days!’ a man beside him said in an awed voice. ‘Well, ain’t no surprise, right out there in the wilds.’
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ agreed another, and his two companions nodded sagely. ‘Reckon she’d her own reasons for keeping herself apart, an’ all.’
A cold hand took hold of Josse’s heart. He said to the man nearest to him, ‘What’s happened? Who are you talking about?’
The man, fortunately, was too fascinated by the tale to worry about why a stranger should be so eager to know. ‘Why, they’ve found a body, in the woods. Dead, she is, found with her head in a foot of water.’
‘Who was she? Does anybody know?’ Josse looked wildly from face to face. ‘Come on, one of you must know something !’
‘Steady on, there, sir!’ one of the men protested. ‘No need to get agitated, like!’
‘It were that old biddy as does the spells,’ another man said, putting a hand up to his mouth and whispering from behind it. ‘Can’t say as I know her name.’
‘Nor I,’ said another.
But Josse wasn’t listening. Grasping the shoulder of the man who had first volunteered information, he said urgently, ‘Old. You said she was old. Can you be sure?’
‘Aye, aye, sir!’ The man gave an uneasy laugh. ‘She were old, all right. Not only my mam but my grand-mam an’ all used to speak of her and her potions.’
A huge relief was sweeping through Josse, so that, inappropriate though it was, he felt like cheering. Instead, he offered to fill each of the men’s mugs, then, having been given directions for how he might find the scene of the drowning – the information was pretty vague, but better than nothing – he was on his way.
* * *
He would not have found the pond so readily had it not been surrounded by a large group of the Sheriff’s men. Might not, even, have found it at all, for it was in a secluded spot deep in the forest, and it was the sound of loud voices that had drawn him to it.
He stood on the edge of the small clearing, surveying the scene.
The pond was about five paces by ten and along its far bank was a row of willows, now quite bare of leaves. On the near bank was a vegetable patch, showing evidence of regular and diligent care. Behind the vegetable patch was a little hut made of a sturdy framework of posts filled in with wattle and daub. The roof – made of reed thatch – looked well-maintained.
On the far side of the hut, in a place where, Josse judged, it had been put so as to catch what sunshine made its way into the clearing, was a herb garden.
The body lay half on its side, with its legs and lower torso on the bank. Its head, shoulders, arms and chest were in the pond.
Josse moved forward and approached Sheriff Pelham, whom he assumed to be in charge.
‘Good day to you, Sheriff,’ he called, still sitting astride his horse. ‘I heard tell of this death while I was at the inn, and came to—’
‘Came to poke your nose in, as usual. King’s man,’ the Sheriff finished. ‘Well, I don’t reckon there’s much to interest you here. She slipped, it seems, fell with her head under the water and she drowned.’
Josse dismounted, tethered Horace to a stout branch, and went to the pond’s edge. Crouching down, he realised straight away why nobody had yet removed the dead woman from the pond.
The water had frozen hard around her.
He said to the Sheriff, ‘Does anything strike you about her, Sheriff Pelham?’
The Sheriff glanced around at a few of his men to make sure they were listening. ‘She’s dead,’ he said, with an unpleasant laugh. ‘Or didn’t you notice?’ He was rewarded with a few guffaws. ‘People do die, with their heads stuck in ponds. They drown, like.’
Josse said, ‘People drown in water. This pond is covered in a thick layer of ice, and has been, I would guess, for –’ he paused, calculating, ‘for the last three days, I’d say.’ Yes. That was right. It had been milder, the night he’d slept in
‘Aye, you’re right there,’ agreed another, and his two companions nodded sagely. ‘Reckon she’d her own reasons for keeping herself apart, an’ all.’
A cold hand took hold of Josse’s heart. He said to the man nearest to him, ‘What’s happened? Who are you talking about?’
The man, fortunately, was too fascinated by the tale to worry about why a stranger should be so eager to know. ‘Why, they’ve found a body, in the woods. Dead, she is, found with her head in a foot of water.’
‘Who was she? Does anybody know?’ Josse looked wildly from face to face. ‘Come on, one of you must know something !’
‘Steady on, there, sir!’ one of the men protested. ‘No need to get agitated, like!’
‘It were that old biddy as does the spells,’ another man said, putting a hand up to his mouth and whispering from behind it. ‘Can’t say as I know her name.’
‘Nor I,’ said another.
But Josse wasn’t listening. Grasping the shoulder of the man who had first volunteered information, he said urgently, ‘Old. You said she was old. Can you be sure?’
‘Aye, aye, sir!’ The man gave an uneasy laugh. ‘She were old, all right. Not only my mam but my grand-mam an’ all used to speak of her and her potions.’
A huge relief was sweeping through Josse, so that, inappropriate though it was, he felt like cheering. Instead, he offered to fill each of the men’s mugs, then, having been given directions for how he might find the scene of the drowning – the information was pretty vague, but better than nothing – he was on his way.
* * *
He would not have found the pond so readily had it not been surrounded by a large group of the Sheriff’s men. Might not, even, have found it at all, for it was in a secluded spot deep in the forest, and it was the sound of loud voices that had drawn him to it.
He stood on the edge of the small clearing, surveying the scene.
The pond was about five paces by ten and along its far bank was a row of willows, now quite bare of leaves. On the near bank was a vegetable patch, showing evidence of regular and diligent care. Behind the vegetable patch was a little hut made of a sturdy framework of posts filled in with wattle and daub. The roof – made of reed thatch – looked well-maintained.
On the far side of the hut, in a place where, Josse judged, it had been put so as to catch what sunshine made its way into the clearing, was a herb garden.
The body lay half on its side, with its legs and lower torso on the bank. Its head, shoulders, arms and chest were in the pond.
Josse moved forward and approached Sheriff Pelham, whom he assumed to be in charge.
‘Good day to you, Sheriff,’ he called, still sitting astride his horse. ‘I heard tell of this death while I was at the inn, and came to—’
‘Came to poke your nose in, as usual. King’s man,’ the Sheriff finished. ‘Well, I don’t reckon there’s much to interest you here. She slipped, it seems, fell with her head under the water and she drowned.’
Josse dismounted, tethered Horace to a stout branch, and went to the pond’s edge. Crouching down, he realised straight away why nobody had yet removed the dead woman from the pond.
The water had frozen hard around her.
He said to the Sheriff, ‘Does anything strike you about her, Sheriff Pelham?’
The Sheriff glanced around at a few of his men to make sure they were listening. ‘She’s dead,’ he said, with an unpleasant laugh. ‘Or didn’t you notice?’ He was rewarded with a few guffaws. ‘People do die, with their heads stuck in ponds. They drown, like.’
Josse said, ‘People drown in water. This pond is covered in a thick layer of ice, and has been, I would guess, for –’ he paused, calculating, ‘for the last three days, I’d say.’ Yes. That was right. It had been milder, the night he’d slept in
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