in fact he had use of the hand and so that was unlikely.’
‘Do you remember which hand?’ Josse asked.
‘The right,’ she said instantly. ‘I could not have put a poultice on his left hand, for the cut in it had been bandaged.’
Josse visualized the dead man. ‘The damage to Hugh’s face was on the left side,’ he said quietly. ‘Where a right-handed man would have hit him.’
At Acquin, Ninian was beginning to relax and enjoy himself. He had settled very happily with the family. Josse’s brothers and their wives were avid for every last little detail of life in the House in the Woods, and in the evenings, when work was done for the day and the family relaxed together, they all plied him with endless questions.
‘How I should love to see him again,’ Yves sighed one evening, wiping away tears of laughter after Ninian had excelled himself in describing Josse’s attempts at herding the household’s small flock of sheep off Meggie’s herbs and back into the sheep fold. One ewe, which Josse claimed was unique among the creatures of the earth in having been born without a brain, had frustrated him so severely that he had tried to pick her up by the back legs and drag her, upon which she had kicked him soundly in the groin. ‘England is not so far away,’ Yves went on sadly, ‘yet the years pass, the days are so full and it is easier to sit here and reminisce than to get up and set out on a visit.’
‘Josse would say the same,’ Ninian replied. He had warmed to Yves and did not think it was fair for him to take all the blame on himself. ‘Besides, there are four brothers here, and Josse is only one. It’s up to him, really, to come to you.’
Suddenly, he experienced one of the strange moments which happened occasionally, when he saw something that was going to happen. He had learned not to worry about them; it was, he had decided, probably a gift inherited from his mother. He had also learned to trust them.
What he saw, as he sat across the fire from Yves, was a perfectly clear image of Josse sitting beside his brother.
He decided not to tell Yves. If he was right — and he knew he was — then the visit would come as a lovely surprise.
Yves insisted that Ninian be shown all over the Acquin lands. On several successive mornings, they saddled up their horses and, sometimes accompanied by one of the other brothers, sometimes just the two of them, they would set off on a long morning ride.
On the fourth day of Ninian’s stay, he was riding back towards the house with Yves and Patrice and looking forward to the meal which would be waiting for them. Patrice was pointing down to the little river that ran through the valley, telling him where the best spots to fish for a trout or a perch could be found, when they heard voices on the road ahead. They were not far from Acquin and, up a narrow path that led up to the right, a group of alders grew around a pond. The voices came from under the trees.
Somebody was weeping, loudly and uncontrollably.
Yves spurred on his horse, Ninian and Patrice in his wake. They dismounted at the end of the path, tethered their horses and ran up the gentle slope to the huddle of people.
They were all local people; Ninian recognized quite a few of the faces. Seeing Yves approach, most of them stood back and some bowed their heads to their lord. As a gap opened up and the pond became visible, Ninian, just behind Yves, saw what was causing the commotion.
A body lay on the edge of the water. It was that of a man, clad in down at heel boots, darned hose and a jerkin that seemed to be made out of sacking. His dirty hair was pale blond. A woman was crouched over him, patting at his face, weeping, crying out a name: ‘Stephan! Oh, Stephan!’
It was Yves’s stable lad.
Yves was already on his knees in the mud beside the young man’s mother. He had his hand on the lad’s throat and, as Ninian watched, he bent down to put his cheek beside the open mouth. He glanced up, and Ninian saw him catch his brother’s eye and briefly shake his head. Then he stood up, ran his eyes over the gawping villagers and, selecting a couple, told them to escort the wailing, shocked woman back to her home. Two more were sent to fetch a stretcher for the body. There were still four or five people hanging about and, with a swift, impatient gesture, Yves said, ‘Get back to your work. There is nothing anyone can do for him now.’
When everyone had gone, Yves beckoned to Patrice and Ninian, and they approached the body.
‘How did he die?’ Patrice asked. ‘Did he drown?’
‘I do not think so, for his hair is dry,’ Yves said. He was running his hands over the body, searching for the fatal injury. With a soft exclamation, he pointed to the neck. On the left side — the side on which the body lay — there was a short, deep cut beneath the ear. The young man’s life blood lay in a great pool beneath it. ‘See,’ Yves said softly. ‘A stab to the neck.’ He touched the dead cheek with a gentle hand. ‘Such a small wound, to bring about a man’s death.’
Ninian had seen something else. The lad’s right hand was tightly clenched, but the edge of a small leather bag was visible, sticking out between the thumb and the forefinger. He reached down and opened the fist, extracting the bag. Opening it, he saw that it was full of coins. Silently, he handed it to Yves, who quickly counted the coins, his eyes widening.
‘There’s several months’ income here!’ Yves whispered. ‘However did Stephan come by so much money?’
‘Perhaps he stole it,’ Patrice suggested.
Yves frowned. ‘I would have said Stephan was an honest man, but recently he has changed. He wishes to marry,’ he went on, looking at Ninian, ‘and he has not the means.’
‘Someone desperate for money may turn from his former honest ways,’ Ninian said.
Still Yves looked doubtful. ‘Who could he have stolen from, though? We see few strangers here, and nobody local carries this sort of sum around with them.’
Patrice stood up. ‘I will go and ask among the villagers,’ he said. ‘I’ll take Ninian with me, unless you wish him to stay with you until they come for the body?’ Yves shook his head. ‘Then I would be grateful for your company,’ Patrice went on, turning to Ninian with a smile. ‘Your eyes are a lot younger than mine, and you may well spot something that I miss.’
Not many of the villagers had obeyed Yves’s order to return to work. Stephan’s mother had disappeared, presumably now pouring out her grief inside her house, and a group of the men who had stood around the body were gathered close to the church. They had been joined by several more. A man stood in the middle of the group, speaking urgently. Seeing Patrice, he fell silent. As one, the men turned to look at Patrice and Ninian.
‘Stephan was murdered,’ Patrice said. There was a low rumble of comment, although Ninian was almost sure the men had already known. ‘He was clutching a bag of money. We don’t know how he came by it. If any of you has anything to say that might help us find out what happened, you must tell us immediately.’ One or two of the men exchanged glances. ‘If you prefer to speak privately, come to the manor house.’
He waited. Ninian looked around the group. Nobody made any move to speak. ‘Very well,’ Patrice said. ‘We will return to the manor.’ He paused. ‘Remember, all of you, that a young man who was one of the Acquin community has been brutally slain. He leaves a widowed mother, who depended on him. He leaves a pretty young girl who was expecting to marry him. Both women will be heartbroken.’ He turned his horse, nudged it and moved off, Ninian behind him.
‘Do you think anyone will respond?’ Ninian asked once they were out of earshot.
Patrice smiled grimly. ‘I fully expect it,’ he replied. ‘The man who was addressing the crowd — his name is Pierre — makes it his business to know everything that goes on among the Acquin peasantry. He might have spoken just now, but he likes to make himself important by adopting the role of spokesman for the village.’ They were back at the house, and Patrice reined in to let Ninian ride ahead into the yard. ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘Pierre knows there’s always a mug of ale and a sweet cake to be had when he comes here with useful information.’
They had not been back long when Yves arrived home. He assembled the household and briefly told them all what had happened. There was a cry from one of the kitchen women, quickly stifled, and several of the younger servants looked pale and shocked.
The family sat down to eat and had almost finished when a servant came into the hall and spoke quietly to Yves. He nodded, stood up and then glanced at Patrice and Ninian and jerked his head in the direction of the passage that led along to the kitchens. Both got up and followed him out.
‘Pierre?’ Patrice asked.
