The temporary village that housed the huge workforce was sited a short distance beyond the last of the town dwellings and consisted of a variety of structures, some stoutly made and some flimsy. Most of the men were absent, but Josse heard women’s voices and, following the sound, came to a wash house where three girls and two older women were busy doing laundry.
Greeting them, he said, ‘I am looking for a man named Philippe de Loup. Do any of you know of him?’
The girls stared back blank-faced, but one of the women glanced nervously at her companion and said, ‘I’ve heard the name, sir.’
And you don’t much care for it, Josse thought, watching the woman. ‘I am told he is making a contribution to the new cathedral,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Has he hired a craftsman?’
Again the woman looked at her companion, who shrugged. ‘I don’t know the details, sir,’ she said eventually, ‘but I did hear it said that he’s getting Paul de Fleury to do a statue for him.’
‘Paul de Fleury?’
‘He’s a mason, sir. He lodges down there — the house right at the end.’ The woman pointed along a muddy path between two huddled rows of dwellings. ‘He’s not there now. He’ll be up at the cathedral.’
‘Thank you.’ Josse turned and set off back towards the city, but, once out of sight of the wash house, he doubled back and circled round until he reckoned he was at the end of the path that the woman had indicated. The end house was a neat little dwelling and he tapped on the low door. There was no reply. He peered in through the tiny unglazed window and made out a bare room scantily furnished. A single cup and plate sat on a small table; de Fleury, it appeared, lived there alone. Also on the table were a sheet of precious vellum, a quill pen and a pot of ink.
He returned to the cathedral and asked several men but, although some of them recognized the name, nobody could tell him where de Fleury was. ‘I’m told he is to carry out a commission for Philippe de Loup,’ Josse said to one man.
The man sniffed, hawked and spat. ‘Well, nobody else was going to.’
De Loup’s evil reputation, it seemed, had spread far and wide.
First thing the next morning, Josse sought out Abbess Helewise, to tell her about Paul de Fleury and explain that he was hoping, by setting off so early, to catch him before he left for work. She was clearly preoccupied with her lists of carpenters and masons but still she looked at him and, with anxiety in her eyes, told him to take care.
At that hour, few people were about and it was strange to see the cathedral deserted save for the circling pigeons. Something seemed to have alarmed them and suddenly they flew up in a great cloud, leaving a sole carrion crow, which came to land by a huge gap in the wall and strutted away inside.
Josse hurried on. Striding through the workmen’s village, he was increasingly optimistic that he would find Paul de Fleury at home, for in most of the dwellings he heard and smelled the signs that the artisans were eating breakfast. He reached de Fleury’s door and confidently put up his hand to rap smartly on its warped panels. To his surprise, it opened.
There was nobody inside. The cup and plate were in a different position — clearly they had been used since yesterday — and the piece of vellum was rolled up and tied with cord. Without understanding what prompted him, Josse picked it up and slid it inside his tunic. He was filled with a sense of foreboding and, pausing only to look into the tiny back room, where there was a low cot and a heavy cloak hanging on a nail, he left the house and ran back to the cathedral.
He knew as he sprinted across the square that something was wrong. The cathedral site was not deserted now; dozens of people were milling around, most of them talking earnestly in raised voices to whoever would listen. Someone pulled at Josse’s sleeve and a man’s spotty face pushed up close to his. The man was saying something about evil curses and heretics who would stop at nothing to interrupt the Lord’s work, but Josse shrugged him off and ran on inside the shell of the new cathedral.
In the middle of the nave, several black-clad priests huddled over something on the floor. Josse noticed vaguely that a pattern of some sort had been marked out; it seemed to be formed of concentric rings. He stepped carefully around the marker pegs and approached the kneeling priests. Two of them looked up as they heard his footsteps and then he could see what they had been concealing.
At the central point of the pattern, a man lay sprawled on the floor. He lay on his back and his wide-open eyes stared up at the wooden falsework scaffolding directly above, from which he must have fallen. He wore a tunic and hose that were stained greyish-white with powdered stone and, on top of them, a heavy leather apron. He had light brown hair, which was now spread around his head like a halo. It was stained dark with blood.
‘He’s dead,’ one of the priests said. He muttered a prayer, made the sign of the cross over the body and, leaning down, gently closed the man’s eyes.
‘You’re sure?’ Josse demanded.
The priest turned a mild face to him. ‘See for yourself,’ he invited. ‘He’s stone-cold and there is no heartbeat.’
Josse put a hand to the man’s cheek. It was chill to the touch. ‘Who is he?’
‘We don’t yet know,’ the priest said. ‘He was found only a short while ago — the first workmen on the site noticed a trio of crows hopping around here in the nave and then they saw what had attracted them.’ He shuddered. ‘Fortunately, the men drove them off before they did any damage.’
‘He was a stonemason,’ Josse said, studying the dead man. ‘His clothes are covered in stone dust.’ He looked up. ‘We should send for the master masons. They all know their own men.’
The priest hurried to obey and soon returned with three men dressed, like the dead man, in dusty tunics and leather aprons. They stared down at the corpse and one said, ‘Aye, I know him.’ He gave a heavy sigh and added something that sounded like, ‘Might have known.’
‘Who is he?’ Josse asked.
The master mason met his eyes. ‘Paul de Fleury.’
Seven
Others came hurrying to join the group around the dead man and Josse, who had seen and heard enough, melted away through the crowd. They would find out where Paul de Fleury lived, he thought, search his house and belongings for some clue as to who had employed him and what work he had been doing that had necessitated the fatal climb up to the beam high above the nave. Josse had found the house already; the only thing within of any possible relevance was now inside his tunic. He knew who had engaged de Fleury and he strongly suspected that the fall had been no accident. He needed to inspect the nave very carefully, preferably by himself, but that was quite impossible for now. He would just have to wait.
He went back to the convent and asked to speak to Abbess Helewise. He knew by her face that she had already heard the news. She waited until they were alone in the bare little parlour before speaking.
‘He is the man you went looking for,’ she whispered. ‘I recognized the name.’
‘Aye, he is.’
‘You don’t think…? Sir Josse, it can’t be that he is dead because he found out you were asking about him?’
He realized what she meant. ‘You think he might have been so frightened that he killed himself?’
Slowly she nodded.
It was a possibility that had not occurred to him. It was likely that some well-meaning person had slipped the word to de Fleury that Josse had been looking for him. If he were engaged in some evil or criminal work, then it was conceivable that Josse’s sudden interest could have panicked him into suicide. Nevertheless, Josse was pretty sure that was not how it had happened.