Now that the family were at table, Raelf seemed to take command once more. He said firmly, ‘There is a time for grieving, and it will be long and sorrowful for us. But we must also remember the living, especially Sir Josse, who has ridden so far to bring us this dread news, and also my wife, who is in particular need of nourishment.’ He met Audra’s eyes and they exchanged a smile. ‘So, one and all, put aside your sadness and let us eat.’
He picked up his knife, cut himself a good-sized chunk of ham, put it on a piece of bread and, pushing it into his mouth, began to chew. One by one the girls, Audra and Josse followed his example and, for a time, there was silence in the hall other than the normal domestic sounds of a family at their meal.
When the food and drink had been cleared away, Audra told her eldest girl to take her sisters off outside. ‘Take them on a wild flower hunt,’ she suggested, ‘a new ribbon for the one who finds the most.’ Then, when the girls had gone, Raelf came to sit beside Josse, and Audra resumed her place at the end of the table.
‘Now, if you please, tell us how she died,’ Raelf said.
Josse drew breath and said, ‘I regret that there is little I can add to what I have already told you. I was taken to meet the lord Ambrose and Galiena by-’ No. Perhaps it was better not to mention Brice. ‘I was invited to Ryemarsh, I think, because Ambrose knew of my connection with Hawkenlye Abbey and wished to ask my advice. He and Galiena were, as I said, anxious that she should conceive a child and Galiena’s own remedies had been ineffective.’
‘She was skilled in the use of herbs,’ Audra put in. ‘It was one of the things we most missed when she wed Ambrose and left us. Although in truth she did not ignore us when she became a wife but was always ready to hurry back to give advice and make up simples for us when we fell sick.’
Raelf nodded. ‘Aye, she remained a daughter of the house even though she was mistress of her own,’ he said sadly. ‘But please, Sir Josse, continue.’
‘Er — I told Ambrose that the nuns of Hawkenlye were rightly famed for their care and their skill, and that there was also the precious holy water, renowned for effecting miracles. He decided that he and Galiena should visit the Abbey and she was keen to set out straight away. Ambrose had matters to attend to at Ryemarsh but, because Galiena was so eager, it was arranged that she should ride on ahead with her woman servant and a lad. She was cared for well at Hawkenlye and two preparations were made up for her. She expressed the desire to return home as soon as she could but had to wait because one remedy was not quite ready. While she waited, she passed the time by going for a long walk on the fringes of the forest and, while she was absent, Ambrose arrived. The journey seemed to have affected him and a bed was found for him in the infirmary.’
‘What was the matter with him?’ Raelf asked.
‘Oh — I believe he was exhausted,’ Josse said. He could not honestly recall what he had been told. ‘Confused, I think.’
Audra looked puzzled. ‘It does not sound typical of Ambrose,’ she said with a frown. ‘He’s a strong man still, well able to ride all day without any ill effects.’ She looked at Josse, a faint smile replacing the frown. ‘We were a little shocked when Galiena expressed her desire to marry a man so much older than herself but, as we came to know him, we understood what she saw in him. He has a sort of power in him, does he not? An air of command.’
‘Aye, he does,’ Josse agreed. He, too, had been surprised at the news of Ambrose’s apparent collapse. Even more so in the light of the fact that he seemed to be quite himself again the next day.
‘So, Galiena was out walking and Ambrose in the infirmary,’ Raelf resumed. ‘Please continue, Sir Josse.’
‘The nuns went to the Abbey church for Vespers, leaving a small staff of lay nurses on duty in the infirmary.’ He concentrated on remembering the Abbess’s careful account of that crucial time. ‘Afterwards, Ambrose said that Galiena had been to see him and that she had massaged his painful hands with some of her special lotion.’
‘So she had come back from her walk?’ Audra asked.
‘It is not certain, my lady,’ Josse replied. ‘There is some possibility that Ambrose dreamt it. He was, they say, very drowsy. But someone had indeed been treating his hands for the lotion could still be detected on the skin.’
‘Nobody else saw her?’ Raelf demanded.
‘No, unfortunately not. As I say, she could easily have slipped in unobserved while most of the nursing staff were at Vespers.’
‘Hm.’ Raelf looked thoughtful. ‘Then what happened?’
‘The Abbess Helewise visited Ambrose and while she was at his bedside Galiena came staggering into the infirmary. She was having difficulty breathing, her face was swollen and she was in great distress. The infirmarer rushed to her aid but it was too late and there was nothing she could do.’
There was silence for a moment. Then Audra whispered, ‘Did she suffer much?’
Josse looked at her. ‘I am told not, my lady. Whatever overcame her acted swiftly.’
‘Was it poison?’ Raelf asked, his voice gruff.
‘We think so. There was a suggestion that she might have eaten berries or mushrooms in the forest and that one of them contained the deadly toxin that killed her.’
‘Impossible,’ Audra stated flatly. ‘Galiena knew every berry and every type of fungus that is found in the region. Why, one of the first lessons she taught her sisters was how to recognise poisonous plants! Given the rampant curiosity of my four, I’ve had reason to thank her for it more than once, I can tell you!’
My four. Again something stirred in Josse’s mind.
But Raelf interrupted the thought. ‘Is that the only explanation that Hawkenlye can offer?’ he asked. ‘That a woman famous for her herbal skills inadvertently ate a death-cap mushroom or a handful of deadly nightshade berries? I think not.’ Then, after the briefest of pauses: ‘The sorcerer’s berry does not produce its fruit until late summer. And surely the weather has been too dry for the death-cap, which does not normally appear until autumn.’
‘Aye,’ Josse agreed heavily. He had always doubted the explanation anyway. ‘Aye, you’re right.’
‘There is truly no doubt but that the remedies prepared for her could not have hurt her?’ Audra asked.
‘None whatever, my lady,’ Josse assured her. ‘One she had not even been given, the other she probably had not had time to drink from. Just in case she did, someone else sampled it and she took no harm.’
‘Who was it? The nun who made it?’ Raelf asked with a certain belligerence.
‘No,’ Josse said quietly. ‘It was Abbess Helewise.’
Audra’s brown eyes widened. Her husband, who had the grace to look slightly shamefaced, said, ‘She has great confidence in her herbalist’s work, then.’
‘Indeed,’ Josse agreed.
The three fell silent. Now that he was not being called upon to recount the tale of Galiena’s death and that, for the time being anyway, the anxious questions had ceased, Josse had a moment to make some sense of the scramble of impressions he had formed. And, at last, he knew what it was that had been bothering him. Now all that remained was finding a tactful way to discover if he was right.
There came the sound of voices and then the four girls were at the door. Behind them, accompanied by a grave-faced boy of about nine or ten and a pretty, bright-eyed girl a little younger, was a woman. Her smooth face was framed by barbette and light veil, under which her thick, fair hair was coiled in plaits around the crown of her head and down over her ears. She was quite tall and her figure was neat and slim. In the tumult of all that was going on about her, the sea-green eyes held an expression of serenity.
Audra got up to greet her and, in a low voice, asked her something, in reply to which the woman nodded, putting her arm round Audra and pulling her close in a reassuring hug. It was likely, Josse thought, that Audra had just confirmed that the newcomer had been told the grim news. As they stood together, the affection between them was apparent and Josse wondered if they were sisters. Turning to Josse, Audra said, ‘Sir Josse, this is Isabella de Burghay, my daughters’ aunt, and these are her children, Roger and Marthe.’