The Paths of the Air by Alys Clare

nodded. ‘Then glad I am to see you, for your reputation has gone ahead of you.’
    â€˜Oh – er, thank you,’ Josse said.
    â€˜And you have brought the nursing sisters!’ Canon Mark exclaimed, beaming up at the nuns.
    â€˜Two of Hawkenlye’s finest,’ Josse confirmed. ‘This is Sister Euphemia, the infirmarer, and this is Sister Caliste.’
    â€˜Ladies, gentlemen, please dismount and I will call someone to see to your horses.’ Mark looked around, spotted a brother apparently doing nothing but staring at the new arrivals and called him over. As the young canon led the horses away, Mark said, ‘Now, first let me take the two nuns to see their patients. Mistress Gifford is tending them with great skill but they are a sorry sight and I am sure she would welcome some support.’ Turning on his heel, he led the way to a low building only a few paces from the burned-out guest quarters. ‘We’ve put them in here because it was closest,’ he said over his shoulder. Then, ushering his visitors through the open door: ‘There they are.’
    Josse saw a body lying on the ground, covered from head to toe with a muddy length of darned linen. Two other men lay on low cots. They were filthy, the remnants of their garments charred and sticking to their skin. Their faces were badly burned, swollen and unrecognizable. Both were asleep or unconscious.
    Between them stood Sabin de Gifford.
    Her eyes flew first to Josse and she murmured, ‘Josse, I am glad to see you.’ Then she moved to greet the two nuns, and Josse saw that Sister Euphemia put a concerned arm around the young woman’s waist as she muttered some urgent question. ‘I am quite all right,’ he heard Sabin reply. ‘Thank you for your concern, but I am neither overtaxed nor overtired.’
    Word of her condition must have spread, Josse thought. With a surreptitious glance, he observed that any bump she might be showing would not be visible beneath her cloak and her voluminous white apron.
    â€˜We hope to take the wounded men up to Hawkenlye,’ Josse said. ‘Are they fit to make the journey?’
    He might have directed the question at Sabin but it was the infirmarer, bending down and studying the two men in turn, who answered. ‘Sabin has done a fine job,’ she announced. ‘What did you give them?’ she asked, and Sabin replied with a string of ingredients out of which Josse understood only poppy and monkshood. Lord, I thought monkshood was a deadly poison, he thought in alarm. But the infirmarer was nodding her approval; presumably Sabin knew what she was doing and whatever she had given the two Hospitallers had succeeded in sending them into a deep and hopefully pain-free sleep.
    â€˜I think,’ Sister Euphemia was saying, ‘we may safely take them up to the infirmary and I suggest we make haste about it before the drugs wear off and they begin to feel their hurts once more.’
    Canon Mark needed no further instruction. Already he was hurrying out and Josse heard him shouting to his brethren, issuing orders for the sheriff’s man and his cart to be brought up and for straw palliasses, pillows and blankets to be loaded onto it. Very shortly afterwards, the two unconscious men were tenderly carried out to the cart. The nuns volunteered to accompany them and a sister sat beside each of the patients to watch closely over them during the slow journey up to the Abbey. The man driving the horses was given final instructions to go as gently as road conditions allowed, and then they set off.
    Gervase went to see Sabin home and Josse watched as he gave his wife a kiss and took her leather bag from her. Josse was about to go over to where the horses were tethered and organize leading reins for the two sisters’ mounts when Canon Mark caught his sleeve.
    â€˜A word, Sir Josse, if I may,’ he said. ‘I wanted to speak to de Gifford as well, but