Augustus looked faintly surprised that Josse might even be thinking anything to the contrary. Then, with a shake of his head as if to drive out that thought and proceed to another, he said, ‘It’s not about him that I’ve come looking for you. It’s about the young woman.’
‘Sabin de Retz?’ As if there could be any other young woman.
‘Aye.’ Augustus sounded impatient, as if he too thought the interjection unnecessary. ‘Sir Josse, when I wasn’t praying for Brother Firmin I’ve been thinking about where she might be. Like we were saying yesterday, it’s unlikely anyone’s taken her in, what with the sickness and that, and I’d guess you found no trace of her in Tonbridge for the same reason.’
‘You guess right,’ Josse agreed.
‘Well, there’s one sort of place where they never turn people away even if the whole county falls ill,’ Augustus pressed on eagerly. Then, when Josse didn’t instantly reply, he cried, ‘Places like Hawkenlye! Religious foundations!’
God’s boots, but the lad was right! ‘Well done, Gussie,’ Josse said, clapping him enthusiastically on the shoulder. ‘Even now she could be joining the community at their prayers in. .’ He realised he had no idea where the nearest religious house was. ‘Er, where might she be, d’you think, Gus?’
Augustus smiled. ‘There’s West Abbey,’ he began, ‘that’s north of here and they’re Benedictine nuns, only the place burned down a few years ago and I don’t know if they’ve rebuilt their guest quarters. There’s the canons down at Otham, but they’re in the middle of plans to move their foundation somewhere more suitable and I doubt they’ve much accommodation for guests either. There’s St Martin’s at Battle and then there’s. .’
But Josse had remembered something. A year ago, when word had first come of King Richard’s capture and imprisonment, Queen Eleanor, beside herself with anxiety, had sent two trusted abbots out to Speyer to see the king and report back to her. One abbot came from. . where was it? Boxley, aye, that was it, and wasn’t Boxley up near Rochester? The other envoy was the abbot of Pont Robert, or Robertsbridge, as the people called it. And Robertsbridge was only some fifteen miles south of Hawkenlye.
‘Robertsbridge!’ he cried.
Augustus shot him a glance. ‘I was just going to say Robertsbridge.’
‘What do we know of the place?’ Josse demanded eagerly.
Augustus had a think and then said, ‘It’s run by the White Monks and they’re farmers and foresters. The Abbey’s tucked away in the forest, like all Cistercian houses, because the monks aren’t allowed near towns.’
‘Would they accommodate a young woman like Sabin de Retz?’
Augustus shrugged. ‘I can’t say for certain, but the Cistercians are known for their charity and their care of the poor.’
‘It doesn’t sound as if Sabin is poor,’ Josse said, half to himself, thinking of the grey mare and the fur-lined gloves.
‘Maybe the old White Monks wouldn’t be above letting her stay anyway but rattling the poor box under her nose,’ Augustus said shrewdly.
Josse grinned. ‘Very possibly,’ he agreed. ‘Is it a good road to Robertsbridge, Gus?’
‘Reckon so, Sir Josse. It’s the Hastings road nearly all the way.’ Returning Josse’s smile, he said, ‘Want me to ask leave to go with you?’
‘Aye, do that, lad. I’ll go and tap on the Abbess Helewise’s door and explain where we’re going.’
He found the Abbess sitting behind her table. She seemed to have plenty to do, judging by the rolls of parchment spread out in front of her and the stylus in its horn of ink, but Josse had the distinct impression that, immediately before he went in, she had been staring into space. The look of anxiety on her face barely diminished as she greeted him.
‘Sister Beata is dead,’ she said.
It had been expected, Josse well knew, but nevertheless the news hit him like a fist in the stomach. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘She was a loving and a lovable woman.’
‘She was,’ the Abbess agreed. Raising dull eyes briefly to meet his before she looked away again, she said, ‘What is it, Sir Josse? As you see, I am busy.’
What is the matter with her? he wondered yet again. The death of Sister Beata was hard to accept, aye, but normally under such circumstances the Abbess would surely have derived comfort from talking over her grief and pain with Josse. And here she was, hinting that the sooner he said what he had to say and got himself out of her presence, the better she would like it.
Coolly he said, ‘Brother Augustus has come up with the bright suggestion that Sabin de Retz is probably lodging in a religious house. He and I are off down to Robertsbridge, it being the nearest one to us, to see if we can find her.’
‘I see,’ the Abbess said neutrally.
He waited, but it did not appear that she was going to say any more. ‘I’ll come and find you when we return.’ He realised he had sounded curt but just at that moment he didn’t care.
He spun round and strode out of the room, closing the door rather forcefully behind him. He thought he heard her cry out his name but when he paused to see if she would call again, there was nothing but silence.
He hurried on to the stables, where he found that Augustus had prepared the horses and, wrapped warmly in his cloak, was already mounted on the Abbey cob. Trying to put the Abbess out of his mind, Josse got up on to Horace’s broad back and led the way out through the gate and away south-eastwards.
Helewise sat, miserable and alone, in her room. She knew she must get up and set about the preparations for Sister Beata’s interment but she had no heart for the task. She knew too how the death of one of their own was going to affect an Abbey full of people already stretched beyond the limit and that somehow she must find the words to rally the community, remind them that God’s purpose is often unclear and exhort them to go on giving of their very best without expecting any immediate reward.
She had little heart for that, either.
Sickness, misery, death and grief. Am I, she cried in silent agony, expected to be immune from distress? Sister Beata is dead, Sister Judith is very ill and Brother Firmin is at death’s door, and there is no time for me to lament, to weep, to ask God why this pestilence has come to us.
And above all that — as if it were not enough — she was expecting at any moment to receive word that Sister Tiphaine had returned. Trying to control her turbulent, panicky thoughts, Helewise realised that she did not know which of the two possible outcomes she was hoping for: that Tiphaine would return without Joanna, thereby losing any chance the Abbey nursing nuns might have had of employing the Eye of Jerusalem; or that the herbalist would bring Joanna back with her and that Helewise would have to find a way of breaking the news to Josse, when he got back, that the woman he had loved and lost was within the Abbey precincts.
Neither outcome, Helewise’s miserable thoughts concluded, would happen if Tiphaine were lost or hurt within the mighty forest. .
Not expecting any great measure of success, she pulled a parchment towards her, picked up her stylus and listlessly set herself to work.
Chapter 13
Josse and Brother Augustus made swift time on the journey down to Robertsbridge. The road was indeed good and there were relatively few places where potholes and cracks meant slowing down to pick a careful path.
Augustus must have asked directions — perhaps he already knew the way, for before coming to Hawkenlye his young life had been spent travelling on England’s roads — and as they approached the place he was able to lead Josse along increasingly narrow paths and tracks until, deep in the forest and with the gentle slope of a hill behind it, they came to Robertsbridge Abbey.
Josse was not sure what he had been expecting; in the back of his mind he had had a vague picture of a smaller and more isolated Hawkenlye. As soon as the settlement known as Robertsbridge Abbey came into view, however, he realised that his mental image was quite wrong: Robertsbridge was nothing like Hawkenlye and, had it not been for the rough wooden cross affixed to one of the larger buildings, it could, from a distance, have been mistaken for a primitive peasant hamlet.