He could not see a soul.
Had they gone back to their dwelling? Forgotten all about him?
If they were innocent, he reasoned, then aye, that was what they would have done. But they were not. For all that Aelle denied the giving away of a child eighteen years ago, Josse did not believe him. There was far more going on at Deadfall — or Saltwych, as they called it — than it appeared on the surface. For one thing, there was that figure who had sat in the second chair. Unless Josse were imagining things — a possibility, he acknowledged, given that he had suffered a blow to the head — then who, or what, was he? And the fall was not relevant, Josse thought, with a sudden realisation that would have been exciting had it not been so frightening, because he had seen the man before he fell and knocked himself out. And that had not been the first encounter; Josse had seen him on the night of the storm.
It was the eyes, he thought. He had never seen eyes like that. Silvery, luminous, as if they were lit from within by some unearthly radiance.
Why had the man disappeared? Why had he been there at first — and, what was more, in a position of honour beside the chieftain — and then gone, disappearing without trace or mention, as though he did not exist?
He does exist, Josse thought.
And the silver-eyed man was not the only oddity; there was also the matter of the woman who should not be there. Josse had kept a surreptitious lookout for her while he was entertained at Aelle’s board and his vigilance had been successful. She had been careful — very careful — and he had only caught a rapid glimpse of her as she stood, behind two other women, and peered between them into the chamber where Josse and Aelle were eating.
He was sure she had not seen that he had noticed her; he had been facing away from her and seen her from the very edge of his field of vision.
It had been her, he knew it. She was not a handsome woman but she was a striking one. And what in God’s holy name was she doing in Saltwych when the proper place for Aebba, serving woman of the late Galiena Ryemarsh and now in attendance on the lord Ambrose, was surely at her master’s side?
He was going to have to return to Saltwych. He would go by night and he would be very careful not to be seen.
Aelle had said that Galiena was not of his blood. He claimed that his kin did not give up their children for adoption. Well, he might be telling the truth. But if so, if the people who lived at Saltwych were nothing to do with Galiena, then what was Aebba doing there?
There was a connection; there had to be. Frowning, Josse puzzled away at it. Aebba had set out in the party that had escorted Galiena to Hawkenlye and Galiena had dismissed her and sent her back to Ryemarsh when they came into view of the Abbey gates. Then the woman had gone with Ambrose when he went to join Galiena at Hawkenlye, this time arriving at the Abbey and staying there. Then Galiena died — Josse had a sudden vivid memory of Aebba’s expression as she stared down at her young mistress’s face — and Aebba, in the absence of any other duties, set about caring for Ambrose. Josse himself had seen her when she brought clean linen down to her master staying in the Vale.
How, then, did she come to be here at Saltwych?
Perhaps, he mused, Aebba knew of Galiena’s true lineage and, on the girl’s death, had come on the same mission that Josse had tried to carry out: to inform Galiena’s people that she was dead. But there was something amiss with that reasoning … After quite a lot of puzzling, Josse worked out what it was. Galiena had not liked Aebba; he was sure of it. He recalled the girl’s mutinous expression when Ambrose had suggested that Aebba be one of the party to escort Galiena to Hawkenlye Abbey, and he also remembered his own surprise that Galiena did not dismiss the woman and find herself a servant more to her liking. Was it reasonable, then, to assume that Galiena had entrusted the secret of her true birth to this serving woman whom she had disliked? No. It was not.
Something occurred to Josse that he had not thought of until now: did Galiena actually know her true parentage?
He stood deep in thought for some time. He finally concluded that it was a question that he could not answer. Ambrose did not appear to know, for he had sent Josse to Readingbrooke, to break the news to the people there whom he believed to be his late wife’s family.
But Ambrose, he reminded himself, had cause to do harm to Galiena, for she bore another man’s child and jealous husbands had been known to kill their wives for less. So perhaps he had known about Saltwych but had chosen to keep his knowledge to himself.
I am fumbling in the dark, Josse thought in frustration. There is so much that I do not know — that, I believe, is being deliberately obfuscated and kept from me.
He would go down to Saltwych as soon as it was dark. He would leave Horace securely tethered at a safe distance and he would creep up on the settlement as cautiously as he knew how. He would spy on the inhabitants, eavesdrop, search around those outbuildings to see what was kept in them. Audra had told him the truth, he was sure — why should she not? — and Aelle had lied. They did know about Galiena at Saltwych and the more Josse thought about it, the more convinced he became that they were somehow involved — implicated? — in her death.
They had herbal knowledge, that was plain, for had he himself not been treated with a remedy that was swifter and more effective than anything that he had been given before? And, for an old soldier who had sustained his share of wounds and sundry hurts, that was saying a lot. So could one of those strange people have made up a poison designed for slipping into something that Galiena would consume? And, not having succeeded at Ryemarsh, followed her to Hawkenlye and put the poison into Sister Tiphaine’s potion?
No. Not there, for the potion had not harmed the Abbess Helewise when she so bravely — so recklessly — drank from it.
And, anyway, why? Why should Aelle’s people want Galiena dead? Ambrose was a very wealthy man and the Saltwych community lived in dire poverty, but how could they expect to benefit from Ambrose’s wife’s death if the lord did not even know of the connection? But then perhaps he did know …
Oh, it was hopeless!
Smacking a fist furiously against the trunk of a birch tree, Josse tried to stop the whirling thoughts. I cannot solve the puzzle until I find out more, he thought, massaging his bruised knuckles. And find out more I shall.
He sat down, made himself as comfortable as he could against the birch tree and waited for darkness.
17
It was night, and Josse had crept right up to the long hall. The Saltwych community appeared to be asleep and, as far as Josse had been able to ascertain, they did not post a guard during the hours of darkness.
He had left Horace some distance away, in a hawthorn brake where the stunted, twisted trees had provided both concealment and a stout trunk to which to hitch the horse’s reins. The sky was clear and Josse could see the stars, whose faint light was the only illumination; the moon had not yet risen. As he had made his stealthy way from the thorn brake to the Saltwych settlement, silver strands of mist had risen from the marsh to twine around his legs and feet as if they were silken bonds that tried to hold him back.
He stood in the shelter of the long hall’s thatched roof for some time, perfectly still, listening. Other than the calming sounds of animals’ and humans’ snores and deep regular breathing as they slept, not a sound. Finding a gap in the warped planks of the wall, he peered through it and, by the last glow of a torch set in the wall that was slowly spluttering to extinction, made out the sleeping forms of men and women. If one of the women were Aebba, there was no way of knowing. The chieftain’s area had been closed off by a hanging that had been drawn across the doorway; presumably he and his immediate circle — including, no doubt, the man with the silvery eyes — were within, but Josse did not think it necessary to confirm it. Necessary or not, it was far too dangerous; the very idea of sneaking inside the hall and peering around the heavy hanging made sweat break out on his back. If he were to be caught, there would be no mercy and he was beginning to think he had made a bad mistake in coming.