Unholy Innocence

by Stephen Wheeler

  *

  I found both my targets in the almoner’s lodge. Thibaut was on his knees on the floor clearing up a mess of cooked rice while Matilde sat rocking on the only chair weeping profusely into her smock as no doubt she had been doing ever since she arrived, her enormous valise propped up in a corner.

  On seeing me Thibaut pulled a face conveying what I had suspected, that he was just about at the end of his tether with the wailing Matilde. I tried to smile reassuringly at her.

  ‘She refuses to eat,’ he said sadly. ‘I keep giving her food but she just leaves it to one side and I come back later to find half of it on the floor.’ He shook his head looking at the upturned bowl.

  ‘Has she said anything?’ I asked him.

  ‘Oh, loads, but nothing that’s made much sense. She’s completely batty.’

  I gestured to him to temper his comments in front of Matilde. He made a mooing sound. ‘I shouldn’t worry; I don’t think she understands much English. In fact the French she speaks is very strange too, rather like I imagine was spoken a hundred years ago.’ He smiled condescendingly at the grizzling Matilde who eyed him mournfully.

  ‘I think that’s because she learnt it from her mother who learnt it from her mother,’ I said rolling a figure eight in the air to indicate infinity.

  ‘Ah, that would explain it,’ nodded Thibaut. ‘It’s really most peculiar. Do you know what word she uses for “dinner”? It’s -’

  ‘Yes, that’s all very interesting,’ I interrupted him. ‘But have you heard her mention the name “Jacob” at all?’

  He frowned and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Mind you, she could have done for all I know. I was asking her about -’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry to keep interrupting, brother, but I really have very little time. Do you think your French is up to asking her a few questions if I put them to you in English first?’

  His eyes lit up enthusiastically. ‘We could certainly give it a try.’

  So we began. I gave Thibaut the questions I wanted answered in English, he translated them into Northern French. Matilde gave her answers in her own idiosyncratic version of French and then Thibaut translated the answers back into English for me. It was a tortuously slow process made all the more difficult because Matilde was weeping so much and tended to blub her answers. Plus the fact that she liked to embellish her responses with copious meditative ramblings that had nothing whatever to do with the questions and in which Thibaut got hopelessly lost. I gathered, however, that she did not know where the children were and could not offer a suggestion where they might have gone. Trying to get from her any further insight into Matthew’s visits, in particular the last visit on the day before he died, was even more fruitless although she did confirm that it was Jacob he had come to see, not Isaac which corroborated what Sir Richard had told me. I got the distinct impression that she was on her guard with her answers. But the one thing she did let slip was that Jacob had gone out with Matthew only reluctantly that evening.

  ‘Well,’ said Thibaut scratching his youthful and stubbly pate, ‘I hope you got more out of that than I did.’

  ‘Yes, quite possibly,’ I said vaguely. ‘Er, thank you brother. And thank you,’ I said at Matilde.

  ‘Pah!’ she snorted. ‘There is no need to yell I am not deaf.’ And then in a very thick accent: ‘And I speak better English than he speaks French,’ she said jabbing an index finger at Thibaut.

  ‘Well I’m blessed!’ said Thibaut grinning all over his face. ‘She understood after all, the crafty old French maid.’

  ‘What will you do with her?’ I asked when we were out of earshot. ‘She’s nowhere to go.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Thibaut. ‘We don’t really have the facilities to deal with a woman. I’ve put her in the infirmary for now. I’ve screened off a corner next to old Osbert. He’s blind and a bit gaga so he probably won’t notice. Hugh is being terribly sweet about it but he won’t like his infirmary disturbed for too long. I fear we will need to make alternative arrangements soon – before the next bleeding when we will need all the beds.’

  ‘Thank you, brother,’ I said. ‘I will speak to the Abbot when I can and see what can be done with her. But if you would indulge her a while longer I would be grateful.’

  As I was leaving, Matilde muttered one more thing in French that made Thibaut spin round.

  ‘What did she say?’ I asked.

  He looked a little reluctant to tell me but in the end he did: ‘She said it was your fault they died. The Moys, she means.’ He gave an embarrassed grin. ‘Sorry.’

  *

  I couldn’t face going back to my cell knowing Samson’s spies would be watching. Instead, I walked down to the river between the fish ponds on one bank and the vineyard on the other. It was a relatively peaceful part of the abbey grounds where I often went to think and pray. Given space and time the mind often comes up with answers which in any other circumstance would seem insoluble. As I gazed across the river at the serried ranks of the vines I once again had the feeling that I was being watched but this time by someone clumsier than on previous occasions. One of Samson’s spies, perhaps? A pretty inept one if it was. I could distinctly hear rustling in the bushes above my head which stopped when I stopped and started again when I moved. I paused by a small outcrop of woodbine, probably some that had escaped from the Abbot’s garden, and pretended to enjoy its fragrance. Without turning my head, I said, ‘It’s a pity I cannot reach you from here or I would have to detain you. I am sworn to do so.’

  There was a pause. I had never heard Jacob’s voice before but as soon as he spoke I knew it was him. ‘I didn’t do it, brother. I didn’t kill Matthew. Nor did my father.’

  ‘But you know who did,’ I suggested squinting across the river.

  Another pause. ‘No-one will believe me.’

  ‘If you are telling the truth they will. Come with me to the Abbot. You are in mortal danger while you remain abroad. You have been declared an outlaw. Do you know what that means? It means I cannot give you aid and anyone can take your life at any time without penalty. If you are truly innocent then let the law deal with it. I promise you will come to no harm. You have my word.’

  I could hear him breathing and, I thought, crying. I was forgetting in all this his vulnerable age. It reinforced my view that he was not the murderer. He was barely two feet behind me, now. I could easily have made a grab for him. I had given Samson my oath to do so if I saw him, but so long as I stared at the vines on the opposite bank of the river and did not turn round I could not see him.

  ‘Father said it will be my word against his,’ he said when he’d recovered sufficiently. ‘And if he escapes justice a second time then my life will be in danger, and those of my sisters. We will be hunted. He will never rest. So you see, brother, it makes no difference that I am declared outlaw. I am already dead.’

  ‘Who will never rest?’ I blurted in my frustration, but he remained silent. ‘All right, if you won’t tell me who then at least tell me why. What hold did Matthew have over you?’

  ‘I cannot tell you that either.’

  I nearly turned around but stopped myself in time. ‘In the name of God why not? If you were being coerced then it will be evidence in your favour. We can protect you. I will protect you.’

  He hesitated but finally he said, ‘Father said you are an honourable man. But he also said you must find the evidence yourself. Only then will you be believed.’ There was a rustle of leaves.

  ‘No wait,’ I said. ‘I have your father’s money for you. Jacob!’ I darted into the bushes after him, but he had already gone.

  He said I needed to seek out the evidence for myself. That was what he had risked capture to come and tell me, not to give up. If I’d been waiting for inspiration out there among the fishes and the vines then that was it. I knew now what I had to do the next day and who I had to see.

  Chapter 20

  THE MIST BEGINS TO CLEAR

  Saturday 19th June dawned br
ight and early. It was one of the longest days of the year, practically the longest. I have no idea why days grow longer then shorter and then longer again with unerring regularity although I fancy it can only be God’s gentle ordering of the universe like the rhythmic breathing in and out of the body reminding us that all Creation is connected by but a single thought. I’m sure Joseph has other explanations gleaned, no doubt, from the ancient wise men of Greece and the East which he studies assiduously and is always quoting. I often wonder if Joseph’s wise men were from the same tribe as the three who had followed the star to Bethlehem. It would seem likely to me for surely the Magi would not have been the only ones, though unquestionably the wisest. I wonder where that tribe is now or whether the wars in the Holy Land have destroyed them. We could use their council now for so much of the world is in turmoil that I fear the Day of Judgement itself will be upon us before God finally reveals His true purpose for mankind. That day, surely, cannot now be long in coming for all the signs favour it. In the meantime all we can do is live each day as it comes and try to solve our own puny man-made problems as best we can.

  With this purpose in mind I set off shortly after lauds when the sun was already well above the horizon. It didn’t take me long to reach my destination. I lifted the latch of the garden gate and walked up the path. Matthew’s mother was just coming out of the house carrying a basket of washing. She stopped when she saw me approaching and put the basket down on the ground.

  ‘I was wondering when I’d see you again,’ she said straightening her skirts. ‘You’d better come in.’

  I followed her into the house where she stood with her back to the far wall and waited. With the daylight flooding through the open door I saw again what I’d seen at the trial: From the set of her mouth, the coldness of her eye, I could see that she was a hard woman - or perhaps hardened would be a more generous description, a woman accustomed to making difficult choices. But then, who could blame her? In this forlorn, isolated place what prospects had she, a woman of perhaps forty summers, widowed with five young children to support? Fulling is heavy work, as Jocelin so graphically pointed out, man’s work. With her husband and eldest son both dead and five hungry mouths to feed she would have little prospect of finding another husband. I had had a charmed and trouble-free life so who was I to judge? What would I know of the struggles a woman in her position was likely to have to bear and the daily decisions she would have to make just to survive?

  The five little ones were grouped now on the one big bed that filled half the room, as they had been last time, wide-eyed and silent - oddly silent it occurred to me now - and I wondered why they were not out in the yard playing in the morning sunshine. I went over to them, smiling, but they did not smile back but stared at me with doleful eyes.

  ‘When I was last here,’ I said to their mother, ‘you told me these little mites wouldn’t starve. Why were you so sure?’

  She linked her hands in front of her and lifted her shoulders. ‘God will provide.’

  The slick answer made me smile. ‘Indeed,’ I nodded, ‘but in addition you are being maintained, are you not? Someone is giving you money. Who, I wonder? Not the monks who were here last time. They paid you a fee to sign that absurd oath, but that won’t last long. So where is the rest coming from?’ I waited but she did not reply. ‘Your silence does you no credit, mother.’

  ‘People are generous,’ she sniffed. ‘They know my situation.’

  ‘If you are in need of alms I can help,’ I offered. ‘I am the abbey’s almoner as well as its physician. But funds are scarce and the poor are many. I have to be sure of deserving cases. Of course, if you have another source of income…’

  She looked away. ‘I have no need of your charity.’

  That confirmed that I was right and there was indeed someone else paying her. But who? And why? What had she to sell that others might give good coin to secure? She plainly wasn’t going to volunteer the information.

  ‘If you won’t answer me that then let me try a different question. You told my brother monks that Matthew was twelve when you knew full well he was fourteen. Why did you do that?’

  She shrugged. ‘They said he was twelve, not I. He might have been.’ She nodded toward the other children. ‘With so many it’s easy to forget.’

  I snorted with contempt. ‘No mother forgets the ages of her children. You let them think Matthew was two years younger than he really was because it fitted better the story they wanted to believe, that an innocent babe was crucified by Jews. But Matthew wasn’t a babe. In law he was a man, old enough to swear an oath, old enough to die for his King. Nor was he as innocent as others would have me believe. You let that charade continue even though you knew it to be untrue.’

  The smirk on her face forced me to suppress a moment of anger. My investigation, the trial and the suicides of Isaac and Rachel Moy could all have been prevented with a single word from her. Yet she chose not to speak it. She permitted a family to be hounded to death simply by her silence. The sin of omission. I shivered at the cold callousness of it.

  ‘Something else you told me. About the day Matthew’s body was found. You said you knew how to get into the Moy garden because some man – some gentleman you said – told you. There was no gentleman, was there? You knew how to get there because you’d been there yourself with Matthew. You encouraged him to go there. Why?’

  ‘We had something to sell that they wanted to buy.’ She smiled. ‘Fuller’s earth.’

  ‘It was not yours to sell,’ I countered sharply. ‘It belonged to the abbey. There are severe penalties for theft. Flogging – even hanging.’

  If I was hoping to frighten her into revealing more by threats of that nature I was underestimating her. She merely smiled her lop-sided smile again. ‘I have already confessed it to the Abbot and he has forgiven me. I have learned my lesson and am contrite. There will be no more thievery.’

  I was appalled to hear that Samson had spoken to the woman without telling me. Once again he was cutting my legs from beneath me. No wonder she was looking so self-assured. She had it all worked out.

  ‘Matthew wasn’t selling fuller’s earth to the Moys on the night he died,’ I said. ‘I have witnesses who saw him. He didn’t have his barrow with him. And he came alone. What was he really doing there that night?’

  ‘Ask your witness.’

  I was flailing in the dark hoping to stumble on some truth. She knew I had nothing and the more I staggered the more confident she was becoming.

  ‘You know, don’t you? You know it all yet you won’t tell. I wonder why.’

  She simply lowered her eyes, then raised them again defiantly. No, she was not going to tell me.

  ‘He was also seen leaving the Moy house with Jacob Moy,’ I blustered on. At the mention of Jacob’s name her self-assurance did seem to falter momentarily. Was I on to something at last? I pressed the point home: ‘I know that Jacob was reluctant to go with Matthew that night. Whatever they were doing together it was Matthew who instigated it. Why don’t you tell me what it was? If it was innocent it will do no harm.’

  ‘Ask him yourself,’ she said recovering her poise once again.

  ‘Oh I will, do not fear.’

  I was getting nowhere. It’s a good physician who knows when the symptoms defeat him and it’s time to stop the treatment. To continue might even kill the patient. I took a step as if to leave but couldn’t resist one last stab.

  ‘Do you know what I think? I think you not only know what Matthew was up to that night, you instigated it. I think you know who killed your son and why. Rest assured I will soon know, too. It may take me longer without your help but I will get there. Inch by inch I will get there. And when I do I will know the true depths of your crimes and then all your conniving with the Abbot will avail you nothing. For your silence I will demand the harshest punishment I can.’

  A mistake. I sounded pompous even to my own ears; to her I must have seemed ridiculous. And worse, my rash threat will proba
bly put the already vulnerable Jacob in even greater danger. I cursed my own impetuosity. She smiled arrogantly, confident that I had no more bolts in my quiver. The wall of silence that encompassed Jacob, Matilde and this woman was proving impenetrable. Why won’t any of them speak? The silence hung heavily between us, only broken by one of the little girls on the bed who started to hum a song. It was the same little girl whose hair I had stroked the last time I was here. I went over to her as I had before and sat on the bed next to her. She smiled sweetly as I stroked her blonde hair again while she continued to sing.

  ‘That’s a pretty tune,’ I said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A ditty,’ replied the mother casually. ‘Something her brother sang to lull the babes to sleep.’

  I continued to stroke the little girl’s hair while she sang. It was clearly irritating the mother. ‘Be quiet, Esme!’ she barked and the little girl instantly stopped with a jolt.

  My God, I thought, the woman has these children on a tight rein. I wondered if that was how it had been with Matthew, how she had persuaded him to do…whatever it was he had been doing. I could sense her anxiety growing behind me. She wanted me to leave, which out of devilment made me linger longer. But there was clearly no point in remaining. I was about to rise when something caught my eye.