‘But the pewter didn’t reappear,’ Simon said.
‘No,’ Mark said sadly. ‘Wally died, and the metal was not found. I thought that was a judgement on him by God, and I was content to leave the matter in His hands.’
‘What of Hamelin?’
‘I know nothing about his death.’
‘Even though you hated him?’ Baldwin pressed him.
‘I didn’t hate him, as you put it. He was an embarrassment, a reminder of the sinful life I once led, but that was all.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Art looked out from the cart’s back as it rattled and thumped over the moors.
‘Are you all right, boy?’ Rudolf asked.
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Don’t call me that, boy. We’re all freemen here. None of us is owned by a master. That was what we Swiss fought for at Morgarten. Now you are with us, you are safe.’
Art heard his words, but they were so momentous that he found it hard to believe Rudolf. ‘I can work my way, sir.’
He saw the flash of teeth, but there was no answer. Art was partly terrified of this calm, tanned foreigner, but he was also filled with admiration. The man seemed so confident and assured. So too was Joce, Art thought, but Joce was cruel, often for the sake of it, while this Rudolf with his funny accent and voice had shown no desire to beat him yet.
The man who had caught him brought him straight to this Rudolf, who questioned him carefully, but plainly decided that there was no harm in him, and passed Art to his woman, who undressed him and gave him a fresh, clean, overlarge tunic and gown while his own clothes were taken away and beaten in the waters of a stream. While the clothes were being dealt with, a youth gave him a big wooden bowl filled with large pieces of meat in a rich, peppery gravy. Art devoured it with gusto, running his fingers around the bowl to collect the last vestiges.
Then the bailiff and the others arrived. Art cowered in terror, thinking that they had come to take him back, for all knew how powerful Joce was, but Anna had passed him in among the women with their children, pushing him down until he squatted, invisible, in their midst.
It was a miracle that he had not been found, but then he could hear most of the conversation, and it was plain that they weren’t after him as he feared, but instead were still trying to learn what had happened when Wally died. It almost made him want to cry out in relief.
He was safe, he thought. Joce would find another young servant boy to abuse and beat, and Art would take up his new life as a sailor. Soon, very soon, he must make his fortune. All sailors did, he understood. As he was considering the advantages of this, he heard a muttered curse from Rudolf, and looking back the way they had come, he saw the distant figure of a man walking quickly towards them.
For some reason a feeling of awe and hatred welled up in his breast, although he had no idea at this distance whom this walking man might be. There was just something, in his gait, or the set of his head, or simply the aggressive stance in which he stalked forwards, as though he was attacking the roadway in order to subjugate it, that gave his identity away.
‘Sweet Jesu!’ Art whimpered.
He could see it all now. Joce had refused to accept his going. Joce wanted him back, would drag him, screaming, to the house, and once in there, Art knew that all the pain and indignities he had suffered before would be as nothing. For running away, he would be forced to endure the cruellest tortures his master could conceive.
Art gave an inarticulate cry and drew back into the security of the cart.
Rudolf glanced at him in surprise, then jerked his head. ‘Your master?’
‘Yes!’ It was little more than a whisper. Art’s eyes were fixed upon the steadily approaching figure.
‘You are safe with us,’ Rudolf said calmly.
‘He will kill me!’
‘No.’
Joce was in earshot now, and he bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘Hold! Stop those carts!’
Rudolf, hearing his command, muttered in German to Welf, ‘The bastard thinks he can order us around like English peasants!’
‘I said stop the carts! I must speak to you!’
To Joce’s relief the cavalcade drew to a halt, the men and women separating and the men forming a line at the rear of their column.
He was bone tired now: The horse had collapsed near Sharpitor, and he had been forced to make his way on foot after that. At least he’d been in luck so far. He wondered whether Jack the sergeant had been the last of a line of men searching for him, because after killing him, he had seen no more evidence of a man-hunt on his trail. Perhaps he had escaped after all, he thought. Certainly this stranger with the thick accent seemed to pose no danger. If anything, he looked a bit stupid.
‘You are welcome, sir,’ Rudolf called, emphasizing his accent. It was always useful to be able to deny comprehension when necessary, he found. ‘How may we serve you?’
‘May I crave your generosity? I have been robbed, and my food and water were stolen. Could I share a little of your food with you?’
‘Certainly, sir. It is poor fare for a gentleman. Still, you are welcome to share what we have,’ Rudolf said.
Joce smiled, although he was thinking that this man was a fool. He would eat with them, drink with them, and then, when all was dark and these ignorant foreigners were asleep, he would take the pewter. Perhaps someone might wake – well, if they did, Joce would enjoy setting his blade across the man’s throat. It would be pleasant to kill again. There were many of them, and only one of him – but that didn’t concern Joce. He knew he was more than equal to them.
* * *
Coroner Roger lunged at the runaway horse and hauled on its reins, almost unseating himself as the wild animal pulled him and his own horse along. ‘I have it!’ he roared gleefully as he drew it to a slower pace, then to a canter, leaning over to pat the beast’s neck, wiping some of the foam and froth away.
‘This is my sergeant’s mount,’ Sir Tristram said with icy calm.
‘Is he the sort of man to lose his horse?’ the coroner asked, but even as he spoke his eyes caught sight of the stain, ‘Blood.’
‘Christ Jesus!’ The blasphemy was deserved. All along the horse’s flank was a great gout of blood.
‘I fear your man is dead,’ Coroner Roger said soberly.
‘Up there! Ah, by the devil’s cods, he must have got past all the men! Jack was up there as a last line to stop him. If he cut Jack down, he could be anywhere.’
‘Not anywhere,’ Roger said thoughtfully. ‘There are not that many paths from here. And the ground is quite damp. Let’s see if we can find out where he has gone.’
They left the runaway horse with another of Sir Tristram’s men and made their way back up the hill. The hoofprints were clear enough, for the horse had galloped wildly, each steel horseshoe cutting deeply into the soft, well-cropped grass, and they had no need of a tracker. They could ride at a gentle canter until they came to the body.
‘Dear God!’ Sir Tristram said with disgust.
‘It’s your man?’ the coroner asked.
‘Yes. That looks like Jack’s body. But where’s his head?’ Coroner Roger jumped lightly from his horse and left the corpse, walking along the hoofprints until he came to a place where the blood lay thickly. ‘Here it is,’ he said, picking up Jack’s head. He set it with the body and gazed east. ‘That’s his direction. He’s going to Ashburton.’
‘Then let’s be after him!’ Sir Tristram grated. ‘I want his head.’
* * *
Simon and Baldwin entered the abbot’s lodging after him, and while Abbot Robert roared for his steward, the two sat in chairs near his table. When Augerus hurried inside, he was instantly sent out again to fetch wine. Meanwhile the abbot instructed a messenger to collect Brother Peter.
That monk, when he entered, found himself being gazed at by the stern quartet of the abbot, Baldwin, Simon, and Mark; the latter wore the most savage expression of them all, as though, Peter thought priv
ately, he was determined to outdo all the others in righteous indignation.
‘My Lord Abbot, you asked for me?’ Peter asked, with apparent surprise. He had been warned, but their expressions were fearsome.
Augerus entered behind him, and now stood contemplating him with some surprise, a tray of cups and wine in his hands.
‘Wake up, Steward!’ the abbot snapped. ‘Serve us. Brother Peter, I have had some alarming news. It is said that you knew who was stealing from me; that you have known for some time.’
Peter sniffed, his brows lifted. ‘It is true that I guessed, as you know, but I couldn’t swear to know for certain.’
‘How did you guess?’ the abbot demanded, his face darkening.
‘My Lord Abbot, as I told you before, I saw Gerard and also Wally, taking goods. Thus when I spoke to Wally, his part was known to me, and he swore he’d fetch back the pewter.’
‘Brother Mark has said he thinks you were helping the thieves. Is this so?’ the abbot rapped out.
‘No, it most certainly is not. I knew he was about, and for a short while I did wonder whether he could be involved, but now it seems—’
‘You decided he was not?’ Simon prompted.
Peter glanced at Mark with an apologetic smile. ‘It is hard to imagine someone less suited to clandestine work. He would always be too drunk later in the evening to be able to perform any quiet or secret operation without discovery.’
‘He was able to perform one,’ Simon said.
‘Oh, stealing the wine, yes,’ Peter said dismissively. ‘That was simple enough, though. Mark likes his drink too much to be able to leave it alone, and it was easy for him to persuade Augerus to get drunk with him one night, and then, when Augerus’ wits were entirely fuddled, get him to open up the undercroft and permit him to taste the wines.’
‘You knew of this?’ the abbot said.
Peter shrugged uneasily. ‘I thought you yourself knew. Otherwise I shouldn’t have spoken. It is a matter for Mark and God. Not me.’
The abbot slowly turned and stared at his salsarius. ‘I shall wish to speak with you, Brother,’ he said heavily before facing Peter again. ‘You say that Augerus let him in to drink my wine?’
‘I saw them.’
Augerus felt Abbot Robert’s eyes turn upon him, and hastily gabbled, ‘I am sorry, my Lord, but if I did let him in, it was because I was too drunk to realise! I could scarcely have wanted to let him in to take all your wine.’
‘Four times in a week?’ Peter murmured in surprise. ‘You must have been extremely drunk, Augerus.’
‘Is this true?’ the abbot snarled. ‘You went to enjoy private parties in my undercroft each night?’
‘My Lord, I don’t know. All I know is, I woke up one morning and Mark there told me that I must replace all the wine from one barrel because he had finished it, and you had announced your imminent return. Oh, my Lord, don’t scold me and punish me for weakness – rather, punish the man who brought me down.’
‘What have you to say, Mark?’ the abbot said.
The monk noted the absence of the fraternal title. ‘My Lord, I cannot lie to you. I did enjoy your wine. But that is all I have done, and I did tell you about Gerard. I couldn’t bring shame to this abbey. I believe that Gerard was not alone in stealing. I believe he had an ally within who helped him pass the pewter out to Wally.’
‘That is something that troubled me,’ Simon said. ‘How would Gerard have come to know Wally? Surely someone would have needed to introduce them? And then, how would Gerard have gained access to the lodgings here? Would he not have found the doors barred and locked?’
‘Yes,’ the abbot said with a frown. ‘In your drunkenness, you must have left the doors open, Augerus.’
‘Perhaps that is why Mark insisted on ensuring I was drunk, my Lord,’ Augerus said with a shocked expression. ‘He wanted to give Gerard access to the rooms so that he could pass the stolen things to Wally.’
Simon chuckled. ‘This is a fine muddle, my Lord. But we do know some facts. First, that Mark can be persuaded to accept a drink of any sort.’ He ignored a huffy grunt from the salsarius. ‘Second, that it would be easy for Gerard to get in here, if he had an accomplice inside your lodgings. We also know that the thefts were tied to Wally’s death, and that Hamelin also died because of the thefts.’
‘Why?’
‘Hamelin had been given the money, but I think that the money was a secondary motive. If his killer had found it, he would have kept it, but the money itself wasn’t the reason for the murder. I think he had to die because he saw Mark up at Wally’s house that day. But Ellis saw two monks. We know what Mark was doing, he was trying to force Wally to bring back the pewter, but what about the other man? We know Peter was on the moors – but what if there was a third? Perhaps Hamelin saw him too. And which other monk was not in the abbey that day? Augerus.’
‘But I was here!’ The steward looked indignant.
‘The groom said he could get no ale that day. We know he couldn’t go to Mark, but all monks would surely come and ask you for some, if he wasn’t about. Yet no one could find you either.’
‘It’s not true!’
‘Hamelin was killed in case he spoke later,’ Simon continued sternly. ‘You murdered him, leaving his wife a widow and his children orphaned. How could you do that?’
‘My Lord Abbot, what can I say?’
‘In God’s name, just tell me the truth!’ the abbot stormed. ‘You have thrown away your honour and integrity and become no more than a felon! You captured an innocent boy and forced him to do your bidding, didn’t you? Why?’
‘I was scared!’
‘Scared of what?’
Augerus began weeping. He knew it was pathetic, but that was how he felt. Feeble and useless. For many years he had been a capable servant, but now all was lost, and all because of his fear of the man who had bullied him as a schoolboy.
‘Joce Blakemoor was at school with me, and he beat me. Broke my nose until it gushed. He came to me some time ago and said that he would cripple me if I didn’t help him. He needed money badly, and I didn’t dare argue. He said he’d make me look worse than Peter. I couldn’t stand up to him. He was always bigger than me.’
‘You could have told me,’ the abbot said.
‘He swore he’d kill me if I said a word to anyone.’
Simon said, ‘You must have known he couldn’t murder you without suffering the consequences.’
‘What would the consequences matter to me? I’d be dead, wouldn’t I? You speak as if he’s a rational man! He’s not, he’s evil. He could be a novice demon. The devil’s own acolyte.’
‘You forced Gerard to steal.’
‘Only a little. I had to do something,’ Augerus wailed.
‘And harmed his soul as well as your own!’
‘Is there no one among my Brothers whom I can trust?’ Abbot Robert demanded.
‘You can trust me, Abbot! Please, don’t send me away. Joce’ll have me killed, and—’
Simon gave a low, scornful laugh. ‘You are sad and fearful now, Augerus, but you brutally murdered Wally, didn’t you? Why did you do that?’
‘You have said, to get back the pewter or the money for the abbey,’ Augerus said, shaking his head as though sadly.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Simon said. ‘Baldwin and I have already heard that Wally diddled his associate out of a tiny part of his share in the proceeds of the crimes.’
‘A tiny part? It was a whole shilling!’ the steward expostulated.
‘I think,’ Simon said with a faint smile, facing the abbot, ‘that that is your answer. The first murder was for one shilling. The second was for less; it was purely to protect the murderer from the consequences of his first murder.’
‘No, my Lord Abbot! You can’t believe the strange stories told by this bailiff!’ Augerus babbled. ‘Are you going to convict me on his word? Please, I beg, let me—’
‘You shall have to live out a penance,’ Abb
ot Robert said, ignoring his plea. ‘I shall consider it. In the meantime, you shall remain under guard. You can go to the church and begin to pray to God for His forgiveness. When your brother monks are called to the church, you will lie across the doorway so that all can step over you. You, Augerus, are contemptible!’
* * *
After eating the food Rudolf brought to him, Joce sat down and talked to the Swiss in a carefully genial manner, waiting for a suitable moment to mention the pewter. If he could, he wanted to learn in which wagon it had been stored, but somehow the foreigner didn’t understand English well enough. Every time Joce tried to direct the conversation back towards the town and tin, or pewter, Rudolf began to speak about the mountains in his homelands, or the freedom which the men of the Forest Cantons enjoyed. Every man free, none a slave.
All the while the carts sat so close. They had the look of being well-filled, their wheels sinking and creating ruts in the path, and Joce longed to go to them, to hurl their contents to the ground, to destroy, to torture or kill, but mainly to find that metal. He must find it! It was his guarantee of free passage and a new life.
As the light faded, and twilight quickly overtook the moors, he watched the travellers carefully. It seemed to him that the folk were avoiding him, other than Rudolf himself, and he sat a little too far from Joce for the receiver to be able to grab him with any confidence of keeping hold as well as drawing his dagger. He was tempted to try to move closer, but somehow he felt that Rudolf would notice and could consider it to be a threat. In preference, Joce might reach to pull off a boot. A man without a boot, he reasoned, looked ungainly and unthreatening. He could lean forward once the boot was off, as though peering inside it, and then throw it at Rudolf, distracting the man, and while he was catching the boot, or pushing it away, Joce could draw his dagger and put it to Rudolf’s throat. That would give him a chance to demand the pewter, and then he could take a horse and ride off.
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