The Song of the Nightingale by Alys Clare Page A

inside. He took a candle stub from a fold of his tunic, striking his flint to light it. Then, unhurriedly, he went on down the passage.
    The door to the room where the three men lay was not locked. He raised the latch and went inside. He stood for a moment looking down at the corpses, the light held up over each in turn as he folded back the covering sheets.
    He saw what he was looking for. He reached out his free hand, muttering a prayer as he did so. He replaced the covers and then, without another look at the dead men, he spun round, left the room and paced swiftly back up the passage. Outside, he locked the door again – if those within the abbey chose to lock up the dead at night, he would not argue with it – and then he slipped back into the shadows.
    A few moments later, anyone watching the section of wall behind the herb garden would have seen a dark shape quickly climb over and disappear into the night.

SEVEN
    J osse had been persuaded by Sabine de Gifford to stay the night at the sheriff’s house. By the time he had finished explaining to Gervase about the implications of the strange marks on the dead man’s chest, it was late. Having experienced before the delights of Sabine’s cooking – even in straitened times, her flair meant that her family still enjoyed variety in their meals – Josse had readily accepted the invitation. Gervase had provided wine, of so good a quality that it too was a treat.
    Josse took breakfast with the family the next morning. Gervase and Sabine’s two sons were big boys now – too grown-up to be petted – and both they and their parents tended to spoil the eight-year-old Alazaïs. The cheerful meal was disturbed by the arrival of one of Gervase’s deputies, urgently demanding his attention. With a muttered curse, Gervase got up from the table and went outside. There was murmuring – a quick question from the sheriff and a quiet reply – and more conversation, then the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
    Gervase stood in the doorway and beckoned to Josse; whatever he had to say, clearly he did not want his daughter to overhear. Josse got up and followed him back outside into the courtyard.
    â€˜One of the king’s agents has been attacked,’ Gervase said. He frowned. ‘He’s a—’ But whatever he had been about to say concerning the man was bitten back; to judge by Gervase’s expression, it had been derogatory. ‘His name’s Matthew and he works for Benedict de Vitré.’ Josse raised his eyebrows at the name, and Gervase nodded. ‘I see you know of Lord Benedict,’ he murmured.
    â€˜Who doesn’t?’ Josse replied. Lord Benedict de Vitré was said to be a very close friend of the king, a position he chose to interpret as meaning he could do exactly what he liked as long as he did his job. Since his job was extracting money from everyone in his manor and forwarding it to the king, he was universally loathed. His habits of callous ruthlessness had been adopted by his underlings, and Josse had heard rumours that Lord Benedict turned a willingly blind eye to assault and rape.
    â€˜It seems Lord Benedict had sent Matthew and his gang of thugs sniffing around the outlying hamlets and villages down to the south-east of Tonbridge,’ Gervase went on. ‘After money, of course. Lord Benedict clearly hopes to impress his friend the king by dispatching a few more bags of gold in order to help finance this new expedition into Wales.’
    â€˜No doubt creaming off a decent portion of the bounty for himself first,’ Josse said quietly. Gervase glanced swiftly at him but did not comment. ‘What happened?’
    â€˜Matthew arrived at an isolated farm just to the north of the forest,’ Gervase said. ‘An all too familiar tale, I fear: the man of the house said he’d already given everything he could spare, Matthew refused to believe him and set his men