outside about Father Micah’s visit? He was unforgivably rude, I know, and I just wondered if . . .’
‘If one of us told some strong, handsome, honourable fellow who took it into his head to avenge the insults and the curses and attack the Father?’ Jehane finished for him. ‘Oh, no, sir knight. If any of us had a man of that quality, do you reckon we’d be in here?’
He looked at her face, oval, with a full-lipped mouth and hazel eyes. She must have been very pretty, he thought compassionately, before the hardships and the dangers of her profession ruined her. Now her hair was thin and straw-like, her skin bore the scars of the pox and the expression in her eyes was world-weary and cynical. Her words were, he was quite sure, the absolute truth.
‘No, Jehane,’ he said quietly. ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. I am sorry I had to ask.’
She gave him a smile that, despite everything, still managed to be very sweet. ‘It’s all right,’ she replied. ‘We understand.’
He found Brother Firmin in the Vale’s little shrine. He was with some other old monks and they were praying earnestly for the soul of Father Micah.
Unable to prevent the thought that, from all he had heard, the late priest had hardly been worthy of such fervour, Josse waited patiently outside in the cold for them to finish.
Brother Firmin was the last to leave. ‘Sir Josse!’ he said, his face creasing into a happy smile. ‘My, but it does me good to see you this sad morning!’ He took Josse’s arm affectionately. ‘You’re cold!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come with me and I will give you a mug of something to put that right and send some warmth through your bones.’
He led the way to the monks’ shelter where he set water on to the fire to heat, putting into it generous pinches of various powdered herbs. Then he set two coarse pottery mugs ready. When the water began to steam, a deliciously warming, sweet, spicy smell filled the room. Brother Firmin let the liquid boil gently for a short while, then he removed the vessel from the heat and poured the concoction into the mugs.
‘Here,’ Brother Firmin held out one of the mugs, ‘try this. Don’t ask me what it is, for I have no idea. Sister Tiphaine gives the herbs to me because she knows how I feel the cold. She is a good woman,’ he said emphatically, as if Josse had said she wasn’t, ‘for all that she keeps one foot in the pagan past.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘Ah well, that is a matter between her and God.’ He sipped at his mug, smacking his lips in satisfaction. ‘And, by, she makes a good potion!’
Josse listened to the old monk rambling on for some time. Then, when he could get a word in, he said, ‘Brother Firmin, the Abbess said that you spoke to Father Micah yesterday and that he informed you he was going to make other visits. Do you remember to whom?’
‘Ooh, you’re tracking his movements, are you?’ Brother Firmin looked as if the idea greatly excited him. ‘Well, let me see, yes, he did say . . .’
The old face creased as Brother Firmin tried to remember. Josse’s heart began to sink as the silence extended. Ah, well, it had always been unlikely, but worth a try at least—
‘He was going to see a noble lord who had forgotten God’s law and some lost souls who were to be banished to the eternal flames,’ Brother Firmin suddenly said, making Josse jump. ‘Perhaps not his exact words, but close enough.’ The old monk beamed his pleasure at having done what Josse asked.
‘Thank you, Brother Firmin,’ Josse said heartily. ‘You have been most helpful. Er – I don’t suppose the Father mentioned any names?’
‘Oh, dear – no, I’m afraid he didn’t.’ Firmin’s delight turned swiftly to dismay.
‘Never mind!’ Josse said quickly. ‘You have given me quite enough to be getting on with, Brother. And thank you for the drink, too – I now feel aglow from my head to my toes.’ He rose to his feet as he spoke, reaching
‘If one of us told some strong, handsome, honourable fellow who took it into his head to avenge the insults and the curses and attack the Father?’ Jehane finished for him. ‘Oh, no, sir knight. If any of us had a man of that quality, do you reckon we’d be in here?’
He looked at her face, oval, with a full-lipped mouth and hazel eyes. She must have been very pretty, he thought compassionately, before the hardships and the dangers of her profession ruined her. Now her hair was thin and straw-like, her skin bore the scars of the pox and the expression in her eyes was world-weary and cynical. Her words were, he was quite sure, the absolute truth.
‘No, Jehane,’ he said quietly. ‘No, I don’t suppose you would. I am sorry I had to ask.’
She gave him a smile that, despite everything, still managed to be very sweet. ‘It’s all right,’ she replied. ‘We understand.’
He found Brother Firmin in the Vale’s little shrine. He was with some other old monks and they were praying earnestly for the soul of Father Micah.
Unable to prevent the thought that, from all he had heard, the late priest had hardly been worthy of such fervour, Josse waited patiently outside in the cold for them to finish.
Brother Firmin was the last to leave. ‘Sir Josse!’ he said, his face creasing into a happy smile. ‘My, but it does me good to see you this sad morning!’ He took Josse’s arm affectionately. ‘You’re cold!’ he exclaimed. ‘Come with me and I will give you a mug of something to put that right and send some warmth through your bones.’
He led the way to the monks’ shelter where he set water on to the fire to heat, putting into it generous pinches of various powdered herbs. Then he set two coarse pottery mugs ready. When the water began to steam, a deliciously warming, sweet, spicy smell filled the room. Brother Firmin let the liquid boil gently for a short while, then he removed the vessel from the heat and poured the concoction into the mugs.
‘Here,’ Brother Firmin held out one of the mugs, ‘try this. Don’t ask me what it is, for I have no idea. Sister Tiphaine gives the herbs to me because she knows how I feel the cold. She is a good woman,’ he said emphatically, as if Josse had said she wasn’t, ‘for all that she keeps one foot in the pagan past.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘Ah well, that is a matter between her and God.’ He sipped at his mug, smacking his lips in satisfaction. ‘And, by, she makes a good potion!’
Josse listened to the old monk rambling on for some time. Then, when he could get a word in, he said, ‘Brother Firmin, the Abbess said that you spoke to Father Micah yesterday and that he informed you he was going to make other visits. Do you remember to whom?’
‘Ooh, you’re tracking his movements, are you?’ Brother Firmin looked as if the idea greatly excited him. ‘Well, let me see, yes, he did say . . .’
The old face creased as Brother Firmin tried to remember. Josse’s heart began to sink as the silence extended. Ah, well, it had always been unlikely, but worth a try at least—
‘He was going to see a noble lord who had forgotten God’s law and some lost souls who were to be banished to the eternal flames,’ Brother Firmin suddenly said, making Josse jump. ‘Perhaps not his exact words, but close enough.’ The old monk beamed his pleasure at having done what Josse asked.
‘Thank you, Brother Firmin,’ Josse said heartily. ‘You have been most helpful. Er – I don’t suppose the Father mentioned any names?’
‘Oh, dear – no, I’m afraid he didn’t.’ Firmin’s delight turned swiftly to dismay.
‘Never mind!’ Josse said quickly. ‘You have given me quite enough to be getting on with, Brother. And thank you for the drink, too – I now feel aglow from my head to my toes.’ He rose to his feet as he spoke, reaching
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