‘You said before — ’ the abbess spoke tentatively into the small silence — ‘that your uncle sent a note commanding you to stay away.’
‘Aye, my lady, indeed I did, and I could not fathom it because I had received a contradictory message from another of the thirteen. I did not know what to do — why should I be called by one of the knights, yet told in no uncertain terms by my own kinsman to stay away? Fool that I was, I told myself that my uncle was old and perhaps his wits had unravelled. Then I made my preparations and set off for France, where the knights had convened.’
‘You were curious, I don’t doubt, to discover what lay at the heart of this mystery,’ Josse suggested. ‘And, besides, your uncle had impressed upon you its importance.’
‘It is generous to ascribe such a noble motive,’ Piers said with a small smile, ‘but I fear simple curiosity is nearer the mark. So I announced my plans to my household and gave orders for my best horse and my new tunic to be prepared. I told my young squire that he was going to attend me on an exciting journey and set him to readying my gear. But then the poor lad fell down the courtyard steps and broke his ankle and, since I couldn’t present myself to the knights without a suitably trained attendant, I borrowed a lad from my neighbour. He was a good boy, bright, presentable and well mannered. He knew his stuff, and the two of us got on fine. We had an easy journey and reached the rendezvous on time, and a godforsaken spot it was too.’ His eyes clouded. ‘Dear Lord, but if only I’d obeyed my instincts and turned back,’ he muttered. ‘Well, I didn’t, and now I’m dealing with the terrible consequences.’
‘What did you discover?’ the abbess asked, in what Josse thought was commendably close to her usual tone.
‘Whatever pure motive may once have prompted the Knights of Arcturus,’ Piers said solemnly, ‘it and they have changed out of all recognition. But then they are now extremely powerful and wealthy, and that is very often a dangerous combination. They believe themselves to be above the law, for among their number are men from the very highest levels of authority. I mean that,’ he added forcefully. ‘You would not believe… But I must tell you what happened.’ He closed his eyes briefly as if steeling himself for some ordeal. ‘My lad and I went in all innocence to that dreadful place and, far too late, I found out why my uncle had tried to warn me off. I believe they killed the poor old man,’ he added. ‘I know he was ill, perhaps already dying, but I am almost certain that they found out what he had done and hastened his end.’ He looked sad. ‘It was cruel, for he was a good man, perhaps the last true Knight of Arcturus that there will ever be.’
‘Yet they did not kill you too?’ Josse said. It was surprising, since if the knights had found out that Piers was no more corruptible than his uncle, why had they allowed him to live?
Piers gave a hollow laugh. ‘Oh, they tried,’ he said bitterly, ‘and I’ve been on the run from them ever since. Don’t let them find me,’ he said desperately, his eyes going rapidly from Josse to the abbess and back. ‘You must not, for they… they are an abomination.’ The last word was barely a whisper.
‘We will guard you to the best of our ability,’ the abbess said. ‘You will never be left alone here in the infirmary, where nuns are on duty day and night. The gates are locked at sunset,’ she added.
‘Do they know you’ve come to England?’ Josse asked. He thought he already knew the answer.
‘One, the worst of them, yes, he knows.’ Piers gave a shudder. ‘As for the others, I cannot say for sure. They have spies everywhere, though, so I expect word has been sent to summon them.’
‘And they know where your home is?’
‘They do.’ Piers exchanged a glance with him. ‘Which is why I have no intention of going there.’ He twisted in his bed and gave a cry of pain; Josse saw a line of bloody patches suddenly bloom out along the bandage round his throat.
Sister Caliste sprang forward. ‘Keep still!’ she ordered, already picking at the edge of the pad that the bandage held in place. ‘The stitches are pulling — you must rest, Sir Piers.’ Glancing up at the abbess, she said, ‘Please, my lady, he does himself harm when he becomes agitated.’
‘We will return later,’ the abbess said and, with a glance at Josse, led the way out of the recess. ‘Someone tried to cut his throat,’ she said very quietly as they walked back to her room. ‘He has not told us anything of the attack, but he was badly beaten, so perhaps he has no memory of it.’
‘Aye, that’s likely,’ Josse agreed. ‘My lady, I am concerned about this lad that he took with him to the rendezvous. He has not spoken of the boy’s fate.’
‘I noticed that too,’ she said. ‘I pray that he is safe.’
Josse had been thinking very hard ever since he had heard Piers’s story. What if it was to the Ile d’Oleron that Piers of Essendon had gone for this rendezvous? What if the Knights of Arcturus had decided that his young squire would make a suitable victim for their abhorrent practices? Supposing Piers had fiercely objected both the terrible deed they were about to do and their choice of victim and somehow had managed to get his squire safely away. Then, when the rest of the knights discovered that they had fled, two of them — perhaps including Philippe de Loup himself — had, together with the late king, set out after them, the three of them rowed out by the dark Oleron guard to the waiting boat. They must have been desperate to catch Piers; once they realized that he was not going to join them, the decision must surely have been made to kill him. He knew far too much about them to be allowed to live. He knew too — he must do — that King Richard was either of their number or at the least an eager witness to their foul practices.
But had Piers been telling the truth when he claimed to have had no knowledge of the knights’ foul reputation, or was the truth rather that he had known, had gone eagerly to the island with a victim to offer up and then something had gone wrong? Perhaps now, to cover his tracks, he was only pretending to be horrified…
Josse dragged his mind back from that unpleasant thought. What he had been trying to decide, all the time Piers was speaking, was if he should now tell the abbess the full story of the horror that had happened on Oleron. It was all very well for the queen to swear him to secrecy; now that this ghastly business had surfaced in England — right here in Hawkenlye Abbey — he was convinced that secrecy was no longer of prime importance.
Interrupting the abbess, who was still speculating anxiously about the fate of Piers’s young squire, he said, ‘My lady, there are more things I must tell you.’
Then, once they were safely behind the closed door of her room, at last he revealed to her the full account of what Queen Eleanor had commanded him to do and what he had discovered since.
When he finished, her face was ashen.
Josse could not settle. It had been a relief to unburden himself to the abbess, but since finishing his long discussion with her — which, comforting though it was, had not really offered any answers — he had been distracted from anything he had tried to do. Not wanting to distress Meggie, who picked up his moods with uncanny accuracy, he left her helping Sister Tiphaine pick herbs and took himself off for a walk.
He found that he had gone straight into the forest. Not thinking, letting whatever force that was acting on him guide his steps, he went slowly on and, as he had thought he would, in time he came to the clearing where Joanna lived in her little hut.