‘I do not think so, my lady,’ he said firmly. ‘I think it is far more likely that de Fleury somehow became a threat to his employer and that de Loup lured him to the cathedral last night and killed him.’
‘You… Oh!’ Her eyes widened. Then, ‘Is there any proof?’
‘None that I have found yet, although I have not had the chance for a proper look. I’m going out this evening, when everyone has gone home.’
‘Surely they’re not working there today, in the very place where a man has just died?’
‘No, indeed.’ He gave her an ironic look. ‘The cathedral’s crawling with priests and busybodies and they’ll be there until the very last scrap of drama and speculation has finally been extracted.’
She smiled sympathetically. ‘And in the meantime you are forced to sit here kicking your heels and bursting with impatience.’
He returned her smile. ‘That might be so, my lady, except that there is this.’ He extracted de Fleury’s piece of vellum and unrolled it, spreading it out so that they could both look at it. Seeing it for the first time in good light, Josse gave a sharp exclamation.
On the vellum, Paul de Fleury had drawn a picture — in all likelihood, the design for the commission from his employer. He must have been a skilled artist, for the picture was beautiful, with flowing lines and a vivid emotional life. It depicted a slim, graceful woman in a horned headdress and she stood in a narrow craft shaped like the crescent moon.
The abbess did not seem to be able to take her eyes off the drawing. She said in an urgent whisper, ‘Who is she? Oh, Sir Josse, what in heaven’s name was de Fleury doing?’
‘I have seen this before,’ he replied. ‘It is the device worn by Philippe de Loup and the Knights of Arcturus.’
‘And de Loup wishes to have it incorporated into the new cathedral?’
‘So it appears,’ he agreed, ‘if indeed this picture represents the figure that de Fleury had been commissioned to craft.’
‘But…’ The abbess seemed lost for words. ‘Sir Josse, is this not a pagan image?’
He tore his eyes away from the drawing — something that was surprisingly difficult, for the figure seemed to compel the attention — and looked at the abbess. ‘I suppose so,’ he agreed, ‘although.. ’ He did not know how to put his reservation into words.
Slowly she nodded. ‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘My head tells me that she — ’ very gently the abbess touched the figure — ‘is a pagan goddess and that I should have no truck with her, yet she appeals irresistibly to something so profound within me that I cannot begin to name it.’
For some time they went on staring down at Paul de Fleury’s powerful image and neither spoke. Then Josse sighed deeply and said, ‘Philippe de Loup knew what he was about, that’s for sure. If de Fleury’s finished sculpture ended up with a fraction of the force of his preliminary design, then it would indeed have been something to behold.’
‘Yes,’ the abbess breathed. ‘Only now the poor man is dead, and his great gift gone.’
‘Why?’ Josse asked softly, as much to himself as to her. ‘Why kill him before the commission is done? It makes no sense.’
‘Perhaps the commission is done,’ she suggested suddenly. ‘Perhaps he gave it to de Loup last night and, having no further use for his craftsman, de Loup killed him.’
Josse considered it. ‘It’s possible,’ he agreed. ‘Although if it’s true, then where’s the statue? It was intended for Chartres — remember how I told you what Ambrois de Quercy said about de Loup making a special contribution to the new cathedral? If you’re right and de Loup waited until the work was done and then murdered the workman, then the finished object must be here somewhere. It makes no sense for de Loup to have taken it away.’
The abbess was shaking her head. ‘I do not know, Sir Josse.’
Abruptly he stood up. ‘I will ask among the masons,’ he announced. ‘One of them may know if Paul de Fleury had a workroom and if he did, I’ll go and look.’
She too had risen. ‘May I come with you?’
‘Of course.’ He was delighted. ‘I would have suggested it, only I had imagined your day was already planned.’
‘I can spare the time for a healthy walk out in the fresh air,’ she said firmly. ‘Come on, let’s see if we can find this putative workroom before the priests and the busybodies.’
Helewise let Josse precede her along the narrow streets since he appeared to know his way. Soon they were in the artisans’ quarters and, after asking questions of a couple of people, found themselves on a dusty and much-trodden track between rows of low buildings, many open-fronted. Inside were the tools of the craftsmen’s various skills: carpenters, masons, glaziers, blacksmiths. On any other day, the row would have been bustling with purposeful activity; today, it was silent and deserted.
It will not last long, Helewise thought. Such is the fervour here in Chartres that they’ll all want to get back to work. Tomorrow, everything will return to normal. Men in the middle of particularly precise and demanding tasks may even creep back later today.
Paul de Fleury had shared his workroom, deserted now, for inside were two plinths each bearing slabs of marble. De Fleury’s colleague was working on the statue of a saint — St John, Helewise noticed, for he bore the Agnus Dei in his arms. The marble on the other plinth was covered with a cloth. Josse twitched it aside.
De Fleury had made a start on his figure. Her outline could be detected emerging from the smooth stone, the head on its graceful neck bearing the strange horned headdress, but the work had a long way to go.
‘Here is our answer,’ Josse said quietly. ‘We are left, as I feared we would be, with a mystery. For some reason, de Loup fell out with his craftsman and, abandoning the commission, killed him.’
Helewise stepped forward to help Josse replace the cloth over the figure. ‘I still do not see why de Fleury could not simply have fallen from the beam,’ she said. It had been worrying her since Josse had first announced with such conviction that the poor man had been murdered.
‘There are two things to consider,’ Josse said as they stepped over the debris in the workroom and set off back up the track. ‘First, it is only an assumption that he fell; made, I think, because he was found directly beneath the beam. I intend to speak to those who are dealing with the body and I shall ask about the injuries and judge whether or not they are consistent with the theory. Second, if he did fall, then, my lady, what on earth was he doing up there?’
By nightfall, Josse had as clear a picture as could have been achieved in a day. He had spoken to the monks who were preparing Paul de Fleury’s body for burial and they had assured him that no man sustained such frightful and extensive injuries except as a result of falling from a great height. ‘We see all too many such wrecked bodies,’ one of them told Josse sadly.
He had also talked to the master mason who had identified the body and who, in answer to Josse’s question, said that de Fleury’s statue was to have been placed in a niche to the east of the South Porch, between windows dedicated to the Virgin and the Zodiac. This information, Josse reflected, provided no reason whatsoever for de Fleury to have been crawling about high above the nave.
He joined Abbess Helewise and Sister Caliste for the evening meal in the convent’s refectory, nodding across to Brother Saul and Brother Augustus, seated at the long table where the servants ate.
‘Will you take the brethren with you tonight?’ the abbess whispered. ‘There may be danger.’
‘That remained true while Philippe de Loup was in Chartres,’ he murmured back, ‘for it was always possible that news might have reached him that I had been on the Ile d’Oleron nosing around his tower. But I believe, my lady, that he has gone.’
‘If it is true that he killed de Fleury, then yes, I agree that he would not stay here,’ she hissed. ‘What if you are wrong?’
He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll just have to be careful,’ he said lightly.
‘Take one of our trusted lay brothers,’ she persisted.