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remarked ruefully, often the first duty of the loving brothers in the Vale was to bed them down and feed them up to counter their exhaustion.
    None of the brothers remembered a young man on his own who might have arrived some time in early August.
    ‘Folks rarely come all by themselves,’ Brother Erse said. ‘Well, stands to reason. Who would travel the roads and byways alone when they could have company? Safer, that way. Somebody to watch your back.’
    ‘Aye, you’re right, Brother Erse,’ Josse agreed glumly.
    Perhaps noticing the defeatist tone in his voice and wishing to offer some encouragement, Augustus said suddenly, ‘There was that old feller who died. Remember, Saul? He was thin, dressed poorly, and he had a nasty cough. Died in his sleep one night, and then in the morning––’
    ‘In the morning, his young servant had gone!’ Brother Saul interrupted. ‘Oh, well remembered, Gus! Why did we not think of him before?’ But, as quickly as it had come, the happy smile left his face. Looking aghast, he said, ‘Oh, no. Not the young man in the bracken?’
    Josse, trying to follow the rapid exchange, said, ‘What old man was this? And what’s this about the servant?’
    Brother Saul turned to him. ‘I am sorry, Sir Josse. Let me explain. An old man came to us in . . . yes, in August. Round about the middle of August. There had been a hot spell followed by a storm, and he had a bad chest, which was greatly troubled by the sudden drop in temperature and the damp after the storm. We made him as comfortable as we could and he was due to take the waters in the morning, but he died in the night.’
    ‘And was that an expected death?’ Josse asked.
    ‘Expected . . . ? Oh, yes indeed. Sister Euphemia had attended him on his arrival, and she spoke to me in private afterwards and said she was gravely worried about him. Sir Josse, I think we can be fairly sure that there were no suspicious circumstances concerning that death.’
    ‘But what of the young servant?’
    Saul’s face clouded again. ‘He vanished. He was there when we retired for the night – indeed, we remarked on the care with which he tended his master – but when we woke and found the old man dead, the boy had gone.’
    The four of them stood silently, nobody, apparently, wanting to voice the conclusion to which they had all leapt. Finally Josse said, ‘Brother Saul, Brother Augustus, the two of you saw both the living young man and the dead body. Yes?’ They both nodded. ‘Then can you say whether or not the two were one and the same?’
    Saul spoke first, and that only after some moments’ thought. ‘It is possible, aye, Sir Josse. But in the absence of a recognisable face . . .’ He did not finish. Which, Josse thought, was understandable; the face of the corpse, bloated, half-eaten, a mass of purplish flesh and bare white bone where the skull showed through, had not been a sight to dwell on.
    ‘Augustus?’ he said gently, turning to the boy.
    ‘I cannot be sure, either,’ Augustus said. ‘All that I would venture is that it is not impossible that the dead man was the old man’s servant.’
    ‘Very well.’ Josse nodded. There was no point in pursuing the matter; Saul and Augustus had done their best. Instead he now asked, ‘I suppose neither the old man nor the servant gave you their name?’
    As one, the three men shook their heads.
    Then Brother Erse said, ‘They were foreign. Leastways, the lad was.’
    ‘Foreign?’ Josse spun round to face him.
    ‘Aye. He was dark-complexioned. Skin was sort of . . .’ He paused, clearly thinking. ‘Sort of oak-coloured. If you know what I mean. And he had black hair.’
    ‘But many people have dark colouring without being foreign,’ Josse observed. ‘Are you sure, Brother Erse?’
    ‘I’m sure,’ the carpenter insisted. ‘He spoke funny.’
    ‘Ah.’ Would that be Brother Erse’s interpretation of someone speaking English when it was not their mother tongue? It