‘I don’t.’
‘It means pilgrimage hawk. Because they’re caught on their passage from their breeding places.’
‘Oh.’ Was the young man deliberately setting out to charm, so as to distract Josse from wondering what he was doing there? If so, he wasn’t quite succeeding. ‘You have come from home this morning?’
‘This morning?’ A fractional hesitation. Then, with a wide smile, ‘No, indeed! I have friends hereabouts, good fellows who share my — my interests, who kindly offer me hospitality when I am this way.’
‘Men with whom you hunt?’
Again, a flashing smile. ‘Hunt? Aye, Sir Josse.’ Turning from interviewee to questioner with a ruthless speed that almost caught Josse unawares, he said, ‘And you, Sir Knight? Where are you going?’
Since the track led straight into the forest, there was really only one answer. Josse said, ‘Into the forest. A man was killed there last night. Murdered. As the King’s representative, I am investigating the death.’
King Richard, Josse was well aware, had no idea either that there had been a killing or that Josse was even in the vicinity. But there was no need to reveal that to Tobias Durant.
The young man, however, did not react, or not, at least, in the way Josse had expected. Not even a look of mild apprehension. Instead, Tobias was turning his horse, as, with an eager expression, he said, ‘How terrible! You must let me help you, Sir Josse! For one thing, two heads are better than one, and, for another, if there is a murderer abroad, then you should not go into the woods alone!’
Company was the very last thing Josse wanted. Firmly he put out a restraining arm. ‘It is good of you, Tobias, but I prefer to work alone. Those inexperienced in such matters can unwittingly disturb significant clues, if you’ll forgive my bluntness. Footprints, you know, that sort of thing.’
Tobias was nodding understandingly. ‘Yes, I see. You don’t want my clumsy great feet trampling the evidence!’ He laughed. ‘Then I’ll bid you good day, and good hunting, and let you go on your way.’ He bowed, smiled, and, wheeling his horse again, set off once more down the track leading away from the trees.
As Josse went on into the forest, he reflected that it would have been a shame to have dampened the young man’s spirits by confronting him with Ewen’s place of death. The body might be gone, but the blood would still be there.
It was not a sight for a happy, carefree fellow out hawking on a sunny morning.
* * *
In the end, there was very little evidence for Josse to find at the murder scene. The blood was indeed still there, and that which had not seeped down into the ground was now congealing slowly. There were signs of a struggle — broken branches, trampled undergrowth — and Josse thought he could tell which direction Ewen had come from. But he’d known that already, since he’d seen the man leave the clearing where the fallen trees were.
And that was about all.
Thinking hard, Josse paced around the place of death. Ewen came from here, he thought, walking back a few yards and then returning, and someone jumped him. From where, though? From behind? Or in front?
If it had been Seth, and Josse was wrong about the knife, then, since Josse had witnessed him leave the clearing after Ewen, he must have leapt on him from behind. There could be no way that Seth could have overtaken Ewen and come at him from the front. Trying to be objective, Josse studied the ground again. There were no tracks approaching the place where Ewen had been killed from either side; the underbrush was quite undisturbed. And the tracks that led away from it had been widened, even if not made, by those who had found and borne away the body.
So in which direction did the murderer go?
Ewen had been cut down as he fled along a minor path, little more than an animal run. Referring to his mental map, Josse realised that the man must have been heading for home, cutting off into the thicket because he wanted to take the shortest route. It was not the easiest way, though, and so not the route that anyone lying in wait for him would have expected him to take.
Seth would have known, though. Because Seth was coming after him.
Josse sat down on a fallen log, puzzling. And the more he puzzled, the more it seemed likely, much as he hated to admit it, that the sheriff’s swift and ill-thought-out conclusion must be the right one.
Seth and Ewen had gone back last night, by the light of the full moon, to fetch the last of whatever valuables they’d discovered in the clearing. With Hamm Robinson conveniently dead, the treasure could now be shared between the two of them. Ewen had taken fright and rushed off, and Seth, the braver of the two, had stayed behind. Found something else — something large and bulky, Josse recalled, picturing Seth cramming it into the sack.
Yes! he decided abruptly. That’s it! Seth found the last object, perhaps the most precious thing in the whole hoard, and he didn’t want to share it with Ewen. Why should he, indeed, when Ewen had already fled in fright? It was Seth’s and Seth’s alone! the man would have reasoned. So off he went in pursuit, and, catching Ewen up as he ran for home, Seth knifed him to death.
Leaving Seth as sole possessor of whatever it was they had dug up.
Slowly Josse got to his feet, brushing leaves from his tunic. He untied Horace’s reins from the branch where he’d slung them, and, mounting, tried to suppress his pique.
A man is dead, he told himself severely. And his killer must be brought to justice. If it is indeed Seth, then the sheriff is acting correctly, and I, much as it will pain me, must tell him I think so.
As he rode off in the direction of Hawkenlye and the distant Abbey, Josse reflected that he would also have to break the news of his findings to the Abbess.
Now that, he thought ruefully, was really going to hurt.
* * *
She watched him with a hint of compassion in her grey eyes.
‘It is manful of you to admit that you were wrong,’ she said when he had finished.
‘Well, I suppose even someone as dense as Sheriff Pelham has to get it right sometimes,’ he replied, trying to smile.
‘You’re certain that he has done, in this instance?’ the Abbess said.
‘Certain?’ Josse stared out across the sunlit Abbey courtyard. ‘No. I’m not certain. But it’s logical that Seth is the killer. He must, I can only conclude, have used a weapon he did not normally carry. Which, I assume, he threw away afterwards.’ Briefly he met the Abbess’s eyes. ‘I’m quite sure Sheriff Pelham would have informed us, had he discovered a bloodied dagger in Seth’s possession. Aren’t you?’
‘Indeed.’ She held his eyes. ‘He would probably have raced up here to tell you in person.’
There was a brief pause. Then: ‘I hear that his men did find, if not a dagger, then an assortment of other objects in Seth’s cottage,’ the Abbess said. ‘From what little I’ve been told, it seems to be a collection of coins and metal objects; plates, I believe. Seth is protesting his innocence, saying he found them under his hen run.’
‘Roman coins?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea.’ She glanced at him. ‘I imagine that the few people who have seen the things so far wouldn’t know a Roman coin if they were to be hit in the eye by it.’
‘Hmm.’ He would very much like to have a look at the hoard, although it was hardly relevant to the investigation.
He was still nursing the wound to his pride of having to acknowledge the sheriff had been right, when the Abbess said tentatively, ‘Sir Josse?’
‘Hm? Yes?’
‘It may be agreed that Seth killed Ewen. But can he, do you think, also have killed Hamm?’
Josse got up, paced as far as the end of the cloister, then returned to where they had been sitting. No, of course not, he thought. And why didn’t I think of that?
‘No, Abbess,’ he said. ‘Even if I have to admit I was wrong, and that Seth did own a dagger, then I’m quite sure he possessed neither a spear nor the skill to throw it so accurately. A flint head,’ he mused. ‘I’d have liked to see that.’