by E. M. Powell
‘You left the abbot’s dinner very suddenly, Barling.’ Stanton kept his voice low as they followed the path from the abbot’s house back to the guesthouse. The wind blew harder than ever and the rain on it had turned to stinging sleet and hail. ‘I could’ve eaten plenty more.’
‘As you always can, Stanton. Your belly is like a bottomless trough: open to whatever can be thrown into it and impossible to fill.’ The clerk shook his head at him in distaste.
Stanton wasn’t bothered: that sounded fair enough to him.
‘Were you keen to get away from my lady? I know I would be.’
Barling frowned at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well. She seemed to me a woman who was used to getting what she wanted. She’s already bought her way into heaven from the monks. And she liked you a lot, I think. Maybe she was considering a bit of earthly paradise as well.’
‘I beg your pardon, Stanton?’ Barling stopped dead.
Stanton halted as well, his stomach dropping as he saw the look on Barling’s face. Oh, damn it all. He should have known, but the clerk didn’t seem to find any of this funny.
Barling went on. ‘Am I hearing you right? Are you actually implying that I would be ensnared by lust? In a holy house, no less. With a respectable widow, a benefactor of the abbey?’ Two spots of colour had appeared in Barling’s pale cheeks. ‘Have you gone quite mad, that you would address me so? That you would accuse me of such a sin?’
Stanton took a step back, such were the depths and suddenness of the clerk’s anger. ‘I’m sorry, Barling.’ He held his hands up. ‘Really sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘No. Yet again.’ Barling’s small fists were clenched now. ‘You most certainly did not.’
God alive, he’d never seen the man in such a state. And so quickly. ‘As I say, I’m sor—’
‘I have had cause to warn you already here about that loose tongue of yours. If there is another such occasion, I will send you straight back to London, with a note for my lord de Glanville to deal with you. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stanton hadn’t called Barling ‘sir’ in months: the clerk had told him not to. But Stanton felt he had to. He was genuinely sorry at whatever he had roused in Barling. He really hadn’t meant to. ‘I really am very sorry, sir.’
Barling’s fists uncurled and his colour paled once again. He seemed calmer, swallowing hard before he replied. ‘Very well. But remember my words.’
‘I will.’ Stanton meant it.
‘Good.’ Barling seemed almost completely back to his usual self. ‘Now, we need to get on. In answer to your observation – that is, your sensible observation and not the disgraceful one – we left promptly because there is still some daylight left. I wanted to see the layout of the grounds and the land surrounding the monastery as well. I also wanted to use this opportunity to go through what we have gleaned today. This is our first chance to discuss it alone.’
Stanton nodded, relieved that his foolish words were no longer Barling’s focus. He pointed over to the left, where a small path branched off. ‘I don’t know if you want to have a look, but down there are many of the buildings where the lay brothers work. The forge, the wood shed, the wool store, the grain barn.’
The clerk looked at him askance. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I got talking to that lay brother Daniel at the stables this morning. Before you and I set off for the Chapter House.’
‘I did not ask you to do that.’
‘No, you didn’t. But I was checking the horses and he came in, so I took the opportunity. He doesn’t say much. Doesn’t like chatter, I don’t think.’
‘Despite going off without my permission, it is useful to have found out what you did.’
‘I know.’ Stanton winced as another blast of sleet and hail blew into his face. ‘Ow.’
Barling ignored him, peering up at the sky. ‘We need to press on. I am anxious to see if we can find ways into the abbey.’
‘You mean other than the gatehouse?’
‘Yes. Whoever murdered Brother Cuthbert was not likely to come and ring the bell and ask for admittance, were they?’
Stanton shrugged. ‘If you put it like that, no. But do you really think it is somebody from outside? From what we saw this morning at chapter, there’s enough strife here to bring the roof in. And they really don’t want us here.’
The clerk nodded. ‘There is certainly a great deal of tension. But it is understandable. What has happened here has had the most terrible effect on those who live within these walls. The brethren are distressed and, I am quite sure, afraid. Guilt-ridden too. As things currently stand, it could have been any of them who perished at this unknown hand. A hand, remember, that could have opened those kitchen shutters with ease.’ Barling tutted to himself. ‘If a simple lock had been turned, things might have been so different.’
‘I thought the same,’ said Stanton. ‘And that must make them feel even worse.’
They went past the stables and the guesthouse, heading towards the gatehouse now.
Stanton went on. ‘It still makes no sense, though, does it?’
Barling shook his head. ‘No. Which is why I am keen to move outside. That may well give us our answer.’
They arrived at the gatehouse. A low snoring sound came from inside the small building where Lambert supposedly watched over the monastery.
Barling frowned even as Stanton gave a rueful grin.
‘Brother Lambert,’ said Stanton. ‘I’d lay a wager on it.’ He knocked hard on the door. ‘Hello.’
The buzzing stopped abruptly. ‘What? Who is there?’ Clattering noises came from the door. It opened a little way and the scarlet-faced monk appeared in the crack.
‘We wish to go out, brother,’ said Barling.
‘Out? Now?’
‘Yes.’
With many huffs of breath, Lambert opened up the gate. ‘You can’t be long, mind. I’ll be going back to the cloister soon.’
Stanton braced himself for the clerk’s harsh words to fall on the monk, as they always did when anybody dared to put the slightest problem in his way. Barling had only just calmed down. It wouldn’t take much to get him angry again.
But no. Lambert got a terse ‘Very well’ from Barling and no more.
‘Maybe we should have asked him to wait for us,’ said Stanton as they walked away to a slam from the gate.
‘I suspect it would be wasted breath,’ said Barling. ‘Even if I did tell him to wait on a little later, he may well have completely forgotten. I would not relish being locked out of here overnight.’ He stepped off the roadway on to a muddy path to the right that led towards the trees and the deep rumble of the river.
‘Where are we going now?’ said Stanton, following him. ‘If we have so little time left?’
‘I have thought of one place where somebody might have gained entrance,’ said Barling. ‘The walls are high and secure, but the river flows into the grounds of the monastery and is used by the monks for all their requirements for water. Where it flows in may be a weakness.’
Stanton nodded his approval. ‘That makes sense.’
They soon found it.
A sturdy arched tunnel was built into the brick of the wall, into which the river flowed fast and strong.
‘Well, you were right about the water going in through the walls.’ Stanton could see the clerk’s disappointment.
‘But not right about the iron covering it.’
‘Let me check it.’ Stanton made his way over to the entrance of the tunnel at the river’s edge, his boots squelching in the deep, soaking mud.
‘Be careful,’ called Barling.
Stanton squatted down to take a closer look. The iron bars had been welded into a sturdy lattice, letting water in and keeping large debris out. Judging by what was caught in it, it hadn’t been moved for some time. He leaned forward, pulling at it to test it. Nothing. It was solid. He made his way back to Barling, shaking his head. ‘It was worth a
try.’ Stanton looked up at the darkening sky. ‘We should probably go back in.’
‘We have a little longer.’ Barling pointed back upriver. ‘The land rises steeply from here. If we go up, we should get a good view of the walls over to the east. It would be a good way of checking without having to walk all the way round another time.’
Stanton nodded. ‘But we can’t take long.’
It was even darker here amongst the trees and not being able to see what was coming was starting to make him uneasy. He also had a feeling that eyes were on him. But every time he turned his head, quickly, to catch those eyes, he saw nothing but shadows and branches.
They began the climb, the riverbank turning rapidly from mud to solid rock, the channel narrowing even as the slope became steeper, the roar of the river becoming louder and louder.
‘I can see why the old abbot chose this location,’ said Barling. ‘Fairmore will never, ever run out of fresh water.’
‘If the river doesn’t wash it away,’ said Stanton. ‘Look.’
A gap had opened up amongst the trees, for little could grow on the huge slabs of rock that made up this part of the hillside. Though not carved by man, they might be the moss-covered building stones of giants. Up here, the channel of the powerful river was compressed into just a few feet across in a roiling, rumbling torrent. Spray hissed into the air above it.
‘How remarkable.’ Barling went over to have a closer look, Stanton with him.
‘Stop.’ Stanton had to raise his voice above the noise of the water to be heard. He halted the clerk with a hand on his arm. ‘Those rocks near the edge are all wet and mossy. One wrong step and you’ll be in. Looks very deep as well.’
‘You are correct.’ Barling leaned forward. ‘The water has not been able to carve space on either side. It must have worn away the rock underneath instead.’
‘We really need to go back, Barling. It’s got too dark to try to find any viewing point for the walls.’
The clerk nodded and turned from the torrent.
As they hurried back down to the gatehouse, Barling took a quick look round to make sure they were alone. ‘My plan for tomorrow morning is that we will ride out to Gottburn village. We will find the priest of whom Philip spoke, this Theobald. He will know everyone and should be able to identify those in his village who might be capable of such a crime. We may find the outsider that we seek through him.’
Stanton thought about jesting with Barling that the clerk could invite Lady Kersley along, as she’d seemed so keen to ride with him. But he didn’t dare, as Barling would surely have his tongue. ‘A good plan, Barling,’ was all he said instead.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Are you ready, Stanton?’
The question came from Barling, already waiting on his own horse.
Stanton checked the girth on his saddle one last time. ‘I am now.’ He mounted his horse and glanced up at the sky. ‘Nice day for travelling.’
The leaden clouds this morning looked full of yet more sleet and hail.
‘The sooner we get to Gottburn, the sooner we can come back,’ said Barling.
‘True.’ Stanton clicked to his animal and led the way out of the stable yard. ‘At least Lambert’s awake this morning.’
The main gates to the monastery stood open. A horse and cart which held two lay brothers and was stacked with raw cut branches trundled in. The brother driving it turned back in his seat to give a coarse shout. ‘Have you no eyes? Watch where you’re going!’
Stanton rode past them towards the gate.
‘Keep your speed down, sirs,’ said the cart driver. ‘There are many folk in and around the gateway and you don’t want to trample them.’
‘Who could be foolish or idle enough to stand in the gateway?’ asked Barling.
‘Beggars, sir,’ said the brother. ‘Here from first light to last. Almost every day.’
Stanton waved his thanks as Barling drew alongside.
‘Well, there were not any yesterday evening,’ said the clerk.
‘Who knows?’ Stanton slowed his horse right down, keeping close to Barling’s animal as well. He didn’t trust the clerk’s skill in controlling a horse in such a tight, crowded spot. ‘We’ll be through them in a few minutes.’
As they rode slowly up to the gates, where several ragged figures waited under their shelter, Stanton saw Lambert waddle out of the house, carrying a large basket.
The figures converged on him but were met with a roar from the monk.
‘Back, you ignorant peasants! Back! Wait your turn to be called or you’ll get nothing. You curs, the lot of you.’
‘I can only see one cur,’ muttered Stanton over his shoulder to Barling as they rode out.
A sharp tug came at his right boot.
He looked down to see a young peasant woman striding along on the road beside his horse, keeping apace, though she was small in height.
‘A coin, sir?’ Her bold look met his, dark grey eyes in a round, grubby face, and thick chestnut hair, which she wore loose under her patched hooded cloak.
‘Be off with you, girl,’ came Barling’s testy order.
Stanton could swear he caught the flash of a pink tongue from a pert mouth, directed at Barling. Though the clerk wouldn’t be able to see her, her cheek made him smile. He pulled out his purse and threw her down a coin.
She made a deft catch but still walked beside him. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Are you going to walk next to us all day?’ he asked.
‘Depends. Are you going to be riding all day?’
‘Stanton.’ Barling’s tone held a warning.
‘We need to head off,’ said Stanton. ‘Stand back, I don’t want you to get hurt.’
The girl did so with a pout, her steps slowing even as his horse gathered pace. ‘Will you be coming back, Stanton?’ she said.
‘I should hope so,’ he said, to a disgusted noise from Barling.
‘Then maybe I’ll see you then,’ she said with a sharp wink.
Stanton raised a hand in farewell and the girl did likewise.
‘I’m Agatha,’ she called. ‘Just so you know.’
Agatha stopped walking and stood watching as Stanton rode off.
He gave a final glance back, a last smile, as she knew he would. She gave him another little wave.
The man he rode with, the one called Barling, turned around too, almost toppling from his saddle as he did so.
She caught back a laugh and waved at him as well, as she knew it’d really annoy him.
It did. She could tell from the set of his back as he faced forward once more.
Pulling her own small purse from its safe place under her dirty shift, she grinned to herself. She’d guessed at the kind of man Stanton was when she’d spied on him as he’d arrived here, and she’d guessed right. He had a head that could be turned by a pretty smile and a purse that would open willingly. If she could get near enough to him, away from everybody else, she could do a lot more than smile, and she’d get a lot more out of that purse. She’d met the likes of him before. Well, maybe not quite like him. For all his good looks, he had a kindness about him too.
‘Get out of my way, you filthy beggar.’
Agatha heard the scornful female voice at the same time as she heard the clatter of heavy hooves.
She jumped back with an oath. She’d let herself be distracted by a man.
Just in time. A tall, glossy horse went past at a fast trot, urged on by the fur-cloaked noblewoman astride it.
‘A coin, my lady?’ Agatha knew it was useless. She’d tried asking this one before, every morning as the lady rode out, and every morning came the same response.
Eyes brown as hazelnuts and twice as hard glared at her in disgust without even seeing her. ‘You’ll get no coin from me. Now be off with you.’
Agatha watched the horse’s backside disappear from view, the woman bolt upright in the saddle, as sure of her place in the world as she was of her own virtue. Then Agatha sucked
up a full mouthful of foaming spittle. Let it fly. Course it wouldn’t go anywhere near, but it made her feel better.
Nasty old bitch, that one.
Agatha hoped the sour-faced cow would break her neck, and that she’d be there to see it.
She turned back for the abbey gate.
Yes, Stanton was gone. But he’d be back. No doubt of that.
There was plenty for her to enjoy within the abbey in the meantime.
Like the cats that roamed the cloister, she could get to where she needed to be by stealth.
Find her usual warm spot.
And lie low until darkness fell, when it would be time for her to hunt again.
‘I’d heard the monks have had trouble.’ Standing in the doorway of the small house next to the equally small parish church, Theobald, priest of the village of Gottburn, glowered at Barling’s brief introduction of himself and Stanton. ‘But I didn’t expect to be asked anything about it. And certainly not by a King’s man.’ The priest opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in.’
‘Will the horses be safe where I’ve tethered them, sir priest?’ asked Stanton, a half-step behind Barling.
‘What are you saying?’ The square-bodied Theobald lowered brows that were bushy as brush bristles. ‘That the folk of this village are thieves?’
‘No, sir priest—’
‘My assistant was only concerned that we were not inconveniencing you, sir priest.’ Barling stepped into Theobald’s cramped home, making sure Stanton followed. He had not ridden over two hours in the hail and sleet on this foul-weathered morning to be simply turned away.
Theobald grunted in response and indicated that they should sit on the wooden settle placed against one wall.
A smoking central hearth over which an iron tripod and pot full of water hung made the room tolerably warm.
The priest sat on a stool next to it, the only furniture other than a couple of chests and shelves on the opposite wall that held a few possessions. ‘The King’s men, eh?’ he said.
