‘And when did he return?’ His mouth felt dry.
‘Oh — it must have been more than three years ago, in the summer of’93.’
Josse tried to take it in. He was in no doubt that Gerome de Villieres and the English monk’s lord were the same person. He was wondering what Thibault’s reaction would be when faced with the news that he had discovered Gerome’s identity when something struck him.
‘Isabella,’ he said, ‘I am most grateful for this information. But how do you come to be such an expert on the de Villieres family and their doings?’
She smiled. ‘Gerome de Villieres is distantly related to my Brice; Gerome’s grandmother Hewisa was Brice’s grandfather’s sister. We know Editha de Villieres quite well,’ she added, ‘she is Olivar’s godmother.’
Although Isabella pressed him to wait for Brice’s return and stay to eat with the family, Josse declined. He felt guilty; having extracted from Isabella everything she knew about the de Villieres family, it was not good manners to bolt before he had, as it were, sung for his supper by staying to talk to Brice over a leisurely meal.
But Isabella seemed to understand. ‘This matter is clearly important to you,’ she said as she saw him out.
‘Aye,’ he agreed. ‘There have been two killings,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘and we have not seen the last of the violence yet, for something very important lies at its heart.’
‘Something that it is worth killing for must be important indeed,’ she whispered. Then, enfolding him in a sudden hug: ‘Be careful, dear Josse!’
He returned the hug. ‘I will,’ he promised. ‘There’s no threat to me, Isabella,’ he added.
She muttered something under her breath. ‘Don’t tempt providence,’ she warned. ‘I shall keep you in my thoughts.’
He thanked her, kissed her and took his leave.
He raced back to Hawkenlye Abbey. He had been sorely tempted to ride straight for Robertsbridge, seek out the de Villieres lands and speak to Gerome in person; however, in the end he had decided against it. For one thing, Gervase de Gifford could well be at the Abbey about to interview Akhbir, and Josse wanted to be present. For another thing, it would be better to think carefully rather than heading off like an arrow to the bull; a little more reflection might suggest that an approach to Gerome de Villieres should wait until he knew exactly what it was that he wanted to ask the man.
He reached the Abbey in the middle of the afternoon. He was ravenously hungry — it seemed like hours since he had eaten Tilda’s marigold cakes — but he went first to seek out the Abbess. As he knocked and went into her room she said, before he had a chance to speak, ‘Gervase de Gifford is coming up to the Abbey this afternoon. I thought you were he.’
He could tell from her expression — carefully neutral — that she was not best pleased. ‘Is Akhbir well enough to answer questions?’ he asked.
‘Sister Caliste says no; he is still lying with his face to the wall. Sister Euphemia has been down to the Vale and she says shock, grief, dehydration and hunger have sent him half out of his mind.’
‘What shall we do, my lady? I am prepared to try to reason with Gervase.’
‘I do not see that your reasoning with him should influence him more than a command from the Abbess of Hawkenlye,’ she said frostily. Then, instantly: ‘I apologize, Sir Josse. That was unforgivable and untrue. It’s just that…’ She paused, collecting her thoughts. ‘We here at the Abbey have a duty of care for those who come to us sick in body and mind,’ she said more calmly. ‘It goes against our purpose to sit by and watch while a man suffering as deeply as Akhbir has questions hurled at him by an angry sheriff.’
‘There have been two terrible deaths, my lady,’ Josse said quietly. ‘It is Gervase’s duty to seek justice for the dead just as it is yours to care for the sick.’
She sighed. ‘I know. I know.’ She looked up at Josse. ‘I have sent Sister Caliste down to the Vale to fetch Akhbir,’ she said. ‘I will permit Gervase to ask his questions, but it will be in here, and you, Sister Caliste and I shall be here while he does so. It is the best I can do,’ she muttered. Then she said, ‘But Sir Josse, what of your mission? Did Brice supply the names of local men with kin in Outremer?’
‘Aye,’ he admitted. ‘It was Isabella that I spoke to. She told me of a certain Gerome de Villieres, who surely is our man.’
‘The timing fits? Our knight turned runaway monk might have been of de Villieres’s company?’
‘Aye, he might well.’
‘De Villieres,’ she repeated, half to herself. ‘The name seems vaguely familiar. Where is their manor?’
‘Near Robertsbridge.’
‘I will think about it. Robertsbridge is not so very far from where I grew up. I shall endeavour to recall where I have heard the name before.’
Sensing himself dismissed, Josse went out and quietly closed the door.
Her head was thumping as if a demon were hammering at it with a red-hot hammer. She tried to set an imaginary boundary around it and isolate it in a corner of her consciousness; it was something the infirmarer had taught her. Sometimes it worked, sometimes not. It helped if she had something else on which to concentrate. Visualizing herself walking away from her contained pain, she thought about the name de Villieres.
And presently she remembered.
Her father had at one time wanted to unite his family with that of the de Villieres; it made sense, for Ralf de Swansford’s lands were quite close to those of Guilbert de Villieres and a marital tie between the families would strengthen both. He suggested a meeting between his elder son Rainer and Guilbert’s second daughter, Maud. The pair were introduced and Maud appeared keen but it was too late for Rainer, already dreaming of someone else; every other woman had become invisible. The de Villieres party swept off clutching their dignity to them like a cloak on a windy day and relations between the two fam ilies were ever afterwards cool.
Helewise thought about that embarrassing time. Rainer was perfectly polite to the pretty, over-eager Maud but Helewise knew that his good manners were automatic. He was already deeply in love with Egelina Rich and he had in fact married her not long afterwards. They had enjoyed a particularly happy life together until her death in childbed. Dear Rainer, she thought. Memories of their childhood together, and with her younger brother and sister making up the quartet, flooded into her mind and she smiled. It had been a fine upbringing, and she No. She made herself stop. It was not the moment to lose herself in an indulgent visit to the past, however happy it had been. She had a problem on her hands and her duty was to deal with it to the very best of her ability. So, having done what she set out to do and remembered why the name of de Villieres was familiar, she put the matter from her mind.
She heard the tramp of footsteps outside her door. There was a knock and at her response the door opened and Gervase de Gifford came in. Akhbir walked behind him, Sister Caliste at his side, watching him anxiously. Behind them came Josse, who closed the door and then stood with his back against it. For an instant he met her eyes and she gave him a quick smile.
She looked up at Gervase, who was stating formally that while the man Akhbir’s condition had been explained to him, nevertheless he must speak to him and so had agreed to do so in her presence and that of Sir Josse and Sister Caliste. Helewise turned to regard Akhbir. He stood with bowed head, his arms hanging limply by his sides. She said, ‘Akhbir?’ and for a moment he looked up at her. His skin was ashen and the flesh of his face seemed to have collapsed against the bones of the skull. ‘Would you like to sit down?’
She was not sure whether he understood; he did not reply but went on staring at her. She turned to Sister Caliste. ‘Sister, has he accepted any food or water?’
‘A little water, my lady. He refuses food.’
Helewise’s instinct was to send the poor wretch back to wherever he had been curled up and tell him to rest and recover his strength. But she knew she could not do that. ‘Gervase, proceed,’ she said. ‘Ask your questions.’