‘We’ve washed him,’ Sister Euphemia murmured. ‘He was lice-ridden and I didn’t want the little devils spreading.’
‘Quite so,’ said the Abbess. Josse, glancing at her, did not miss the swift expression of disgust that momentarily crossed her face. Then, like her, he turned his attention to the dead man.
The flesh was white and sparse; he had been a lean man, not very tall. Josse stared at the skinny arms and looked for several moments at the hands and wrists. The limbs were stunted and the legs slightly bowed, an effect often seen, Josse reflected, in the bodies of the poor who had never had quite enough to eat. Sister Euphemia had discreetly placed a folded sheet across the man’s lower trunk so that his groin and genitals were concealed; Josse raised the corner of the sheet and had a quick look, which told him little other than that the man had had gingery body hair and had not been circumcised. Replacing the sheet, he turned to stare at the head and face. The head hair had also had a ginger tinge, although less pronounced, and the man had been in the process of going bald. With a nod to himself, as if privately noting that some earlier possibility had just turned out to be true, Josse looked at the bulging eyes – Sister Euphemia had managed to close them – and finally at the open mouth with its protruding tongue.
Noticing the direction of his attention, the infirmarer said, ‘He had rotten teeth, Sir Josse. They’d have given him gyp, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Hm.’ Josse hardly heard; he was thinking. He put his hands either side of the head and, raising it from the cot, moved it gently around, from side to side, then backwards and forwards. Again he said, ‘Hm.’ Then he pulled out the small object he had found in the strands of the rope and put it on the cot beside the dead man’s head. Looking up at the infirmarer, he said, ‘A match, would you say?’
With a soft exclamation she bent to look more closely. She sniffed at the dead man’s scalp and picked up the few strands of ginger-brown hair that Josse had laid beside the head and sniffed them too. She felt the head hair – still damp from her own recent ministrations – and then the stray strands, rubbing at them between her fingers. Then, replacing the loose hairs on the cot and carefully wiping her hands on a clean piece of soft white linen that smelt of lavender, she said, ‘Aye, I reckon so.’
The Abbess, who had silently been watching, said quietly, ‘Where did you find the hair, Sir Josse?’
‘In the knot of the rope.’
‘The knot—’ She swallowed. ‘You mean the noose that was around his neck?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘The knot that bound the rope to the tree branch.’ She frowned, as if she knew that this was significant but had not yet worked out how. Since he was in much the same state, he added, ‘There is much here to puzzle us, my lady.’
‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘But our first task must be to try to establish the poor man’s identity, since surely someone, expecting his return, must soon miss him and wonder where he is.’
‘Aye. I had thought, my lady, of sending word to Tonbridge to ask de Gifford for his help?’
He turned the suggestion into a question and immediately she nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I could send one of the lay brothers, or ...’ She looked at him enquiringly.
‘I should be happy to go,’ he said, picking up her thought. ‘I will set out immediately.’
If Gervase de Gifford were surprised at having to return to Hawkenlye so soon, he gave no indication. As he and Josse rode back up Castle Hill towards the Abbey, Josse did what he could to answer de Gifford’s questions. He had already asked the sheriff whether any man had been reported as missing and de Gifford had said no, not as far as he knew.
Although neither man had spoken the thought aloud, Josse
‘Quite so,’ said the Abbess. Josse, glancing at her, did not miss the swift expression of disgust that momentarily crossed her face. Then, like her, he turned his attention to the dead man.
The flesh was white and sparse; he had been a lean man, not very tall. Josse stared at the skinny arms and looked for several moments at the hands and wrists. The limbs were stunted and the legs slightly bowed, an effect often seen, Josse reflected, in the bodies of the poor who had never had quite enough to eat. Sister Euphemia had discreetly placed a folded sheet across the man’s lower trunk so that his groin and genitals were concealed; Josse raised the corner of the sheet and had a quick look, which told him little other than that the man had had gingery body hair and had not been circumcised. Replacing the sheet, he turned to stare at the head and face. The head hair had also had a ginger tinge, although less pronounced, and the man had been in the process of going bald. With a nod to himself, as if privately noting that some earlier possibility had just turned out to be true, Josse looked at the bulging eyes – Sister Euphemia had managed to close them – and finally at the open mouth with its protruding tongue.
Noticing the direction of his attention, the infirmarer said, ‘He had rotten teeth, Sir Josse. They’d have given him gyp, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Hm.’ Josse hardly heard; he was thinking. He put his hands either side of the head and, raising it from the cot, moved it gently around, from side to side, then backwards and forwards. Again he said, ‘Hm.’ Then he pulled out the small object he had found in the strands of the rope and put it on the cot beside the dead man’s head. Looking up at the infirmarer, he said, ‘A match, would you say?’
With a soft exclamation she bent to look more closely. She sniffed at the dead man’s scalp and picked up the few strands of ginger-brown hair that Josse had laid beside the head and sniffed them too. She felt the head hair – still damp from her own recent ministrations – and then the stray strands, rubbing at them between her fingers. Then, replacing the loose hairs on the cot and carefully wiping her hands on a clean piece of soft white linen that smelt of lavender, she said, ‘Aye, I reckon so.’
The Abbess, who had silently been watching, said quietly, ‘Where did you find the hair, Sir Josse?’
‘In the knot of the rope.’
‘The knot—’ She swallowed. ‘You mean the noose that was around his neck?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘The knot that bound the rope to the tree branch.’ She frowned, as if she knew that this was significant but had not yet worked out how. Since he was in much the same state, he added, ‘There is much here to puzzle us, my lady.’
‘Indeed,’ she agreed. ‘But our first task must be to try to establish the poor man’s identity, since surely someone, expecting his return, must soon miss him and wonder where he is.’
‘Aye. I had thought, my lady, of sending word to Tonbridge to ask de Gifford for his help?’
He turned the suggestion into a question and immediately she nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I could send one of the lay brothers, or ...’ She looked at him enquiringly.
‘I should be happy to go,’ he said, picking up her thought. ‘I will set out immediately.’
If Gervase de Gifford were surprised at having to return to Hawkenlye so soon, he gave no indication. As he and Josse rode back up Castle Hill towards the Abbey, Josse did what he could to answer de Gifford’s questions. He had already asked the sheriff whether any man had been reported as missing and de Gifford had said no, not as far as he knew.
Although neither man had spoken the thought aloud, Josse
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