Heart of Ice by Alys Clare Read Free Book Online

turned his horse. Josse did the same; it was not an easy manoeuvre, given the meagre width of the street. They set off back into the town, Josse leading the way.
         ‘I always thought it was a waste of time,’ de Gifford said. ‘But then—’
         Something occurred to Josse. Pulling Horace sharply to a halt – he heard de Gifford give a muttered curse as his own horse threw up its head – he turned and said, ‘Gervase, where does that old boy obtain his supplies?’
         ‘He goes out and picks his plants by moonlight with the dew on them, Mars in the mid-heaven and a south-west wind blowing, I expect, like any other herbalist. Why?’
         ‘He said’ – Josse could barely contain his excitement – ‘that myrrh was too expensive. Well, how would he know what it cost unless he’d tried to buy some? He wouldn’t gather it locally himself, would he? It comes from . . .’ Josse tried to think, but to no avail. ‘Well, it’s foreign, anyway. It must be imported and I was just thinking that the old apothecary back there might well know of a supplier somewhere near here who brings myrrh and other exotic plant drugs into England  . . .’
         De Gifford was off his horse and running back towards the apothecary’s house. Josse watched as once again he knocked on the door. It was answered more quickly this time and there was a brief conversation between de Gifford and the old man. Then de Gifford called out his thanks, sprinted back along the alley and, vaulting on to his horse – whatever he had just found out seemed to have put a spring in his step – said, ‘He prepares most of his simples and his remedies himself from locally grown plants, but the few things he uses and can’t gather or grow he buys from a lad who does the rounds three times a year.’
         ‘A lad?’
         ‘Yes. The boy’s apprenticed to an apothecary in Newenden.’
         ‘And this apothecary imports foreign ingredients?’
         ‘Yes. It sounds as if he’s both a practitioner and a merchant.’
         ‘And therefore could very well have prepared a remedy containing myrrh,’ Josse concluded. ‘Newenden,’ he said slowly. Then, looking at de Gifford, he said eagerly, ‘We could be there in a few hours. New Winnowlands is close by and we could put up there overnight and ride back to Hawkenlye in the morning. What do you say?’
         De Gifford grinned. ‘I say yes! Ride on, Josse, I’m right behind you.’
     
    At Hawkenlye Abbey, two travellers arrived in the Vale dragging a dilapidated hand cart on which lay a middle-aged man, a boy of about ten years old and twin babies of perhaps eight or ten months. The men – one of them was little more than a boy – said they had come up from north of Hastings. Both of them were exhausted and the lad was near to tears. The older man collapsed on the ground, head in his hands, temporarily speechless; the lad was too distressed to relax.
         Brother Firmin took the boy’s arm and gently invited him to go into the pilgrim’s shelter and warm himself, but he shook off the old monk’s solicitous hand and cried, ‘Me mam’s dead! Me dad too, and me gran and me auntie’s ma! He’ – he indicated with a thumb the older man who had arrived with him – ‘he’s me mam’s brother, and them on the cart, they’re me brother, me dad’s brother and his two little ’uns.’ Turning beseeching eyes on to Brother Firmin, he said, ‘Can you save them, Brother? We’ve come all this way to find you and we’re desperate.’
         Brother Firmin looked horrified – he had been a healer for long enough to know what four deaths and four sick people all at once probably meant – but swiftly he disguised his fear and set about trying to help the stricken family. Summoning Brother Saul and Brother Adrian, he sent the former to seek out the infirmarer and the latter to organise a working party and prepare accommodation there in the Vale for