‘So it was murder,’ Josse breathed.
‘Yes.’
After a moment, he said, ‘Are you to stay here all night?’
Smiling in the darkness, she said, ‘No. I will be relieved shortly.’
She made out his expression as the moonlight glittered in his eyes. ‘Shall I wait for you?’ he said tentatively.
She did not know how to answer. Three nights ago, she had shared the Bear Man’s warm, snug bed. Here now was an older love but one who had as great if not a greater place in her heart. I cannot compare the two, she realized, for they are so different that I do not think of them in the same way at all. Would it matter? If my people — he — were to find out, would they be angry with me?
She thought, as she had thought before, that if there were any necessity to love no other than the strange being who was one of her own, then she would have been told of it. In the absence of any such command, it seemed to her that she was free to do as she wished. She wanted to spend some time with Josse, although for many reasons it could not be long. Even so they could walk out into the concealing darkness together and she could bask in his love. She wanted that; she needed it, for she was in turmoil.
He was looking down at her, in his beloved face anticipation as strong as her own mixed with a very touching tentativeness. She put her arms round his neck to draw him down towards her and whispered, ‘Yes.’
In the morning, waking in his hard bed in the convent’s guest quarters, he was not entirely sure whether she had really been there or if he had dreamed it. He pictured her standing before him, holding the folds of her cloak around her. He had made out the bulk of her leather satchel beneath it but otherwise the darkness had hidden her from him. He had seen only her dark, mysterious eyes, which glittered in the faint light, and her sweet face, illuminated by love. Aye, he thought, it could all have been a dream.
He got up, washed and dressed, then quietly went out. He walked all around the cathedral site but try as he might he could not remember in which direction she had set off when, far too soon, she left him. A long moment together, her head resting on his shoulder, and some precious, murmured words; not even the chance to loosen their garments and press flesh to flesh before she had said she must go. He walked some distance away from the city, following paths and faint tracks, searching in likely looking areas of woodland, but there was nothing. If he had really seen Joanna and if she and her people were encamped somewhere in the vicinity, they were far too good at concealing themselves for him to find them.
He was back in the square in front of the cathedral when he spotted the master mason who had identified Paul de Fleury coming towards him. ‘Good morning,’ Josse said. ‘You’re looking for me?’
‘Yes,’ the mason said. ‘I want to have a word with you before those priests try to stop me.’ He looked around as he spoke, but the square was deserted.
‘Why should they do that?’ Josse asked.
‘Because they reckon the death of Paul de Fleury is for them and them alone to deal with,’ the mason replied.
‘You don’t agree? It happened on church property, after all, so maybe they are right.’
‘They may be right but they don’t know what they’re at.’ The mason looked grim. ‘They keep speaking of an accident but all I can say is that they don’t know the nature of the man who Paul was working for.’
He had implied the same thing the previous morning, Josse recalled. ‘And you do?’
‘We all do. Philippe de Loup approached several of my team and none of the others would work for him. He’s bad, sir knight, I’ll tell you that.’
‘I see.’ Josse was thinking hard. ‘Your men do not trust him?’
‘No. I tried to tell Paul, but he didn’t listen.’
Josse was framing his next question. ‘In what way is de Loup bad?’
‘There’s too many rumours about him for them all to be false. Besides, he’s been involved in more than one suspicious disappearance, although he’s always managed to talk — or more likely buy — his way out of trouble.’
‘Who has disappeared?’ Josse felt obliged to ask, but he thought he already knew.
The mason leaned very close and muttered, ‘Lads.’ Then, straightening up, he laid a finger beside his nose and said, ‘That’s all I’ll say,’ and firmly closed his lips together.
‘I see,’ Josse said slowly. Then, ‘Is he here in the city?’
The mason laughed, a harsh sound with no mirth in it. ‘Not him. He’s too closely attached to this business with poor Paul and he’s fled. He left at first light yesterday, I’m told, and the two others he followed here to Chartres have also gone.’
Irrespective of the monopoly that the priests were trying to impose, the master mason had obviously been pursuing his own enquiries. Josse put that thought aside, for something far more important had caught his attention. Two others. Two more Knights of Arcturus?
‘Do you know anything about this other pair?’ he asked.
The mason shot him a shrewd look. ‘Do you?’
‘No! I’m just… just-’
‘Just nosy?’ The mason grinned. ‘Well, I like the look of you, sir knight, which is why I’m telling you all this. I’m stuck here — I have a job to do,’ he added with a touch of self-importance, ‘but you, well, I reckon you’re not one to let murder go unremarked. I don’t know the names of the men de Loup was after but I can describe them. One’s tall with fair hair, and the other is shorter, slighter in build and wears a deep hood.’
One was tall and thin, fairish, like; one was short and lightly built. The words of the guard on the Ile d’Oleron bounced in Josse’s head. Was it possible that, with the king dead, these two men now rode with a different master? It was little enough to go on but it was all he had.
‘I don’t suppose you know where they were bound?’ he asked.
The mason’s smile broadened. ‘Funny you should ask,’ he murmured, ‘because as it happens I do. I’ve got contacts, see, and people keep their eyes peeled for me.’
‘So where has de Loup gone?’
‘Ah, now, I can’t speak for him. He’s very secretive and I’d guess that nobody but him knows what he’s up to. I’m referring to the other two. They’re bound for England.’
It was not what Josse had expected to hear. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Because,’ the mason said, drawing out the word and clearly enjoying the moment, ‘they’re going home.’ As if he wanted to make quite sure Josse understood, he added, ‘They’re English.’
Part Three
Eight
The abbess and her party arrived back at Hawkenlye at the end of May. The journey from Chartres had been swift and uneventful, progress greatly aided by the calm, sunny weather, which had kept the roads mud-free and flattened the seas for the crossing from Boulogne to Hastings. No matter how swiftly they travelled, however, it had not been fast enough for Helewise. Once she had done all she could in Chartres, she had burned to be back at the abbey getting on with the hundreds of tasks pressing on her conscience. Not only had she been away from her normal duties for six weeks, which in itself meant a great deal of catching up, but in addition there was now the vast and daunting prospect of the new chapel.
When the excitement of being home again faded, she sat at the big table in her little room one morning and reviewed the situation. The master mason whom she had engaged was due to arrive any day now, together with his team; he had told her that his work on the cathedral at Chartres would be complete by the end of May at the latest and he would then make his way over to England. He had explained the rudiments of the system: how he prepared the templates for the stonemasons, setting the job in motion, and how, once a certain stage had been reached, his job was done and he was free to move on elsewhere. She had noticed that her master mason was skilled at speaking a great deal of words without actually telling her very much, verifying the oft-repeated rumour that masons were secretive types. Not that it mattered; provided the chapel was built well and swiftly — nervously she recalled Queen Eleanor’s firm resolve that prayers would be said there within the year — she did not need to enquire into the methods.