He sat up straight, rubbed his eyes and stared at Dee, who was watching him with amused eyes.
‘The herbs on my fire aid my breathing,’ Dee said, in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘But, to those unused to their smoke, they can induce sleep. I apologise, Sir Josse, for having caused you the embarrassment of nodding off when your intention was to cheer a sick man by your visit.’
Josse, horribly confused, said, ‘Aye. No. Sorry, sir.’ Standing up, he managed to knock the stool over, and he tripped up over one of its legs as he lunged for the door. ‘Goodbye, Magister,’ he added.
‘Farewell, Josse d’Acquin! Go in safety!’
Dee’s valediction was — there was no mistaking it — accompanied by rich, happy, slightly mocking laughter.
5
Josse was back at Hawkenlye long before the Abbess would have expected. As Sister Ursel brought her the news of his return, she was filled with a sense of foreboding; whatever he had found out, she thought, it could surely not have been the identity of the body in the new grave.
It was late — too late for an audience, for the nuns were retiring for the night — so Helewise sent word back to Josse that she was glad for his safe return, wished him sound sleep and a restful night, and that she would see him in the morning.
The fact that, all night, she burned with anxiety to know what he had found out was, she told herself firmly, another small penance for the sin of having neglected a dead body for six weeks.
She received Josse after Tierce. She had been awake for hours, but word came from the Vale that Josse slept on, and she ordered that he should not be disturbed. When, at last, he stood before her, she could tell from his face that his mission had not achieved the result they had both hoped for.
‘The Prince had gone,’ he told her, after carefully closing the door against eavesdroppers, ‘but one of his party remained behind. He’s sick in bed with a bad cold. He told me that Galbertius Sidonius is not a young man.’
‘Oh. I see.’ It was only when she knew for certain that the dead man had not just been tentatively identified that she realised how much she longed to give him a name. ‘There is no doubt?’
‘Absolutely none. The Magister — that’s what they all call him, although his name is John Dee — is as sharp as they come. We can take his word for it, my lady.’
‘Oh.’ She could not think of anything else to say.
Josse stood before her, brows knotted in a ferocious frown of concentration. ‘I wish I could have come back with something positive,’ he muttered, ‘instead of presenting us with another blank stone wall. I-’
He was interrupted by a soft tap-tapping on the door. Helewise, startled, said, ‘come in!’ and, as the door was slowly opened, the lined, old face of Brother Firmin appeared in the gap like a tortoise poking its head out of its shell.
‘My lady Abbess,’ the old monk said, making a low and very formal reverence.
‘Brother Firmin,’ she replied. She restrained her impatience as he went through his usual litany of opening remarks — was she well? what a fine day it was, thank the Good Lord; how gracious it was of her to spare him a moment of her precious time, and he would be brief, he promised her.
When he had finished, she said, forcing a smile, ‘What can I do for you, Brother Firmin?’
‘Eh? Oh, well, it’s not really me so much as him.’ He jerked his head towards the half-open door. ‘May I tell him to step into your presence, my lady Abbess?’
‘Yes, please do.’
She did not have to wonder for long who ‘him’ might be; as soon as the old monk began to say, ‘You can come in, Brother Augustus,’ he was there before her table, and his bow was as deep and reverential as even Brother Firmin could have wished.
‘Brother Augustus.’ She could not keep the affection out of her voice. ‘You wished to speak to me?’
‘Aye. There’s something I’ve thought of.’ The young man shot a swift and apprehensive glance at Brother Firmin, who was watching him with a slightly accusing expression, as if he felt the youth should not be wasting his Abbess’s time. ‘I’ve been thinking, and-’
Helewise held up her hand and, instantly, Augustus fell silent. She turned to the old monk. ‘Brother Firmin, I know that you love to pray in the Abbey church by yourself but that you rarely have the chance, so busy are you down in the Vale. But I believe there are few people within at present; would you care to take this opportunity for some private worship?’
The old man’s eyes lit up, and she had a stab of self-reproof at her duplicity. ‘May I really?’ he whispered. She nodded. With another deep reverence, he was gone.
She turned back to Augustus, who was smiling his gratitude. ‘Now, Brother Augustus,’ she said. ‘Will it be easier to tell just Sir Josse here and myself?’
‘Aye, and thank you.’ He shot Josse a friendly grin then, taking a deep breath, said, ‘I woke early this morning, like you do when something’s niggling at you. I lay there, trying to think of nothing in particular and let the thought come to me in its own time, and eventually it did.’ He met her eyes and said, ‘Sorry. I’m being as long-winded as my dear esteemed Brother Firmin. Oh! Sorry!’ He blushed, apparently instantly ashamed of the mild criticism.
‘It’s all right, Augustus,’ Helewise said. ‘Please, go on.’
‘It just came to me, all of a sudden, and I thought, why are we all thinking the dead man was killed in the Vale? Is it not possible that the murder was done somewhere else, the body stripped and all, and then the killer put him in the bracken? I mean, if it was at night, and the murderer didn’t know the shrine and the shelter and that were there, he might have believed he was concealing the poor dead soul in a hiding place right out in the wilds, where he would never be found.’
‘But surely everybody knows about Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Josse said.
Augustus turned to him. ‘Not strangers,’ he said. ‘Foreigners, like. Why should they?’
‘We receive many foreign pilgrims, Augustus,’ Helewise put in gently.
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed. ‘Why, Augustus, don’t you remember? Brother Erse was talking of someone who he claimed was a foreigner — who was it, now?’ He made a circling movement with his hand, as if this would somehow magic the memory out of the air.
‘He meant the young servant who came with the old man who died,’ Augustus said. ‘And yes, before either of you says it, I know. He was foreign, or at least according to Erse he was, and he knew about the Shrine and the Abbey.’
‘But Augustus may still quite well be right,’ Helewise put in. She could see the disappointment in the eager, intelligent young face. ‘Just because one supposed foreigner knows of our existence, it would be supreme folly to assume that we are known to every single one.’
‘That’s what I was getting at, Abbess Helewise!’ Augustus cried. ‘I mean, maybe I shouldn’t speak of it, not here in the Abbey, but’ — his voice dropped to a whisper, as if he did not want to hurt God’s feelings — ‘not every foreigner is a Christian!’
‘No indeed,’ she agreed, ‘and — Sir Josse? What ails you?’ Josse’s face had creased into such a scowl of concentration that it almost looked as if he were in pain.
‘Nothing, nothing.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s just that I’ve just had one of those moments that young Augustus was describing, when you know there’s something worrying at the back of your mind and you can’t think what it is, or why it’s important. .’ He trailed off, still frowning. ‘Never mind. It’ll come, in its own good time.’
‘Try going through the names and ages of all your relations,’ Augustus advised. ‘That’s what I did, and when I got to my mother’s Auntie Meg’s husband’s mother, who claims to be a hundred, though nobody believes her, I remembered what I was trying to bring to mind.’