The Devil's Acolyte aktm-13

by Michael Jecks

  ‘What do you fear, Abbot?’

  ‘Me? I fear many things, Sir Knight: the devil himself, bogs on the moors, a clumsy horse, and most of all my own over-confidence and stupidity! But more than all of these, I fear accusing a young man unjustly and later realising that I have blighted his life without reason.’

  ‘I trust God wouldn’t lead you astray,’ Baldwin said fervently, but then his expression sharpened. ‘A youngster? You mean…’

  ‘I am advised to watch a young novice. An acolyte named Gerard.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Almoner Peter had finished his duties early and was heading for the calefactory with the intention of finding a pint of wine and following that with a short snooze, if possible. He felt as though he deserved it.

  But then he saw the arrival of the Coroner and the knight from Furnshill, and loitered shamelessly as he watched them unloading their packhorse and taking their belongings up to the rooms which had been allocated to them. A short while later he saw Augerus running over and hurrying up the stairs himself, then he reappeared with the knight and the two men walked quickly over to the Abbot’s lodging.

  The Coroner’s face was familiar enough, aye, to fellows in Western Devonshire where he tended to ply his trade, so for Peter, his presence must mean that Wally’s body on the moor was to receive its inquest at last. That was a matter of interest to Peter – as was the identity of this second man who was of such importance that the Abbot would ask him to visit before even thinking of seeing the Coroner.

  It was not fear for himself that motivated him, but concern for the Abbey itself. If stories should spread about the wine, perhaps about other things which had been taken from the Abbey, that could only harm the great monastery’s reputation, even the reputation of the Abbot himself. The Abbot must already be worried, to have asked this man to visit him, for having seen the urgency displayed by the messenger and Baldwin in responding to the Abbot, Peter doubted that it was merely a social call.

  He watched a little longer and saw the Bailiff striding in through the gate and entering the guest rooms. Good, he thought: so the Bailiff and the Coroner were to talk about the body, presumably, while the Abbot was to talk to the stranger knight about… what? If the good Abbot wished to discuss Walwynus’ murder he’d surely ask the Coroner and the Bailiff to join them, wouldn’t he?

  Aye, but it was odd. The Abbot was not the sort of man to demand that visitors should dance attendance on him as soon as they reached Tavistock after a strenuous journey, and the man’s appearance told of a long ride and stiff joints.

  Coming to a decision, Peter changed his mind and the direction of his steps. Instead of the calefactory, he walked to the brewery and out to the racks of barrels behind. He filled a jug and took a cup, blowing into it to remove the dust and a spider. Peering into the Great Court once more, he decided that he might as well go to his own room; he could see what was happening from there. He was sitting at his rough plank table, when he saw Sir Baldwin walking slowly and pensively out of the Abbot’s lodging, crossing the yard to the Great Gate, and thence up the stairs to the guest rooms.

  Leaving his cup in his room, Peter wandered outside. When he glanced about him, he saw grooms at their work with the visitors’ horses. There was no fraternity closer, Peter always considered, than the brotherhood of horse-lovers, and among the grooms here, Ned the Horse was well-named.

  He was there now, and Peter walked over to him, intending to learn all he could, but before he could do so, Brother Augerus strode up to the Ostler, a look of determination upon his features.

  Peter just had time to retreat to an alcove, where he leaned against a wall and overheard the entire conversation.

  Augerus spoke as though holding back his irritation. That was quite fascinating in its own right, Peter thought, for it meant that not only had the Abbot not taken him into his confidence, he had also sent Augie away on some menial task, presumably because the canny old bugger knew that Augie would listen at his door if he wasn’t sent off.

  ‘Ned – that’s a good-looking mount. Whose is it?’

  ‘This’n? B’longs that C’roner.’

  ‘Oh, so the good Coroner from Exeter has arrived at last? That is good news. He will be able to tell us who killed the miner.’

  ‘Reck’n us know. Can’t bugger wi’ the devil.’

  ‘You know what the Abbot says about rumours of that kind. It’s nonsense to think that the devil has had a hand in the death of Walwynus. It was someone else up on the moors.’

  His only response was a grunt.

  ‘What about that other horse? Whose is that?’

  But Ned appeared to have taken Augerus’s snapped comment as an insult. Ned himself was a professional, and although he was not the social equal of Augerus, whose post as Steward to the Abbot gave him an elevated status, Ned was easily the best horseman in the town, and knew it.

  ‘Man with your master now,’ he said, after some thought spent gently brushing the horse. A large scab of dried mud took his attention and he ignored the furious Augerus.

  ‘Come now, man. I know his name is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, for that is the name the messenger gave the Abbot. I was merely wondering what he was here for. Do you think he’s here to help the Coroner?’

  ‘P’raps. Dunno.’

  ‘He arrived here with Sir Roger, didn’t he?’

  ‘Reck’n.’

  ‘Ned, what do you know about him?’ Augerus demanded. In his exasperation his voice had risen, and now Peter could imagine the long, steady stare that the horseman gave him over the back of the great mount.

  ‘None of my bus’ness. Ask Abbot.’

  Augerus spun on his heel and stormed away, passing Peter with a face as twisted as that of a man who has bitten into a blackberry, only to find that it was a sloe. The Almoner chuckled to himself, his hand up at his mouth and touching his old wound like a man reaching for a talisman. Once Augerus had disappeared, he sniffed, eased his shoulders, and walked around the wall.

  ‘Hello, Ned.’

  ‘Almoner.’

  ‘That looks a fine animal.’

  ‘ ’Tis that.’

  ‘Has the Abbot bought it? It’s another of his own, is it?’

  ‘No. Guests.’

  ‘I see. It’s the Coroner’s, is it? I saw that he had arrived.’

  ‘No. It’s a knight’s. Friend of C’roner’s.’

  ‘Oh, someone who’s here to help the Coroner, I suppose. Another dull-witted clod of a city-dweller who thinks he knows all about moors, livestock and horses. They see a few animals in their markets and think they know enough to tell farmers how to raise them; show them a good Arab horse and they’d use it in a plough.’ He gave a dry laugh.

  ‘Most of ’em are daft enough to put a mount like this to a cart,’ Ned agreed, a gleam of amusement in his eyes at Peter’s sally – but then Peter had often brought him wine when the weather was cold over winter and had never commanded him to do anything. By comparison, Augerus had always been keen to let the servants know his own importance.

  ‘Let’s hope this daft fellow won’t cause too much trouble, then, eh?’

  ‘This ’un’s not here just for the murder. Abbot asked ’un ’bout the theft.’

  Peter feigned astonishment. ‘The theft? Which?’

  ‘Which do you think? The wine, of course. You want to know how I know?’ The Ostler lowered his voice. ‘That overblown bag of wind Augerus was told to clear out of the Abbot’s room, right? So he couldn’t stand and eavesdrop like he’s wont. That means it must affect him. So, Brother – what’s happened that affects him? The stealing of the wine, that’s what! I reckon the Abbot thinks his Steward has a taste for strong red wine.’ Ned guffawed.

  ‘My friend, I think you have a most perspicacious mind,’ Peter said with genuine respect. Ned’s argument did indeed make sense, and the Almoner wondered whether the Abbot had heard evidence against Augerus. It was possible. For his own part, Peter was convinced that Augeru
s was a malign influence on the boy. It was for that reason that he had spoken to Gerard, trying to warn him to stop thieving.

  ‘Not just that,’ the groom said. He sniffed loudly, hawked and spat. ‘Reckon Augerus has his hose in a tangle.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That Gerard. He’s disappeared.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Peter. ‘Really?’ Although he tried to feign surprise, he gave Gerard the thief little thought. There were more important matters for him to consider. After all, he knew what had happened to Gerard.

  Cissy was relieved to close up that night. Nob had kept away from her, sensing her mood, and had remained behind the trestle, cooking with an urgency she had never seen before. Now that all the customers had gone, he could avoid her no longer.

  ‘Well? Come on, Nob, you great lump!’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘That’ll make a nice change for you.’

  Nob scowled. ‘What would you have done? Left him to his fate?’

  ‘It’s none of our business, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful! So we just leave him to get killed because it’s nothing to do with us?’

  ‘He wouldn’t have been killed.’

  ‘How do you know, Cissy? He certainly thought he would, and that’s what matters.’

  Cissy sniffed. ‘If only that fool Walwynus hadn’t gone and died.’

  ‘Well, I doubt he wanted to.’

  ‘Don’t you snap at me, Nob Bakere! I won’t have that in my own shop.’

  ‘It’s our shop, woman. And I’ll talk how I bloody want in it.’

  ‘All I meant was, if only he hadn’t been so stupid. Bloody Wally. Well, he lived up to his name, didn’t he? He was a right Wallydingle.’

  ‘Was he the man Sara said had got her with pup?’

  ‘No, she said nothing about the man. Wouldn’t talk.’

  Nob nodded morosely. He walked out to the back of the shop and fetched a jug of wine. Taking a good swig, he passed it to Cissy and sat at her side.

  ‘Poor old Wally,’ Cissy sighed.

  ‘Not so poor, though, was he?’ Nob tapped the side of his nose.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, he had the money after all, didn’t he?’

  ‘He had some, but maybe that was just from selling some veg.’

  ‘Cissy, he was drinking all day and much of the night. That’s more than the price of a bunch of carrots and a turnip, and then he gave all that to Hamelin. You saw how much.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ she said quietly after a pause.

  ‘Where could he have got that money from?’

  ‘Who cares about the money?’

  Nob looked at her. ‘Probably the man who killed him.’

  ‘But if Ellis killed him because of Sara, then he wouldn’t have been interested in stealing from him, would he?’

  ‘I don’t reckon Ellis had anything to do with it. Wally had money, Cissy. Think! How would anyone know that he had cash on him? If someone bought something from him, then just maybe that same someone decided he’d prefer to keep the thing and the money both.’

  ‘Any idea who that could be?’

  Nob shrugged. ‘Not a single one.’

  ‘So we’re back where we started. All we know is that we’ve committed a mortal sin.’

  He sighed along with her. ‘Yes. Still, if that young lad wasn’t suited to the convent, surely God will forgive us?’

  Cissy sniffed. All at once the tears were close again. ‘We’ve been happy here, haven’t we? And now we’re going against the Abbot’s own wishes. He’ll not look kindly on us, not when he learns we’ve helped one of his novices to commit apostasy.’

  Nob shook his head gloomily, taking a long swallow of wine. ‘No. Well, that’s just something we’ll have to get used to, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps. But I don’t feel guilty. I feel that I may have saved a life,’ Cissy said. And it was true. She could see the acolyte’s face so clearly as they helped him climb into normal clothes and bundled up his habit.

  ‘Poor boy,’ she said. Gerard had looked so lost, so scared.

  Surely it was their duty to save him.

  Baldwin and the Coroner had travelled a good many miles in two days, and Sir Roger spoke for both when he said, ‘My arse feels like it’s been beaten with hazel for hours. I want a good, solid chair that won’t move and a jug or two of strong ale. Then I need a haunch of beef or pork, hot, and dripping with fat and juice. After that I might feel half human again.’

  ‘I see. Half human is as close as you feel you can ever hope to achieve?’ Baldwin enquired.

  ‘If I wasn’t so bruised, Sir Knight, I’d force you to regret your words,’ Coroner Roger said, grimly rubbing his behind. ‘But under the circumstances, I’ll forgive you if you only find a means of shoving a quart of ale in my hands.’

  ‘Come with me,’ Simon said. ‘I know a small tavern which keeps a good brew.’ He led the way from the gate and into the town itself. ‘Ah, I’d thought he’d have finished,’ he breathed.

  Before them was the tavern outside which Sir Tristram had been gauging his recruits. He was still there, speaking seriously to the clerk who had been scribbling the names of the men he had recruited and which weapons they had brought with them.

  Seeing Simon, Sir Tristram straightened. ‘You decided to come back, then?’ he said rudely. ‘This town has a poor number of men, Bailiff. Very poor quality. It must be the wet weather down here. The damp settles on the brain, I understand. Maybe that’s why these clods are so gormless.’

  As he spoke his eyes passed over Baldwin and Roger, appraising them. His attention rested for a moment on their swords: Coroner Roger’s a heavy-bladed, rather long and slightly outdated lump of metal with a worn grip; Baldwin’s by comparison a very modern blade with a hilt of fine grey leather. Simon could almost hear the thoughts in Sir Tristram’s mind: one looked heavily used and was familiar to the wearer’s hand, while the other was new, which could mean that the knight was new to his status, or that his last sword was broken and he had chosen to replace it with the very latest model.

  Simon hurriedly introduced his friends to Sir Tristram. ‘The King’s Arrayer,’ he added. ‘Sir Tristram is here to recruit for the King’s war in Scotland.’

  ‘I wish you Godspeed, then,’ Coroner Roger said. His eyes were moving beyond the knight already, to the bar in the tavern, and, joy! to the serving girl who caught his eye even as he lifted his brows hopefully. She smiled and held up four fingers. The Coroner hesitated, then gave a faint shake of his head and held up three.

  Sir Tristram didn’t see his glance or movement. ‘I thank you. With some of these oafs, I’ll need it.’

  ‘Will you see more tomorrow?’ Simon asked.

  ‘There would seem to be little point. I have found forty men and two who could function as vintenars, so I am ready enough to fulfil the King’s requirements. I shall leave tomorrow or the next day, when I have provisions, and hope their feet will survive the journey. God knows but that I am doubtful. In the meantime, I shall stay at the inn, rather than abusing the Abbot’s generosity,’ he added with a harsher tone. ‘I can collect my horse tomorrow.’

  He left them, graciously taking his leave and bowing, and the three men watched him in silence as he passed off along the street.

  ‘What an arrogant…’

  ‘Master Coroner, there is no need to use language which could embarrass the serving maid,’ Baldwin said with mock severity.

  ‘Embarrass you? Could I?’ Coroner Roger asked archly as the girl appeared.

  She giggled as his hand quested the length of her thigh. ‘If you worked hard at it, Master.’

  ‘I may just do that, my dear,’ he drawled as she walked away. Then his face fell and he took a long draught of his wine. ‘Trouble is, she’s the right age to be my daughter.’

  ‘Grand-daughter,’ Simon corrected.

  ‘Don’t rub it in. My wife does that often enough
.’

  ‘How is the lovely Lady de Gidleigh?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘The same as usual,’ Roger said glumly. ‘I think if I were to give her poison, it’d only make her stronger. She’s built like a mule, there’s nothing can knock her down. Even a simple disease gives up at the sight of her. She never loses her balance. Her humours seem as steady as a lump of moorstone. It’s not fair. Hah! No, if I were to find some poison, I’d be better off drinking it myself. It would,’ he added with a slow shake of his head as though in deep gloom, ‘at least end my suffering,’

  ‘My heart bleeds for you. You’d be terrified if the girl agreed to bed you,’ Simon said with a smile. He and Baldwin knew that for all his harsh words, the Coroner was devoted to his wife.

  ‘You think so? I tell you, I’d take her tonight, except it’s hardly respectful to the Abbot to take a wench back to his own guest room and use it for a bulling shop, and it would be a rude rejection of his hospitality to stay here the night with her.’

  ‘You are so thoughtful,’ Baldwin said with a straight face.

  ‘Some of us are. It is a hard cross to bear, though, old friend,’ Roger sighed.

  Simon was desperate to find out what the Abbot had wanted to see Baldwin about, but Baldwin avoided the subject. There was something about his manner which sent a tingle down Simon’s back. Baldwin would not hold his gaze. His eyes seemed to touch on Simon fleetingly, then move on as though he was ashamed or nervous about something, and his fingers drummed on the table-top like a man waiting to be interrogated, rather than a man who was used to questioning others.

  ‘Tell us what you know about this murdered man,’ Baldwin said, apparently considering the barrels racked at the far end of the room.

  Simon told them all he knew about Walwynus, and then spoke about the weapon, and how it had disappeared when he visited the second time.

  ‘Interesting,’ Baldwin murmured, his eyes narrowed.