‘No.’ Elvera raised her head and looked Helewise straight in the eye. Her face looked strangely smug. ‘You told her we mustn’t. Didn’t you?’
‘Not that day!’ Helewise exclaimed. Elvera must know that, too. Oh, the interview seemed to be going round in circles! ‘We respect your feelings, Elvera, and we know what you’re going through, but-’
‘You don’t.’ Elvera spoke so softly that Helewise hardly heard. ‘You can’t.’
‘We want to help,’ Josse put in. ‘We must find her killer, Elvera, and he must be tried and punished for his crime.’
Josse, Helewise was well aware, was trying to reassure the girl. Encourage her to unite her efforts with his and find the murderer.
But, when once again Elvera raised her head, she looked neither reassured nor encouraged. She looked suddenly ten years older.
She said dully, ‘I know.’
Then, without waiting for permission, she turned and quietly let herself out of the room.
* * *
Helewise sat staring at the closed door. Beside her she sensed Josse start to move; returning to his chair, he said, ‘What did you make of that?’
‘She’s afraid.’
‘Indeed she is.’
‘She knows a great deal more than she has told us.’
‘She hasn’t told us anything!’
Helewise felt his frustration. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse. She was, as you imply, singularly unhelpful.’
‘She’s bright, that one,’ he said musingly. ‘Not as bright as she believes she is, but not the sort to be pushed into revealing her secrets just because someone in authority orders her to.’
Helewise said mildly, ‘I did my best.’
He smiled. ‘Aye. And I thank you, Abbess.’ The heavy brows came down again. ‘Why does she deny the friendship? Do you believe this convenient explanation, that all the overtures were made by Gunnora, and Elvera just went along with it?’
‘Not for a moment. For one thing, it didn’t happen like that — I saw with my own eyes that, if anything, Elvera was the instigator. For another, Gunnora wasn’t the sort of woman to woo others for their favours.’
‘Hm. Why lie, then?’
‘She was horrified when she saw you hiding behind the door,’ Helewise remarked.
‘Many people react that way.’ He grinned. ‘I was comely when I was young, they used to say.’
Absurdly — and most inappropriately — she had to quell a desire to laugh. Pulling herself together, she said, ‘Did you observe her reaction when you suggested she had provided some happiness for Gunnora in her last days? And, later, how she looked when you spoke of Gunnora’s killer?’
He nodded. ‘Aye. Go on.’
She had the feeling he already knew what she was about to say, but went ahead anyway. ‘I think, Sir Josse, that our little Elvera is carrying a burden of guilt.’
Still nodding, he said, ‘A singularly heavy one.’
* * *
Between Compline and Matins, when most of the sisters were deep in the first dreamless sleep that comes from a busy day and a clear conscience, somebody was abroad.
As Gunnora had done the night she died, somebody crept along the dormitory and descended the steps, careful to avoid the third stair. Made her way in the shadows to the rear gate, slid back the bolts, emerged on to the track.
The slim figure pushed back her short, ugly veil, and the springy hair, not yet confined by wimple and barbette, caught the soft moonlight. The girl breathed in deeply, striding over the short grass as if glad to be free, to be outside the confines of the convent wall and, for a short time, out of sight of the watching, gossiping nuns.
There was nothing tentative about the way she walked; an observer would have gained the impression she had done this before, and, indeed, would have been right. For anyone within the Abbey who wanted a private meeting with an outsider, going out secretly by night was the only way to achieve it. And she wanted such meetings. Oh, she did! Wanted them, needed them, for more than one reason.
Nearing the meeting place, well hidden in the undergrowth beside the path, she broke into a run. Let him be there! He must be, it is the day of the week that he always waits!
She left the path and made her way into the bushes. Called his name softly, waited for an answer.
Nothing.
Called again, went deeper into the shrubbery.
Then, as she stood still to listen, heard a footfall.
Turned, a smile of relief and love on her face.
And, as he approached, moved forward into his arms.
The Second Death
Chapter Ten
Josse had been offered accommodation in the shelter down in the vale, where pilgrims coming to the shrine were put up. Just as he had suspected, it was not particularly comfortable, but the floor was swept and the straw filling of his palliasse was reasonably fresh.
Whether or not it was because rumours had spread about the recent murder, at present there were no visitors to the shrine. Few, if any, pilgrims were arriving during the long, warm summer days to take the miracle waters; certainly, none were asking to be accommodated overnight.
Josse was inclined to be impatient with a man — or a woman — who would let a surely unreasonable, superstitious fear stand between them and a possible cure for whatever sickness or trouble ailed them. Why, the greatest fool in the kingdom could see, couldn’t he, that this was no random crime of violence? That, whoever had slaughtered Gunnora, he had somehow been involved in her secretive, complicated life?
No. He corrected himself. Of course they couldn’t see it. For Josse’s speculations had been shared with no one but the abbess, and she, he was quite sure, hadn’t been passing them on.
No. As far as the outside world was concerned, this murder remained what it had been from the start. A random crime committed by a released prisoner.
Mentally putting spurs to himself, Josse vowed to increase his efforts and prove, once and for all, otherwise.
Settling down as best he could in his solitary discomfort, he closed his eyes and made himself relax.
* * *
He did not sleep well. Disturbed by dreams of violence and by the conviction that there were living things within the straw, things, moreover, determined to feast off his blood, it was a relief when the faint grey of dawn lightened the eastern sky.
He got up and, scratching, went outside and walked the short distance to the latrine, hidden behind a paling fence. He held his breath as he relieved himself. It appeared to be some time since the trench had been dug, and the contents now neared ground level. Then he crossed to where a trough of water stood against the wall to the rear of the shelter. Plunging his head into it, he scrubbed at his short-cropped hair and splashed the back of his neck. It served to bring him to full wakefulness, even if he didn’t feel a great deal cleaner. On his wrists, he noticed, were several rough circles of small red bites, which, he was sure, hadn’t been there when he went to bed.
I’m getting soft, he decided as he stood staring out at the scene before him, the details gradually clarifying as daylight brightened. Shaking the drops of water out of his ears, he thought, fleas, lice, a hard pallet and the constant stench of shit, what should they matter to a former soldier? I’m too used to the comforts of court, to the pleasure of cleanliness. To the sweet perfumes of the ladies of Aquitaine. I must accustom myself to different standards here.
Outside the narrow world of the convent, the English, Josse had been discovering, stank.
His thoughts wound to a halt as his eyes focused on an object on the path. The smaller path, the one that led to the pool.
The path where Gunnora had been found.
Not pausing to raise the alarm, he was off, running as fast as he could. Although, even then, some deep awareness within him was telling him it was too late for haste.
She was lying face-down, and her head and shoulders were under the water. Grabbing her by the tops of her arms, he dragged her backwards, then, turning her on to her back, he put his cheek right by the partly open mouth.