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for a few moments alone with Josse in which to apologise for having summoned him into danger. She also had the feeling that she had been distracted when he knocked on her door and wanted to explain that it had not been through any lack of pleasure at seeing him again; quite the contrary.
         It had been simple fear.
         She asked Josse to describe to de Gifford what had happened, which he did. There was a brief pause while de Gifford assimilated the information, then he said, ‘My lady, it would seem that if there is even a remote possibility that the dead man carries the pestilence, then the sooner he is buried, the better.’
         ‘I agree,’ she said. ‘Do you wish to view the body, Sheriff de Gifford?’
         De Gifford looked at Josse. ‘Is there anything that I should see?’
         ‘There is but the one wound, to the top of the head. Done, I would suggest, with a club or something of the type. Other than that  . . .’
         ‘My lady, I take it that your infirmarer has examined the corpse?’ De Gifford asked.
         ‘She has.’
         ‘Then I bow to her medical skill and Sir Josse’s knowledge of killing blows. I will not view the body’ – Helewise had to admire his judgement – ‘and, if I may make a suggestion, it is that the dead man be buried by those who have already come into contact with the body.’
         ‘You make sound sense,’ Josse said.
         ‘Indeed,’ Helewise agreed. ‘We cannot say whether or not there is a risk of infection, but let us assume that there is and take what measures we may to contain its spread.’ She got to her feet. ‘I shall send word to Father Gilbert. The dead man will be buried today.’
         Josse gave her a nod of acknowledgement. ‘That is wise, my lady.’ He glanced at de Gifford. ‘If Gervase and I might be excused from attending the interment, then I propose that we set off straight away and begin trying to locate the apothecary who sold the potion to the dead man.’
         ‘There is no reason for either of you to witness the burial,’ she said. ‘By all means, set off on your search – the sooner we can make some progress in identifying our poor victim, the better for all of us.’
         She watched as the two men bowed and took their leave. Only when the door had closed behind them did she allow her shoulders to slump. She sat down heavily in her chair, buried her face in her hands and, for the first time, made herself face what would be the probable consequences if it proved to be true that the pestilence had come to Hawkenlye.
         These consequences were so awful that, after a very short time, she made herself stop. Then she left her room, slipped quietly across the cloister to the Abbey church and, falling on to her knees, began to pray as hard as she could that Sister Euphemia was wrong.

Chapter 3
     
    As Josse and de Gifford rode down to Tonbridge, the sheriff racked his brains to think of anybody in the area who could have sold the victim a sophisticated and costly remedy that included an element commonly regarded as magical. Thinking out loud, he narrowed the possible Tonbridge candidates down to one, ‘and I’m almost sure we’ll be wasting our time with him .’
         In the absence of any other place to start, de Gifford led the way to the business premises of the town’s one reasonably renowned apothecary. As soon as Josse understood that the shabby-looking dwelling tucked away between two others – in slightly better repair – was actually the residence of their quarry, he silently began to agree with de Gifford.
         The apothecary’s house was towards the end of a narrow, muddy and rubbish-strewn street that led away from the river and the wealthier parts of the town and off south-eastwards in the direction of the boggy, marshy, ague-ridden areas where nobody lived unless poverty and desperation drove them there. The stench was appalling; human waste mixed with