‘Who’s in there?’ I demanded of the captain who nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders.
‘No-one. The fire started and they all came out.’
‘All?’ I said. ‘Who exactly?’
‘The wife, the maid and the three children.’
‘No-one else? What about the man?’
He looked at me as though I were a simpleton. ‘You should know – he’s in the abbey lock-up.’
‘You’re sure?’ I asked. ‘He hasn’t been seen?’
‘Not by me.’ The captain looked at his men who all shook their heads and for a moment I was relieved. Maybe they had all got out. But Matilde had been alone when I saw her. She surely would not have left the children. And why would she say Isaac had come back if he hadn’t? Something was very wrong. I studied the house carefully. Smoke billowed from the upstairs windows now and the roof was sagging.
‘I think there are people in there,’ I said. ‘Maybe they got back in.’
But the captain replied impatiently, ‘I’m telling you they came out and no-one went back inside. Neither the front nor the back.’
‘But what about the side entrance?’
‘There is no side entrance.’
‘But there is, into the cellar.’
He frowned and shook his head. I leapt back to avoid a rush of flames and sparks that shot from the house as a wall collapsed inside. And then I suddenly had a vision of those people in York who had chosen death on their own terms rather than wait to be murdered. Somehow I knew Isaac planned something similar for himself.
‘How did the fire start?’ I asked the captain quickly.
‘How does any fire start? An accident. It’ll burn itself out soon enough.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘This isn’t right. I think they went back inside. I think Isaac ben Moy has escaped and has returned.’
The captain looked at me sceptically. ‘You want me to send a man to the abbey to check?’
I shook my head. ‘There’s no time. Please, captain. I’m certain I’m right. You must help. I beg you.’
But he was still reluctant to move apparently transfixed by the flames that were by now engulfing the entire roof and the upper floor. ‘I can’t risk my men over a hunch.’
Frustrated, I went over to the house and tried the door. The handle was red hot and I seared my hand.
‘It’s locked,’ I said. ‘Who waits to lock a burning house?’ I crouched and peered at the lock. ‘The key is inside. I tell you they’re in there,’ I barked trying the red hot handle again. Frantically, I turned to the watching crowd. ‘Will no-one do their Christian duty and help these people?’ I yelled at them, but although some shuffled awkwardly looking at their feet, no-one stepped forward. I implored the captain again. Tears of frustration welled up in my eyes not helped by the fire and smoke that grew more intense with every second and I had to step back further from the heat my burnt hand smarting badly. In desperation I turned to the captain one last time: ‘For the love of God!’
Something must at last have stirred in him and he set his jaw. ‘You!’ he barked at one of his men. ‘Find some buckets. And you help him!’ he said to another. ‘Get water from the horse troughs. Find rakes and a ladder. Don’t just stand there, move! And you two – over here. Get your lances in here under the lock. Move out of the way, brother, or the blast may consume you when the door falls out. Right, ready?’ he said to his men. ‘Heave!’
I stood back, coughing, to watch. In a moment they had the door open while other soldiers were pulling the burning thatch from the roof. It seemed an age but in fact it was barely a few minutes before they had the fire under control enough for the captain and me to get inside. My eyes and lungs stung from the smoke and heat and I had to hold my robe over my nose in order to breathe. Surely no-one could have survived in there. It was unrecognisable as the house I had last visited barely a week before. Everything was blackened, charred beyond recognition, choking fumes everywhere. At first I was relieved for there seemed no sign of anyone being in the mess, indeed, it would have been impossible for anyone to have survived in that heat and smoke.
And then I saw a sight that made my heart stop. There were people in there. Two blackened shapes in grotesque poses twisted further by the heat. I had no doubt they were Isaac and Rachel. They were lying together in the middle of what was the hall in a final embrace of death. But it wasn’t the fire that had killed them. As I bent to turn the bodies over I could make out enough of the remains to realise that Isaac and Rachel had both been stabbed through the heart, the knife that killed them still embedded in Isaac’s chest and the hand that wielded the knife, the unbandaged left one, still gripping the knife-handle. Clean deaths both of them.
I knelt in the middle of this carnage to weep and to pray. From behind me at the doorway I heard voices whispering in awe: ‘See, we were right. They have committed self-murder. Heathen bastards. Murdered the children as well, I shouldn’t wonder. Animals, they are.’
The words made me catch my breath. The children. Where were the children? I looked but could not see them. And a quick search of the rest of the house revealed nothing more. Jacob, Jessica and Josette were missing.
Chapter 19
THE HUNT FOR JACOB
Isaac and Rachel’s funerals were carried out the next day. This may seem like undue haste but under Jewish burial lore the body is a gift from God and must be returned to Him as soon as possible after death wrapped only in its tallit, or prayer shawl, so that the body is in direct contact with the earth. I was not able to be present at the funeral which in any case had to take place outside the walls of the town, but I sent one of the abbey servants along to keep a discreet eye out for the Moy children. He reported back that he saw no children even though he hung about the graveyard until late into the evening in case they came to pay their last respects.
The apparent rush also appealed to Samson who was keen to get the whole business wrapped up as quickly as possible.
‘Well, I suppose that more or less concludes the case,’ he said when I relayed the details of the funeral in his study.
‘Far from it,’ I countered. ‘Isaac’s death poses more questions than it answers.’ I was still very angry over what had happened and the pain from my burned hand wasn’t improving my mood.
Samson sighed heavily. ‘The man killed himself. I’d say that was pretty conclusive.’
‘Yes, I was meaning to ask about that,’ I said licking my lips. ‘How exactly did he manage to break out of gaol, given that we’d crippled him? I wasn’t able to do it and I had four fully functioning limbs - at least, I did when I was put in there.’ I lifted my bandaged hand in the make-shift sling that Gilbert had tied for me.
‘Bribery,’ said Samson. ‘He paid the gaoler.’
‘Nonsense!’ I snorted. I couldn’t say so because I had no proof but I strongly suspected someone had deliberately let him out knowing what he was likely to do.
Samson was beginning to lose patience with me. ‘Walter, you cannot carry on defending a dead man. It’s irrational. I know we cannot say for certain that he was little Matthew’s killer but we do know he murdered his wife and that he committed self-murder. In most people’s eyes that is tantamount to a confession.’
My jaw dropped open in incredulity. ‘How on earth do you make that equation?’
He held out an entreating hand. ‘Because if he’d been innocent he would have waited for the bandages to be removed at which point he would have been exonerated – by the divine judgement of Almighty God. The fact that he chose not to wait can only be because he knew the verdict would be guilty.’ Samson smacked his outstretched hand down resolutely on the desktop signalling an end to the discussion. He sighed sadly. ‘This has all been a trying experience for everyone involved. Naturally we will pray for the souls of the dead – all of them – but then we must move on.’
Oh yes, I could quite see how eager Samson would be to draw a line under the affair. With Isaac dead the town will settle down
again, the abbey will get its new saint to further swell the pilgrim purse and - most importantly from Samson’s point of view - King John will have no reason to remain here consuming the abbey’s resources.
‘And the Jews will get the blame yet again,’ I muttered finishing my mental list of consequences. ‘A result that I’m sure will not displease your grace.’
He shot me look of impatience. ‘Brother Walter, I have been willing to overlook your impertinence because you are plainly upset. But I would remind you who I am, and that is not one of your medical students. Do not test my patience too far. You have a laudably compassionate nature that has led you to sympathize with the plight of this man and his family. That is perfectly understandable especially given your own family circumstances. But you mustn’t allow your private prejudices to cloud your professional judgement.’
By my “family circumstances” I took him to mean my relationship to Joseph but that had nothing to do with my belief that what we had witnessed was a gross miscarriage of justice.
‘My prejudices!’ I sneered contemptuously.
‘Face facts man!’ he barked back angrily. ‘We are in a life and death struggle here against the forces of Satan. Christ’s enemies are many and everywhere - damn it, what do you think this place exists for?’ He held out his arms to encompass the entire Benedictine Foundation of Saint Edmund, King and Martyr. ‘The blessed Edmund himself died fighting the heathen and we continue that fight in his name, here as much as in the Holy Land. That is my priority and as an ordained member of Christ’s holy army it should be your priority too, not the fate of one unbelieving Jew.’
He glared up at me from his seat behind the desk and I have to admit I was momentarily humbled by his words, enough at least to lower my eyes and bow my head dutifully. He was reminding me that I had solemnly given up everything - kith, kin, home and hearth, even my own will and desires - when I took the cowl and devoted my life to the service of Christ. I must never forget that simple fact.
‘You are right father, of course. I spoke out of turn. Please forgive me.’
‘Hm,’ he nodded rubbing his chin with his beefy hand. He scowled painfully. ‘Walter, I have no wish to chastise you. You have done a splendid job, arrived at a solution – the right solution. But you are tired and you are injured.’ He nodded at my bandaged hand then looked at my feet. ‘And I see you’ve also ripped your boot.’ He tutted. ‘How on earth did you manage to do that?’
I looked down and smiled. ‘Running to the fire, I expect.’ I hadn’t noticed it before.
He shook his pink and white tonsured head kindly. ‘It seems that every time you appear before me you’ve had some new mishap. You need to rest. That is why I want you to go to Thetford for a while. The Sisters of Saint George will minister to you. I’ve had a word with the Prioress who is a good friend. She is in full agreement.’
‘Oh, but father -’
He held up his hand. ‘No more arguments. I have told you the matter is closed. And this is not a request, it is a command. As your spiritual father I have to do what I think is best for you. You will go to Thetford. The weekly dispatch of supplies will leave for the nunnery in a day or two, you can travel with it.’ He started to rise.
‘What about the money in the casket?’ I said quickly.
He sighed. ‘What about it?’
‘Isaac entrusted it to me to pass on to his survivors should anything happen to him. His three children did not die with their parents in the house. They are still alive somewhere and should have it. They will be destitute without it.’
Samson shook his head. ‘Out of the question.’
‘But your grace -’
‘You said it yourself Walter, there were two involved in this murder. If the father was one then the son must be the other. Until Jacob Moy is found and is either convicted or cleared of the crime he remains a fugitive – and that means he cannot inherit from his father. The casket remains here in the abbey treasury.’
It was an obscene conclusion to draw. ‘Jacob an outlaw?’ I scoffed, suddenly angry again. ‘The boy is barely fourteen.’
‘Old enough,’ sniffed Samson. He looked at me. ‘I’m sorry Walter, that is the law. Jacob Moy is the only remaining suspect in a capital crime. He stands accused and must answer the charge.’
‘The law, oh yes, the law,’ I said bitterly. ‘But what about justice? We hounded his parents to their death and we are still hounding their son.’
‘He can have justice,’ said Samson. ‘Here, in my court. But first he must give himself up. The matter is out of my hands.’ He gave me a look that told me it was futile to persist.
I pursed my lips. ‘Let me at least hold the casket for him. I can do it as well as the treasury.’
‘Like you did last time.’
‘It was his father’s last wish. I swear I will not give it to him until he is proved innocent and will do all I can to encourage his surrender to your grace’s mercy. But I beg you, allow me to do this one last thing for him.’
Samson hesitated. ‘Strictly speaking all Isaac Moy’s assets now belong to the King.’ He stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘But I doubt anyone has told him about the casket. Oh, I daresay we can make an exception in this case - as a gesture of Christian charity. All right, you hang on to the casket for the present. But mark me Walter, you are forbidden to give it to the boy or to aid him in any way while he remains a fugitive. If you do you will be committing couthutlaugh and that means you may legally be banished yourself. If you see him you are to arrest him, understood? I have your solemn oath on that?’
Reluctantly, I agreed.
At that his manner softened as he led me to the door. ‘If it’s any comfort, I doubt the boy will ever be found. And I daresay the King will be wanting to leave now that the matter is resolved, Deo gratias. By the time you get back from Thetford he and his entourage should be long gone, all this unpleasant business will be forgotten and we can start getting back to normality, for which blessing I for one will offer thanks to God Almighty.’
Since the King’s departing entourage would include the appalling Geoffrey de Saye, I said a heart-felt Amen to that myself.
*
‘He gave you the c-casket, then,’ said Jocelin who had been waiting for me outside Samson’s office. ‘I m-must say I’m surprised.’
‘Yes,’ I nodded cradling the damaged box under my good left arm. ‘He gave in a little too easily I think. I imagine Samson will be putting a watch on my cell to see if Jacob tries to retrieve it.’
Jocelin’s eyes lit up. ‘You could k-keep it in my office. Samson won’t think to set his spies there. A-and it would be safer than your cell – b-bearing in mind it was already lost from there, I mean.’ He looked away shyly. ‘Th-that’s if you w-want to.’
I hesitated but realised there could hardly be a more secure place in the abbey to keep it with all those locks and bolts. It was just a pity I hadn’t put it there when I first got it.
‘Are you sure you want the responsibility? Samson would be furious if he knew. I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.’
‘That’s all right,’ he grinned. ‘I enjoy frustrating Father Abbot occasionally. It is a game we have played b-before.’
I looked askance at him. There really was more depth to his character than I had given him credit for.
‘B-but the casket is only half of it,’ he continued. ‘The testament is still m-missing.’
‘I know.’ I looked at him hard. ‘You haven’t mentioned it to Samson, have you?’
He shook his head. ‘I said I wouldn’t and I haven’t.’
‘Thank you. You and I are the only ones who know about it.’
‘And the thief,’ reminded Jocelin.
‘Oh yes, of course the thief. Mustn’t forget him.’
‘You think it’s your f-friend, Geoffrey de Saye?’
‘He’s no friend of mine.’
‘What exactly is it he has against you?’ Jocelin asked as we walked to his office.
‘I don’t know and I don’t suppose I shall ever find out now. Samson wants me to go to Thetford. I think he’d like me to stay there until de Saye has left Bury with the King.’
‘S-so he considers the m-murder solved?’
‘He certainly wishes it so. With Isaac dead and Jacob missing it does look as though everybody’s suspicions have been confirmed. But I’m not so sure. If Samson really believed Jacob was the accomplice he would be raising a hue and cry for him right now. As it is, he’s only had Jacob declared an outlaw.’
‘That was to be expected.’ Jocelin unlocked his office door and pushed it open for me to enter ahead of him. ‘I d-don’t think he had any choice. A-and the evidence does seem compelling. Matthew was a frequent visitor to the Moy house, there’s n-no disputing that. And you have a witness confirming that M-matthew and Jacob were together on the night of his murder. We agreed that it needed two people and now Jacob has gone m-missing. Add to that the fact that Isaac made arrangements in anticipation that he would not be around for very long, wh-which could be interpreted as another indication of guilt. It all makes a forceful case for Isaac and Jacob committing the murder together, f-father and son.’
‘Yes yes, everything you say is true. But still it doesn’t add up. You said yourself what a strong young man Matthew must have been. He wasn’t a pre-pubescent child like the other boy martyrs. You’ve seen Jacob, too. Picture them side by side. Matthew towers above Jacob. Can you really see Jacob holding Matthew’s arms down and Isaac slicing through his neck? Or perhaps Isaac doing the holding down and Jacob wielding the knife?’ I shook my head. ‘No, I think the real killers are still out there, and from Samson’s reaction I think he does, too.’
*
It was a mess and I was largely responsible for it. If I hadn’t lost that blessed casket in the first place I might have been able to give it to Jacob and he could be far away, with his father’s family in Norwich if he had any sense. That, at least, would be some justice. But where was he? And where were his sisters? Were they even together? They surely couldn’t be living wild in the forest, the usual refuge of outcasts. I decided I had to tackle Matilde again. If anyone knew where the children were she would. With the Moy house burnt down she’d had nowhere to go. I’d found her in the infirmary garden sitting forlornly on her giant valise. Out of compassion I’d sent her to Thibaut, the sub-almoner, who was technically my assistant since in addition to all my other duties I was also the almoner, although in practise Thibaut did most of the work of ministering to the poor. He was the obvious person to look after her now until she could find somewhere else. Although born here in England both Thibaut’s parents were from Angoulême in the middle of France so he spoke both oc and oïl forms of French. The almoner’s office was behind the abbey church near the infirmary so that was where I headed.
Unholy Innocence Page 22
