They set off, Josse and the abbess in the lead, and within a short time were approaching the narrow stone bridge that led over a deep gully to the castle on its headland. Guards stood at each end of the bridge and, on the far side, where an arched entrance led through the great wall into the courtyard beyond, an iron portcullis was poised ready for lowering. Arrow slits dotted the smooth stonework in a regular pattern and, high above, men could be seen on watch behind the crenellated walls. The castle gave the impression that it was bristling with weaponry and spoiling for a fight.
But that was fanciful, Josse told himself firmly. Wasn’t it?
He dragged himself out of his strange mood and made himself pay attention to the abbess’s exchange with the captain of the guard, who had stepped forward to bar their progress. Josse was about to offer his help but realized she did not need it; she was doing perfectly well on her own. The guard seemed impressed and, giving her a gallant bow, led the way across the bridge and in through the archway.
They were in Eleanor’s castle at last.
Eleanor gave them a short time to refresh themselves and then sent for the abbess and Josse. Briefly — and ungratefully — it occurred to Helewise to wonder why Josse was summoned, since the construction of a new chapel at Hawkenlye surely had nothing to do with him. She put the unworthy thought firmly away as they entered the vast room and, deeply and reverently, she bowed before the queen.
Eleanor stepped down from the raised dais where she had been sitting and took Helewise’s hand. ‘You have made good time, Helewise,’ she said.
In a flash Helewise thought, you were right, Josse. Then she said meekly, ‘We had a reliable guide, madam.’
‘Yes,’ Eleanor said, looking at Josse. ‘I know.’
Helewise knew it was probably not the right thing to speak before being spoken to but she could not help herself. She stared into Eleanor’s eyes; the queen’s face was pale and drawn, and her deep-set eyes were shadowed with dark circles. ‘I am so sorry, my lady, for your loss.’
There was a moment’s absolute silence. Helewise, quite sure she had broken some rule of etiquette, was about to apologize when the queen gave a sigh and said softly, ‘You too have sons, Helewise.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
It was enough.
The queen seemed to shake off the outward manifestations of her grief. Straightening up and squaring her shoulders, she said abruptly, ‘The new chapel is to be dedicated to St Edmund, who, like my dear son, died from an arrow shot. It is to be under the auspices of Hawkenlye Abbey, but I leave its exact site for you to decide, Helewise, in collaboration with the architect and the builders. I recall that the abbey does not have a great deal of available space within its walls and I would not have some existing building altered to make room. Within the chapel, the Hawkenlye community and the people will pray for the soul of King Richard.’ She paused, looking wryly first at Helewise and then at Josse. ‘Like all men, my son was a mixture of good and bad. He confessed his sins and was shriven before he died, but nevertheless I fear that many more prayers must be said for him before his soul may ascend to Our Lord in heaven.’ She fell silent, the lines of deep grief once more very apparent on her face.
Helewise waited. Eleanor again brought herself back from the dark paths of grief to the matter in hand. With a peremptory ‘Come!’ she walked across to a wide oak table on which there were several large rolls of parchment. With Helewise and Josse either side of her, she unrolled the largest, revealing a beautifully drawn illustration of a small chapel. ‘This is what I want,’ she said quietly. ‘Something simple, for my son was a plain man. Something for the ordinary people, who loved him.’
Helewise was not at all sure about love. It seemed to her that the unspoken opinion of most people was that the late king had cost them rather more than he was worth. This, of course, was no time to say so.
Eleanor was unrolling other parchments, showing them plans and elevations. ‘You will go from here to the city of Chartres,’ she said, ‘where they are building the new cathedral on the fire-blackened ruins of the old one. There, you will find the stonemasons and the carpenters whom I have chosen to build my son’s chapel and you will give them my written orders. Payment will be effected through the auspices of the Knights Templar, with whom I have arranged credit. It is my wish that work begin as soon as possible. I have already commissioned a similar chapel at Fontevrault, dedicated to St Lawrence, and it is my firm intention that prayers shall be said at both chapels within the year.’
It seemed a tall order. Helewise, briefly meeting Josse’s eyes, guessed he felt the same, but then Eleanor was the queen, enduring, loved and respected; her people were long in the habit of obeying her.
‘Very well, my lady,’ Helewise said. ‘It shall be as you command.’
Eleanor looked at her intently for a moment. Then she said simply, ‘Thank you.’
Helewise sensed that they were dismissed. With a brief glance at Josse, she bowed low and began backing away from the queen. They had reached the great doors, which a silent statue-like guard opened for them, and Helewise was preceding Josse through to the vast open space beyond when Eleanor called out, ‘Sir Josse! A word, if you please.’
His eyes flicked to Helewise’s and she felt an absurd urge to giggle at the horror in his face. ‘It is my turn to reassure you,’ she whispered, pushing him back into the great hall. ‘Stop worrying — you have done nothing wrong!’
Then the guard was gently but firmly closing the doors in her face. Whatever was in store for Josse, he was going to have to face it by himself.
Eleanor had dismissed her guard; she and Josse were alone. She went to sit on a low bench beside the empty hearth and beckoned to him to join her. After a moment’s hesitation — was it right to sit beside a queen? — he obeyed, lowering his buttocks very cautiously in case she suddenly protested that it wasn’t what she had meant at all and he should kneel at her feet instead. No such protest came.
After what seemed to the very nervous Josse a painfully long silence, Eleanor said, ‘Sir Josse, why do you imagine I have come here to my castle on this backwater of an island?’
Josse cast around frantically for a diplomatic answer but all he could think of was the truth. ‘We — that is, the Abbess Helewise and I — wondered if you might have sought a little solitude, madam, in which to grieve,’ he said quietly.
‘A gentle thought,’ she replied, ‘and, indeed, an accurate guess, for it is all too true that I have great need of such a retreat.’ She sighed. ‘I have lost the staff of my old age, the light of my eyes,’ she murmured, ‘and it all but breaks me.’ There was another pause and Josse felt her sorrow flow around him like a dark cloud. Then she said, ‘But the luxury of solitary grief is not for one such as I. Why, even here matters of State occupy me and in the brief time that I have been on the island I have granted two charters and, when the blackness of my thoughts threatens to overwhelm me, I distract myself with a new project to set down once and for all a just and reasonable system of laws for maritime trade.’ She fell silent, a frown creasing her face.
‘I can think of nobody more fitted to-’ Josse began.
As if she hadn’t heard him, she spoke again, shocking him into silence: ‘There are foul rumours concerning a group of knights who, so they say, have been indulging in devil worship,’ she said bluntly. ‘They sacrifice young boys and perform unspeakable sexual misdeeds.’
In a flash of understanding Josse recalled the moment of deep unease as he stood looking up at the castle. Something very bad had happened here. ‘Aye,’ he breathed. Then, eyes on hers, ‘Was it right here, within these walls?’ he asked urgently.
She looked at him, surprise on her face. ‘No, but very close: on the island. How did you know?’ Then, anger darkening her eyes, she hissed, ‘Did somebody tell you?’
‘No, madam, I swear it.’ To his huge relief, she seemed to believe him. ‘Just a sensation. I felt there was evil here.’
‘You felt right,’ she muttered.
‘What has it to do with me?’ he asked. ‘Or with you, my lady? This is your island, I appreciate that, but-’
Again she interrupted him. ‘I remember you, Josse d’Acquin,’ she said. ‘You came to our aid once before. Do you remember?’
‘Aye, my lady.’ Embarrassed, he lowered his head.
‘I was preparing the way in England for my son’s crowning and you helped to defend his good name. Well, now I call upon you to render to me the same service again.’
‘Your son…? Madam, I do not understand.’ Josse stared at her. He read something in her expression,
