The Abbess Helewise, however, had other ideas.
She maintained a gentle but firm pressure on the old monk, ensuring, as far as she was able, that he and his monks did their fair share of manual labour. Some of Brother Firmin’s monks were co-operative, some were not.
The Abbess’s great ally in the Vale, however, was her beloved Brother Saul. He was not one of the fully professed but a lay brother; he was also probably the most dependable, capable and handy man that the Abbess had ever known.
It was Brother Saul who Josse first noticed now, as he hastened down the path to the Vale. Saul was standing up to the waist in bracken and, as Josse raised an arm and prepared to call out, Saul seemed to take a deep breath, as if he were about to plunge into water, and disappeared beneath the thick, rusting fronds of the bracken. Turning his head to look down at the small clutch of buildings under the chestnut trees by the shrine, Josse saw two figures dressed in black, white wimples and coifs bright in the sunshine. One was round and stocky, the other taller, with broad shoulders. Despite the enveloping folds of their habits, it was clear that both were, even without the give-away white linen, female.
Breaking into a run, he went to join them.
‘Sir Josse!’ the Abbess exclaimed in surprise.
‘My lady Abbess,’ he said, giving her the formal bow reserved for a first greeting of the day, or after an absence.
‘Right glad we are to see you,’ Sister Euphemia said, grasping his hand in both of hers.
‘What has happened?’ he demanded. ‘How may I aid you?’
‘A body has been discovered,’ the Abbess said. ‘Badly decomposed, naked, nothing known save that it is that of a man, probably quite a young man.’
Against all reason — for why should it be, and, anyway, how would they know? — Josse almost asked, is it that of Galbertius Sidonius?
He restrained himself. Instead he said, ‘I saw Brother Saul, deep in the bracken over there. He is, I imagine, searching for anything that might help identification?’
‘He is,’ the Abbess said.
‘What would you like me to do?’ Josse asked. ‘Go to help Saul, or. .?’
‘Brother Saul has young Augustus to help him,’ the Abbess said. ‘More people in the bracken might be more of a hindrance than a help, do you not think?’
‘Aye. And I have big feet, with which I might tread some important find into the ground.’
‘I am sure you would not,’ the Abbess countered. ‘But, Sir Josse, an unpleasant duty awaits Sister Euphemia.’ She glanced at the infirmarer, whose face was impassive. ‘She is just now about to look at the corpse, where it — he — lies yonder by the path. Will you — may I ask you to go with her?’
‘You may, and I will,’ he assured her. ‘But whether I can aid the good Sister in her study of the body, I cannot say.’
‘I’d be glad of your company either way, Sir Josse,’ Sister Euphemia said bluntly. ‘Poor soul’s been dead a while, and his flesh is putrid and maggot-infested.’
‘Ah.’
A brief flash of humour crossed Sister Euphemia’s broad face. ‘Not had your dinner yet?’ she asked quietly.
‘No.’
‘All the better. Nothing for you to lose.’
With that encouraging remark, she bowed to the Abbess and led the way off along the track.
Josse was glad of those few preparatory remarks. Had he not expected the horror that lay beneath the sacking, he might well have disgraced himself. As it was, he took a deep breath as Sister Euphemia bent down to throw back the cover and, as the poor, purplish-black body was revealed, managed to retain his composure.
Only just.
Sister Euphemia stood for a moment, head bent, over the corpse. Then she said, ‘Excuse me, sir, for what I am about to do, and I apologise. But it is necessary. I will be as swift as I can, then we will leave you in peace.’
Josse had assumed, at first, that she was addressing him. But he realised, as she closed her eyes in prayer, that her apology had been to the dead man.
Opening her eyes again, she picked up a short stick from the undergrowth, trimmed it with quick, strong hands to the required length, then, kneeling down, poked it in among the liquefying flesh and the maggots around what had been the man’s thighs.
‘Look here at the long bones, Sir Josse,’ she said. ‘Tidily rounded, no more growing to be done, I’d say. Means we’re looking at a man, not a boy. In his twenties, at a guess.’ The probing stick moved on down the length of the right femur. ‘Here’s the knee joint. Lower end of the upper bone, upper end of the lower one. See? Smooth, solid, no signs of wear. This man could have knelt all day in a puddle in a rock without much discomfort.’
‘Mm.’ Josse wasn’t sure he could yet trust himself to speak. Besides, talking involved opening the mouth and, just then, he preferred to keep his shut.
Sister Euphemia adjusted her position and now, with another muttered apology, she gently pushed her stick into the mouth of the corpse.
‘Quite good teeth,’ she observed. ‘One missing here’ — she pointed with the end of the stick — ‘but there’s no hole in the jaw bone such as you see when a man’s lost a tooth through infection. No. I’d say this fellow had been in a fight, and some other man’s fist put paid to this tooth.’
Leaning away as far as possible without making it obvious, Josse said, barely opening his mouth, ‘You would say, Sister, that the state of the teeth would confirm your estimated age? A man in his twenties?’
‘I would, Sir Josse.’ She glanced briefly at him. ‘And there’s no need to talk like you’ve a toothache yourself. Breathe as deep as you like, you’ll not catch anything worse than a bad smell from this poor man.’
That the body could be the victim of some dread and fatal disease had not so far crossed Josse’s mind. With an involuntary start backwards, he said, ‘Are you quite certain, Sister?’
‘As certain as I can be,’ she said gruffly. Her left hand, he noticed, had slipped round beneath the corpse’s shoulders. ‘Not unless he was already sick when someone slid this into his heart.’
There was a brief movement in the body — a sort of lurch — as, with some difficulty, she pulled on some hidden object. Then she held up what she had discovered.
It was a knife. It was short — handle and blade together were probably little longer than Josse’s extended hand — and the blade was narrow, with a slight upward curve at the tip.
Josse swallowed. ‘It was still in him?’
‘Aye. It was pushed in deep. It didn’t even fall out when Saul and Augustus carried him out of the bracken.’ She ran a thumb lightly along the curve of the tip. ‘Probably designed to hold tight,’ she muttered.
‘And it would have penetrated his heart?’
‘Aye.’ She was staring down at the blade. ‘Aye. It’s thin enough to have gone clean between the ribs. .’ The stick was busy again as she probed. ‘I can’t see any notching on the bones. This man’s killer knew exactly what he was about.’
A professional assassin, Josse thought.
And precisely why, he wondered, should that make Prince John spring instantly to mind?
‘. . because I don’t reckon there’s much more to be gained from studying him,’ Sister Euphemia was saying.
‘I’m sorry, Sister, what was that?’
She gave him a considering look. ‘Thoughts far away, Sir Josse?’ Before he could answer — although there was really no need, since her assumption was quite right — she went on, ‘I was just saying, we can take him up to the Abbey now and prepare him for burial. The Abbess is eager to pray for him. Poor chap’s lain out here long enough with nobody interceding with the Good Lord on his behalf.’ She gave the body a tender look. ‘But then I’m sure the Lord won’t hold it against him, since it was hardly his own fault.’