The Paths of the Air (27 page)

‘The runaway monk,' she said, wanting to be quite clear.

‘He is not—' The man stopped. ‘Yes.'

‘Is he close by?' she whispered. Something went through her – some strange sense of heightened awareness – as she spoke the words. When, very slowly, the man nodded his confirmation, she had the peculiar sense that she had already known.

‘He cannot come here,' the man said softly. ‘It is not safe.'

‘Because of the presence of Thibault, yes, I understand.'

‘Not—' Again he stopped. Then: ‘Yes, Sister, that is so.' She thought there was a different quality in his voice: he sounded almost . . . regretful.

Letting her instinct guide her – after all, thinking and reasoning did not seem to be getting her very far – she said, ‘Would you like to meet the Abbess?'

There was a pause and then slowly he nodded.

‘Come, then,' she said. ‘I will take you to her.'

Again he shrank back. ‘It is late. She will be sleeping.'

‘She has been working late tonight.' That at least was the truth. ‘I will take you to her private room, where there is a small fire and candles for light. There you may reveal to her why you are here.'

‘I cannot—' He seemed to be debating with himself. Then, once again, he nodded. Sliding the knife into a sheath on his belt, he swung his legs down, gathered up his satchel, swirled his wide cloak around him and, jumping off the wooden chest, stood beside her.

He was perhaps her own height; possibly just a little taller, but then she was a tall woman and stood eye to eye with many men. He was lightly built and, as they moved off, she noticed that he was catlike on his feet. Even in the heavy boots he made little noise.

He told me he is not Fadil, she thought, and from his reaction I am quite sure that he is not. But he
must
be John Damianos: the style of dress, the hesitant speech of a foreigner speaking an alien tongue, it all matches. I'm pretty certain he's been brought back from Outremer and abandoned, Josse had said. Well, if this young man was in truth not Fadil then perhaps Josse had been right in the first place. The runaway monk could easily have brought a Saracen body servant with him.

They had reached the great doors and she led the way out through the smaller side door. Very aware of him walking beside her, she strode on past the infirmary and into the cloister, then along to her little room.

‘Now, sit here on this stool,' she said, pushing it forward, ‘and I will add firewood to the brazier. It was banked down only recently and the embers will soon ignite the new fuel.' She worked swiftly and, when the flames caught, held out her hands to the warmth, watching him out of the corner of her eye.

He was staring around him, as well he might. ‘Where is she?' he demanded, careful to keep his face away from the light of the fire. ‘Where is the Abbess? You said she would be here!' There was a faint but definite note of suspicion – of fear? – in the low voice.

She walked around her table and lit the candle she had been using earlier. She had brought the cresset lamp over from the church and she put it down beside the candle. She glanced at the man. He was sitting on the stool, hunched into himself. His headdress was still drawn closely around his head and she could barely see anything of his face.

This will not do, she told herself. We are circling each other like two wary dogs.

She drew out her throne-like chair and sat down. Then she said, ‘I am Abbess Helewise. Tell me who you are and what you want of me.'

Sixteen

T
he young man seemed to take her revelation in his stride although since she could see so little of him it was hard to tell. When he spoke it was in the same gruff voice.

‘Thank you,' he said.

‘For what?'

‘I ask to see you. You see me.'

She inclined her head. ‘You are welcome.'

He had turned away and when he spoke again, he appeared to be addressing the wall rather than her.

‘I tell you of Fadil,' he announced.

It seemed an odd place to start but at least he
was
starting. ‘Very well.'

‘Fadil fight with Muslim army and is taken prisoner. He is beloved of man named Hisham. Hisham claim Fadil is his young brother but this is not so. Relationship is – different.' He hesitated. ‘
Bad.
'

‘I see.' Helewise thought she knew what he meant.

‘Hisham approach Knights Hospitaller and make offer to exchange Fadil for something of very great value. Knights agree and meeting in desert at night is arranged. But knights and Hisham are alike. Both wish to keep prisoner
and
ransom. Very bad things happen – I cannot describe for I not there – and Hisham is wounded and many of his servants die but Hisham very clever, very devious, and he hide more men – fighting men – and more horses out in dark desert. These men help others to kill knights. They take Hisham away to where healers treat his wounds.'

‘Both parties tried to cheat?' Helewise asked.

‘
Very
much at stake,' the young man said. ‘Even good men will do bad things in such circumstances.'

Helewise had noticed something. Careful so as not to alert him, she said, ‘The monk who survived took the prisoner – Fadil – and fled, didn't he?'

‘Yes. He take ransom as well.'

She nodded. ‘So Hisham sent his men Kathnir and Akhbir to chase after them and the Hospitallers sent Thibault and his companions. Both pursuing parties wanted to recapture the prisoner and take possession of the ransom. Is that not so?'

The young man turned his swathed face her way and just for an instant the light of the candle flames illuminated his eyes.

Had Helewise not been paying such close attention and waiting tensely for just such a chance, she would have missed it. As it was she saw: just a glimpse in a split second. Her suspicion was confirmed.

Whoever this young man might be, he was not a Saracen. For one thing, as he told his tale the halting speech of someone speaking an alien language vanished. For another, Helewise was fairly certain that Saracens did not have jade-green eyes. He must not know that I have seen, she thought. For some reason it is very important to him that I believe in this false identity.

‘Two parties pursue, yes,' he was saying. ‘But only one cares about Fadil.'

‘Hisham wanted his – er, his—'

‘His boy,' supplied the young man. Helewise would have sworn that he was amused by her discomfiture.

‘He wanted him desperately enough to have offered something of great value in exchange,' she said.

‘He did, but it was never his intention that the thing he offered would be given away. Thirty fighting men of his household hidden out in the darkness beyond the circle of light would see to that.'

‘So the monk and Fadil galloped off into the night,' she resumed. ‘Then what?'

‘Fadil did not wish to be returned to Hisham. He had become a fighter to get away from his particular form of servitude, and when he was captured and imprisoned he hoped that by the time he was released Hisham would have found another sexual slave and forgotten all about him. When Fadil was told that Hisham was going to buy him back, he was so desperate that he thought about taking his own life. But he did not and in the end he was very glad, for the monk took him far away from the desert and Fadil will never see Hisham again.'

‘Where is he? What happened to him?'

‘When the Knights Hospitaller were attacked and slaughtered by Hisham's men, Fadil slipped to the ground and went over to where Hisham had been lying on his divan. Hisham was intent on the fight, so Fadil helped himself to his purse. It contained not only a large sum of gold but also very valuable rings which Hisham had removed before he drew his knife. Hisham has fat hands,' he added, ‘and the jewels that he wears are set in wide bands of gold, so it is hard to grip a weapon.

‘Fadil made a deal with the monk, who wished to take him back to Margat. But Fadil knew that if this happened, it would only be a matter of time before Hisham made another attempt to buy him back. Fadil said he would give the monk a third of what he had stolen from Hisham in exchange for his freedom. The monk agreed.'

‘Why?' Helewise cried. ‘Surely his orders were to guard the prisoner closely and return him to his cell?'

‘That is true,' agreed the young man. ‘But the monk understood what was waiting for Fadil in Hisham's house and in his bed and he did not wish to condemn him to such horror. What Hisham did to him is a
sin
,' he added primly. ‘Besides, the monk knew that what he had in his pack was inestimably more valuable, both to his Order and to everyone else, than any number of prisoners.'

What he had in his pack
 . . . She burned to ask but the moment was not right. ‘What happened to Fadil?'

‘The monk took him as far as Constantinople, where they crossed the Bosporus together. There Fadil felt safe at last and they parted company. Fadil had distant family in Constantinople and he was in no doubt that they would take him in. He was a rich man now, remember, and wealth has a way of smoothing the road.'

‘It has,' Helewise murmured. So Fadil didn't come to England, she was thinking. Josse and I were wrong. The monk's companion was not Fadil but this man who sits so calmly and self-assuredly before me. ‘So,' she said, carefully, ‘the monk decided that whatever Hisham had offered as ransom for Fadil was too dangerous to take to Margat or any other fortress of the Order?'

‘That is true. It is— That is to say, there were good reasons why he knew he must bring it to England.'

‘To the English headquarters of the Knights Hospitaller at Clerkenwell?'

He shrugged. ‘Perhaps. Yes.'

‘And how did you come to be travelling with him?'

‘I am his manservant.' The young man bowed elegantly from the waist.

Helewise said nothing.

The young man raised his head and looked at her. She studied what she could see of the face and took in the green eyes in the smooth skin. She observed the graceful way in which he held his head. She remembered that pale, translucent skin on the inside of his wrist.

‘Stand up,' she said.

Hesitantly, eyes on her all the time, he did so.

She was sure.

‘Before you knew who I am I told you that the Abbess of Hawkenlye was more inclined to mercy than to condemnation,' she said quietly. ‘I also said that this Abbey offers sanctuary to those who flee. That beneficence is not in my gift, for it is the same in any religious house. Unless you have done or proceed to do something that I know to be a mortal sin, I shall not advertise your presence here to those who pursue you. Even if you were to confess that you have committed some crime, then it would be to our sheriff that I would give you up, and he is a just man.'

The man's eyes had widened in alarm when Helewise had spoken of those who pursued him but as she concluded her short speech, he looked calmer. He said, ‘I have done wrong, but not without dire need.'

It is as I thought, Helewise said to herself. Then, rising, she walked slowly around her table until she was standing right in front of him. Again moving unhurriedly, her movements smooth and steady, she raised her hands and began to unfasten the headdress.

There was no reaction.

She unwound what seemed like yards of cloth from around the head and presently the smooth, honey-coloured hair came into view. Then she drew the folds away from the lower face and chin. Finally, she pulled the last length of the material from where it was tucked into the top of the robe.

She looked at what she had uncovered. And, with a wry smile, a green-eyed, dark blonde and rather beautiful young woman looked back at her.

Josse left the home of Gerome de Villières early the next morning. He had been right in predicting that Gerome would not refer again to the matter that had taken Josse so urgently to his house; however, he and his womenfolk entertained Josse to such an enjoyable evening that he could not complain. Indeed, as he settled for sleep on a luxurious feather mattress with sheets of finest linen and thick, warm woollen blankets, replete after an excellent meal and some even better French wine, he realized that it had been a relief to have a few hours' rest from his abiding preoccupations. Then, of course, he felt guilty because others – Abbess Helewise, for instance – would not have been given any such respite. They certainly wouldn't have enjoyed that delicious meal and the wonderfully soft, warm bed.

As he left, Gerome came out to the courtyard to see him off. ‘I wish you good luck, Josse,' he said. ‘I don't know what to hope for in the case of Brother Ralf. In a way he's damned if the Hospitallers catch up with him and damned if they don't.'

‘Damned?'

Gerome waved a hand. ‘Not literally, or at least I pray not! No; I merely meant that if they find him they'll punish him, but if he manages to evade capture then he'll be on the run for as long as there are people out there who know what he's done.'

‘
Tell
me what he's done!' Josse said.

But Gerome shook his head. ‘I cannot. I—' He made a face. ‘I wish to live here in peace,' he said. ‘I am sorry, Josse, and no doubt you think me weak, but this house has seen enough of tragedy and I will not willingly invite it back to my door.'

‘But I could—'

‘
Go
, Josse!' Gerome exclaimed with a short laugh. Then, as Josse gave him a valedictory salute and edged Horace off towards the gates, he called out, ‘Come and see us again!'

‘I shall!' Josse called back. ‘Farewell!'

He was keen to get back to Hawkenlye to tell the Abbess what he had discovered and he set Horace off at a good pace. The morning was warmer than the previous few days and the white frost that had held the earth in its hard grip had melted, except on the verges of the track that did not receive sunshine. As Horace cantered along, Josse noticed the prints of his hooves going in the other direction. He was reflecting what huge feet Horace had when he noticed something: alongside Horace's hoof prints there was another set. They were considerably smaller and their spacing suggested a horse with a shorter stride.