Chartres have also gone.’
Irrespective of the monopoly that the priests were trying to impose, the master mason had obviously been pursuing his own enquiries. Josse put that thought aside, for something far more important had caught his attention. Two others. Two more Knights of Arcturus?
‘Do you know anything about this other pair?’ he asked.
The mason shot him a shrewd look. ‘Do you?’
‘No! I’m just… just-’
‘Just nosy?’ The mason grinned. ‘Well, I like the look of you, sir knight, which is why I’m telling you all this. I’m stuck here — I have a job to do,’ he added with a touch of self-importance, ‘but you, well, I reckon you’re not one to let murder go unremarked. I don’t know the names of the men de Loup was after but I can describe them. One’s tall with fair hair, and the other is shorter, slighter in build and wears a deep hood.’
One was tall and thin, fairish, like; one was short and lightly built. The words of the guard on the Ile d’Oleron bounced in Josse’s head. Was it possible that, with the king dead, these two men now rode with a different master? It was little enough to go on but it was all he had.
‘I don’t suppose you know where they were bound?’ he asked.
The mason’s smile broadened. ‘Funny you should ask,’ he murmured, ‘because as it happens I do. I’ve got contacts, see, and people keep their eyes peeled for me.’
‘So where has de Loup gone?’
‘Ah, now, I can’t speak for him. He’s very secretive and I’d guess that nobody but him knows what he’s up to. I’m referring to the other two. They’re bound for England.’
It was not what Josse had expected to hear. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ the mason said, drawing out the word and clearly enjoying the moment, ‘they’re going home.’ As if he wanted to make quite sure Josse understood, he added, ‘They’re English.’
Part Three
Eight
The abbess and her party arrived back at Hawkenlye at the end of May. The journey from Chartres had been swift and uneventful, progress greatly aided by the calm, sunny weather, which had kept the roads mud-free and flattened the seas for the crossing from Boulogne to Hastings. No matter how swiftly they travelled, however, it had not been fast enough for Helewise. Once she had done all she could in Chartres, she had burned to be back at the abbey getting on with the hundreds of tasks pressing on her conscience. Not only had she been away from her normal duties for six weeks, which in itself meant a great deal of catching up, but in addition there was now the vast and daunting prospect of the new chapel.
When the excitement of being home again faded, she sat at the big table in her little room one morning and reviewed the situation. The master mason whom she had engaged was due to arrive any day now, together with his team; he had told her that his work on the cathedral at Chartres would be complete by the end of May at the latest and he would then make his way over to England. He had explained the rudiments of the system: how he prepared the templates for the stonemasons, setting the job in motion, and how, once a certain stage had been reached, his job was done and he was free to move on elsewhere. She had noticed that her master mason was skilled at speaking a great deal of words without actually telling her very much, verifying the oft-repeated rumour that masons were secretive types. Not that it mattered; provided the chapel was built well and swiftly — nervously she recalled Queen Eleanor’s firm resolve that prayers would be said there within the year — she did not need to enquire into the methods.
While she waited, ploughing slowly but steadily through her backlog of work, a part of her mind dwelled constantly on an image of the new chapel. She saw it in her mind’s eye: a simple little building, beautifully proportioned, with perhaps one glorious window depicting the martyrdom of St Edmund. She could still see the glorious Chartres glass and to have just one example of that inspirational work in their own chapel was a dream that she knew she would fight for as hard as she could.
With a sigh, she firmly put the thought from her mind and went back to her accounts.
Josse had said farewell to the abbess, Brothers Saul and Augustus and Sister Caliste at the place on the road from the coast where the track for New Winnowlands branched off. He knew he would not stay long at home, for his mission for Queen Eleanor lay heavy on him. Investigate these rumours and find out if there is any truth in them, she had commanded. Well, he had, and there was. Perhaps he should simply have returned to the queen and told her so, but something in him stubbornly refused to admit the king’s guilt. Richard might have had his faults, but descending to the level of a devil-worshipper and child molester was surely too much to believe. A voice that could only be Josse’s own kept saying that there had to be an explanation…
So he had picked up the only lead he had and followed de Loup’s two companions back to England. All through the long miles from Chartres to Kent he had asked after them, but nobody could tell him anything of a tall man with fair hair accompanied by a smaller man with a deep hood. Not that he was surprised; it was hardly a precise description. He had no more luck with the name Philippe de Loup. As he reached New Winnowlands and gratefully surrendered his weary body to the various ministrations of his household, he concluded that the only thing to do now was head for London in the hope that pursuing his enquiries there among its swarming population might yield a new path to pursue. It was, he admitted, a faint hope.
It was sheer luxury to be home. Will took Horace away to feed him up and groom him till his coat shone like jet; Ella excelled herself by sending up from the kitchen such a splendid variety of dishes that Josse felt his waist expanding daily. Dominic and Paradisa, who since their marriage three years ago had shared New Winnowlands with him, adding two-year-old Ralf and the newborn Hugo to the household, spoiled him in every way and generally made him feel like a loved person returning to the heart of his family. Loving and delightful as they were, however, and despite the natural affection Josse felt for the abbess’s son and his wife, they were of course not actually his family.
He had little appetite for the next phase of his task and, indeed, was starting to consider returning to France to tell Eleanor what he had discovered and leave it to her to dig further. He had so very little to go on; the proposed trip to London would probably be no more than a costly waste of time. He seemed all of a sudden to be bereft of resolve: he missed his daughter, he missed Joanna and, after so long on the road with the abbess and her companions, he missed them perhaps most of all. Dominic and Paradisa did their best to include him in their life, but his common sense told him they would be equally happy without him. What, he thought miserably, am I to do with myself?
He frittered away several days at New Winnowlands. Then, returning one evening from exercising Horace, he rode into the courtyard to be met by Dominic and Will, both looking worried.
He slipped out of the saddle and Will hurried to take Horace’s reins. ‘What’s wrong?’ Josse asked.
Will jerked his head in Dominic’s direction and muttered, ‘Best ask him, sir.’ Then he led Horace away to the stables.
Fear bit deep into Josse’s heart. He spun round to Dominic. ‘What’s happened? It’s not-’ He bit back the words. He had been going to say, it’s not your mother?
Dominic seemed to sense it. ‘She’s fine,’ he said quietly, ‘as far as I know. No, Josse, it’s something quite different. Something really puzzling.’ He frowned.
‘What?’
Dominic grabbed his arm and together they hurried up the steps into the hall. ‘Come and see.’
Inside, Paradisa was sitting on the floor. Beside her, the baby slept in his crib and Ralf played with a set of wooden blocks. Next to Ralf, another child bent over the playthings, helping him to make tall stacks and then noisily push them over, a game that had the little boy squealing with delighted laughter.
