Fortune Like the Moon (9 page)

It heartened Josse that someone, at least, had been shedding tears for Gunnora.

By the time the meal ended and he stood to join the nuns in their prayers, he had made up his mind what the next step was.

*   *   *

Abbess Helewise seemed unsurprised when he announced, as they left the refectory, his intention of seeking out Gunnora’s family, provided the Abbess was willing to divulge the whereabouts of their home.

‘That I will,’ she said. ‘Follow me back to my room, and I will tell you where they live and how to get there. I think,’ she added over her shoulder, ‘that you are taking the logical next step.’

Once they were within the privacy of the Abbess’s small room, he said, ‘May I ask you a further question, Abbess?’

She inclined her head, which he took for an affirmative.

‘The nuns sitting apart from the community just now, at the midday meal. I have not been able to work out why.’

She smiled briefly. ‘And you are asking yourself if there is some lurid explanation? They are in disgrace for some heinous misdemeanour? Contaminated, perhaps, from nursing patients with the plague or the pox?’

‘Neither of those things!’ he protested, not entirely accurately.

‘They are our virgin nuns,’ she said quietly, all traces of amusement gone from her face. ‘As in the abbey at Fontevraud, our community is divided, with separate accommodation according to how a sister opts to use her life in God. Most choose the easier life of the Madeleine Convent – many of us lived a full life in the world before entry here, and do not consider ourselves worthy of a life spent solely with God. But for those women who led an exemplary life in the world, who, even before taking the veil, lived quietly, modestly and in celibacy; there is the option of enclosure in the Virgin House, where they spend their days and much of their nights in contemplation and communion with the Lord.’

He was nodding earnestly, even while a part of him was thinking, what a life! ‘And those sisters, the virgin nuns, do not join with you, even for meals?’

‘No. The Rule considers it is best for them not to brush too closely with those who retain one foot in the world. They are segregated in chapel, also, and they live in separate accommodation; their small house is attached to the Lady Chapel.’ Her eyes met his, and, anticipating his next question, she answered it. ‘Gunnora would not have had any contact whatsoever with any of the virgin sisters. Assure yourself that none of them would even have known who she was.’

And so, she seemed to add silently, you can cross those seventeen women off your list of suspects.

He said gravely, ‘I thank you, Abbess Helewise. I shall do precisely that.’

*   *   *

She said farewell to him in her room, wishing him a safe journey and God’s speed. Then, with a pleasant sense of having earned her approbation, notwithstanding the more intrusive of his questions, he set off to find his horse.

A nun wearing a sacking apron over her habit was working in the stables, sleeves rolled back to display forearms any sailor would have been proud of. She was mucking out, and wielded a pitchfork with an easy rhythm that suggested long familiarity.

‘I’ve fed your horse,’ she said, as he greeted her and announced he was about to leave. ‘Rubbed him down and all. He’ll not be thinking to work again this day, I reckon. You’ll no doubt find him a deal frisky.’ She grinned, showing gaps in her side teeth. ‘I was about to turn him out with our lot, he’d have looked like a king alongside ’em.’

He looked out to the paddock she indicated, where a solid but amiable-looking cob had raised an enquiring head. There was a more delicately built but short-legged pony – surely on the small side for any but the slightest-built of the sisters? – and a mule. He saw what the sister had meant.

‘Thank you for your care of him.’ In any other stable, he’d have offered a coin or two, but it didn’t seem appropriate in a convent. Instead he paid her a compliment: ‘You run a sweet-smelling, well-tended stable, Sister—’

‘Sister Martha,’ she said. ‘I thank you, sir knight.’

‘Josse d’Acquin,’ he supplied.

She grinned again. ‘I know. I know, too, what you’re here for and, as to where you’re bound now, I can guess.’ The smile faded and she moved closer to him, face intense. ‘Find him, sir. I had no great love for Gunnora, God punish me for my lack of charity, but no creature ever deserved that fate.’

He met her honest blue eyes. ‘I’ll do my best, Sister Martha. You have my word.’

With an emphatic nod, as if to say, the word of a knight’ll do for me, Sister Martha went back to her mucking out.

*   *   *

The lands of Gunnora’s father lay some eighteen miles roughly to the south-east of Hawkenlye. Setting out the hour after noon, Josse would arrive at dusk. The estate was sufficiently close to the town of Newenden for him to put up there; it was his intention to view Gunnora’s home this evening, gleaning what impression he could, and then retire to an inn. He would present himself to her family in the morning.

It ocurred to him on the road that it would better serve his purpose not to draw attention to himself. He stopped and dismounted, extracted a light and well-worn cloak from his pack, and, removing his embroidered tunic, stowed it away. He held the cloak at arm’s length, studying it with a critical eye. Worn it might be, but it still looked suspiciously good quality. With a slight sigh, he threw it down on to the track and trod it into the dust. Then he shook it and put it on. He drew the hood over his head so that its edge shaded his face; the afternoon sun was strong.

Abbess Helewise’s directions had been accurate, and he found his way to Winnowlands easily, only once having to ask for assistance. Odd, he thought, riding away from the small group of dwellings where he had consulted an old man laboriously winding up water from a well. The old boy seemed friendly enough as I rode into the yard – I even thought he was about to offer me water. But as soon as I mentioned Winnowlands, he changed.

Trying to put aside one possibly loopy old man’s prejudice and maintain an open mind, Josse rode on.

*   *   *

The Winnowlands estates, he could see straightaway, were rich. The land here, on the edge of the escarpment that rose up to the north of the great marshland, was good, and put to a variety of uses. Herds of cows grazed in well-grassed meadows, and flocks of sheep fattened themselves on the sparser grass nearer the marshes. The land under the plough was well-tended and looked fertile, and the strips were neat and tidily fenced. There were several huddles of dwellings, and, inspecting one which was clearly visible from the road, Josse noted that the reed-thatch roofs looked sound. One or two small cultivated areas near to the dwellings were thick with cabbages, carrots and onions, and in one, someone was growing some tiny pink flowers. In a fenced-off run, a sow and her young rootled in the dirt.

The land, quite clearly, yielded a good living. This should have been a happy place.

Why, then, Josse wondered as he slowly rode on, was there such an air of despondency? The few people he had seen – and why were they so few? Where was everyone? – seemed hardly to be aware of the stranger in their midst. Wasn’t that in itself strange? Josse had travelled countless miles, through all sorts of alien lands, and the one constant factor among all the different peoples he had encountered – especially the country people – was their curiosity. Well, you could understand it. They lived small lives, probably never went further away than the boundaries of the manor where they’d been born and where, in due course, they’d die. Saw exactly the same faces, year in, year out. A stranger was a rarity. Someone to be stared at, his possible provenance and purpose discussed and analysed for days, if not weeks, afterwards.

But these people working away on the Winnowlands acres seemed preoccupied. Dejected, Josse thought, would not be inaccurate. Was it – could it be – that they shared the family grief for a dead daughter? It was a possibility. But surely such an exaggerated response was unlikely; to grieve deeply, one had to have known the dead person well. And would any of these serfs working in the fields have known anything of Gunnora, other than a vague distant presence? Even more distant, for the last year of her life.

And, Josse thought as he rode on towards the manor house, hadn’t Abbess Helewise said that her lay brother detected a deep misery in these people even before he gave them the news of Gunnora’s murder?

No. Something else had happened here. Something so bad that it affected all the people whose security depended on the Winnowlands manor. And, whatever it was, it had predated Gunnora’s death.

He drew rein on the top of a hillock that rose up on the other side of the road from the Winnowlands manor house, and, in the golden light of late afternoon, stared down at the place that had been Gunnora’s home.

It was a solidly built construction, clearly the home of a wealthy family, and of generous proportions; stout stone steps led from the wall-enclosed courtyard up to the entrance, at first floor level, and there was space for a large hall. There was a solar at the western end, and what appeared to be a private chapel. Two turreted extensions suggested that the original building had been extended at some time, perhaps to make room for an increasing family. Beneath the living quarters was a wide undercroft; its narrow door stood ajar, and Josse could glimpse within the shadowy depths a profusion of stores.

As he watched, a man, clad in a leather jerkin over hose tucked into stout boots, appeared from behind the house. He called out a reply to some unseen presence within the house; it seemed to have been a demand for firewood, for he disappeared inside the undercroft and emerged with a basket of small logs.

A fire? When the day had been so hot?

A cooking fire, Josse decided. The person within wanted to get on with preparing the master’s supper. But, as he watched, he noticed a billow of smoke issue from some aperture in the roof. Not the sort of smoke that comes from a well-established fire, such as might have been kept in all day for the purposes of cooking or water-heating; the smoke that comes when a fire is newly lit.

Someone, then, had ordered the man in the jerkin to light a fire. When the day was still so hot that Josse could feel the trickles of sweat running down his back, even sitting still.

He heard the sounds of an approaching horse, coming from his right. The man in the jerkin heard them too, and came slowly down the steps from the hall to await the new arrival. Josse quietly urged his horse to take a few paces back, so that he was hidden behind the bulge of the hillock; it did not seem wise, whichever way you looked at it, for Josse to be observed peering down at the goings-on in the Winnowlands household. Dismounting, he crawled forward so that he could peer down into the courtyard.

The newcomer was a young man, slim, well-dressed in the latest fashion. He had shortened his tunic to mid-thigh length, and the richly decorated hem was cut away into exaggerated slits at the side, revealing the muscles of the man’s buttocks, clad in very tight hose. On his feet – and unsuitable, surely, for riding – he wore soft leather shoes with elongated points at the toe. His fair hair was very neatly cut, the fringe a dead-straight line above the wide forehead, except for where one careful curl had been arranged. He said something to the leatherjerkined man, who must, Josse thought, be some sort of senior house-servant, and the man shook his head. The young man leaned down off his horse, and, this time, spoke more loudly. Josse picked up a word or two: ‘…
must
see him … do insist … come all this way … no authority to bar the door against
me!
’

The older man’s reply was also audible; even more so, since he was in fact shouting.

‘I know very well what you’re here for, and so does the Master! I tell you, young sir, he doesn’t want to see you!’

‘I
will
see him! It’s my right!’

‘You’ll be admitted when the Master’s good and ready, and not a moment sooner! Now you’d better be gone, Milon, afore the Master hears and comes out himself to send you packing!’

The younger man gave a short laugh, an unpleasant, mocking sound. ‘That one? Come out here? Ha! It’ll be the first time in a long while if he does, Will, and you know it!’

‘I’ll not admit you, Milon, so there’s no use you hanging around.’ The man in the jerkin – Will – now advanced towards the youngster, and even from a distance Josse could see the menace in his face. ‘Be gone! You’ll be told, when there’s aught for you to know.’

Milon turned his horse with a savage jerk at the reins. Glaring at Will, he had his parting shot: ‘I’ll be back, you dirty peasant! Just you wait!’

Will stood looking after him as he spurred his horse into a furious gallop and, raising clouds of dust, set off back the way he had come. Then, the heavy face full of disgust, he spat out a heavy gobule of phlegm in the direction the young man had taken. There could not, Josse thought, have been a more eloquent valediction.

Josse waited until Will had gone back inside, gave him a few minutes in case he came out again – somehow he didn’t fancy having to explain himself to Will right there and then – and, after a good interval, mounted, rode down off his hillock and set off for Newenden and his bed for the night.

*   *   *

He returned the next morning. He had found lodgings in an acceptable inn, eaten a good supper, even been provided with hot water to remove the dust and sweat of the journey. Now he was dressed in his best, as befitted an emissary from the Abbess of Hawkenlye Abbey; he and Helewise had agreed that this would be his role, and that, as his reason for calling on Gunnora’s father, he would say that the Abbey urgently needed to know what were his wishes concerning his daughter’s body.

He rode up to the manor house, and was about to call out to advertise his presence when the man, Will, came out from the undercroft.

‘Sir?’ he said, looking up at Josse from beneath a hand shading his eyes from the sun.

‘Josse d’Acquin,’ Josse said. ‘I come from Hawkenlye, with matters of a personal nature to discuss with your master of Winnowlands. May I see him, please?’