‘I will protect the tavern,’ de Gifford said calmly. ‘This man, whoever he is, will not find it an easy matter to approach the Tonbridge inn and fire it; not with my men waiting for him.’
‘Hm.’ Josse was far from convinced. He was about to offer his own services when he remembered that he already had a mission up at Hawkenlye. The thought prompted the realisation that he had already been gone far too long; the endless water-carrying would be that much more arduous for the monks and lay brothers without him. ‘I must be away,’ he said. Meeting de Gifford’s eyes, he added, ‘You will keep me informed if-?’
‘I will,’ de Gifford assured him.
He and Sabin mounted their horses and Josse collected Horace and did the same. Then they rode back towards the town, Josse saying farewell as they passed de Gifford’s house — where the sheriff was going to lodge Sabin before riding on to fetch her grandfather and her few possessions from the tavern — and heading on up towards Castle Hill and Hawkenlye.
De Gifford’s plan, such as it was, seemed to Josse to be full of flaws, not the least of which was that it was hardly fair to put Goody Anne’s tavern — her livelihood — at such risk in the slim hope of the killer turning up there to murder two people who were not even within.
There had to be something better.
Reaching the summit of the hill, Josse went over what he had deduced about Sabin de Retz and her grandfather. He would seek out the Abbess, he decided; he would put the facts before her and then the two of them would put their heads together, as they had done so many times in the past, and see if they couldn’t come up with something that would help them guess what secret the old man and the young woman were keeping, why it was so dangerous, the identity of the killer and the place where he was hiding out.
It was a tall order and, he thought with a rueful smile, a virtually impossible task. But then he and the Abbess had achieved the impossible before.
And, besides, he could not think of anything he wanted to do more than to sit with her in her little room, talking, puzzling, watching the intelligent grey eyes and the light that entered her face when she thought she had found a possible solution.
I’ll present myself for water duty for the rest of the morning, he told himself, then I’ll go and seek her out.
With that happy prospect in mind, he put his heels to Horace’s sides and, on flat ground now, cantered off along the track that led to the Abbey.
Part Four
Chapter 18
The sickness came upon her so swiftly that she barely had time to realise how unwell she felt before she slipped into a feverish sleep that was more like unconsciousness.
She had been feeling a deep ache in all her bones when she went to bed the previous night but, exhausted by her role in the first spells of nursing duty under the new roster system, had ascribed the discomfort to fatigue. Rising in the morning, it had taken her longer than usual to perform the tasks that daily repetition over the years had made all but automatic; for one frightening moment, she had forgotten how to pin her veil.
She managed to get through Prime and, later, Tierce, although she was almost sure she had briefly slept during the latter and added to her prayers a hurried request that nobody had noticed her lapse. The idea of eating revolted her; she did not even feel up to going near the refectory in case some odour of food should waft out, at which she was quite sure she would have vomited.
Then it was time to return to the Vale infirmary for the next spell of duty. Her head ached violently, with a sharp-edged pain behind the eyes that seemed to be sawing off the top of her skull. She felt hot, had begun to sweat and then was suddenly cold, shivering as the clammy dampness held her like an icy shroud. Her skin felt tender to the touch; even the pressure of her garments hurt.
They were discussing the importance of making sure that recovering patients ate, even if, as often happened, this meant that whoever was nursing the patient had to sit beside them and spoon the thin but nourishing soup into their mouths.
Soup. Mouth.
Her own mouth filled with water and, making a dash for the door, she ran along the outer wall of the ward and, rounding a corner, threw up on to the frosty grass. When she had finished — her body convulsed into several acutely painful, dry retches after her stomach had emptied itself — she felt so weak that her legs would not hold her up. Her back against the wall of the Vale infirmary, she slumped down to the ground.
Where, she was not sure how long afterwards, they found her.
She was in bed at the very end of the long ward where she was meant to be caring for others. Somebody had removed her habit and she wore just her high-necked undergown. Her head was bare — she put up a shaky hand to feel her short hair — and she seemed to be lying on a thick lump of folded linen. . Yes. She had seen that done for others. It was in order that, when the flux of the bowels began, the soiled linen could be removed and replaced without disturbing the patient and remaking the whole bed.
I have the sickness, then, she thought.
Tears filled her eyes and she felt their course down her hot face.
So much that I wanted still to do with my life. So many things not yet said that need to be said. So many. .
Her mind slipped away. Losing the thought, she lapsed into unconsciousness.
In the forest, Joanna woke from a compelling dream. The details were already fading as she struggled up from the depths of sleep but she was left with a most vivid impression that somebody had been talking to her, taking her to task: a voice had sounded inside her head, telling her something — no, reminding her of something of which she was already aware — and, if she concentrated hard, she felt she could almost hear it again.
Because of your actions two men died and your spirit carries the burden. The adjustment involves recompense. . in order to balance what has happened to you, you must save the lives of two people who are dying.
She closed her eyes and instantly the bright day at Nime’s fountain appeared in her mind. She allowed herself the luxury of staying with the vision for a few precious, strengthening moments, then she opened her eyes and banished it back to the deep recesses of her mind.
She got down from the sleeping platform — it was early yet and Meggie was still fast asleep — and quietly crossed the floor of her hut and opened the door. It was cold and still outside. March weather, she thought absently. Hard and frosty, with new life beginning but too deep down, as yet, for most eyes to see the signs.
She strolled around the carefully tended clearing in front of the hut. Her mind was bursting, teeming with possibilities; she stilled her thoughts as she had been trained to do and, standing quite still under the oak tree that marked the northern boundary of her patch of earth, closed her eyes and listened.
After some time — she had no idea how long she had stood there, although the rising sun was making long shadows in the clearing by the time they had finished with her — she returned to herself.
It was strange, she mused as, back in the hut, she set about making up the fire and preparing food and drink for Meggie’s and her breakfast. Strange because she had thought, when they told her she was to be a healer and then straight away taught her how disorder in the mind produces sickness in the body, that she was to continue to learn the sort of healing that was done at Folle-Pensee. Indeed, since she had been back in the Great Forest she had gone on thinking deeply about everything she had been told; if — or, she had thought, probably when — the call came, she wanted to be sure she was ready.