‘That was de Saye’s idea, but I could see the sense of it.’
‘To save your own miserable necks,’ I snorted.
He turned on me his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. ‘Oh no, brother. I did it for Matthew.’
Stunned by the abomination of his words all I could do was stare in disbelief. But Alric was in earnest and I could see again the light of wonder I had seen in the eyes of Jeremiah and Egbert, even Jocelin.
‘Don’t you see? The Jews would get the blame and Matthew would become a martyr like little Robert. He would become one of God’s chosen, his past sins washed clean. The Jew had to die to save Matthew from everlasting torment.’
I was feeling giddy. I stood with difficulty finding that my legs were shaking. ‘Of all your crimes, Alric, that is the most monstrous.’
‘Is it? Is it?’ he shouted after me. ‘The Jews are condemned anyway. They deny Christ. It was the Jews who murdered Christ, brother! They deserve to pay.’
‘Possibly. But not these Jews,’ I said backing away from him as he groped towards me. I stumbled for the door and the light anxious now to get away. ‘The Abbot must be told. It will go better for you if you own this deed yourself. But if you will not tell him then I must. And may God in His mercy forgive you.’
‘God may well forgive me,’ said Alric quietly behind me. ‘But I won’t.’
Chapter 22
REVENGE IN THE FOREST
I didn’t know what to think. De Saye the murderer? Much as I disliked the man the suggestion seemed preposterous. What possible reason would he have? Why would he even have dealings with a miller’s boy, someone who to a man of de Saye’s standing barely ranked above the rats that infest his privy? On the other hand, why would Alric make up such a dangerous lie? He had already felt the sting of de Saye’s wrath once before and even Samson would not be able to save him this time. And if it was me who voiced the accusation then my future, too, could be counted in hours. Yet conscience would not allow me to simply ignore what Alric so passionately affirmed was the truth and permit Jacob to remain a hunted outlaw. If only I had some proof to take to the Abbot, but I had none, not even that damned macaroon anymore since in my haste to get away from the place I’d left it at the bakery. And in any case, would Samson believe it? Given our last conversation he would more likely dismiss the suggestion as a desperate attempt by me to clear Isaac and Jacob’s names, which to some extent it would be. And all this was assuming de Saye really was the murderer and Alric wasn’t just lying to save his own neck.
I needed time to think. Maybe a few days with the Sisters of Thetford was a good idea after all to help me get things into perspective. If nothing else I could blame Samson for my procrastination - or was I just looking for an excuse to do nothing? No, my duty was clear and I made up my mind: If nothing had happened by the time I got back from Thetford I would take what I knew to Samson whatever the cost to me, that much I owed to Jacob and to his father’s memory. Perhaps by the time I returned Alric would have done the right thing and gone to Samson of his own accord and saved me having to do so. I could only pray that it would be thus.
*
Saint George’s Priory on the outskirts of Thetford town is but a dozen miles from Edmundsbury’s north gate. It was said to have been founded by the canons of Saint George in memory of those who fell in a great battle nearby between King Edmund and the Danish hordes. Later, the canons were replaced by Benedictine nuns as a daughter cell of our abbey and the two houses have retained close ties ever since. One such tie is for the abbey to supply the nuns with bread, cooked meat and some of our brewed ale for which the Prioress, Mother Cecilia, is said to have a particular fondness. Needless to say, this weekly transport is bedevilled with robberies and assaults on the wagons and servants of the convent and so they were quite pleased, this fine midsummer morning, to find in me an extra pair of hands to ward off any such attack – or rather, one extra hand since the other was still heavily bandaged inside its sling and healing only slowly.
Loading up in the Great Court, we found we were not alone in making ready to depart for it seemed Samson had been right and the King was at last preparing to leave. With the dismantling of dozens of tents, the loading of scores of wagons, the hitching of an army of mules and the kicking out of a hundred fires, there was a general air of excitement to be moving on in advance of the King’s own departure. The effect of all this was that they were creating even more chaos than when they arrived two weeks earlier. It would take weeks, if not years, to clear up the mess. But at least they were going and Abbot Samson, who I could see watching from his study window, would be viewing the scene with satisfaction.
I must say I was finding the prospect of my own journey rather thrilling. It had been a long time since I’d been as far as twelve miles from the abbey. With all the other activity there was something of a holiday atmosphere about the place. I was looking forward to putting my recent preoccupations if not behind me at least to the back of my mind for a while.
‘Good gracious me,’ I said, watching Jocellus the Cellarer supervise the loading up of our own poor wagon. ‘How much do the good sisters of Thetford consume in a week?’
‘Ninety-six gallons of beer, thirty-five loaves of bread, fourteen hides of mutton, ten of beef,’ he said, ticking them off his list. ‘Plus an assortment of pies, cakes, fowl, poultry - and this week, fifty pounds of trout.’
‘Will there be room left for one small physician?’ I grinned.
He assessed me with a professional eye. ‘Ten stones? I should think so.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask,’ I said before he marched off. ‘Your problem with stock disappearing - has it been resolved at all?’
‘There has been less of it in recent days, I will admit.’ He eyed me suspiciously. ‘Why do you ask?’
I shook my head and smiled. ‘Oh, no reason.’
‘Then have a good journey, brother. And pray God that you, and my dispatch, arrive in one piece.’
‘Amen to that,’ I said doubtfully.
He helped me up onto the over-loaded wagon with its two oxen at the front and I sat between a grinning, gangly youth who was pulling nits from his greasy hair and the ugliest snaggle-toothed midget I had ever seen. The midget was the driver.
‘Good God, what an awful stench!’ I said to him as I clambered aboard. ‘Are you sure those trout are fresh?’
‘Oh, that’d be me, brother,’ said the midget. ‘Sorry ’bout that. Tch tch Lightning, get along now Fury,’ he encouraged the two lumbering beasts who slowly, painfully, eased the wagon between the thronging hordes and out through the Great Gate of the abbey. As we turned northward along the dry and dusty road to Thetford I looked up at the sky and saw with dismay that thunder clouds were gathering. If we made it to the convent before the rains started it would be a miracle.
*
There was to be no miracle. Sure enough, we had been travelling barely half an hour with the sky darkening all the time when the wind suddenly rose, the temperature plummeted and soon we were engulfed in a torrential downpour of hail and rain – the first real rain we’d had in nearly a month. My cowl which I pulled up over my head was soon dripping wet and useless. My two companions looked a no less sorry pair with just an oil skin each to ward off the worst of the deluge - though the rain, according to them, made the threat of attack less likely, highwaymen being disinclined to get their felonious feet wet. There was not much we could do for cover short of climbing between the wheels of the cart and sitting out the worst of it. On a vote we decided to press on since we could hardly get any wetter, the gangly youth whose name was also Walter being out-voted by me and the midget who turned out to be yet another Walter. With so many Walters and so much rain there was a joke to be made there somewhere, but it did not seem a propitious moment to make it. Besides, I was too miserably sodden to make jokes. I pitied poor Noah having to endure forty days and nights of this - and worse if the whole world was to be engulfed in so short a time span. Our ow
n little ark was sodden and dripping fish oil all over the road while the road itself had all but disappeared beneath a river of mud.
Once in the forest the rain eased a little and we all stopped to relieve ourselves each choosing a separate tree. I knew the area well, my family home being but half a dozen miles to our right. There was a break in the cloud before the next shower so it seemed a good moment to dismount, stretch my aching limbs and worry about the state of my battered kidneys. I squelched across the muddy road to my chosen tree while my companions went to theirs and I stood with the rain dripping from the canopy above, adding my own small contribution to the swell of puddles.
I was so concentrating on the awkward task of holding up my robe with my injured hand while relieving myself with the other that I barely registered the crack of a twig behind me. A hand was already over my mouth before I could take breath and my cowl was pulled hard down over my eyes. I was so taken by surprise that at first I was not sure what was happening – maybe one of my companions playing games. But it quickly became clear the assault was in earnest and I was locked in a deadly struggle. I wrestled with my assailant blind and mute while all the time hearing the chatter of my two companions just a little way off and oblivious to the peril I was in. I was sure a single cry from me would have brought them instantly to my aid but the hand that was tightly gripping my throat stifled any hope of that. Out of sheer desperation I did manage to get a purchase on my assailant’s arm and took breath but a punch to the ribs winded me and sent me sprawling onto my hands and knees. Then an arm came up under my windpipe yanking my head up to expose my neck and I suddenly knew that my last moments on this earth had arrived.
But then just as suddenly I felt another arm come between my neck and the first and a terrific contest of limbs ensued that seemed to last for minutes but could only have been for seconds. Then a thump, a cry of pain and the weight of a body came crushing down on top of me pinning me to the ground. I blindly struggled with it for a few seconds before I realised it was limp and lifeless. Eventually catching my breath, I managed to wriggle myself out from under it and at last, pulling the cowl out of my eyes, I looked up to see, staring down at me from atop his magnificent gelding with its harness of blue and gold silk, the splendid figure of Earl Geoffrey Fitz Peter, Chief Justiciar of England. With him were ten or so mounted guards one of whom had dismounted and was standing between me and the Earl who was looking down at me with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Another guard appeared from the bushes dragging my two protesting companions, a Walter in each hand, and threw them to their knees before the Earl where they remained squealing for mercy. ‘Shut up!’ the guard barked at them and they instantly obeyed.
‘Is this all?’ the Earl asked of him.
‘Aye my lord, and a cartload of victuals standing on the road. These two were running away no doubt part of the murderous gang of robbers. Should I dispatch them now?’ He took out his sword ready to decapitate the pair at a nod from the Earl.
‘No wait!’ I protested stepping forward and slipping in the mud as I did so. ‘They are my companions.’
Earl Geoffrey nodded for the guard to sheath his sword then he scrutinized me more closely. ‘You’re the bone-breaker from the abbey, aren’t you?’
‘Indeed so, my lord,’ I replied struggling to bow and remain upright at the same time. The bandage on my injured hand had become unravelled and was trailing in the mud, the sling having disappeared completely in the scuffle. As I rewound my filthy bandage I looked down at the body of the man who had attacked me, his face turned towards the ground. ‘This – er – gentleman is the robber. I would introduce him to your worship but I’m afraid I do not know his name.’
‘He’s my uncle,’ replied the Earl curtly.
I looked down again at the man and to my astonishment saw that it was indeed Geoffrey de Saye. He was alone. I glanced quickly about but saw no sign of the third man in the struggle who had saved my life. It couldn’t have been one of the Earl’s guards for they were all wearing mail hauberks to their wrists while my rescuer’s arm I’m certain had been bare. Besides, the guard who had dismounted was looking at me with barely concealed astonishment that such a weakling monk could have fought off the much bigger de Saye.
Whoever my saviour was he can’t have done more than lightly knock de Saye out for he was already coming round holding his head and moaning. The guard helped him to his feet and I could see his face at last. Earl Geoffrey was regarding him with a mixture of disgust and contempt though whether because of his criminal attack on me or his inability to overpower a weakling monk I could not tell. He looked up at the sky that was beginning to threaten rain again, and sniffed. Then, turning his horse’s magnificent head toward Bury, he barked his order at the dismounted guard.
‘Bring him.’ Then with a curl of his lip: ‘Bring them both.’
Chapter 23
EXPLANATIONS AT LAST
Geoffrey de Saye sat glowering at me across the antechamber outside Abbot Samson’s study while we listened to the voices raging inside, and a sorrier pair of half-drowned rats there never was on God’s good earth. We looked as though we’d both been in a mud fight – which was exactly what we had been, of course. His nephew, Earl Geoffrey, had marched straight in to Samson’s study without so much as a by-your-leave still in his riding boots and leaving a trail of muddy footprints on the scrubbed floor of the antechamber. I could not but admire the length of his stride as evidenced by those footprints and saw clearly why he was the chief minister of the land while I was a mere lowly cloister monk.
De Saye was still looking a bit groggy from having been knocked out but managed to retain that air of superiority that is natural to his rank confident, no doubt, that his version of events would be accepted before mine. If I had any doubts before that he was capable of murdering little Matthew I had them no longer: He’d nearly done the same to me. I was trying to work out, as I studied him now across the ten feet that separated us, why he had attacked me in the forest. It can’t have been a comfortable ride in all that rain so he must have been pretty desperate to persist. The only explanation I could come up with was that everything Alric had told me must be true, that de Saye was indeed the murderer and learning that I knew the truth of it he had followed me out of the town in order to silence me before I had a chance to tell anyone else. It wouldn’t have taken much to persuade him to kill me since, judging by the expression on his face, his hatred for me remained as keen as ever. Indeed, I was sure he would be upon me in a moment if it wasn’t for that giant of a guard who had been in the forest with Earl Geoffrey and who was now posted in the anteroom to keep us apart.
‘You’re for it this time, bone-breaker,’ he smirked confidently and cracked his knuckles like a schoolboy bully. ‘You can count your days in digits.’
‘As God is my witness, my lord,’ I replied, ‘I truly do not know what injury you think I have done you. But be assured, I will not flinch from my duty. Whatever you may do to me I will tell all I know before I expire.’
It was a bold threat and I meant every word of it though I had no idea if I would ever be able to carry it out. The only effect it seemed to have on de Saye was to increase his smirk further.
Not much could be gleaned through the thick oak door of Samson’s study but the rising and falling of voices made it plain that the two men inside were having what I believe in diplomatic circles is known as a lively exchange of views. Ten minutes later the door burst open and Earl Geoffrey stormed out, his face livid with anger, and with a flick of his glove he signalled to the guard to follow him and to bring de Saye. His stride, I noticed with awe, had if anything increased in length. He didn’t acknowledge me as he stormed past, for which oversight I was deeply grateful.
In a moment the whirlwind had disappeared down the stairs and I was left alone in the calm after the storm with the inevitable gaggle of bewildered petitioners peeping out from the shadows like rabbits after a squall. Through the open door of his study I could glimp
se Samson still seated behind his desk, his face, too, as black as thunder. When he saw me his eyes narrowed and he beckoned me in with one fat forefinger.
*
‘I cannot trust you out of my sight for five minutes, can I Walter?’ he growled when I had closed the door.
‘I’m sorry to have displeased you yet again, Father Abbot.’
I glanced at Jocelin who was in his usual position just behind Samson’s shoulder. He looked traumatized, poor old thing, his face as white as a sheet. He must already have been with Samson when Earl Geoffrey burst in and started ranting.
‘You were supposed to spend a few quiet days in Thetford for prayer and contemplation, not brawl on the forest floor with a member of one of our leading noble families. It was with the greatest difficulty I managed to persuade Earl Geoffrey not to have you publicly horse-whipped for your insolence.’
My mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘It was de Saye who attacked me, father, not I him.’
Samson waved aside my protest. ‘When will you learn the realities of life, Walter? The likes of Geoffrey de Saye are never in the wrong. It was only the fact that you are in holy orders that I was able to persuade his nephew the Justiciar to leave the matter with me, for which you can give your thanks and prayers to Saint Thomas of Canterbury.’
He was referring, as I knew, to Becket’s battles with King Henry over the rights of the clergy to sit in judgement of their own and for which dispute he had been martyred – not the happiest of comparisons in the circumstances. Jocelin looked as though he might launch into a detailed explanation of the reference but Samson waved him silent. ‘Just sit down the pair of you. You’re giving me a crick in my neck.’
We each pulled up a chair while Samson went over to a side table and poured three goblets of wine. I took mine gratefully not having eaten or drunk anything since early morning. Samson sat down again and with a flourish produced a parchment from beneath a pile on his desk.
Unholy Innocence Page 25
