How did he know? Josse wondered. Oh, aye — Benedetto. The strong man must have been listening to gossip during his brief time within the Abbey. But no, there was something wrong with that. .
Frowning, Josse realised that Arnulf was waiting for an answer. ‘I do not deny it,’ Josse said. ‘The Abbess is a fine woman and also a devout nun. She is vowed to obedience.’
‘Naturally,’ Arnulf murmured. ‘And what would she think of her friend Sir Josse d’Acquin consorting with heretics and offering to help them locate their missing lamb?’
‘She — I will make sure that she does not know.’
‘And how will that lie on your conscience?’ Arnulf asked shrewdly. ‘You who readily claim close friendship with the lady, you will not suffer from keeping such a secret from her?’
Josse met his eyes. ‘Of course I’ll suffer,’ he said quietly. ‘But I would suffer a deal more if I put that higher than helping you and your people get to safety. I’ll not have your deaths on my conscience.’
‘I see.’ Arnulf stood silent for a moment and, again, Josse had the impression he was praying. Asking, perhaps, for guidance. ‘In that case, I accept your offer of help. And I thank you.’
It was late when Josse finally left Saxonbury. Heading back for Hawkenlye, he found himself hoping that he would be able to slip down to his quarters in the Vale, get something hot to eat and settle for the night without first having to have an audience with the Abbess.
He was resolved to do what he had undertaken to do and try to find the missing woman. He was in no doubt that it was the right thing. He would then find some way of introducing de Gifford to the group and persuading them of de Gifford’s sincerity. Then — maybe — he and de Gifford would manage to get the reunited six people down to the sea and away across the Channel.
Maybe.
18
In the morning, Helewise made it one of her first tasks to see how Aurelia was doing. She went across to the infirmary shortly before Tierce and discovered Sister Caliste crouching beside the woman’s bedside, feeding her spoonfuls of broth.
She watched in silence for a moment. Then, as the woman sensed eyes upon her and, with a small cry, turned to look up at her, she stepped forward into the recess.
Sister Caliste had got up and was giving her superior a deep bow.
‘Good morning,’ Helewise said quietly. ‘How is the patient, Sister Caliste?’
She noticed that Sister Caliste had taken hold of one of the woman’s hands as if in reassurance. ‘She is much stronger, my lady Abbess,’ the younger nun said. ‘She has slept well, her pain is less intense and she begins to recover her appetite.’
‘Good, good.’ Helewise was studying the woman and noting, for the first time, that apart from the red and sore-looking wound on her brow, Aurelia was very beautiful. She was dark-haired, black-eyed and her skin was a soft golden colour. But she was not as young as Helewise had thought; she guessed her age to be around the mid-thirties, perhaps more. She recalled that Gervase de Gifford had said some of the heretics were from the south; Aurelia, to judge from her dark colouring, was one of them.
Not heretics, Helewise corrected herself. I can be more definite now; she is a Cathar.
And I do not know what I am to do about her.
Aurelia was looking up at her with a doubtful expression, as if she wanted to feel that Helewise was her friend but was not sure that she was. It was an expression that tore at Helewise’s heart.
With a curt nod to Sister Caliste, she turned and left them.
On her knees in the Abbey church, she waited until the rest of the community had left after Tierce. Another priest had been assigned to Hawkenlye since Father Gilbert was still not ready to resume his duties. The man would be arriving later and Helewise had to make up her mind what she was going to tell him.
She is a Cathar, she told herself firmly. That is all that I need to remember. Cathars are heretics of the worst sort, for their sect seems to appeal to good Christians and seduce them into abandoning the Church and taking up a new faith. Each time a man or woman deserts Our Lord, he suffers the agony of his passion all over again, and the man or woman’s soul is lost.
I must tell the new priest the truth and leave the matter in his hands!
But then she saw the lovely face of Aurelia with its cruel disfigurement. It is possible that she will die if I reveal her identity, she thought miserably. Perhaps she will only be imprisoned, but then look what happened to her friend when she was in gaol. And supposing this new priest is another Father Micah? Supposing he thinks he’s had quite enough trouble from these heretics and condemns the lot of them to the scaffold or the stake? He might even use duress on poor Aurelia to persuade her to give away her friends’ hiding places, if she knows them.
What shall I do?
In an agony of indecision, Helewise dropped her face in her hot hands and prayed for guidance.
Josse had not slept well. He knew he should have notified the Abbess of what he had been doing and, moreover, what he intended to do today. But he also knew that he was going to slip out of the Vale this morning without seeing her. All of which made for poor sleep and bad dreams.
He went to fetch Horace and set out early.
He rode first to Tonbridge, where he managed to locate Gervase de Gifford quite quickly; he was given directions to the sheriff ’s lodgings close by the castle. He told him that he had located the men from the Cathar party and that he was now going to hunt for the missing woman.
‘Where do you intend to start?’ de Gifford asked, having congratulated an embarrassed Josse for locating the Saxonbury hiding place.
‘Oh — here and there,’ Josse said evasively. He was not willing to share his knowledge of the forest with anybody, even a man with whom he had recently formed an alliance.
De Gifford was eyeing him speculatively. ‘I have tried, you know,’ he said. ‘It is possible that I have visited the very places where you intend to search.’
‘Well, then I’ll just try again.’ Feeling more awkward by the minute, Josse took his leave.
De Gifford called after him, ‘I’ll come up to Hawkenlye tomorrow morning. Meet me there, if you would, and we can discuss what progress we have made.’
With a nod of assent, Josse hurried on his way.
Going into the forest, Josse experienced mixed emotions. It was always awe-inspiring to ride those ancient tracks beneath the dark and mysterious trees, and the sheer beauty of the place gave him a sense of quiet peace. But he had experienced too many perilous moments there to feel entirely without apprehension, if not actual fear.
He rode first to the disused charcoal burners’ camp close to the Hawkenlye fringes of the forest. He had known desperate people to camp there before; the old turf-roofed shacks were sound and fairly weatherproof. But now there was no sign of life. Dismounting, he checked for any areas of burned ground that would indicate a recent fire; there were none. And the crude dwellings themselves were overgrown and deserted.
He rode on beneath the trees, keeping at first quite close to the forest boundary; it was reassuring to know that he had to ride for but a short distance to be out in the open again. But, as mile after mile passed with no sign of human beings, he knew he must go deeper in.
There was one place he had to check. It was a year since he had been there and he was not sure that he could find it again. He tried to visualise the tracks and tiny paths that led to it, and thought he had succeeded when he recognised a place where he could clearly recall fording a little stream. On up the bank, follow the track to the right, then there should be a clearing with a herb garden and a hut. .
There was the clearing. There, too, what could, with a little imagination, be a herb garden. At present, though, it was no more than bare earth with what looked to Josse, ignorant in gardening matters, like a few dead twigs sticking out of it.