Yves hastened to join him. ‘Where are we going?’
Josse gave a brief sound of annoyance. ‘I am sorry, Yves, I forgot. You do not know her as I do.’
‘Her?’
‘Aye. We’re going to talk to the Abbess Helewise, if she can spare us the time. We will tell her of all our conjecturing, and ask her to turn her considerable mental powers on to the problem and give us the benefit of her opinion.’
‘And that will help us?’
Josse gave him an almost pitying look. ‘Oh, yes, Yves. Undoubtedly it will.’
14
Helewise had been expecting a visit from Josse and his brother, and she managed to find space in her busy day to receive them.
Studying them as they stood before her in her room, she noted both the similarities and the differences between the two men. Yves had his elder brother’s dark eyes and thick brown hair, and there was the same suggestion of lurking humour in his face. But he was built altogether on a smaller scale than Josse: he was shorter (but then most men were) and less broad framed.
But Josse had begun to speak. ‘My lady Abbess, we wish to share with you our thoughts concerning this Galbertius Sidonius and what compelled him to seek out the family d’Acquin, if you would hear us?’
‘Gladly,’ she replied, as, tucking her hands away in the opposite sleeves of her habit, she settled to listen.
When they had finished — Josse had been the main speaker, although, as he gathered confidence and lost his apparent awe of the novel surroundings in which he found himself, Yves had increasingly joined in — she said, ‘You have worked long and hard on this mystery. And the fabric that you weave out of these many disparate strands is sound, I think.’ She paused and, into the brief silence, she heard Josse murmur, ‘Thank you.’
Then, expressing a thought that had struck her as they told the tale, she went on, ‘This theft of the Eye of Jerusalem by the man he knew as the Lombard may be, perhaps, why your father always seemed sad when he spoke of how the jewel was lost. Because he suspected — but could hardly bring himself to believe — that his friend had stolen it from him.’
Yves, meeting her eyes, said, ‘He was a kind, honest, man. Perhaps he was too willing to look for the good in people and not see the bad.’
Helewise studied him. His earnest, slightly bashful expression suggested he might be a little ashamed of his late father’s naivety and, wishing to comfort him, she said, ‘Would that we were all made that way. It is a noble fault, if, indeed, fault it is.’
He gave her a brief bow, and she saw a faint flush colour his cheeks. Then, looking from one brother to the other, she said, ‘One question, however, you do not appear to have addressed.’
Josse grinned. ‘Only one? I fear there are many more than that.’
She smiled back. ‘The matter that I have in mind is this: where, do you think, is this precious jewel now?’
There was a silence. She guessed, from the look that passed between them, that it was a question they had not thought about at all.
Since neither brother appeared to have anything to say, she spoke instead. ‘You were asked by Prince John, Sir Josse, to inform him if you heard tell of Galbertius Sidonius. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
She indicated Yves with a slight inclination of her head and a lift of her eyebrows; Josse, understanding, added, ‘Aye, I’ve told him all about the Prince’s visit, and my own journey to speak to John Dee.’
‘Very well. I am thinking that, now that we believe we have identified Galbertius as the old man who died here in August, should you not go to the Prince and inform him?’
Again, she observed, there wasthat exchange of glances between the brothers. Then Josse said, ‘I am not entirely convinced of the wisdom of that, my lady.’
She thought she could guess why. But nevertheless she asked, ‘And your reason for that lack of conviction?’
Josse had the grace to look abashed; he was, after all, speaking of a man of royal blood. ‘Er — because I fear that Prince John’s interest in Galbertius may not have been so much in the man himself as what he bore.’
‘Ah,’ she said softly. ‘The Eye of Jerusalem.’
‘Quite so.’
‘The Eye that belonged to your father and is now rightfully yours.’
She saw a brief flash of cupidity at war with the genial expression of open, honest decency that he habitually wore. And he said, after a moment, ‘Er — aye.’
‘Sir Josse,’ she said quietly, ‘at present an old man with no name lies in our graveyard. If a visit to the court of Prince John can help us to identify him with a further degree of certainty than we already have, should you not make that visit?’
‘But-’
‘Besides,’ she interrupted craftily, ‘as we established earlier, the present whereabouts of the Eye is unknown. The Prince, you speculate, is greatly interested in this jewel and knew, so it seems, that Galbertius had some connection with it. Is it not possible that he may have some idea where the Eye is now?’
Josse said, ‘My lady, if we are right in assuming that it was the Eye that Prince John came seeking when he asked after Galbertius, then surely it can only be that he heard tell of it from rumour, from crusader gossip. And I cannot think that, other than the one whispered name, he can possess any more details than-’
Abruptly he broke off. Yves, turning to him, said with slight anxiety, ‘Josse?’
And Helewise, able to see his face quite clearly from where she sat, observed that his eyes had widened in what looked like mild shock.
‘Sir Josse?’ she prompted. ‘What is the matter?’
‘I-’ He looked at her, glanced at Yves, swallowed with an effort and went on, ‘I have thought of another way in which the Prince may be gaining information although, in these hallowed surroundings, I hesitate to mention it.’
‘Pray do,’ she said briefly.
She saw the shadow of a smile cross his face. Then he said, ‘We told you earlier, Abbess Helewise, that our father used to tell us tales of the old kings, of William that they called the Conqueror, and his sons William Rufus and the first Henry. Of how, according to some, anyway, the religious rites that they practised, especially Rufus, were — that is to say, it’s probably only rumour, but they say — er, it’s said the rites may well have been-’
He seemed unable to go on, so she supplied for him, ‘Pagan?’
He said, ‘Aye.’
She understood his discomfort and, wanting to alleviate it since it was unnecessary, said calmly, ‘Sir Josse, I, too, have heard the old stories of how the first Norman kings were meant to associate with witches, and I was once told that the very name Rufus was given to the second William not because he was red-haired, since he wasn’t, but because red, the colour of life, was sacred to the Old Religion.’
‘I am quite certain it is not so,’ Josse said with dramatic conviction.
‘Are you?’ She stared at him coolly. ‘I am not so sure.’
‘But you,’ Yves began, apparently unable to contain himself, ‘you’re an Abbess!’
She wanted to laugh. ‘Indeed I am,’ she agreed. ‘But I have ears, Yves, and I hear what is said. That William Rufus, dying in such puzzling circumstances on Lammas Morn, was a sacrificial king. That he may have intentionally given up his life in honour of the Old Gods and their ways.’
Yves, she noted, looked horrified; Josse, who knew her better, merely appeared intrigued. ‘Can it be so?’ he murmured.
She shrugged. ‘I do not see why not. We know that William Rufus had little time for our faith, and that as a consequence he was thoroughly disliked and disapproved of by the monks of his time.’ With an effort, she recalled what had started this line of thought and she said firmly, ‘But we were speaking of other matters. Sir Josse, you said your father used to tell stories of early court life that included a pagan element. Please, continue.’