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dead man’s identity.
    After some time, Josse was able to corner Brother Saul, Brother Erse and young Brother Augustus. Leaving the other monks to their thrilled gossiping, he indicated with a nod of his head that he would like a quiet word, and the three brothers followed him off along the path to the pond.
    He studied them as they walked.
    Brother Saul he knew well; his opinion of the lay brother accorded with that of the Abbess. Brother Augustus he had met but briefly; the lad had borrowed Josse’s horse in order to act as one half of Abbess Helewise’s escort on a trip she had made earlier in the year, and Josse had been impressed with the young man’s sense and quiet confidence. He was the son of travelling folk, and had heard the Lord’s call when his sick mother had been cured by Hawkenlye’s Holy Waters.
    Brother Erse, now, Josse hardly knew at all. The carpenter was a silent man, broad-built with strong, well-shaped hands. His workmanship had been pointed out to Josse, who was impressed with the craft of a man who could turn his hand to the practical and the beautiful with equal flair and competence. The community, he thought, was lucky to have Brother Erse. And, just now, hadn’t he spoken with the voice of cool logic in the face of Brother Micah’s wild and woolly speculation?
    Yes. These three, Josse decided, were the best of the bunch.
    ‘The Abbess is troubled,’ he began when, some distance out of earshot of the community of monks, they stopped. ‘I know we’ll all do what we can to help, and it seems to me that, as for myself, I can best serve her by trying to find out the dead man’s identity and have a try at discovering who killed him.’ The three brothers nodded their agreement. ‘So, first of all, I need you to tell me about everyone who has been here over, shall we say, the last two months? Say, since the start of August.’
    It was a tall order. He knew it, even before it was confirmed by the men’s dubious expressions. Then Brother Saul spoke.
    ‘We keep records of numbers all right, Sir Josse,’ he said. ‘We have to do that, since everything we order and use has to be accounted for.’
    ‘Aye.’ Josse was aware of it. Once he had taken a peek at the endless books of accounts that the Abbess used to keep, before she had been persuaded that that was one particular duty which could safely be delegated to another nun whose scholarly qualifications were, if anything, even better than those of the Abbess.
    ‘But,’ Saul was saying, ‘as to who everyone is, well, that’s a problem. We don’t always ask, you see, sir, not when folks come in dire need of help. Asking a man to tell us his name and where he comes from doesn’t always seem the most important thing, when he’s come seeking the cure for his son crippled in the legs, his wife in the throes of a fever, or his mother wrong in her head.’
    ‘I do see, Saul,’ Josse said gently. ‘But of those whom you do know about, will you tell me what you can?’
    ‘Aye, and gladly.’ Saul sounded relieved. ‘Shall I start, brothers, and you put in when I forget?’ He looked intently at Erse and Augustus, face anxious. They both nodded their agreement.
    It was surprising, in fact, just how much the three of them did remember, between them, of the comings and goings of the past two months. Their different recollections had a similarity about them: sometimes it was a well-to-do merchant and his wife seeking a cure for her barrenness, sometimes it was some worthy of the town with a sick baby, sometimes it was a nobleman who could not rid himself of a troublesome bellyache.
    But, in the main, it was the lowly, ordinary folk of England who came. Peasants who gathered up their few precious possessions in a pack and set off on the long road to Hawkenlye, not knowing how long they would be away from home and not trusting that they would find their goods untouched on their eventual return. They usually came on foot so that, as Saul