Gwenn sat down by her mother. A musty odour filled the small chamber, and by it Gwenn knew that the mattress was filled with chopped straw and that it was damp. ‘I wouldn’t lie on that, Mama. It will make your joints creak.’ She reached for her mother’s hand, which gripped hers hard.

‘It’s only for a moment,’ Yolande answered distantly. ‘Tomorrow, you can help me organise new ones for us all.’ She hesitated. ‘Gwenn, I...I’m sorry to have to ask you this, I’ve asked Raymond, but as he wasn’t there at the time, he couldn’t tell me.’

‘Tell you what, Mama?’

Her mother’s breast heaved. ‘Was...was it a swift end for her, do you think? I...I cannot bear to think of her suffering.’

Gwenn’s throat closed up. ‘Oh, Mama. It...it was the smoke. I was with her at the end. She charged me with asking for your forgiveness.’

A sob. ‘She wanted my forgiveness?’

‘She loved you, Mama.’

This was not the moment to inform her mother that the Norseman had set the fire. Had he escaped? Was he in de Roncier’s pay? It seemed likely. And what had he wanted from her grandmother?

‘Grandmama did not suffer long.’

Yolande closed her eyes and turned her head away. After a few moments’ silence, she lifted swollen eyelids. ‘Raymond told me that you’ve seen Alan le Bret before?’

‘Aye. He was by the cathedral when the Black Monk–’

‘He could be a de Roncier man. I won’t have him lodged here.’

Gwenn remembered how Ned Fletcher had tried to warn her by waving her away from the cathedral. While she was not certain of Alan le Bret, she would trust Ned Fletcher with her life. And if Ned Fletcher was Alan le Bret’s friend, le Bret could not be all bad...

Aloud she said, ‘But he saved me, Mama. He broke his leg saving me.’

‘He’s got to go.’

‘Let him stay till his leg is healed, Mama. We owe him that.’

Yolande sighed wearily. ‘I don’t trust him.’

‘Please, Mama.’

‘I shall consider it. Now, will you lend me your arm as far as the chapel? I...I feel a little shaky.’

Chapter Nine

Later that evening, with his belly filled, Alan took stock of his surroundings. As halls went, this one was small. Damp torches smoked in cobwebby wall sconces. The trestle tables – so recently scrubbed they had eaten from them before the water had dried – had been cleared and pushed to the walls. The wine had been stowed under lock and key in vaults below. He smothered a sneer. The St Clair family had fled to this rundown, pigsty of a manor, and despite the tragedy that had struck them, they were already managing to run it as though it were a full-sized castle. De Roncier was obviously no fool to fear St Clair’s ambitions, for the man had pretensions that soared way above the station of a lowly knight. The St Clair family themselves had not eaten a morsel, spending most of the time in the chapel, watching over the body of the concubine’s mother.

Not surprisingly, Alan’s leg was aching. Wearily, he sank back into his pillow and chastised himself for antagonising the Herevi girl. He hoped he hadn’t ruined his chances. If what he had overheard Marie de Roncier say about the statue was correct and it did indeed contain a jewel, Alan intended to have it.

His cousin entered the hall via the solar stairway. Dragging a stool to Alan’s pallet, he sat down beside him. ‘Feeling better, Captain?’ he asked, in English.

Alan glanced around the hall, but no one was paying them any attention. ‘Don’t call me Captain, Ned. Alan will do. Although it’s unlikely that anyone can understand us, I for one don’t wish to cry it about that we were signed with de Roncier. And I’m no longer your captain.’

‘Aye. I’m sorry. It’s become a habit, Alan.’

A companionable silence fell over the two men. The combination of too much wine and the warmth of the fire made Alan sleepy. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift.

Ned dragged him back to reality. ‘Cousin?’

‘Mmm?’ Alan opened one eye.

‘St Clair’s asked me to stay.’

Alan opened his other eye. ‘He has? In what capacity?’

‘Man-at-arms, initially.’

‘You’ve accepted?’

‘Yes. Alan?’

‘Mmm?’

He’s offered you a place. He needs more freemen and said to tell you that he’ll employ you when your leg is healed. He’s grateful to us.’

Perhaps there was a God in Heaven after all. It appeared he had not ruined his chances of easing his way into the household. He may yet find the gem and carry it away with him. He tried not to look too enthusiastic. Dimly, he recalled telling Ned he had greener pastures to go to. He must tread cautiously, for if he accepted St Clair’s offer immediately, Ned would know he was up to something. He yawned. ‘He did, did he?’

‘Go on, Alan. It won’t kill you to stop here. Sir Jean seems a reasonable man. We may find ourselves crossing swords with de Roncier, but if you’re afraid–’

‘Have you marked how many men St Clair has? What would the odds be if it came to a straight fight between St Clair and our old friends?’

‘Not good,’ Ned admitted soberly. ‘They are in great disarray, with not above half a dozen men, and two of them are no more than babes. One is in his dotage.’

‘Pitiful. I think that I’ll stay,’ Alan replied, illogically.

‘Why this sudden change of heart? The odds are appalling, and I know you only take calculated risks.’

Alan grinned, and thought of the gem. What might it be worth? ‘Every now and then, Edward, my boy, I relish a challenge. Besides, St Clair’s brought a palatable wine with him. Did you not notice?’

Pleased, but none the wiser, Ned gave his invalid cousin a bemused smile. He was fond of Alan, and had always admired him, but he had never understood him. Despite his surname, Alan had been born in England, in Yorkshire. It was Alan’s father who was the true Breton born and bred. As well as being his kinsman, Alan was the only other person in Kermaria who could speak fluent English. Ned’s French was acceptable, and his Breton was improving daily, but it meant something to be able to converse with his cousin in his native tongue. The link between them may have become tenuous over the years, but Ned was pleased he’d not be stranded with foreigners.

‘How long do you think till you’ll be up and about?’

His cousin spread his hands. ‘Who knows? A month, if they feed us right and I heal quickly. Six weeks otherwise.’

The flaxen head nodded. ‘Lucky for the lass that we were heading up her street.’

‘Luck?’ Alan was examining his bitten nails and the suggestion of a smile flickered across his lips. It had been the thought of the mysterious statue and what it might contain that had prompted him to suggest they take that route. Only when they had reached the well and Alan had seen the smoke had he had realised that Otto had beaten him to it. ‘Luck? I wouldn’t call it luck exactly.’

Ned dragged his fair brows together. ‘What? Oh. I see what you mean. Not lucky for you with that leg. But you must agree, Alan, that destiny had a hand in today’s events.’ Intercepting a quizzical look, he added, ‘What else could it be but destiny when we’d finished our service with de Roncier? We needed employment, and now,’ a wave of his hand included the hall, ‘thanks to your bravery, we find ourselves neatly settled.’

‘Destiny had nothing to do with it,’ Alan said, shortly. He found his cousin’s irrepressible faith wearing at times.

‘God then.’

Alan rolled his grey eyes at the rafters. Not another. He had had his fill with the girl. One dose of an innocent in search of meaning was more than enough for one day. ‘Shut up, Ned,’ he said irritably, and settled himself down into his blankets. ‘I’m for sleeping. Shouldn’t you be on guard duty?’

***

Izabel Herevi had been laid to rest, and in the hall the funeral breakfast was over.

Seated at the board, Yolande Herevi turned lacklustre eyes on her lover and tried to be practical. ‘Jean, I’d like to see the undercroft cleared today. We need an inventory of the stores taken so we can send for supplies from Vannes. Gwenn knows what needs to be done, but she’ll need help.’