why she was surprised. Wouldn’t it be the obvious thing, for an English fugitive to run for home? But then she realized that her surprise was because she was still obsessed with the body of the dark stranger: he, clearly, was no Englishman, and consequently she was now faced with the fact that her instant conclusion — that the runaway Knight Hospitaller was the man in her infirmary — could not be the right one. ‘I see,’ she finished lamely.
Brother Firmin waited to see if she was going to speak again and when she did not, he ventured tentatively, ‘We all thought it was very strange, my lady.’
‘What was?’
‘That these men should creep about asking questions of just about everybody except for the person they ought to have approached.’ His frown expressed his disapproval. ‘They are vowed monks and they ought to know how such things are done.’
‘You mean they should have asked me first?’
‘Indeed they should, my lady! Why, we all assumed they had your permission to interview us! Had we known that this was not the case, we should have refused!’ His very body language spoke of his indignation. ‘I do hope that no harm has been done?’
‘No, Brother; none at all.’ She got to her feet. ‘Do you know where they are now? Because I think it is about time that I too heard what they have to say.’
The three Hospitallers, she discovered as she crossed the cloister with Brother Firmin panting along by her side, had found Josse. Or perhaps, she thought with a smile, Josse had found them. Either way, they were all standing in the lee of the long infirmary building and Josse appeared to be giving the oldest of the trio a considerable piece of his mind.
‘… not the way things are done here, however you might carry on in Outremer. Here it is considered good manners to speak to the Abbess first, and only proceed when and if she says you can!’
He and Brother Firmin must have been taught the same rules. Suppressing her smile, she glided up to the group and said, ‘I am Abbess Helewise. May I help?’
Two of the three knights had the grace to look abashed. The third — a lean, pale man whose extreme thinness gave an illusory impression of height — stared straight at her with hazel eyes that did not look down as he gave a perfunctory bow. ‘I am Thibault of Margat, of the Order of the Knights of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem,’ he intoned. ‘These — ’ he indicated the other two with a wave of his hand that was almost insulting in its indifference — ‘are Brother Otto and, er…’ he paused, frowning, ‘Brother Jeremiah.’
Helewise wondered which was which, for their superior did not deign to enlighten her. All three were dressed in dark robes that were dusty, mud-spattered and very well worn. She waited for Thibault to continue.
‘We are hunting for a runaway monk,’ he said in a curiously expressionless tone. ‘He is an Englishman.’
‘An English Hospitaller,’ she said. ‘And what does this man look like?’
‘He will be dressed as we are,’ Thibault said, ‘in a dark robe and black cloak — ’ he held out a fold of his own cloak — ‘or scapular — ’ he pointed to one of the brothers — ‘marked with the distinctive white cross of our Order.’
Slowly she shook her head. ‘I have seen no such man,’ she said. Then, for Thibault’s look of disdain was profoundly irritating, she added, ‘I will ask my nuns and monks if they have noticed a man dressed as you describe. Unless, that is, you have already done so?’ She fixed Thibault with a hard stare.
His lips tightened. ‘We have asked both in the settlement down by the lake and here in the Abbey,’ he acknowledged.
‘And have any of my community or its visitors been able to help you?’
‘No.’ The single word was curt.
Although she knew it was unworthy, she was enjoying his discomfiture. ‘To describe a man simply by the garb he wears is not of much value,’ she said, forcing a helpful expression, ‘since it is the easiest thing to remove one garment and put on another.’
‘I had thought of that, my lady.’ Thibault sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth.
‘Can you not tell us more?’ she prompted. ‘What age is this runaway? What is his name? And what does he look like — is he fair or dark? Tall, short, fat, thin?’
Thibault raised his chin and squared his shoulders. ‘I do not know,’ he said.
For an instant Helewise was blessed with additional perception and she knew without doubt that this was a lie. Then the moment passed.
She glanced at Josse, watching the exchange with close attention, and drew him towards her. ‘This is Sir Josse d’Acquin,’ she said, ‘a King’s man and a loyal friend to Hawkenlye Abbey. Have you asked your question of him?’
Thibault looked at Josse, who stared levelly back. ‘I have. Like you and your people, he says he knows nothing of a robed Hospitaller.’
There was a very faint emphasis on says. Helewise felt her anger boil up. She waited until she had herself under control and then said quietly, ‘If that is what Sir Josse says, then, Thibault of Margat, it is the truth. If there is nothing else you want of me or my community, then allow me to wish you God’s speed.’
She watched the protest rise and fall again in Thibault’s face. He is torn, she thought grimly. There is more — probably very much more — that he could tell us that would help us to identify this runaway monk, should he ever come this way. Yet this information is sensitive, for Thibault cannot bring himself to divulge it…
As she waited for the Hospitaller to make up his mind she was struck forcibly with the thought that whatever the fugitive monk might or might not have done, she was on his side. But that was not a thought that a nun — an abbess, indeed — should entertain.
Thibault must have been working out his parting remark. Now, sweeping his black cloak around him, he jerked his head at his two silent companions and they walked off towards the gates. Thibault, turning to look at first Helewise and then Josse, said, ‘We make now for Tonbridge, whence we shall set out for our Order’s English headquarters at the priory of St John in Clerkenwell.’ Then, in a voice of soft intensity, he added, ‘You will send word to me if the English monk comes here. We will not be hard to find for we make no secret of our comings and goings.’
And that also is a lie, Helewise thought coolly.
Thibault, after the briefest of reverences, strode away after the two brothers.
She felt Josse stir beside her. ‘Not so much as a farewell,’ he muttered.
Without thinking, she said, ‘He’ll be back.’
Josse’s expression suggested that he was almost as surprised as she was by the remark. ‘My lady?’
‘Oh — er, I just meant that here at Hawkenlye we have the biggest concentration of people for miles, so Brother Thibault is hardly likely to be satisfied with a few brief questions.’ It sounded unsatisfactory even to her ears.
Josse went on staring at her and now he was looking decidedly suspicious. She gave him a smile — she could not have explained how she knew, even had she wanted to — and after a moment he muttered, ‘Have it your own way.’
Her need for solitude had grown out of all proportion; a great deal had happened this morning and she urgently needed to think. Leaning close to Josse, she said softly, ‘I must send for Father Gilbert to arrange for the burial. I had thought that perhaps the man those Hospitallers are seeking might be our dead man, for I believe that the brethren do recruit soldiers from the native population in Outremer.’
‘Indeed, my lady,’ Josse relied. ‘They are known as turcopoles, and the military orders put them on a horse, give them a bow and, after scant training, fling them into battle.’
She hid a smile; evidently Josse did not approve of such practices. ‘But then they said the runaway is an Englishman,’ she said with a sigh, ‘so that was the end of that bright idea.’
