The Devil's Acolyte

by Michael Jecks

  Every head in the place was turned to him. Ashamed, he wanted to scurry away like a rat, but he didn’t wish everyone there to see how upset he was at having to pay a fine, for he was sure that was the reason for the summons. The abbot had decided to fine him for his incompetence and stupidity in forgetting the hammer, even though he had brought it here in good time. When he glanced about him, he saw that Hal Raddych was staring at him. Behind him, Joce Blakemoor too was watching him keenly.

  Seeing him only made Simon irritable. ‘Damn the man’s eyes,’ he muttered, squaring his shoulders. ‘I hope he gets blinded by a chip from an ingot!’

  It was only much later that he came to wonder whether the expression he had seen in Blakemoor’s eyes was less amusement at Simon’s plight, more fear for himself.

  * * *

  Joce Blakemoor’s expression hadn’t been missed by Walwynus, either. Wally was watching as the tin was gathered up and weighed, the metal gleaming in the sun where the assay-master had chiselled off a corner.

  A few yards away was the slightly gaunt figure of the abbot’s steward, Augerus. Wally nodded to him and tilted his head, and Augerus nodded. Wally didn’t like the man, but he was useful, he thought as he made his way to a table outside a tavern. There he held up a penny for the host, and when Augerus arrived, the landlord had already brought two pots of strong ale.

  ‘You wish to sit?’ Wally asked.

  ‘For a moment, friend,’ Augerus said gratefully. ‘My abbot is returned, and he’s had me rushing all over the place, cleaning this, sharpening that, preparing his writing reeds and tablets… Ah! Life was so restful while he was away.’

  ‘I heard you had a good evening in the tavern,’ Wally said. Augerus shrugged contentedly. While the abbot was out of the town, he felt free to indulge himself, and it was good to relax with a few ales and a friend. ‘You have it?’

  He watched as Wally produced a small lump wrapped in material, bound with a thong. ‘Here.’

  Augerus pulled the knot free and glanced down at the pile of coins.

  ‘You want to count it?’ Wally asked.

  ‘No. But it’s not much for all the effort.’

  ‘You know our friend. He’s not generous,’ Wally said easily. There was little point, in his mind, explaining that instead of a fifty-fifty cut, he had taken four-sevenths of the money – eight shillings out of fourteen instead of seven. Augerus was expecting a foil half, but Wally felt justified in awarding himself more. He took much of the risk, after all. Augerus grunted discontentedly. ‘I’d best be back.’

  ‘Aye, well, see you later.’

  ‘I may have something then. A pewterer is in the abbey.’

  ‘Not tonight. There will be too many wandering about the town drunk. Leave it till tomorrow. I’ll warn our friend.’

  Augerus nodded and left. Soon Wally rose, and as he walked from the alehouse, he saw her again: Sara, the girl with the anxious eyes, as he had thought of her. Yesterday evening, when he had been hanging around outside Joce Blakemoor’s house, idling there for no particular reason, he had seen the girl rush up to the receiver’s front door and hammer on it. An attractive little thing, Wally thought regretfully. Of course, she was far too good-looking for the likes of him, with her fine red gown with embroidered flowers at the hem and her silken fair hair shaken loose from her wimple mid floating about her shoulders as the breeze caught it. She looked beautiful in her apparent distress.

  The door had opened and Joce’s servant had appeared, glanced quickly up and down the street, and then fixed upon the girl with evident trepidation. Wally wasn’t surprised, for all knew that Joce was a vicious bastard to his servant. Wally couldn’t hear a word spoken, but he saw the servant disappear inside, then Joce himself came to the door and held out a hand wordlessly to the girl. She took it with obvious relief and entered the house with him. Wally left soon afterwards, musing on the sight.

  Now he could see her in daylight, she no longer looked so worried. Since going to Joce, she had obviously lost her concerns, and Wally was pleased. She was a lovely thing, a delight to the eyes, with a smile that many men would die for, and an easy manner, friendly and outgoing. Perhaps more outgoing than she should be, he considered, bearing in mind her visit to Joce’s last night. It had been painful to see her in such distress. Now her joy chimed with his own pleasure. The monk Peter had made him the happiest man in Tavistock.

  ‘Sara!’ he called.

  She turned on him a smile so radiant that he felt as though the clouds had parted and the sun burst forth with renewed vigour.

  ‘Hello, Wally. You’re looking well.’

  ‘Not so well as you, I’ll bet.’

  ‘I am happy today,’ she said confidentially, swinging her hips so that her skirts swelled and billowed, as if she was dancing to a tune only she could hear.

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Have you found a shilling at the roadside?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ she said, still happily swaying. Then she stopped, stepped forward to him, laying a hand lightly on his forearm, and leaned up to him, saying breathily, ‘But it’s wonderful!’

  As quickly as she had moved forward, she retreated through the crowds, leaving him with a bemused smile on his face. She wasn’t really his sort, he told himself, but even so the feeling of her breath upon his skin had sent his entire face tingling, and he wished that he was married to someone as impulsive. Wally touched his lips with a feeling almost of awe, unaware of the dark and bitterly resentful eyes of Ellis, the barber, who spied on him from a short distance away.

  Ellis had witnessed Wally’s brief conversation with Sara, and from where he stood, slightly behind Wally, it had looked as though she had leaned up to kiss him. In public! Full of misgivings, Ellis pushed his way through the crowds after his sister.

  He had never married. There hadn’t been an opportunity. His trade was his life, apart from his sister, and although he had never known the joy of fatherhood, of watching a wife of his own grow great with a baby, seeing her face alter, glowing with that inner warmth as she became aware of the life within her, he had seen other women in the first flush of pregnancy. Sara had been like that when she was married, bearing her children. And now she looked that way again.

  It was not until she had reached the far side of the market square that he caught up with her. ‘Sara, what are you playing at?’

  ‘Nothing! What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘I saw you out there, looking up at him, all moon-eyed. Have you been bloody stupid?’

  ‘Let go of my arm,’ she said, snatching her forearm from his grasp. ‘Leave me alone, Ellis.’

  ‘You haven’t been foolish, have you?’

  ‘No. I have been very sensible,’ she said with a flash of fire in her eyes. ‘I have found a man to love, and who loves me.’

  ‘And have you slept with him?’

  She stiffened, then smacked a hand across his cheek. ‘That is my business, and none of yours, Brother!’

  ‘You have, haven’t you?’ he said dully. ‘And now you’re pregnant.’

  ‘Just go away, Ellis.’

  ‘I know who it is.’

  ‘I don’t care! He’ll marry me.’

  ‘He’ll never marry you, you fool.’

  * * *

  It was the first time in days that the agony of Hamelin’s ruined tooth had faded to a dull ache, and now, after the abundant stream of strong ale that Hal had bought him, he felt as though his mouth was almost normal. If only his tongue would keep away from his teeth. He seemed to keep biting it accidentally.

  He moved somewhat precariously from the tavern’s door to go and watch the coining, grabbing at a rail here, a fence there, breathing loudly, but with a happy smile on his face. ‘Where’s the coining, friend?’ he asked of a man near the market.

  ‘Right in front of you! Christ, you’re as drunk as a monk!’ There were other men all about, and some began to laugh at the sight of Hamelin’s state.

  ‘Look out, he’ll spew
over us all.’

  ‘Not Hamelin, eh, fellow? Hamelin could always handle a few pints.’

  ‘So can many – but they all fall over just as heavily!’

  ‘Even bloody monks. The abbot’s steward and his friend Mark were here last weekend, and pissed as rats in cider! Jesu, it was hard to get them out the door, they were swaying so much.’

  Hamelin frowned. He could hear voices, but he was finding it hard to focus. Perhaps he ought to go and find his wife. Her rooms weren’t far from the market. He could go and talk to her. Apologise for his failure. She might soothe him a little. If only he hadn’t drunk quite so much…

  ‘The steward was almost unable to talk, he was so far gone. Mark had to help him through the door, and you could hear the two of them roaring and laughing up the road.’

  ‘Aye, well, the abbot’s away, isn’t he? It’s rare enough that the monks get a chance to have a drink. Poor bastards! I’d go mad, locked away in that place like them.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like they’re too securely locked up, does it?’

  ‘Yeah, well, every once in a while they get let out.’ Hamelin tried to speak, but phlegm in his throat threatened to choke him. When he had coughed a little, he said, ‘You mean that thieving shit Mark was out here last weekend? If I’d known, I’d have killed the bastard!’

  There was a sudden silence. His voice had been louder than he intended. Not that he regretted it. He’d be damned if he’d apologise for cursing the man who had robbed him of his wealth. Mark, it was, who had taken Hamelin’s money, then gambled and lost it all. And by simply taking on the tonsure, he had evaded his debtors. ‘The bastard!’ he repeated.

  ‘You should keep your voice down.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ he demanded truculently, peering at the man who had joined him.

  ‘It’s me – Wally.’

  ‘Ah! Oh, Wally. Yes. You’re a friend, you are. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ Wally admitted, jealously eyeing the tinners. He should have been up there, selling his tin. If his mining had succeeded, he would have been, instead of earning money by thieving. Ah well. He was alive, and that was the main thing. ‘Come on, Hamelin, let’s get you somewhere safe.’

  ‘Can’t go home like this. Wife’s got no money. Youngest is ill. Can’t let her see me like this.’

  He was a dead weight on Wally’s arm, and Wally staggered. Then he saw a bench, and led Hamelin to it. ‘Lie down on that,’ he puffed.

  Hamelin was reluctant to do so, explaining that the sky was turning around and around, and that people were staring at him, but eventually Wally managed to settle him, and soon he was rewarded with harsh rumbling snores.

  That was when he returned to watching the coining.

  There being a slight pause, Joce and other officers were refreshing themselves with wine. At that point, Wally caught sight of Sara again. She hovered on the edge of the crowd, a hand up as though to wave, her attention fixed eagerly on Joce’s face. Then she called to him softly, her face still excited and joyous. Wally thought he’d never seen such a lovely girl, not since the Scottish woman.

  He heard her call out, saw Joce stiffen, saw the receiver’s face alter subtly, that cruel sneer spreading as he turned and strode towards her. The man spoke for a moment, and then guffawed, while Sara’s features seemed to crumple. Suddenly her eyes had regained that appalled expression of the previous night, and her hand went to her mouth.

  Wally felt his spine turn to ice.

  ‘Stupid bitch! Thought because I’d rattled her once, I’d marry her!’

  Wally could hear the harshness of the braggart’s voice. Sycophantic colleagues all about Joce chuckled as he spoke. Even Brother Augerus was there, Wally saw.

  ‘She asked me to marry her. Well, anyone would promise that, for a chance to lie with her. So I did. But Christ’s Blood, only a stupid strumpet could believe in an oath like that! Marry her! I’d as soon wed a whore from the tavern. She’s a good slut, though. I’ve only once before enjoyed one more, and that was years ago in the north.’

  * * *

  Wally stumbled away from the market, feeling physically sick.

  Somehow he had made an appalling mistake. The man with whom he had worked, with whom he had shared so much, was gone, and in his place was this new character, a man whom Wally should have detested and scorned – or slaughtered. The words ‘years ago in the north’ kept ringing in his mind. There was only one girl Joce could have meant by that. Suddenly Wally knew he hated Joce.

  Wally leaned against a door and stared dully back the way he had come. He needed a drink, he thought, and then remembered the state of Hamelin. No, he’d go and get some grub instead. There was the pie-shop nearby, and he headed to it with feet that were suddenly leaden.

  At the shop, he was welcomed by the scruffy cook.

  ‘Hello, Nob,’ Wally said distractedly, and bought a small, cheap meat-pie.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked Nob cheerily.

  At first Wally scarcely heard the amiable enquiry; he was too taken up with his feelings towards Joce. Wally and his pal Martyn had worked for the receiver for a long time. Admittedly, he was a man of careless violence, but had proved a good ally – and was a useful fellow when it came to disposing of stolen goods. When Wally had first met with the greedy Augerus at the abbey and found in him a man who might be able to arrange for trinkets to be stolen, Joce was the natural man to fence the goods. He might not pay the best price, but it was adequate, and the profits split between Wally and Augerus were enough to live on frugally.

  But all this time Wally had never realised that Joce could have been the man who killed the girl. She had been raped, then murdered, and for ages Wally had suspected that it was Martyn who had done it, but now he wondered if Joce had been the guilty one, the killer of the woman who had saved Wally’s life.

  His belly was full of bile, but he made a conscious effort to act naturally, to listen and chat as Nob spoke. He didn’t want to appear distraught. If he was to have revenge on Joce, he must seem innocent. How to hurt Joce, though? That was the question that nagged at him now.

  ‘I don’t understand how monks and farmers get so much from the ground,’ he said, forcing himself to speak conversationally to Nob, ‘All of my vegetables wither as soon as I plant the buggers.’

  Nob gave a sympathetic grimace. ‘It’s a hard life on the moors.’

  ‘Aye. Down here there are women, ale and warm houses,’ Wally agreed. Out in the street, he bit into his pie and, when he looked up, he saw his young friend hurrying back towards the abbey, his ginger hair flaming in the wind. ‘Gerard!’ he shouted, and the lad stopped, staring about him with confusion.

  When he caught sight of Wally, a smile spread over his face. ‘Oh, it’s you! Are you here for the coining?’

  ‘I was, but the sight of that arrogant oaf standing there so self-important makes me want to puke,’ Wally said.

  ‘Yeah, well. I have to get back,’ Gerard said, his eyes going to the church tower, gauging the time.

  It was then that Wally had the idea that would cost him his life. ‘Wait! Do you have two minutes?’

  ‘Not really. I’ve got to—’

  ‘Two minutes to avenge your sins, Gerard? That’s all it will take,’ Wally said.

  Gerard eyed him doubtfully. There was a brightness in the other man’s eye that was almost like madness. ‘What are you planning, Wally?’

  Chapter Two

  The messenger led the two men back to the court, and Simon was about to bend his steps towards the abbot’s rooms, when he was surprised to find that they were going over to the cloister itself.

  ‘The abbot’s not in his lodging?’ he enquired.

  ‘No, Bailiff. He’s in the undercroft. This way.’

  Simon grunted. The lad who accompanied him was clearly not yet a brother, although he didn’t look new to the monastic life. He was probably in his mid-teens, a gangling youth with dark hair and a very pale compl
exion. Not someone who had spent his childhood on the moors or in outdoor exercise, Simon thought. A wealthy boy would have been out hunting, riding, practising with lances, swords and daggers. Some fellows, who were less likely to inherit their fathers’ estates because of older brothers, could be pale and weakly-looking, because they were trained up to be academics, lawyers or priests, but this boy had more the look of a serf’s child. His hands were calloused from heavy work. For all that he possessed a kind of boyish awkwardness, with his loose build and clumsy gait, Simon could see that he was no weakling. His shoulders were broad enough, and his arms looked as though they might have a certain sinewy strength.

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Simon pushed at the door. He recalled this place only too well from a previous visit. Then he had thought that his friend Baldwin could die in there. Something about the memory stirred him, and he felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He was glad to know that Hugh was behind him.

  The undercroft was a great long room, smelling strongly of fresh wine and preserved meats, but with the ever-present scent of rats. The ceiling was quite high overhead, well-built with neatly fitted stones mortared together to form the vaulting, and it needed to be because in this room were many of the stores for the brethren, and the barrels were stored on top of each other in ranks. Light entered from narrow windows set high in the walls, and the shafts lighted the motes of dust which perpetually spun and danced. Flies and beetles droned through in their search for food, and occasionally struck a cobweb, making it shimmer and vibrate until the fly was wrapped in spider silk.

  ‘At last, Bailiff. I wanted to show you this,’ the abbot said.

  His voice was rough with anger, and Simon was about to bow his head to accept whatever punishment his master deigned to hand down, when he realised that the abbot was pointing to a barrel not far from the door.

  ‘Look at that, will you?’ the Abbot grated. ‘I had these barrels brought here from Boulogne myself. I was told about the vineyards by a brother abbot in Guyenne, ordered the wine once it was ready, paid for the transport, everything – only to have some thieving cretin drink the lot!’