The walled garden gave way to another that made use of a ruin from the monastery days. Overgrown beds and pots and shrubs gone amok couldn’t hide what had once been a most romantic spot—private and designed for contemplation. A stream ran alongside it. “This comes from the spring at the center of the medicinal garden,” Jocasta said, consulting her map. “The building might have been a buttery or the like, since it would have been cooler here by the stream.” Fig vines covered the old stone, but everything else was overgrown beyond recognition. At a hedge, Jocasta stopped. “This is the pièce de
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