‘Unlike the man who killed him.’
‘Quite so.’
‘Why should he have been slain in so foul a manner?’
‘The boy was skinned, just as the earlier thieves were. Master Puddlicott was the instigator of the robbery of the crown jewels, I believe, and he was hanged and skinned. One could almost imagine that poor Alexander was looked upon in the same light by someone who saw him in the crypt.’
‘Do you mean to suggest that one of your monks saw him there and decided to punish him?’
‘I make no suggestion. I merely reflect on the facts and wonder.’
‘Is there anyone in the abbey whom you could suspect of such an offence?’
The abbot turned and stared at him. ‘Do you seriously believe that if I knew a man here who was capable of such an appalling act I would conceal him?’
‘He was speaking from his heart,’ Simon said as they left the abbot’s chamber.
‘He gave that impression,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘And yet I am sure he has suspicions. I refuse to believe that he would not have his own idea about who could be guilty.’
‘Perhaps he is fearful to admit to them.’
‘Why should he fear any man here? Within the community he has full powers. Any man he thought could be responsible could be arrested in an instant and held securely in gaol.’
‘That is true if he feared a death, but he could be more anxious about damage of another sort. The danger of the book, for example.’
‘What sort of danger could that book hold?’ Baldwin wondered aloud.
‘If all that we have heard is true, and if it is thought to promote the prince as the Antichrist, do you not think that it could bring retribution upon the abbey itself? The king may accuse the abbot of harbouring the book to the detriment of his son and thus the realm?’
‘That is possible. Although the abbot could hardly be blamed for something written long ago by someone in Ireland, surely?’
‘When the king is involved, it is best not to be too confident,’ Simon said.
Baldwin nodded. King Edward II had a reputation for brutality which was unequalled.
Simon noticed the novice Robert near the entrance to the buttery as they walked to the door. He nodded, and Baldwin peered. The novice appeared to have been weeping.
‘Are you all right, boy?’ Simon asked.
‘Yes. Yes, I am well.’
‘You knew the dead monk, did you?’
‘Yes. He was a good man. Kind and generous.’
It looked as though he was going to burst into tears again. Baldwin beckoned him over. ‘Is there anyone who could have wanted to harm him? He appears to have had no enemies here, and yet he was killed in a particularly foul manner.’
‘No one in the abbey could have wanted him dead. All loved him. He was respected by the prior, and his work was highly praised by all who saw it. No one could have wanted to do that to him!’
‘But someone did,’ Simon muttered.
‘It must have been someone from outside the abbey, then. No one in our community could have wanted to see him dead.’
‘Do you mean to accuse the Franciscans?’ Baldwin asked sharply.
‘I accuse nobody!’ the lad blurted anxiously. ‘I am only a lowly . . .’
‘Did you hear anything the night he died?’
‘We all heard his screams.’
‘You know that is not what I meant. Was there anything specific you heard which would lead you to believe that the Franciscans might have been guilty?’
Simon interrupted before the boy could respond. ‘This is a matter of murder, Robert. Not some novice’s prank. If I want I can ask the abbot to command you to answer.’
‘I heard them.’
‘Who?’
‘The Franciscans. On the night he died. I heard them talking in the passage. They were talking about the book, saying that they must get it.’
‘They knew about it, then?’ Baldwin said.
Simon was frowning at Robert. ‘You knew about it too, didn’t you?’
‘All of us know of the Black Book of Brân. It is not the sort of thing that could be kept quiet. How could you keep a thing like that secret? We all knew that it was there.’
‘You all knew it was in the crypt?’
‘Yes. In one of the boxes.’
‘I see. What did the friars say?’
‘They were angry that they couldn’t find it. I heard the younger one say that they would have to search again.’
‘What did his friend say?’
‘I didn’t hear,’ the lad admitted. ‘I suppose he spoke more quietly.’
‘And this was in the corridor near the dormitory?’ Baldwin said.
‘Yes.’
Simon was frowning. ‘But before or after the screams?’
‘Oh, before. I went out with the others as soon as we heard the screams. They were terrible.’
‘If that’s so,’ Simon said, ‘you must have seen Alexander rise and go out?’
‘I just thought he was going for a piss. It didn’t occur to me that he was going to the crypt,’ Robert protested.
‘We accuse you of nothing,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘But tell me: it was after you had heard the voices?’
‘Yes. He must have heard them too, I think.’
‘Why?’
‘It was almost immediately afterwards that he rose. He was as quiet as possible, and I looked at him, but he was going so quietly I assumed he didn’t want to speak to me. And I didn’t want to wake the others.’
‘Where did he go? Straight out into the corridor?’
‘No. Not at first. First he went to the prior’s house. I could tell. I heard the doors over at the far end of the dormitory, and then the door to the prior’s house.’
Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. Both recalled Friar James’s accusations about homosexuality against Alexander and the prior.
Simon said: ‘You can tell that? It couldn’t have been the abbot’s house?’
‘No. I’ve heard all the doors. The abbot’s house has a door with a pronounced squeak in the hinge. It wasn’t his.’
‘What then?’
‘He came out again, for I heard the door close, and walked along the corridor towards the church. I could hear his sandals.’
‘So you heard him go to the crypt?’
‘God save me, yes!’ Robert said quietly.
‘Was it long before you heard the screams?’
‘A while, yes. But in the dark time passes slowly. You imagine things, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Simon agreed, but then he frowned quickly as he remembered his dream of the night before. And there had been something else. ‘Tell me, Alexander was a good illuminator. Did he share his pictures?’
‘Sometimes when he was proud of a picture he would show it, yes. There was nothing wrong in that. He would ask for advice about making it more realistic.’
‘I have had an idea, Baldwin. We need to speak again to the prior.’
Simon led the way at a trot, and Baldwin was forced to keep up.
‘What is it, Simon?’
‘The pictures the prior showed us yesterday. There was a dragon and a boar, you remember? And those are two of the animals which are held in the prophecy about the six kings you spoke of.’
‘Of course!’ Baldwin said with anger. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? So the boy was aware of the prophecy too, and was drawing pictures to illustrate it, you think?’
‘What if he wasn’t only interested in that prophecy? If the bishop is right, and there are prophecies in this evil book, perhaps the lad Alexander was seeking to bring them together into one, larger book?’
‘Why should he do that?’ Baldwin said, but he was not scoffing.
‘Any artist likes to create work that will be important. If there are linked prophecies that affect our prince and tell of him pursuing a terrible destiny, wouldn’t that fire an artist’s imagination?’
The prior’s desk in the cloist
er was empty, but Simon reached beneath it for the rough drawings he had shown them the day before. ‘They’ve gone!’
‘He must have realized what he had done and has hidden them,’ Baldwin said.
‘Let’s—’
The rest of his words were forgotten as they heard the screams from the Chapter House.
They were not alone in running at full tilt to the chamber. Lay brothers and monks all dropped their work and pelted across the yards to the corridor and into the meeting place for the brothers.
‘What is it?’ Simon demanded as he came to halt at the entrance, but then his voice was stilled at the sight within. He had to swallow and turn away.
‘My God!’ Baldwin said, and then he was bawling for the monks and others to leave the room and not disturb anything. ‘Simon! Simon, keep them all out. We don’t want anyone in here.’
Simon agreed and stood in the doorway while Baldwin studied the room, an arm about his breast, his chin cupped in his left hand.
‘Is he dead, Baldwin?’
Baldwin saw no need to respond to that.
The prior sat sprawled in a mess of blood and urine, his back to a pillar, both arms about it. His eyes were wide in a horrified stare, and were it not for the fact that his lips were stopped with a thick roll of parchment his mouth would have been wide in agonized terror, Baldwin felt sure.
He walked about the body. Like Alexander, his hands were bound tightly about the pillar, and there was a bloody mess where his belly lay. ‘He’s been stabbed in the gut and left to die,’ he concluded.
‘Why do this to him?’ Simon spat.
Baldwin was pulling the parchment from his mouth. ‘Because this fool and his friend Alexander were copying the Black Book of Brân. These are pages they were taking from it and, unless I am much deceived, these were some examples of drawings that Alexander had created to illustrate the prophecy of the six kings.’
‘So who killed them both? Surely they were killed by the same man?’
‘It seems most probable. And the motivation was something to do with this copy of the book. And the original, perhaps.’
‘So when we find the original, we shall also know who was responsible for both murders,’ Simon said. ‘But if the book is so dangerous and must be concealed, why leave the parchments there for anyone to find?’
‘Yes,’ Baldwin said, but more pensively as he leafed through the parchment he had taken from Prior Stephen’s mouth. ‘Why leave these here?’
Friar James was walking along the northern wall of the abbey, peering up at the great belfry, when he saw the two men. They were walking towards him at an amble, clearly involved so much in talking to each other that they had no heed for anyone else.
Well, he had little desire to speak to them. He bent his head and tried to avoid looking at them at all as he passed by them, and as soon as their legs had disappeared behind him he looked up again.
And found himself jerked backwards.
Before he could shout for help, a gloved hand was clapped over his mouth, and he was dragged, his arms gripped tightly, an arm about his breast, at enough speed to make it impossible for him to regain his footing. He was pulled so far that he began to wonder whether they would fling him into the Thames or the Tyburn, and he had just decided that they would when the hands supporting him suddenly released him, and he found himself on his back staring up at the knight and bailiff.
‘Sir Baldwin, you will pay dearly for this assault,’ he spat, struggling to rise to his feet.
‘Calm yourself, James,’ Baldwin said, planting a foot on his chest and pushing him on to his back with ease. ‘You are not accused of any crimes yet. But I would hear more about the book. And Martin’s and your plan to find it on the night that the boy died. And what you were doing this morning, of course.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. I have the protection of the Church and the Pope himself. You cannot keep me here against my will!’
‘It will be your will, I am sure, to help the relevant authorities to discover who killed the prior and his monk? What other action would a man of God decide to—’ His face suddenly hardened. ‘What do you mean, you have the protection of the Pope himself?’
‘That is none of your business.’
‘You hear that, Simon? So he doesn’t bluster, saying that the Pope’s protection is always granted to a man of his order. No, rather he seeks to warn us off because the Pope has given him special protection.’
‘Release me immediately, or you will pay a terrible penalty! You cannot hold me. You will feel the authority of my order, and I shall have no hesitation in demanding that you be held for—’
His voice was cut off as the knight drew his sword. It gleamed wickedly blue and came to rest upon James’s throat.
‘I am grateful that you have become quiet, James. Now, friar, I would know what happened that night, first. And before you invoke the power of the Pope, let me warn you that his writ does not run here just now.’
‘You are a heretic!’ James hissed, shocked.
‘No. But I have the king’s writ to investigate murder, and the king would be keen to know all about this book and the two friars who sought to remove it from his realm. Just as he would be keen to know about the prophecy of the six kings.’
There was a slow clap from behind them, and Friar Martin slowly approached. ‘Very well, Sir Knight. An impressive display of force. Perhaps, though, you could release my companion? He is prey to piles, and the cold grass here will be sure to bring on an attack. Pray, let him up, else my ears will suffer immeasurably all the long walk home!’
There was a small alehouse a short distance from the main gate to the abbey, and it was to this that they repaired. Once they were seated, James still eyeing Baldwin with deep suspicion and dislike, Friar Martin ordered wine for them all and sat back on a stool, contemplating Baldwin with some interest and amusement.
‘That was a most bold display. I was almost concerned when I saw you draw your sword.’
‘I was in earnest.’
‘I think not. There are king’s officers who would take off a man’s head, and others who profess to believe in the rule of justice. I feel sure you are one of the latter.’
‘You think I profess to believe in justice?’
‘I am prepared to think you may believe in it,’ Martin said with a smile, and after a moment Baldwin smiled in return.
‘Will you tell me what happened on the night Alexander died, then?’
‘I cannot tell you all . . .’
‘Then let me tell you. You were sent here by the Pope to recover a book.’
‘Written by an astonishingly unremarkable monk in Ireland.’ His tone betrayed his contempt for the Irish. ‘He went mad and disappeared. Hardly surprising in a land like his. His book, however, is as remarkable as he was not.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘And some believe the book is dangerous.’
‘There may be consequences, were a book with prophecies that could be manipulated by the unscrupulous to be discovered just now.’ Martin smiled.
‘Quite so. And there can be few books of prophecies so easily manipulable as these. Add to them the still more inflammatory prophecy of the six kings, and you have a veritable Greek fire of incendiary forecasts. How is my guess?’
‘Accurate enough. The Pope would prefer the book to be taken into his care. Here, it is possible that it could be discovered. If the king’s jewels could be robbed from that crypt, a book could as easily be removed. And there are delicate negotiations afoot in France – the Pope wants peace between the English and French kingdoms, and this . . . nonsense could impair those negotiations.’
‘How did the Pope hear of the book?’
‘How? A copy was to be sent to him many years ago. We have known of it for many years.’
‘And I expect the good abbot told of the book when it arrived here?’
‘I should not be surprised. The Pope cares about inflammatory material of this nature.’
‘I care about dead men appearing in the abbey.’
‘We were seeking the book, it is true, but that is all.’
‘Very well. What did you see, though? You were the first on the scene after Alexander’s murder.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Your footprints. No one else walks about without sandals all day long, friar. It makes your feet flatter and broader, and that makes the footprints wider and smoother too. If you want, we can go and test the theory – the prints remain there.’
‘Prints hardly prove I was there.’
‘They are not the only proof.’
Martin set his head to one side and smiled. ‘I doubt it, but I have no reason to conceal the truth. Very well, I heard the screams and was quickly there. I had hoped that the book would also be there, but when I arrived there was no sign of it. I have to confess, I had made use of a little deception in the hope of learning where it was. I stood outside the dormitory, and spoke in a loud enough voice to wake the dead that I was desperate to find the book and would go and search for it that moment.’
‘Where was James?’ Simon asked, casting a baleful look at the friar.
‘He was in our chamber. I left him snoring.’
‘What of the prior?’ Baldwin continued.
‘You know as much of his death as I do myself. There is no reason for him to be killed, so far as I know.’
‘Nor was there for the boy Alexander.’
‘No, indeed. But the man who killed him clearly saw him bring out the book, and killed him to take it.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘What other motive could there be, other than theft?’
‘Concealment? Punishment? The parchments in the prior’s mouth were from the six kings’ prophecy. None bore on the prophecies from Brân’s book.’
‘So?’
‘Perhaps the man who killed both acted from an urge to conceal the book. Rather as you would have,’ Baldwin said.
‘But you cannot believe we were responsible for the deaths?’
Baldwin drank his wine and smiled. ‘Do I not?’
‘No, not seriously. Someone else must have killed them.’
‘Who?’
James could not restrain himself any longer. He spat: ‘They deserved it! The prior and his catamite! Sodomy is the worst sin for a monk. Unbridled passion . . . Any man could have killed them and be praised for his action!’
The Lost Prophecies Page 17
