crow, which came to land by a huge gap in the wall and strutted away inside.
Josse hurried on. Striding through the workmen’s village, he was increasingly optimistic that he would find Paul de Fleury at home, for in most of the dwellings he heard and smelled the signs that the artisans were eating breakfast. He reached de Fleury’s door and confidently put up his hand to rap smartly on its warped panels. To his surprise, it opened.
There was nobody inside. The cup and plate were in a different position — clearly they had been used since yesterday — and the piece of vellum was rolled up and tied with cord. Without understanding what prompted him, Josse picked it up and slid it inside his tunic. He was filled with a sense of foreboding and, pausing only to look into the tiny back room, where there was a low cot and a heavy cloak hanging on a nail, he left the house and ran back to the cathedral.
He knew as he sprinted across the square that something was wrong. The cathedral site was not deserted now; dozens of people were milling around, most of them talking earnestly in raised voices to whoever would listen. Someone pulled at Josse’s sleeve and a man’s spotty face pushed up close to his. The man was saying something about evil curses and heretics who would stop at nothing to interrupt the Lord’s work, but Josse shrugged him off and ran on inside the shell of the new cathedral.
In the middle of the nave, several black-clad priests huddled over something on the floor. Josse noticed vaguely that a pattern of some sort had been marked out; it seemed to be formed of concentric rings. He stepped carefully around the marker pegs and approached the kneeling priests. Two of them looked up as they heard his footsteps and then he could see what they had been concealing.
At the central point of the pattern, a man lay sprawled on the floor. He lay on his back and his wide-open eyes stared up at the wooden falsework scaffolding directly above, from which he must have fallen. He wore a tunic and hose that were stained greyish-white with powdered stone and, on top of them, a heavy leather apron. He had light brown hair, which was now spread around his head like a halo. It was stained dark with blood.
‘He’s dead,’ one of the priests said. He muttered a prayer, made the sign of the cross over the body and, leaning down, gently closed the man’s eyes.
‘You’re sure?’ Josse demanded.
The priest turned a mild face to him. ‘See for yourself,’ he invited. ‘He’s stone-cold and there is no heartbeat.’
Josse put a hand to the man’s cheek. It was chill to the touch. ‘Who is he?’
‘We don’t yet know,’ the priest said. ‘He was found only a short while ago — the first workmen on the site noticed a trio of crows hopping around here in the nave and then they saw what had attracted them.’ He shuddered. ‘Fortunately, the men drove them off before they did any damage.’
‘He was a stonemason,’ Josse said, studying the dead man. ‘His clothes are covered in stone dust.’ He looked up. ‘We should send for the master masons. They all know their own men.’
The priest hurried to obey and soon returned with three men dressed, like the dead man, in dusty tunics and leather aprons. They stared down at the corpse and one said, ‘Aye, I know him.’ He gave a heavy sigh and added something that sounded like, ‘Might have known.’
‘Who is he?’ Josse asked.
The master mason met his eyes. ‘Paul de Fleury.’
Seven
Others came hurrying to join the group around the dead man and Josse, who had seen and heard enough, melted away through the crowd. They would find out where Paul de Fleury lived, he thought, search his house and belongings for some clue as to who had employed him and what work he had been doing that had necessitated the fatal climb up to the beam high above the nave. Josse had found the house already; the only thing within of any possible relevance was now inside his tunic. He knew who had engaged de Fleury and he strongly suspected that the fall had been no accident. He needed to inspect the nave very carefully, preferably by himself, but that was quite impossible for now. He would just have to wait.
He went back to the convent and asked to speak to Abbess Helewise. He knew by her face that she had already heard the news. She waited until they were alone in the bare little parlour before speaking.
‘He is the man you went looking for,’ she whispered. ‘I recognized the name.’
‘Aye, he is.’
‘You don’t think…? Sir Josse, it can’t be that he is dead because he found out you were asking about him?’
He realized what she meant. ‘You think he might have been so frightened that he killed himself?’
Slowly she nodded.
It was a possibility that had not occurred to him. It was likely that some well-meaning person had slipped the word to de Fleury that Josse had been looking for him. If he were engaged in some evil or criminal work, then it was conceivable that Josse’s sudden interest could have panicked him into suicide. Nevertheless, Josse was pretty sure that was not how it had happened.
‘I do not think so, my lady,’ he said firmly. ‘I think it is far more likely that de Fleury somehow became a threat to his employer and that de Loup lured him to the cathedral last night and killed him.’
‘You… Oh!’ Her eyes widened. Then, ‘Is there any proof?’
‘None that I have found yet, although I have not had the chance for a proper look. I’m going out this evening, when everyone has gone home.’
‘Surely they’re not working there today, in the very place where a man has just died?’
‘No, indeed.’ He gave her an ironic look. ‘The cathedral’s crawling with priests and busybodies and they’ll be there until the very last scrap of drama and speculation has finally been extracted.’
She smiled sympathetically. ‘And in the meantime you are forced to sit here kicking your heels and bursting with impatience.’
He returned her smile. ‘That might be so, my lady, except that there is this.’ He extracted de Fleury’s piece of vellum and unrolled it, spreading it out so that they could both look at it. Seeing it for the first time in good light, Josse gave a sharp exclamation.
On the vellum, Paul de Fleury had drawn a picture — in all likelihood, the design for the commission from his employer. He must have been a skilled artist, for the picture was beautiful, with flowing lines and a vivid emotional life. It depicted a slim, graceful woman in a horned headdress and she stood in a narrow craft shaped like the crescent moon.
The abbess did not seem to be able to take her eyes off the drawing. She said in an urgent whisper, ‘Who is she? Oh, Sir Josse, what in heaven’s name was de Fleury doing?’
‘I have seen this before,’ he replied. ‘It is the device worn by Philippe de Loup and the Knights of Arcturus.’
‘And de Loup wishes to have it incorporated into the new cathedral?’
‘So it appears,’ he agreed, ‘if indeed this picture represents the figure that de Fleury had been commissioned to craft.’
‘But…’ The abbess seemed lost for words. ‘Sir Josse, is this not a pagan image?’
He tore his eyes away from the drawing — something that was surprisingly difficult, for the figure seemed to compel the attention — and looked at the abbess. ‘I suppose so,’ he agreed, ‘although.. ’ He did not know how to put his reservation into words.
Slowly she nodded. ‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘My head tells me that she — ’ very gently the abbess touched the figure — ‘is a pagan goddess and that I should have no truck with her, yet she appeals irresistibly to something so profound within me that I cannot begin to name it.’
For some time they went on staring down at Paul de Fleury’s powerful image and neither spoke. Then Josse sighed deeply and said, ‘Philippe de Loup knew what he was about, that’s for sure. If de Fleury’s finished sculpture ended up with a fraction of the force of his preliminary design, then it would indeed have been something to behold.’
‘Yes,’ the abbess breathed. ‘Only now the poor man is dead, and his great gift gone.’
