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there’s blood and spilled guts and he’s—’
    But trying to describe the horror was beyond him. Dumbly shaking his head, the lad began to weep.
    â€˜Your master told you to mount his horse and come on here for help?’ Josse suggested. ‘Is that what happened?’
    â€˜Yes, sir, it were just like that,’ the boy said, turning pathetically grateful eyes on Josse. ‘Me, I ride a mule but he’s a lazy old bugger – sorry – and it takes all my strength to get him moving, let alone hurrying, so Master says to ride his horse.’ The lad glanced up at the horse, now being soothed by Brother Augustus. ‘He’s all in a sweat,’ the lad said. ‘Master’ll be cross.’ His face crumpled anew.
    â€˜I’ll see to the horse,’ Augustus said kindly. He glanced at Josse, who nodded again, and then he led the horse away to Sister Martha’s stables.
    The Abbess had now joined the group. ‘I don’t think this poor boy is capable of telling you any more,’ she murmured in Josse’s ear. ‘Would it perhaps be wise to get him to take you to where this accident occurred? Perhaps if you were to take Brother Saul and Brother Augustus, they could carry a hurdle on which to bring the unfortunate victim here to us?’
    He turned to her. ‘Aye, my lady,’ he said quietly, ‘that was exactly what I had in mind.’
    Sister Martha volunteered to take over the big sweating horse. Will took charge of Horace and his own and Ella’s mounts, following Sister Martha to the stables with Ella clutching on to his arm. Very soon Josse and the two lay brothers were ready to leave. The lad still seemed overawed by Josse and so Brother Augustus – much closer in size and age – quietly fell into step beside the boy. Josse and Brother Saul, walking behind, heard him say cheerfully, ‘They’re good people at the Abbey and you did well coming to us for help. I’m called Brother Augustus but my friends usually call me Gussie. What’s your name?’
    The boy looked up with the very beginnings of a smile and said something – it sounded like ‘It’s Dickon’ – in reply. Then Gussie, exhibiting an unexpected gift for small talk, began to chatter about the weather, the quality of the food at the Abbey and just what a lay brother’s daily round consisted of and quite soon the lad was joining in and even giving the occasional chuckle.
    Josse observed it all. He was grateful to Augustus for making the boy relax – people in shock weren’t much use for anything – but nevertheless he felt deeply disturbed.
    He was lying there under the trees.
    So much blood and spilled guts.
    Glancing down at the hazel hurdle that the silent Brother Saul carried under one arm, he wondered if it would be a living man or a corpse that they bore back to the Abbey.
    He thought more likely the latter.

Three
    T he body had been savaged.
    It was naked and the wounds were clear to see. There was a large lump on the forehead, and bruising and a couple of grazes on the jaw. There was a series of deep cuts across the chest and the right arm had been all but severed just above the wrist. It was as if the dead man had defended himself – with sword, with knife? – and his attacker, or more likely attackers, had gone for the right arm to prevent the defensive blade thrust.
    The belly had been sliced open, allowing the purplish-white folds of the guts to push out. This would have undoubtedly killed him but his murderers had been merciful. They had slit his throat.
    Not just slit it; they had carved out a wide slice from jaw to larynx, leaving a terrible gash in the shape of the young moon.
    Dear God, Josse thought.
    In front of him Dickon and Brother Augustus had stopped. Josse and Brother Saul drew level and all four stood staring. Josse glanced at Dickon, pale as new snow beside him. ‘Go and stand on the