De Gifford put up a slim hand, on to which he had just put a beautifully fitting cream kid glove embroidered with reddish-brown stones that matched the braid on his tunic. ‘Please, Sir Josse, there is no need,’ he said. ‘Although I have had but two brief meetings with the Abbess Helewise and not the advantage of a long acquaintance such as yours, I feel that I have already taken some of the lady’s measure. And, indeed, I ask myself how I would behave, were I in her position. To be called on to defend the indefensible is testing to us all, even more so to a woman to whom the truth clearly matters so very much.’
‘She likes to see things as they really are,’ Josse agreed, ‘and is ever at pains to strip away the sort of concealing, self-deluding devices that most of us use to disguise unpalatable facts.’
‘And now she has to cope with the aftermath of Father Micah,’ de Gifford murmured. ‘Poor lady. I do not envy her.’
‘It is-’ Josse paused delicately. ‘I believe, de Gifford, that it is easier for us. We are laymen, after all, and we may criticise — that is, we can-’
‘We are at liberty to say that Father Micah was an insult to the cloth he wore if we feel like it,’ de Gifford finished smoothly. ‘As, indeed, we do. I do, anyway.’
‘And I,’ Josse agreed. He checked again that they were not overheard, then said in a low voice, ‘I wonder, then, since we are agreed on that, if you feel that you could be more forthcoming with me than with the Abbess. Not that I’m trying to learn secrets that you would rather not divulge.’
‘Yes, you are,’ de Gifford said easily. ‘That is exactly what you are doing, and I can’t say I blame you.’
‘Is there anything else that you can reveal to somebody who is not bound by their very profession to support that dead priest?’ Josse urged.
De Gifford studied him. ‘It is true that in part my reticence stems from my fear that the Abbess of Hawkenlye is likely to reflect the attitude exhibited by Father Micah. We speak of a delicate business, Sir Josse,’ he exclaimed as Josse made to protest, ‘concerning which neither I nor, I suspect, you, can say how the Abbess will react.’
‘Unless my silence compromises another, I will respect any confidence you make to me,’ Josse said. ‘Of that you have my word.’
De Gifford, still staring into Josse’s eyes, frowned. Then he said, ‘I believe you. And, let me say, it would be a relief to speak frankly.’ He looked around, noticed a deserted corner where the end wall of the stable block rose up above the herb garden and said, ‘Let us go over there into the small shelter provided by the wall, and I will tell you what I can.’
They walked quickly to the spot. A weak sun shone down on it and the temperature felt quite pleasantly warm. Again de Gifford checked that they were alone, then he said, ‘The party I spoke of seek a place of sanctuary. Their leader, whose name is Arnulf, is from the Low Countries and he leads a group whose nationalities are varied. One is a fellow countryman of Arnulf ’s named Alexius, and these two are the men who escaped from the prison. They have a big man with them who is from the south, from Verona I believe. I think it is possible that it was he who killed the prison guard; they say he is exceptionally strong and he is doubtless capable of throttling a man with one hand.’
‘The man who killed the guard choked him with his left hand,’ Josse said.
‘Indeed? I do not know if the man of whom I speak favours his left or his right hand.’
‘You said seven people,’ Josse prompted.
‘Yes. Originally there were four men and three women. The fourth man is one Guiscard, who is from the Midi. Toulouse, Albi, I do not know for sure. Also in the group were Frieda, who was killed by her gaoler, Aurelia whom I believe is the woman who is safe here at Hawkenlye, and one other. Her name is Utta.’
‘And where is she?’
‘I have no idea.’
Josse, taken aback by de Gifford’s willingness to talk, felt he ought to repay the confidences with one of his own. ‘The strong man is called Benedetto,’ he said. ‘It was he who brought Aurelia here.’
‘Was it?’ The bright eyes went instantly to Josse’s. ‘I imagine he is no longer here?’
‘No.’
‘And nobody knows where he is now?’
‘No.’
‘The whereabouts of five, then, are or have been known,’ de Gifford went on, more to himself than to Josse. ‘Arnulf and Alexius were imprisoned but escaped, probably helped by Benedetto. Frieda was also imprisoned but she is dead. Aurelia was flogged but presumably Benedetto got her away before, like Frieda, she was thrown into prison. Guiscard and Utta we know nothing about.’ He frowned.
De Gifford might have been frank about the party, Josse thought, but his frankness in itself revealed very little. ‘Under whose orders were they beaten and imprisoned?’ he asked. ‘Father Micah’s?’
De Gifford turned to him. ‘They were apprehended on the road north of Tonbridge and given over to the Church authority, which tried them and imposed the punishment. As I told you earlier, it is usual for those of us in the secular arm then to take over, administering whatever measures the Church feels necessary and then arranging for the criminals’ imprisonment, unless they’re to be executed. In which case the lay authorities usually do that too. But, as I said, Father Micah liked to take his involvement a little further.’
Taking all that in, Josse said, ‘I suppose someone found out what was going on in the group. I must say I find it hard to see how; they must have been very indiscreet. You’d have thought they could have kept that sort of thing hidden, wouldn’t you?’
De Gifford was looking at him curiously. ‘Well, no, not really. I mean, the whole point of their being here is surely because they want to win people over to their cause. After all, the more followers they have, the more formidable they will become.’
‘Their cause?’ Josse sounded incredulous. ‘What cause? They were punished for adultery!’
‘Adultery?’ De Gifford gave a short bark of laughter, quickly suppressed. ‘Sir Josse, what an extraordinary picture you paint, of the seven of them all fornicating with one another’s husbands and wives — none of them is married, in fact, I am almost certain of that, not in the sense that we understand marriage — and of Father Micah coming across them in the midst of their frolicking and instantly putting them under arrest!’
‘But Aurelia has a brand mark on her forehead,’ Josse persisted. ‘It looks like an A, which must mean that she was punished because of adultery!’
De Gifford was shaking his head. ‘Whoever made the mark cannot have had a steady hand,’ he said soberly. ‘It isn’t a letter A, Sir Josse. It is a letter H.’
Josse stared at him. ‘H?’
‘Yes. They’re heretics.’
Part Two
11
Joanna had lived in the Wealden Forest for a little under a year when she was taken to attend her first Great Festival. From that time on, her new identity was assured.
She had few regrets over leaving behind the realm of the Outworlders, as her new people referred to them. The outside world, the one that was ruled by the Church and by men for the good of the Church and men, had not treated her well. It did not suit her. Moreover, she could not put her faith in a religion that was ruled over by a male deity and that denied and denigrated all that was female.
Her new people knew better.
Joanna knew, even before Lora, wisest of teachers, had instructed her, that Samhain was one of the Great Festivals. The forest people always gathered for such occasions, not always in the same place but at some hidden location within Britain’s vast tracts of forest that was as yet undiscovered and unexplored by the Outworlders. Until Joanna attended one of these festivals herself, it had puzzled her how everyone knew where to go. She had not been able to attend the Samhain rites — she had been giving birth to her daughter Margaret — and Lora had deemed her not ready for the Yule celebrations, when their people honoured the Midwinter Solstice and welcomed the returning Sun. ‘You’re all the world to this little ’un now,’ Lora had said, stroking Margaret’s dark hair with long, gentle fingers. ‘She’s taking the essence of you into herself as she draws on your milk and you’re aware of her every breath. You’ve nothing to spare for anything else, specially not something that requires so much intense concentration. You’re in no state for your first festival, my girl.’