The Devil's Acolyte

by Michael Jecks

  The acolyte was a natural, although, of course, he had needed to be broken in carefully. That Ned talked about breaking in horses gently, but he had no idea. Taking a dumb brute like a horse in hand was one thing; a boy was quite another. Augerus had been looking for a lad like him for an age.

  It hadn’t been easy to start with. The boy had been tough to persuade. In fact, the first thing Augerus had wheedled him into doing was to take a little rosary of Augerus’ own, which he had loaned Brother Mark, with the promise that it would make Mark laugh. And it did, for Augerus played a little with Mark, making a wager that he had lost it. When Mark couldn’t find it, Augerus made up a story about how Mark had dropped it from his habit, and Augerus had seen it fall and picked it up again. Easy. It allayed Mark’s concerns when Augerus refused to allow him to honour the wager, thereby convincing the salsarius that all was well, while at the same time demonstrating to Gerard that taking things could be fun.

  Next it had been a loaf of bread. That wasn’t so difficult. There were plenty of them, and one thing that could be guaranteed about acolytes was that they were always hungry. Too much food, it was thought, made a lad drowsy and ruined his concentration. It had been easy to tell Gerard that the baker had bet no one would dare to take one of his loaves, and that no one could break in through the bars over his windows. As soon as Gerard heard that, he had willingly agreed to prove him wrong.

  Then, Augerus said, the baker refused to believe that one had gone. He told the steward that he was lying, and what could Augerus do? Obviously he must prove it beyond a doubt. So Gerard must, for a joke, steal three more loaves: one for himself, one for Augerus, and one for the baker. That would convince him. And if the baker still doubted, why, Gerard could climb in there right before his eyes!

  Gerard had thought this a great lark. He laughed delightedly when Augerus explained the cunning plan. Gerard climbed up through the window again, with Augerus, and passed the loaves to him through the bars; afterwards, he had squeezed himself out again. Chuckling quietly, he scampered back to Augerus’ chamber, giggling to himself at the thought of the baker’s face when he saw the three loaves gone.

  Except when they got back to Augerus’ room, the steward ate a half loaf and persuaded Gerard to eat another. The acolyte balked at first, but then his hunger got the better of him and he set to. And as he finished his meal, Augerus told him the truth.

  ‘I think we’d better keep this secret between us, boy.’

  ‘Between us and the baker, you mean.’

  ‘No, between us alone. I wouldn’t want to see you thrown out of the abbey, or dumped on the Scilly Isles, far from anyone and with only pirates in your congregation.’

  The poor dolt had stared at him as if he was mad. ‘Why should that happen to me? I’ve done nothing wrong!’

  ‘You have stolen bread from the mouths of beggars.’

  ‘But you told me to! It’s for a joke!’

  ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? But I forgot to let the baker in on the joke, I am afraid, so you see, you are a thief. And that will mean you’ll be punished.’

  That was the difficult moment. Augerus had done this before, and he knew that as the bait was snapped up, the fish could slip off the hook and run off. Some had done so before. They had stood up to him and stared him down, threatening to go straight to the abbot and denounce him. To his credit, Gerard tried that, but when he did, Augerus merely laughed.

  ‘Fine, my cocky. You tell him anything you like. And I shall tell him that I caught you stealing from the baker. And that I caught you stealing my rosary from Brother Mark, but that I concealed your crime because I thought I could help you come to a state of grace. We’ll see whom it is the abbot trusts most. An acolyte, or his favoured steward.’

  After that it had been easy. For a share of the rewards, the boy had stolen any little trinkets he was told to. His nimble fingers and sharp wits meant that there was a steady stream of goods arriving at Augerus’ door. And as soon as they arrived, they were parcelled up and pushed out through the little window that gave onto the orchard, where Wally would collect it and convey it to Joce. Never too much, only small items, and only ever just after a large service with many people, so that it would be impossible to guess who might have been the thief. That was the way of it.

  But the little devil was gone now. And Wally was dead. Well, Augerus sighed, Wally was unreliable, had been for a while. In a way, it was a good thing he was gone.

  Augerus was out in the court now, and was about to make for Mark’s room when he saw Joce standing red-faced outside, gesticulating with a kind of restrained fury.

  He groaned inwardly. He could still feel the pressure of Joce’s hand on his throat. It was only then that the realisation hit him: Joce was supposed to be on his way to Exeter with a sackload of pewter.

  ‘God’s Blood! What the hell are you doing here still?’ he whispered as soon as they had slipped down an alley.

  ‘You bastard! You set him up to do it, didn’t you?’ Joce grated, pulling the monk towards him by his habit.

  ‘Get off me, you cretin! Who – and to do what?’

  Suddenly Augerus heard a rasp of metal and felt a point at his belly. ‘What the…’

  ‘Where is it? Come on – tell me! Wally didn’t have it. Gerard didn’t run away with it, did he? Have you got it?’

  Joce had spent an angry, bitter night. Tossing and turning, wondering where his plate was, where his servant was, he was wild-eyed and more than a little mad-looking. It was a miracle he hadn’t exploded from anger. The shits, the devious, lying, thieving bastards, whoever they were, had taken all his money. That was what the metal meant to him: money! He needed it to conceal the amount he had stolen from the town’s accounts over the last year, and it was gone. It made him want to spit with fury, or stab and slash and kill everyone who might have taken it.

  ‘Where is it?’ he demanded again through gritted teeth.

  ‘How do you know Wally and Gerard haven’t—’

  ‘If Wally had it, it’d be back here in the abbey by now, wouldn’t it? And a boy running away carrying a large sack of pewter? He wouldn’t get far, would he? No, I think someone else must have it. And if you don’t squeak soon, you’ll be squeaking all the louder!’

  Augerus could feel that terrible point screwing one way and another, gradually grinding forwards through his habit. ‘Stop! I don’t even know what pewter you mean.’

  ‘Everything from my cupboard. It’s all gone.’

  ‘But…’ Augerus gaped. The sudden movement at his gut made him gabble quickly. ‘Look, I don’t have it. I couldn’t break into your room if I wanted to! Only Gerard could have done that. Your hall is locked, isn’t it? Who else could get in?’

  ‘Where has he put it, then?’

  ‘How should I know? Maybe he had an accomplice, who hid it himself?’

  Joce gasped angrily. ‘Bloody Art!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My servant. He hasn’t come home. It must have been him stole my stuff. Thieving shit! When I find him, I’ll make him eat his own tarse! I’ll hamstring him and make him crawl, the bastard! I’ll cut out his liver and eat it! I’ll—’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This Art – where is he? If he has the pewter, he can’t have gone far, can he?’

  Joce felt as though a cloud had passed and suddenly the sun was shining full on him. ‘Of course – I know where the bastard will be! Come on!’

  ‘I can’t. I must be ready to serve the abbot his midday meal.’

  ‘He can wait.’

  ‘You can kill me now, if you want. That will alert people to your guilt. Or you can force me to come with you, I suppose, but how would I explain my absence to the abbot? If I am caught, I…’ Augerus thought about threatening Joce, but the point of the knife was too noticeable. ‘…I cannot help you again, can I? It’s better that I stay inside the abbey and you go to find this fellow.’

  Joce held his gaze for a
moment. ‘Very well, but don’t forget: if I am caught, you will die too.’ He suddenly pulled the knife away and thrust it into the wood of a beam at the side of Augerus’ head, the edge nicking his ear.

  ‘If they catch me, Augie, I’ll get you first. So help me, you’ll feel this blade in your guts.’

  * * *

  Peter was unhappy to have been summoned to the abbot’s room again, but he was more concerned when he saw that Sir Baldwin and Simon were both there, the coroner too.

  The abbot waved the monk to a seat and began speaking before Peter was sitting.

  ‘When I spoke to you on Monday, you hinted that you had a good idea who might have been behind the theft of the pewterer’s plates.’

  ‘That is true, my Lord Abbot,’ Peter said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon the abbot himself and refusing to glance sideways at the other men.

  ‘How did you learn about the other small theft?’

  ‘I have heard mutterings from other guests, my Lord. Sometimes they have mentioned the loss of items to Ned the Horse, other times I have simply overheard them talking.’

  ‘In terms which would embarrass the abbey?’ the abbot shot out.

  ‘Never. If they had, I would have mentioned it to you, my Lord. I could do nothing that would harm you or the abbey.’

  ‘Then what did they say?’

  ‘Simply that the innkeeper in the last town had managed to take their stuff, or that they must have been careless in packing and left something by mistake. Never that they thought the abbey could be responsible. Until the pewterer.’

  ‘He noticed.’

  ‘Yes, because he had personally set the items beneath his bed the night before. He knew that they had been stolen from him.’

  ‘Why should you think you knew who had been responsible?’

  ‘Because, as you know, I can rarely sleep a full night. I waken, and cannot return to slumber. Rather than sit in my cot and listen to others snoring, I get up and walk about the court in prayer, or rest before the altar and pray.’

  ‘So you are often up and about when all others are asleep?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you have seen the thief?’

  ‘I did say that I wouldn’t confirm it to you, Lord, until I was sure that the culprit wouldn’t confess of his own volition.’

  ‘True. But since then a boy has disappeared and two men are dead. I begin to feel that matters are more pressing than one man’s decision to hold his tongue, no matter how moral was the basis of that decision,’ the abbot said sarcastically.

  ‘Very well, my Lord. I have often seen the boy Gerard wandering about during the night. It seemed odd to me.’

  ‘So he stole the items,’ the abbot said, shooting a look at Baldwin.

  The knight smiled thinly. The abbot believed that this was proof of the boy’s theft of the two plates found in his bed. Baldwin still doubted that.

  Peter continued. ‘I also saw how the plates were disposed of. I once observed Gerard hurrying from the guest rooms to your own lodgings here, Abbot.’

  ‘Here?’ Abbot Robert said with surprise.

  ‘Yes. And a few moments later, from the walkway at the top of the wall by the river, I saw a window open, and a small sack descend on a rope. It was collected.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Walwynus. I saw him quite clearly.’

  ‘And you did not see fit to tell me!’ Abbot Robert said coldly. ‘This is extraordinary! After all this abbey has done for you, this is how you repay us? Fortunately another brother saw fit to tell me!’

  ‘My Lord,’ Peter said calmly; ‘if I had told you then, it is likely that Wally would have simply denied the charge and accused me of wanting revenge – nothing more. You yourself would have been sorely troubled about my mind. And you would have questioned whether I could have seen the man that clearly at – what? – perhaps some fifty yards in the dark.’

  ‘You should have trusted me!’

  ‘And tested your confidence in me. Perhaps so. I’m afraid I chose the harder route. I sought to speak to the men responsible. And in Wally I found a ready ear. I fully believe that he felt his guilt and was prepared to redeem himself. I think that he was going to try to return the value of the metal to the abbey for you to do with as you saw fit. It is only sad that he died before he could do so.’

  ‘So you think that this deplorable boy had access to my lodgings and could pass the things to Wally from my own window?’

  ‘Unless he had help.’

  ‘From whom?’ Baldwin interjected. ‘You saw someone else during your ramblings at night?’

  ‘I did. Occasionally, recently, I have seen Brother Mark. I think he feared that I was observing him, for he hid a few times when I noticed him, but he was never quite swift enough.’

  ‘Brother Mark,’ Baldwin muttered, and looked at Simon.

  The bailiff said nothing. He was considering Peter with a slight frown on his face. Mark, he thought. Mark who had been seen up on the moors on the day Wally died, if Ellis could be believed. Mark, who had been ostentatiously putting away that syphon tube on the day that Simon had been taken to the empty wine barrel, as though showing that anyone could have taken the tube and had access to the wine. Mark, who hated the idea of stealing from the abbey, if his protestations meant anything.

  ‘At least we know that Wally did indeed try to bring back the pewter,’ he said, and he saw Peter close his eyes in a short prayer.

  When he opened them again, Peter turned them on Simon. ‘I am sure he did, and for that his soul deserves peace,’ he said calmly. Simon nodded, but his mind was already turned to another issue: the abbot had said that another brother had already told him about Gerard. Glancing at the abbot, Simon almost asked who it was, but his master’s expression did not invite such a question.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Nob had felt a great sympathy for the miner. As he raked the coals aside in his oven, he couldn’t help shaking his head and sniffing a little. Poor Hamelin! So he’d got hold of a load of money, and come back here to share it with his wife and try to save his son, and all he’d won was a dagger in the guts.

  It was a decent sum of money too, from what he’d heard Emma saying. Not that it could do him any good now.

  The night before, when he had taken the bailiff and others to Hamelin’s corpse, he had decided to make himself scarce. There was no advantage in being around when a coroner started doing his work, for that only led to fines and more expense. Instead he frowningly retreated while the three began their discussion and questioned the others in the area, until he arrived at the end of the alley, and there he turned and darted back to his own shop.

  Cissy was at her place by the bar, serving a couple of drunken yeomen, both recently thrown out of the tavern across the way, and she had looked up with an expression of thunder on her face as the two tottered clumsily from the shop, clutching their pies. ‘And where have you been all this time? Down at the alehouse again, I’ll bet. When will you ever grow up? You don’t need—’

  ‘Quiet, woman! I’ve not been near the alehouse.’ He took hold of her hand. ‘Hamelin is dead. I was there when he was found, stabbed.’

  Cissy went white. ‘Oh, poor Emma! What will she do now? I hope she still has all his money.’ Cissy pulled the table aside so that she could squeeze past. ‘I’ll have to go to her right away. You mind the shop, Nob. I’ll stay with her overnight and make sure she’s all right.’

  ‘All right, love. Off you go.’

  His wife had been as good as her word, and he had slept alone but for the companionship of his barrel. Now, this morning, his head felt a little furry, his mouth tasted sour, and he couldn’t help but burp every so often.

  Taking a drinking horn filled with ale through to the shop, he ensconced himself behind the table and pulled it back into place. Before long, Joce appeared at his door and demanded one of his meat-pies. Nothing loath, for Nob always liked to have someone to talk to, especially when he had a sore he
ad, he served Joce with the juiciest and plumpest one on the table.

  ‘Terrible days. First poor Wally, now Hamelin. Who’ll be next, eh?’

  ‘Where’s Cissy?’

  ‘She went off last night to help poor Emma.’

  Joce finished his pie and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Hamelin’s life or death had no interest for him. He was a cretin of a miner. A poor man who could achieve nothing but dig, dig, dig for tin. He might as well have been a serf. The man could be consumed by hellfire for all he cared. He grunted, ‘Have you seen my servant last night or today?’

  ‘What, young Art? No, why? Has he disappeared?’

  ‘Bastard’s vanished. Not there when I got home last night. There’s no food, nothing – and some little pieces of jewellery have gone missing, too. Small things, but enough.’

  Nob whistled. ‘You think he stole them? That’s bad, that is. Where could he have gone?’

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Joce repeated through gritted teeth.

  ‘No, but I’ll tell you if I do. Have you told the watch?’

  ‘Oh, damn them and you!’ Joce raged suddenly and stormed from the shop.

  All the pie-cooking fool could think about was that sick cretin Hamelin, as if the death of a miner was a matter of any consequence. And Cissy had run off to ‘help’ the widow, as though she could do anything useful. Emma was widowed, and that was it. Unless Cissy was prepared to offer her money, she would probably have to fall back on the support of the parish. Another damned pauper for men like Joce to maintain. As if there weren’t enough useless mouths to be fed.

  Like his little shit of a servant. That bastard would regret the day he was born, when Joce caught up with him. Not that it should be too difficult to track him down. Joce had a good idea where the lad was. He strode along the roadway, out past the middens on the northern road, and over the bridge to the eastern riverbank. Turning left, he followed the water until he came into view of a large pair of barns. Seeing the flames flickering between the trees, he walked more cautiously now, until he could get a good view of the men.