‘Yet I remain well.’ Majorane gave him an ironic look. ‘I kept myself away from my brother, sir knight. It was the maid’s job to nurse him and I saw no reason to put myself at risk.’
Josse decided that, unless he changed the subject, he might very well hit her. Still speaking politely, he said, ‘Your brother crossed from Boulogne, I know that. Had he been anywhere else, Mistress Kelsey?’
‘He visited Paris,’ she replied, with a touch of pride in her tone. ‘Martin made good friends among the merchants of southern England and northern France and it was his custom to combine business with pleasure. This last visit was typical in that he concluded his commercial affairs in the city and then spent some days enjoying the hospitality of two fellow merchants who have a residence on an island in the middle of the river. My brother deals in many costly and exotic items that can only be obtained from far away; silk, naturally; spices, incense and plant drugs; bronze, gold and precious stones, sapphires, emeralds, rubies. Leather and ivory goods from the dark country that lies far to the south, as well as tortoiseshell and glassware. Why, we have a warehouse full to the roof with such exquisite things not half a mile from where we sit!’ She gave a small, smug smile. Then, apparently recalling Josse’s question, concluded, ‘When he left Paris, he travelled north to Boulogne and took ship for home.’
‘With Nicol Romley,’ Josse added, half to himself. Who had perhaps mentioned to Martin Kelsey of his grave fears that he was being followed. . ‘Mistress Kelsey, did your late brother mention anything unusual about his trip?’
‘No,’ she said instantly. ‘He was very pleased with the outcome of his meeting with the Paris merchants and in good spirits on his return; that is, he was until he began to feel ill.’
‘Did he mention travelling with Nicol Romley?’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Yes, I believe he did.’
‘And-’
But there was something she wanted to say. Raising her chin, she said, ‘I will tell you, sir knight, how my brother became sick. Would you like that?’
Like it? God’s boots, it was too good to be true, if indeed she knew. ‘I — aye, I would.’
The disdainful, scornful expression deepening, she said, ‘He found a dying man in Boulogne. He tried to help the wretch but, of course, could do nothing for him. The man was lying in his own filth, bleeding all over and his forehead was hot enough to fry an egg. My brother’s exact words,’ she explained. ‘Martin was with him when he breathed his last and he gave a street child a few coins to ensure the body was buried. Not that the foul little urchin would have done anything of the kind,’ she added, ‘not without Martin standing over him to make sure he did. But that was typical of my brother; too kind and far too soft hearted for his own good.’
‘He has paid the price,’ Josse said quietly.
‘So have I!’ cried Majorane. ‘I have lost my brother! I kept house for him and he supported me. What do you suggest I do now, sir knight, all alone in the world?’
You have a home and you have your health, Josse wanted to reply, not to mention that warehouse full of exotic cargo. Few of those things can be said of many people. Instead he murmured, ‘I am sorry for your plight, Mistress Kelsey.’
‘Sorry, yes, sorry’s all very well! Sorry does not put food on the table.’
Silence fell, although it seemed to Josse that the room rang with the echoes of her last furious words. There was just one more thing that Josse needed to know; hoping that she would be able to answer, he said, ‘Mistress, do you know the name of the ship that brought your brother home?’
She stared up at him. ‘Yes. The Angel of Mercy, out of Hastings here. Ironic, isn’t it?’
The quay was quiet and Josse guessed that most people were sitting down to their meal. He found the Angel of Mercy, a small ship in good order, and, calling out, attracted the attention of a sailor sitting on a coil of rope and apparently doing nothing but gaze out to sea. Josse explained that he wished to speak to the captain and the sailor invited him to step aboard.
The captain was also doing nothing, but he was enjoying his moments of idleness in the comfort of a narrow bunk. He waved a hand to Josse to sit down on top of a seaman’s chest, then asked what he could do for him.
‘You sailed here from Boulogne, I believe, about a fortnight ago?’
‘Not quite a fortnight, but near enough,’ the captain agreed cheerfully; he had been drinking and Josse could smell alcohol on his breath from three paces away.
‘You had two passengers, a merchant named Kelsey and a young apprentice from Newenden?’
‘Never found out the details but that sounds about right. As long as they pay, that’s fine by me!’ The throaty laugh sent more second-hand alcohol Josse’s way.
‘You have been informed that the merchant took sick and died?’
‘Aye. He was healthy when he went ashore from the Angel, that I can tell you.’
‘Aye, I know,’ Josse said reassuringly. ‘The young apprentice became ill as well and he also died.’
‘God rest them both,’ the captain said.
‘Amen,’ Josse muttered. Then: ‘Have there been any more cases of sickness among your crew, Captain?’
‘Thank God, no,’ the captain replied. He looked sideways at Josse, who guessed that both were sharing the same thought: no more sickness yet.
‘This pestilence spreads quickly,’ Josse said. ‘If you all remain well then soon, Captain, you may start to be optimistic that you and your crew have been spared.’
‘Can’t think what we’ve done to deserve that blessing,’ the captain observed. Then, lifting the jar of whatever he had been consuming and waving it at Josse, he said, ‘Here’s my remedy.’
Despite himself, Josse laughed. He stood up and, with a grin, said, ‘I wish you luck. Thank you for your help, Captain.’
As he approached the head of the gangplank in preparation for descending to the quay, the sailor hurried up to him. ‘I were listening,’ he said disarmingly. ‘It weren’t two men we brought back from Boulogne, it were three. Leastways, I’m pretty sure of it.’
‘Three?’
‘Aye. We was just slipping our moorings when this dark shadow comes creeping along the quayside, all shifty-like as if he didn’t want to be seen. I saw him, though. Well, I think it was a him.’
‘And he came on board the ship?’
The sailor shrugged. ‘Reckon he must have done. He weren’t on the quay no longer and weren’t nobody in the water, so wasn’t no place else he could have gone.’
‘But nobody actually discovered him aboard?’
The sailor laughed. ‘No, but there’s a hundred places a man could hide on the old Angel. And,’ he added reasonably, ‘nobody was looking for him, was they?’
‘No,’ Josse agreed, ‘I suppose not.’
An image was forming in his mind. A dark figure following the merchant and the apothecary on board the Angel of Mercy, trailing Nicol home to Newenden. Not quite carefully enough, for Nicol had suspected his presence and was afraid. With good reason, it seemed.
But why? Why should anyone go to the trouble of stowing away on a ship and following the poor lad all the way to England; first to Newenden, then to Hawkenlye, where, if Josse’s instinct was right, this someone waylaid Nicol and killed him?
Oh, but he was so far from getting at the truth of it!
He reached inside his pouch and, extracting a coin, flipped it at the sailor, who deftly caught it. ‘I’m grateful to you,’ Josse said. ‘Have a drink on me.’
Then, with a great deal to think about and one or two possibilities already forming in his mind, he made his way back to the inn where he had left the cob and set off for Hawkenlye.
In the day and a half that Josse had been absent, Hawkenlye Abbey seemed to have filled up with fear, pain and sorrow.