Josse glanced down at the dead man, whose face was now covered by a piece of sacking. ‘We will take him to Hawkenlye Abbey,’ he announced. ‘The new infirmarer is acquiring quite a reputation, and if she can’t tell us what killed this man, I will personally go to fetch Sister Euphemia out of her well-earned retirement and ask her.’
He watched as Gervase’s men put the body on a makeshift stretcher, made out of the man’s cloak fastened around two heavy branches cut from one of the oak trees. The procession formed up and — with Gervase and Josse in the lead, and Tomas and his old mare at the back — they began to wind their way slowly back to Hawkenlye.
When they had gone only a short distance, Gervase cleared his throat a couple of times and then said, ‘Josse, as you know, Dominic Warin came to see me.’
‘Aye,’ Josse replied. ‘Some matter you wanted to discuss with him, I understand.’
For some moments Gervase did not answer. Sensing his discomfiture, Josse turned to look at him. Gervase’s usual air of amused detachment appeared to have deserted him. ‘Well?’ Josse prompted.
‘There is a band of robbers in the area,’ Gervase said, the words emerging in a rush, as if he disliked having to utter them. ‘I am spreading the word to all men who have large manors and houses, for to be forewarned may afford some protection.’ Again, he hesitated. ‘I asked Dominic to tell me what valuables he possesses, suggesting he make certain that they are safely hidden or locked away,’ he hurried on. ‘I propose that you do the same, Josse, and I am happy to come to the House in the Woods to check on your security.’
‘That’s good of you, Gervase,’ Josse said, surprised, ‘although I can’t bring to mind much that any of us possess that’s worth locking away.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised.’ Gervase gave an awkward laugh. Before Josse could reply, he added, ‘I have some experience with thieves, Josse. I know what they look out for; I can help you, if you are willing.’
‘Well, I suppose I am…’ Josse said slowly. His mind was working busily. Why on earth was Gervase discussing this unlikely suggestion of his, when there was another, far graver issue preoccupying them all?
Because he is my friend, he realized, and he thinks in this way to take my mind off my fears.
He turned to Gervase with a smile, about to thank him for his kind concern. But Gervase’s expression stopped the words before he could speak them. Whatever this was about, it was a great deal deeper than a sympathetic gesture from a compassionate companion.
Then he knew.
Feeling the same fear-induced nausea that had flooded him when Tomas had told him about finding a body, he said in a hoarse whisper, ‘You fear that these thieves may not stop at stealing property. You believe they may have taken Rosamund.’
Gervase’s eyes widened in horrified protest. ‘No, Josse!’ Violently, he shook his head. ‘No, my friend. Believe me, I have not the least reason to suspect such a thing.’ He muttered something, but Josse could not make it out.
Josse was not convinced. ‘Then why do you mention these robbers at all, when you must know that concern for any valuable possessions I might have is the last thing on my mind?’
He had spoken far more fiercely than he had intended. Gervase hung his head, as if accepting the rebuke. Instantly sorry, Josse reached out a hand. ‘I am sorry, Gervase,’ he said. ‘You were trying to distract me, I know.’ He took a couple of breaths, and he felt his heartbeat slow down. ‘I promise I’ll think about what treasures I own, and when next you are at the House in the Woods I’ll show you where I hide them and seek your advice as to how to keep these robbers’ filthy hands off them.’
Gervase nodded, but did not reply. In silence, they rode on to the abbey.
FIVE
Josse stood beside Gervase, watching Hawkenlye’s infirmarer work her way all over the dead man’s body. It had been taken to a curtained recess, then stripped and washed by two young nuns working under the close eye of their superior. Josse had studied the infirmarer as she stood there, her full attention on what her nurses were doing. He did not know her well, and his first impressions were favourable. When one of the young nuns — nervous, perhaps, under the infirmarer’s unwavering stare — dropped a bowl of dirty water all over the clean sheet on which the body was lying, Sister Liese had issued no sharp reprimand, but quietly told the girl to fetch another sheet and then mop up the mess.
Now, observing her as closely as she had watched her nuns, Josse’s tentative admiration for her grew. She handled the body as if it still lived, he observed, touching the wounds to the face and the hands as if the man could still wince at the pain. She was modest, too, and after a quick inspection of the torso, groin and legs, she had pulled up the sheet so that the body was covered as far as the waist.
‘He has been hit over his ribs.’ Sister Liese’s soft voice broke into his reflections. ‘There is bruising. See?’ She beckoned to them without turning round, as if she knew they were watching. Josse and Gervase stepped forward, and Josse saw the dark discolouration over the lower half of the man’s rib cage.
‘Left side again,’ he muttered.
Sister Liese turned to look at him. Her eyes — light, and halfway between blue and green — fixed on his. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘and the damage to the face is worse on the left. The man who punched him favoured his right hand.’
She turned back to the body. Now she raised the head with one gentle hand while she slipped the other beneath it. She felt around for some moments, and Josse knew what she would find.
He waited and, after a short time, Sister Liese smiled briefly and said, ‘Ah, yes.’
‘He fell flat on his back,’ Josse said. ‘There must have been a stone, or a rock, that his head struck.’
‘Yes, I agree.’ Sister Liese reached out and took Josse’s wrist in a surprisingly firm grasp. She raised the dead man’s head again and placed Josse’s fingers on the base of the skull. He felt a deep dent, and over the spot the thick hair was sticky with blood.
‘Not, strictly speaking, murder,’ Gervase said. ‘What do you say, Josse?’
Josse was thinking. ‘He and the other man were fighting ferociously, exchanging hard punches, and we know from our man’s knuckles that he landed several hits. Then his opponent struck a particularly effective blow — perhaps the one that damaged our man’s nose — and he staggered backwards.’
‘He might have been knocked out,’ Sister Liese suggested. ‘Even if it does not kill him, a hard blow can render a man unconscious.’
‘Unconscious or driven back by the blow, either way he tripped or fell, landing flat on his back and striking his head on a stone.’
‘A rock.’ Sister Liese spoke with conviction. ‘The wound is a hand’s breadth across, and so too large for a mere stone.’
Josse suppressed a smile. Such precision, he thought. ‘His head hit a rock,’ he amended, ‘and the force of the impact shattered his skull and killed him.’ He looked at Gervase. ‘Whether or not that is murder is not for me to say.’ He turned back to Sister Liese. ‘Thank you, Sister. We are most grateful for your help.’
She bowed her head. ‘It is what I am here for,’ she said. She looked down at the body. ‘Will you wish to visit him again?’
Once more, Josse noticed, she had spoken of a man, not a corpse. ‘We will,’ he said quietly. ‘There is the question of identity. Somebody knows who he is, and we shall-’
But she had understood. ‘I will brush down his garments and dress him,’ she said. ‘Lying on his back, his visible wounds are not horrifying, and if he is clad in his habitual tunic, he will look much as he did in life.’
‘You wish to spare this somebody further distress,’ Joss murmured.
She met his eyes. ‘The knowledge that he is dead will be sufficient,’ she agreed. ‘Now, if you will excuse me…’
‘Aye, of course.’ Josse nodded to Gervase, and the two of them left the recess and walked away down the long infirmary.
‘We should speak to Abbess Caliste,’ Josse said as they emerged into the cold, clear air. Helewise always used to come to witness old Euphemia’s inspection of a victim’s body, he thought before he could stop himself.
