The Devil's Acolyte (2002)

by Jecks, Michael

  ‘It was all passed from the Abbot’s own lodging, according to Peter,’ Simon breathed. ‘He’s right. It’s the only way they could have got it out.’

  Baldwin was frowning. ‘It is certainly possible,’ he conceded. ‘But how on earth would the acolyte have reached the Abbot’s rooms? Surely he could only hand Walwynus the metal during the dark, for else the miner would have been seen.’

  ‘There was another accomplice inside the Abbot’s lodging,’ Simon said. ‘But at least that explains how the things were taken from the Abbey. As Peter told us, they were passed from a window here, down to Wally, who carried them away with him.’

  ‘All the way to the moors?’ Coroner Roger shook his head. ‘No. Too much risk of being seen. Carrying stuff like that would be an invitation to the Watch. He must have kept the things securely here in the town.’

  ‘Yes,’ Simon said. ‘You are right, of course!’

  ‘Let’s go and see Joce, this “Red Hand” and find out what he has to say for himself.’

  They rode to the Abbey’s stables and left their mounts before hurrying out through the Court Gate towards the road where Joce’s house lay. Sir Tristram’s men eyed the trio as though doubting their sanity.

  Simon didn’t care. He was feeling the excitement of the chase now. All fears and insecurities were fading, leaving in their stead this thrilling in his blood. He felt as though they were near to understanding the whole story, that there were only a few small details which needed to be teased out and fitted into their relevant positions. In reality, of course, there were still some terrible blank spaces.

  There was no hint of a motive for killing Wally, and the same went for Hamelin’s murder too. Money had appeared as though from nowhere, murderers had run down to Tavistock from Scotland – and there was little sense to any of it. Why should Wally and Martyn have come here? And then light dawned. If Joce truly was ‘Red Hand’, Wally and Martyn, after fleeing from Sir Tristram and his men, would have gone where their leader told them they should be safe: the place he himself knew, his own birthplace. And when they arrived at Tavistock, what could be more natural than that they should take up spades to try their hand at tin mining?

  But if their attempts met with little success, it would be easy to imagine small niggling annoyances growing into disputes or violent explosions. One such must have led to the argument during which Martyn died. One man couldn’t mine successfully. What would Wally have done? Obviously he’d have gone to his master and asked for assistance.

  They had reached Blakemoor’s door. Baldwin pointed to one of the men with them, who drew his dagger and hammered on it with the hilt, but there was no reply.

  While they waited, Simon caught his breath. ‘Baldwin, do you remember what that Swiss said about the house he saw Wally and the lad jumping from?’

  ‘Yes, he said it was built of limed wood, and that there was a blue shield painted over the doorway.’ Baldwin followed Simon’s pointing finger. ‘So Wally and his accomplice were robbing Joce.’

  ‘You lot stay here, two at this door, two at the back. Wait here until I send word you can go,’ Coroner Roger said.

  Simon looked about him. Seeing Nob’s shop, he recalled his conversation with the innkeeper on the day when he was helping the Arrayer select his men. ‘Baldwin, that pie-shop there. It’s owned by Nob, the man who spoke to us last night and took us to Hamelin’s corpse. Wally used to stay there. Let’s go and have a look. We might learn something.’

  When the three marched inside Nob’s shop, they found it deserted. Simon strode to the table and thumped upon it with his fist, while the Coroner eyed the pies with an interest that was not in the least professional. He reached out with a finger and experimentally poked at one.

  ‘Hoy! Don’t bugger about wi’ me pies’

  The stertorian voice came from the open doorway at the back of the shop, and soon Nob came through, using his towel to wipe his head and face with one hand, while the other gripped a large drinking horn.

  ‘That’s meat. You want meat, fowl or fish? It’s Friday, so you should be eating fish.’

  Simon said, ‘You spoke to us yesterday about Hamelin. Did Walwynus come here to sleep when he visited Tavistock for the coining?’

  ‘Yes. He always came to stay here when he was in Tavistock.’

  ‘Do you mean that he came here often?’ Baldwin enquired.

  ‘Yes. Every few weeks, whenever he needed supplies. We sort of took pity on him. Well, my Cissy did. She’s always like that, looking after the waifs and strays. Daft cow. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Did he stay in this room?’ Simon asked.

  ‘No, he’d be out in the back.’

  ‘Show us.’

  ‘Why? I don’t see why I . . .’ His protestations were ignored as the three barged past him and out into the room behind. ‘Come on! What’s all this about?’

  It was a small room, with a second door that opened out to the garden space behind, sparsely furnished. There was only one small table and a couple of stools. A barrel was standing on the table-top. Apart from that, the room appeared to be a storeroom for a small quantity of flour to make the baker’s paste for pies, and for the charcoal which he needed to fire his oven.

  ‘Where do you buy your coals?’ Baldwin asked, picking up a small sack.

  ‘Up the way. Look, what is all this?’

  Simon had found a balled lump of black material, and he opened it out to find it was a man-sized tunic, but there was nothing in it, so he let it fall back on the floor. Nob strode over to him and kicked it aside angrily.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this. I want an explanation.’

  ‘We’re investigating Walwynus’ death,’ the Coroner said curtly. ‘So shut up and answer our questions.’

  ‘Old Wally? What does this place have to do with him?’

  Simon took the sack from Baldwin. Like the one which had contained the pewter, this was impregnated with charcoal dust. ‘Nob, I think you have been a very foolish man.’

  ‘Me?’ Nob squeaked. ‘I’ve done nothing!’

  ‘But you allowed a felon into your home. Someone stole pewter from the Abbey and passed it out to Wally, and Wally hid it. Now we have more stolen pewter, and it’s in a sack – one of these ones you keep your coals in.’

  Nob dropped with a thump on to one of the stools. ‘Oh God, no, not Wally,’ he said. ‘Oh, my God! You mean things have been stolen from the Abbey and stored here? My heavens! That is terrible.’

  ‘Did you know anything about this, Nob?’ Simon asked keenly. He moved to the cook’s side and stood over him threateningly.

  ‘No, of course not. What do you take me for, eh?

  ‘Is there anywhere here Wally could have hidden a sack this size?’ Coroner Roger pressed him.

  ‘Where else would he have taken stolen things?’ Baldwin demanded of the anxious Nob. ‘There can’t have been too many people whom he would have visited.’

  ‘I never saw him carry a sack, sir. Never. Sometimes he had his small bag, but never one of those sacks.’

  Simon gasped with understanding. ‘Baldwin, the sack we got must have been a whole collection. Wally had an accomplice outside the Abbey, and when he had collected enough, he filled his sack and sold it.’

  ‘But the Swiss told us that he found Wally jumping from Joce’s window. Shit! I don’t understand what this is all about! Wally knew Blakemoor,’ Coroner Roger’s belly grumbled; he wanted to reach into the cook’s shop and take a pie.

  ‘Suppose so. Blakemoor’s the Receiver. We all know him,’ Nob said.

  Simon asked, ‘What did Walwynus say about him? We’ve heard that they were close, that they might have been comrades.’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Nob said thoughtfully, ‘but something changed on the day of the coining.’

  Simon peered at him. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘He came in here partway through the day, bought a pie, but he was very quiet. Not himself. Swore about Joce for some rea
son, but wouldn’t explain why. Then he ran out as soon as he saw some young monk.’

  ‘A novice?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ Nob said more slowly.

  ‘Do you know his name?’

  ‘Oh, er, he was just a lad, you know. The red-haired one.’

  Simon shot Baldwin a look. ‘Gerard has red hair.’

  ‘So now we have a connection between Wally and Gerard, and between Wally and Joce,’ Baldwin said. ‘And we know that they robbed Joce. I’d think that was a good enough motive for him to murder Wally, if he learned Wally was involved.’

  ‘If – yes.’ Simon was frowning. ‘But why should Wally go and steal that pewter from Joce?’

  ‘Because as this estimable cook has told us, Joce and Wally fell out. Wally came here and took back all the pewter at a time when he knew the Receiver would be held up at the coining.’

  ‘Why should they fall out?’ Simon wondered. ‘That’s what I want to know.’ Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  ‘Well, we’d best track down Joce, then,’ said Coroner Roger impatiently. ‘He’s the man who needs to answer questions now.’

  ‘In a moment,’ Simon said. He was studying Nob with a certain intensity. ‘What of Hamelin? You told us he had come into some money, which he brought here for his wife. Do you still believe he sold an old debt? It sounds odd, if Wally knew he couldn’t recover that debt.’

  ‘You need to ask Emma about that.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘At Hamelin’s place.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Joce pushed Gerard along in front of him, the knife in his hand pricking the lad whenever he slowed. He shoved him through brambles and gorse, on and on, until Joce felt sure that they were safe from immediate discovery.

  They were up the hill which led to the moors. From here, Joce could look back and see the smoke rising from the fires of Tavistock, and the Abbey itself. The road along the eastern riverbank was hidden by the lie of the hillside, but that was little concern, he thought, panting after the exertion.

  Gerard’s hands were bound with Joce’s belt, and Joce had firm hold of it. Now he jerked on it viciously, and kicked Gerard’s shin, knocking the boy to the ground.

  ‘Don’t kill me!’

  Gerard sobbed, petrified with fear. It felt as though he had escaped one danger only to fall into a still worse one. When he had felt that awful knife at his throat, he had thought that he was going to die. It struck him as ironic that, having escaped the clutches of Reginald and the Abbot, he should have fallen among cut-throats and felons who wanted to kill him for the little money he had in his scrip. And then he had been startled as he recognised the voice: Joce!

  He knew Joce, of course. Everyone did. The Receiver was recognised by everyone in the town because he was so powerful. He was responsible for all the money paid in tolls and fines, for justice and the smooth running of Tavistock. No one could live in the area without knowing Joce.

  But Gerard knew more about him, because Gerard knew Art, his servant. Art regularly cursed his master. All masters would beat their staff on occasion, of course, but according to Art, Joce took a profound pleasure in beating his charge that went beyond all the bounds of propriety. And even in the Abbey, there were whispers about the recent heated argument between Joce and his neighbour over the midden heap.

  If he were free of Joce, he could have giggled to recall that. The pile which had so incensed Joce had in fact been carefully put there by Wally and himself, making a decent pile of rubbish on which Gerard could climb to gain entry. Once he was inside, he went downstairs and let Wally in as well, and then the two searched out the pewter which had been stolen.

  When Wally had seen Joce standing in the market for the coining, he had realised that the man’s house would be empty. And that led to his idea that he and Gerard could break in and steal back the pewter. They could share the profits, he said, although Gerard had refused his allotted portion. He had pointed out that he had no need of money. His reward was to ensure that the man who had ultimately led him to a life of felony would not benefit by it.

  Wally had gone to Nob’s place and seized a sack, and then the two were inside. As soon as they found the locked cupboard, they forced it open and filled the sack with pewter. Then they heard the sound of a door. Fearing discovery, they swiftly shut the cupboard and bolted, and all but brained that foreigner out in the alley. Still, it had been good in a way. Wally had sold the stuff easily enough. Apparently the foreigner was looking for tin to mix with lead to make his own pewter, but he was soon persuaded to take the metal he was offered. He was not so scrupulous as to turn down an offer like that.

  Scrambling to his feet as Joce lashed out again with his boot, Gerard gasped, ‘No, don’t hurt me, please!’

  ‘Where is it, you bastard?’ Joce grabbed Gerard’s shoulder, pulling him towards the knife.

  ‘I don’t know what you . . .’

  ‘Oh, you think I won’t dare to hurt a man of the cloth?’ Joce asked mildly, and then he slashed once, a long cut with the sharp blade.

  There was no pain. That was the first thought in Gerard’s mind as he saw the blade, now bloody, dancing in front of his face. There was only a curious sense of disembodiment, as though he was watching actors on a cart. He felt as though there was a slap at his cheek, that was all, and then there was a warmth that spread from his cheekbone down his neck to his shoulder. The knife flashed again, red, as though it was itself angry now, and Gerard felt his nose break, then a dragging as the blade snagged on bone.

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ he cried, but Joce could scarcely hear him. His fist came again, this time thudding into Gerard’s shoulder, and the boy wept with the certainty that he was about to die. ‘Mother Mary! Sweet Jesus!’

  ‘Where is it?’ Joce demanded, his breath rasping in his throat. ‘I’ll kill you, you little toad, for trying to steal from me. Where is it? No one else could have got into my house. Where have you put all my pewter? What have you done with it?’

  Gerard felt rather than saw the knife flash towards him, and in his terror, he fell before it could hit him. ‘It’s with the Swiss! Don’t hurt me again! Wally did it! He sold it to the Swiss on the moor.’

  Joce stood over him, confused. He was so filled with rage against this thief who could steal all his carefully hoarded pewter that he felt he could burst, but at the same time he was overwhelmed at the thought of all the money which could be lost. He kicked Gerard once in the flank, then the leg, then the shoulder, short, brutal kicks meted out with an unrestrained fury.

  ‘Cheat me, would you? You little shit, I’ll kill you!’ he hissed.

  He raised the knife to stab a last time, but as he did so, he heard a voice bellowing, ‘Hold, felon! Murder, murder, murder!’

  There was a man on a horse, and he was cantering towards Joce. The great hooves looked enormous, and, struck with a fear for his own safety, Joce darted away, running for the safety of some trees nearby.

  ‘Sweet Jesus!’ were the last words Gerard heard as he slipped into the welcoming darkness.

  They arrived at the grotty little chamber that comprised Emma’s home and stood outside. Baldwin eyed it grimly, the Coroner with reluctance, thinking about the fleas inside. It was Simon who finally marched up to the door and pushed it open on its cheap leather hinges.

  ‘Who are you?’ Cissy looked up and demanded.

  It was a small room, smoky, ill-lit from the small window high in the northern wall, and although the reeds on the floor were not too foul, there was an odour of decay and filth. A pile of straw with a cloth thrown over was the bed for the children, who snuffled and wept together like a small litter of pigs.

  ‘I am the Stannary Bailiff. Are you Nob’s wife?’

  ‘Oh, God! What’s he done now?’

  Simon grinned at the note of fatalism in her voice. ‘Nothing, Cissy. But I would like to talk to you about the murders.’

  ‘V
ery well, but keep your voice down. I don’t want to upset her any more. It’s taken me ages to calm her this much.’

  ‘Of course. Just this, then: your husband said that Hamelin came here with money. Do you know where he said it came from?’

  ‘He said he had sold a debt to Wally. One of the monks owed him a lot of money. A bad debt. Wally bought it.’

  ‘Did he say who owed it?’

  ‘No.’

  Baldwin interrupted them. ‘It makes no sense. Why should Wally have bought a debt he couldn’t have redeemed? If the owner of the debt was a monk, there was no legal means of recovering the money?’

  Cissy gave a long-suffering sigh. ‘You officials; you men! All you ever think about is simple things, like straight lines. Maybe Wally wanted to give his money to help Hamelin. Little Joel was ill, he was dying. Maybe Wally always wanted a child of his own and couldn’t bear to think that the child would die of starvation.’

  ‘It’s a leap of faith with a man like that Wally,’ Coroner Roger said cynically.

  ‘Is it?’ Cissy said. Then her jaw jutted and she faced him aggressively. ‘You say that when you don’t know the man? How dare you! I knew Wally for two years or more, and he was always polite and kindly. Never raised his voice to women, never caused a fight. When he got drunk he sat in a corner and giggled himself to sleep. Hah! And you reckon he was a violent, cruel man? I think that’s rubbish. He was quiet, shy, even, when he saw that old monk, but we know why now, don’t we? We’ve heard Wally had something to do with the monk’s wound. Well, I think Wally felt the shame of that, and I don’t think he’d have hurt another man in his life. So there!’

  ‘My lady, would you serve as my advocate, should I ever be accused of a crime?’ Baldwin murmured, and Cissy preened, grinning.

  Simon said, ‘Tell me, before Hamelin was killed . . .’

  At these words, there was a high, keening wail from the corner of the fire, and Cissy rolled her eyes. ‘Did you have to say that? I’ve only just got her to quieten down, and now you’ve started her off again.