‘This is what it’s all been about.’
It took me a moment to recognise the document, but when I did my jaw dropped again. Despite his anger Samson chuckled. ‘Never play dice with a con-man, Walter. He will read you like a book. You know, of course, what it is? Yes, I can see from your expression that you do.’
‘Isaac’s testament,’ I said pointing stupidly at it. Jocelin and I were the only ones who were supposed to know about it. I shot him an accusing look but he just shrugged and shook his head evidently as dumbfounded as I was. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Not from you, obviously,’ retorted Samson sharply. ‘Even though you had it in your possession when I asked you for it on several occasions, and then denied the fact. Before, that is, you managed to lose it.’
‘I didn’t lose it,’ I protested feebly. ‘It was stolen from me. And I never actually denied having it specifically. I just never admitted it, that’s all.’
Samson shook his head disdainfully. ‘Well, it was fortunate that others were ahead of you and managed to spirit it away before it fell into de Saye’s hands. For believe me, if he had been the one who’d taken it, it would not be sitting here on my desk now. He’d have destroyed it.’
‘Because it’s a loan bond issued to him by Isaac ben Moy.’ I was guessing, but I was sure now that was what it must be. But who had taken it? Presumably the same person who had saved me in the forest today as well as being my elusive shadow, my guardian angel, over the past few days. That could only be one person, surely?
Jocelin had already picked up the document and was scrutinizing it closely. ‘It is a bond,’ he confirmed, and then he whistled through his teeth. ‘F-for an extremely l-large sum of m-money.’
Samson nodded. ‘Which de Saye never had any intention of repaying and which was why Moy gave it to you for safe keeping – a grosser case of misplaced trust there can hardly ever have been.’
Samson’s slight went unheeded for into my mind once again had reared the story Isaac had told me about the Jews in York. They too, I remembered, had granted loans to noble families and the documents relating to them had been burnt on the floor of York Minster so that there was no record that they ever existed. It was all making sense now, even down to his suicide pact with his wife. He reckoned to be in the same hopeless position as those wretched people in York castle and saw for himself and his family the same terrible solution.
‘Hold one moment, though,’ I said frowning and trying to remember something. ‘I thought it no longer mattered about these documents. Jocelin, you told me in the light of the York massacre that King Richard had passed some law requiring loans to be officially recorded.’
Jocelin nodded. ‘The Ordinance of the Jewry, it was called. B-but that law wasn’t passed until eleven-ninety-four.’ He tapped Isaac’s document. ‘This is dated eleven-ninety-two.’
‘So this is the only existing record of the loan,’ I nodded. ‘And that is why de Saye would want it destroyed.’ Then another thought struck me. ‘That must be why de Saye is here in Bury.’ I said it to myself but loud enough for the others to hear. ‘He came in order to get Isaac to hand it over.’ My mind was racing now. ‘And that was the reason he killed Matthew.’ I slapped my forehead. ‘Of course!’
Jocelin looked at me in horror nearly dropping his goblet. ‘D-de Saye killed M-m-m-matthew?’ he stammered.
I’d done it again, not given Jocelin a vital piece of information. ‘I’m sorry brother. Until this minute I couldn’t be sure.’ I turned to Samson. ‘But I can see from Father Abbot’s face that he already knew that Isaac had no involvement in the murder. In fact he knew all along, before the trial, before the ordeal by hot water. Was that why you didn’t wish to witness it? Because you couldn’t bear to see the consequences of your duplicity?’
Jocelin was clearly disturbed by this sudden rush of revelations. He looked beseechingly at Samson who at least had the good grace to lower his eyes. ‘Not duplicity, Walter. That implies disloyalty. And the one thing I have been throughout all this is loyal.’
I shook my head incredulously. ‘You allowed an innocent man to be tortured, reviled and persecuted to the point where he preferred to take his own life and that of his wife rather than have it stolen from him by the hangman, and you call that being loyal?’
Samson shifted awkwardly on his chair and this time his discomfort had nothing to do with his haemorrhoids. ‘He wouldn’t have hanged,’ he muttered shifting papers about nervously on his desk. ‘I’d have commuted his sentence.’
‘Well, he cheated you out of that satisfaction, at least.’
‘I had no choice,’ grumbled Samson. ‘There were other matters to consider. Important matters you know nothing about.’
I snorted contemptuously. ‘Like what? What could possibly be more important than harrying an innocent family to death?’
He grimaced again, his bushy white eyebrows almost knitting together in what was a clear agony of conscience. ‘Matters of state. State security.’
‘Indeed? Then tell us, good father,’ I goaded. ‘Let us all into the secret. What are these “great matters” that are so important you could connive at persecution, torture and murder?’
My words must have hit their mark. He hesitated for a minute glaring at me as though wishing to throttle me, then he set his jaw.
‘Brother Jocelin,’ he said quietly. ‘Would you mind leaving us? I’m sorry – please obey me in this and ask no questions. I will explain later.’
Jocelin’s face was drained of colour, sadder and more confused than I had ever seen it before. But ever the good and faithful servant he did as his mentor asked. He got up without another word and left the room closing the heavy oak door after him.
*
When he had gone Samson turned his pained face towards me. ‘I took no pleasure in doing that but you left me no alternative. Oh, I know what the other monks say about Jocelin, that he is a fussy old maid and a sycophant. But he has been a loyal servant and friend to me over many years. I feel I have betrayed him.’
‘I am sorry indeed for that, father,’ I said sincerely. ‘Personally, I would have been happy for Jocelin to stay. If only to corroborate my version of events.’
Samson slammed his hand down on the desk, his expression angry. ‘You think this is about you? Such arrogance! If I am prepared to imperil my immortal soul by covering up the murder of an innocent child and colluding in the suicide of two others, do you think I would blink before throwing you to the lions too?’
The ferocity of his outburst took me aback. But it confirmed what I had already suspected, that he was indeed deeply troubled over the actions he had taken in recent days. That did not excuse what he had done but it did go some way to mollifying my fears for the safety of his soul. For that at least I was glad.
After a moment he’d calmed down sufficiently to regain command of himself. ‘You want to know what matters are so important that I am prepared to sacrifice innocent lives. Very well, I’ll tell you. But knowledge is a dangerous thing, Walter. Are you prepared to have it? Are you prepared to keep it and not to let it travel beyond these four walls? Because on peril of your life you had better be.’
He got up and refilled our two goblets with wine before sitting down again with a weary sigh.
‘The last time we spoke on the subject I told you that King John’s hold on the throne is tenuous. I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Quite simply the Angevin Empire is finished.’ Samson ran his hand wearily over his pink pate. ‘Much as we all admired King Richard as a warrior, his foreign adventures drained the country over the ten years of his reign and left nothing for his brother with which to start his. Now Richard is dead, England is a wounded lion and the wolves are circling. Next year or the year after John will lose his territories in France, and when he does those English barons with estates on the other side of the Channel will join their French colleagues in rebellion. The loyalty of those remaining on this side cannot be guaranteed either. The Earl Marshal
and Archbishop Hubert both agree with me that we cannot afford another distraction at such a time. Peace hangs upon a thread. If de Saye’s…indiscretions…were to become public knowledge our enemies abroad would use them to attack his nephew the Justiciar and weaken the government further. Rebellion will turn to civil war and we will have the Anarchy back again. That cannot be allowed to happen. England needs firm government now as it never needed it before.’ He looked at me with piercing eyes. ‘Now perhaps you will appreciate how difficult my position has been. I spoke of loyalty. If it’s a choice between one dead Jew and the security of the realm I know where my duty lies.’
I thought for a moment. ‘Father, I do not pretend to understand the complexities of government. I am a simple country doctor, I can only deal with the symptoms that present before me. You say you didn’t want de Saye’s part in this murder to become public knowledge, but if that’s the case why did you have it investigated? Surely it would have been better to have no investigation and allow matters to take their course. You had your motive for the murder – a boy martyr. A Heaven-sent motive, you might say. That being the case, de Saye’s name need never have been mentioned.’
‘I had to give the appearance of doing all we could to solve the murder,’ he explained. ‘Too many people were watching us – you’ve no idea.’ He looked at the window as though expecting to see one of King Philip’s spies crouched on the ledge. ‘If it had looked like a cover-up the consequences might have been even worse. I needed someone to investigate the case convincingly – at least to appear to be doing so.’ He looked at me sheepishly. ‘If you want the truth, I never thought you’d be successful.’
I felt my face colour at his words. ‘I see. So when you said you chose me because of my investigative skills the opposite was actually the truth. You were expecting me to fail.’
This brought a wry smile to his face. ‘But you didn’t fail, did you? You managed to work it all out.’ He studied me thoughtfully. ‘You have worked it out haven’t you, Walter?’
I frowned, shaking my head slowly from side to side. ‘No. Not all of it. There’s something more, something you’re still not telling me. Anyone else – Jocelin, say - could have done what I did and probably finished this case much more quickly and neatly. There’s another reason you wanted me, something to do with de Saye’s hatred of me.’ I drew myself up. ‘You know the reason for that too, don’t you? Isn’t it time you told me?’
Samson sat thoughtfully for a long minute. I could see the turmoil going on behind his eyes. I waited. Finally he said quietly, ‘Does the name Mandeville mean anything to you?’
Of course it did. Who in the east of England had not heard of Geoffrey de Mandeville, the so-called Scourge of the Fens? My father told me about him when I was a little boy. Geoffrey de Mandeville had been a nobleman at the time of the Anarchy and had fought at different times for both Matilda and Stephen, switching sides according to whichever he thought would profit him the most at any one time. Eventually he committed one treason too many and was arrested. As punishment he was given the choice of execution or of giving up all his possessions. He chose life and fled to the marshy swamps of Cambridgeshire from where he and his private army of mercenaries plundered, tortured and murdered anyone unfortunate to fall into their hands and lived by extorting ransoms from their families. No-one, regardless of age, sex or rank was safe. King Stephen was unable to get an army through the impenetrable Fens to rid the people of this menace leaving de Mandeville to carry on terrorizing the east of England for more than a year.
‘Eventually he was killed,’ concluded Samson. ‘Rather as King Richard had been, struck down by a sniper’s arrow while he was besieging a castle. This time not a French castle but an English one not far from here. Burwell Castle, near Cambridge.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I said shortly. ‘My father was one of the defenders.’
Samson nodded. ‘Did you then also know that it was your father, William de Ixworth, who fired the fatal shot that killed Mandeville?’
I was stunned. I knew my father had seen action during the civil wars but I never knew before that he’d killed anyone. He had certainly never mentioned it to me. Maybe that was what had turned him against war when he was sent to the Holy Land and why he devoted the rest of his life to saving others instead. I sincerely hoped so.
‘So are you now going to tell me that Geoffrey de Saye is somehow related to Geoffrey de Mandeville?’ I guessed, almost chortling nervously at the absurdity of the suggestion. ‘It would certainly explain where he got his character from if he were.’
Samson continued to study me stoically. ‘Geoffrey de Mandeville’s sister, Beatrice, married a man called de Saye. Geoffrey de Saye is her grandson.’
Now I was angry. Not that de Saye hated me because my father killed his uncle but because Samson knew all this, must have known it even before de Saye arrived in Bury. My life had been in danger from the moment he set foot within the town walls and yet Samson had never warned me, never even mentioned it. At the banquet, in the King’s bedroom and any time thereafter de Saye might have murdered me and I would have been completely unprepared. It was what Joseph had come to warn me about the night of the football match, the night Matthew was killed.
‘So I was to be the bait. That’s the real reason you chose me to investigate the murder, to provoke de Saye into doing something foolish. If he’d managed to kill me it could have been explained away as the actions of a man obsessed with revenge and de Saye could then have been quietly disposed of. No messy business involving fraud and blackmail, just the simple case of settling old scores.’
‘Attempted to kill you, Walter. There was never any possibility of him succeeding.’
‘He very nearly did this morning.’
‘But, God be praised, he didn’t and you are still here to tell the tale. And de Saye has compromised himself just as we hoped. Believe me, you were never in any real danger. I took care of that.’
‘Are you telling me it was one of your spies who saved me in the forest this morning?’
‘Naturally,’ Samson nodded modestly. ‘How could you think otherwise?’
‘So it was your man all along. The same man who’s been following me around the town for the past two weeks?’
He looked puzzled. ‘Following you round the town? No no, I meant the wagon driver and his sidesman.’
Yet again my mouth dropped open. ‘You mean that smelly snaggle-toothed midget and his lice-ridden pal?’ I guffawed. ‘They ran away at the first sign of trouble.’
Samson flapped his hand in the air. ‘That’s neither here nor there. The point is de Saye was unsuccessful and now he will pay the price.’
‘Oh?’ I fumed. ‘And what price is that?’
Samson grinned broadly and raised a fat finger in the air. ‘Until now Earl Geoffrey would never hear anything against his uncle – you know what these old families are like, they stick together like dog-shit sticks to fur. And by the way, you’ve nothing to fear from the Earl over this business with your father. He’s not like his uncle where blood feuds are concerned – different generation, d’you see?’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
Samson nodded. ‘But now the King is involved. He knows about de Saye’s attempt to defraud him of his rightful inheritance and he is displeased. Mightily displeased.’ He rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘Oh-ho yes, he’s tripped up there and no mistake. De Saye has queered his pitch with the King. So that means he’s finished. No amount of toadying will get him out of this one. Naturally he won’t have a trial for all the reasons we’ve discussed. But there is a vacant manor in the gift of the Earl which would more than liquidate de Saye’s debts – provided he remains on it.’
‘I see. Exile. To where?’
‘Shropshire.’
I snorted. ‘So, in the end de Saye escapes justice. Like all of his rank.’
Samson mooed coquettishly. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that. Have you been to Shropshire?’ He smiled,
rising from his seat. ‘I think you’ll find things will quieten down now.’
‘What if I don’t want them to quieten down?’ I said remaining seated. ‘Suppose I decide to expose the whole shoddy business.’
Samson stared at me. ‘Did you not hear what I was saying? This is all to be kept strictly between us. Babble any of it about and it could be construed as treason.’
‘Not if it was the King I babbled it to.’
Samson eyed me suspiciously. Slowly he sat down again. ‘I’ve told you, the King already knows. And besides, he won’t see you again.’
‘He might,’ I said. ‘If he thought there was the possibility of a year or two’s income - from a vacant abbacy.’
I paused to let the implications of my words sink in. As Jocelin had mentioned much earlier, Saint Edmund’s was one of the richest abbeys in Europe. In law the income from any abbacy that fell vacant defers to the crown until a new abbot is appointed – a very tempting source of money to a cash-strapped monarch, and John was greedy enough to encourage it. And what will happen to my lord abbot in that case? Exile back to Norfolk? Or worse.
‘Treason, Walter,’ warned Samson quietly. ‘The penalties are not pleasant.’
‘Then I suppose it comes down to which of us has most to lose. As I said, I am but a humble physician. My concerns are with justice not with the whining of some faceless nobles in France. However,’ I continued quickly before Samson could respond. ‘If Isaac Moy is shown not to be involved in the murder, and there was a public exoneration of all the Jews of Bury naming Isaac and Jacob Moy specifically, then I might feel I have no need to go to the King.’
Samson sat thinking for a long minute. Finally he smiled. ‘Well, we don’t want another Palm Sunday massacre, do we?’ He started to rise again.
Inwardly I sighed with relief. I didn’t know whether I would have had the courage to carry out my threat but was just thankful that I wouldn’t have to find out.
‘It may already be too late,’ I said. ‘The common folk have taken Matthew to their hearts. Jocelin may even write another history, God help us.’
Unholy Innocence Page 26
