‘You go and rest, Sir Baldwin. You look very tired,’ Mark said understandingly.
‘That is very kind,’ Baldwin said, but then he grew aware of more feet ascending the stairs. ‘Simon? Did you learn anything?’
‘I think so, yes,’ Simon answered. He shot a look at Gerard, relieved to see that he was alive. Facing Mark, he said, ‘I am glad to have seen you again, Brother. I was thinking about the day when I had seen the Abbot and saw you at your room.’
Mark smiled but his face was largely blank. ‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘You will. I had been so tied up with the murders, I forgot all about the theft of the wine. The pewter being taken, and the dead miner – both seemed so much more important. Yet of course they were no more important. A man who is prepared to steal from the Abbot of a place like this, would be prepared to commit any crime.’
‘I could hardly disagree in principle,’ Brother Mark said politely, ‘but the theft of wine is surely very different from stealing pewter from the Abbey’s guests. Anyway, we know who the thief was: as I told the Abbot some days ago, it seems certain that the thief was Gerard.’
‘You told the Abbot?’ Baldwin exclaimed. ‘I thought Peter must have told Abbot Robert.’
‘I don’t know why you would think that. Heavens! Peter tell the Abbot something like that? I shouldn’t think so. He prefers to keep secrets from others, not blurt them.’
‘Perhaps he feels other men’s secrets are their own to keep or divulge,’ Simon said pointedly. ‘And the master of a thief might decide to surrender him in order to save his own hide.’
Mark gaped.‘You think to accuse me of controlling the lad? You suggest I was his accomplice?’
‘Simon,’ Baldwin interrupted hastily, ‘Peter and I were here when we heard Gerard declare Augerus was the man who persuaded him to steal; Augerus and Joce Blakemoor.’
‘I am sure Augerus was,’ Simon said. ‘Guilty of taking the pewter and having Walwynus carry it away to Joce, more than likely. But I will say this: Augerus was not guilty of stealing the wine. Was he, Mark?’
‘I couldn’t say, Bailiff.’
‘No? Then let us consider the matter. The room where the Abbot kept his wine is quite large, and there are only tiny windows, aren’t there?’
‘Yes. I certainly couldn’t break in through one.’
‘No. Augerus, of course, if he wanted to steal the Abbot’s wine, would merely have taken his key and filched what he wanted. Except if he entered by unlocking the door, everyone would know it was he who had stolen the stuff. He couldn’t do that. So if Augerus had done this, he would have made it more obvious, and would have shown a forced door or window to cover his crime. But another man wouldn’t have keys. Such a man might decide to get in anyway, but how would he get the wine out? The barrel remained inside, yet it was emptied, as though a party had been going on inside there.’
‘It is a mystery,’ Mark offered.
‘No. All the man needed to do was let an accomplice get in, then pass him a tube under the door, and let the wine run from the Abbot’s barrel, out under the door, and into a fresh one. It wouldn’t be very neat – there would be wine spilled all over the floor – but substantially more of the wine would make it. And then the acolyte could be retrieved and no one the wiser. Especially if you had someone like Gerard, whom you could blackmail.’
‘Blackmail?’
‘Yes. You knew he had stolen things. Perhaps you caught him red-handed and forced him to steal for you as well.’
Mark shook his head, but he had grown deathly pale. ‘I would do no such thing.’
Simon continued relentlessly, ‘And then you killed Walwynus. You were seen. Ellis saw you – so did Hamelin. He told his wife. Was that why Hamelin had to die as well? Did you know he saw you up there?’
‘No! My God in heaven, this is all nonsense!’
‘Then you had best tell us the truth,’ Simon said. ‘Because if you don’t, I swear I shall take all this information to the Abbot myself and accuse you.’
‘How could you think I would do such a thing as steal from the Abbey?’
‘You took the wine, didn’t you? You made a point of showing me where your syphon tube was, coiling it before me after I saw the Abbot, as though you wanted me to be quite convinced that anyone could have got hold of it.’
Mark allowed a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. ‘I did show you that, yes, but only so you could see how anyone could have got in there. Look, all I did was share some wine with Augerus. We had been in town that evening, and when we returned here, we went to his master’s undercroft and tried some wine. We didn’t think much about it. Augerus was going to refill it with other wine, and if the Abbot noticed, he’d simply say it was a bad barrel. He’s done it before.’
‘The barrel was empty,’ Simon reminded him.
‘Yes, well, the Abbot had been away for some weeks. We had gone there a few times. It was so tempting. That wine was excellent. Much better than the horse’s piss we usually get in here. And one morning we woke up and heard the Abbot was coming back . . . Well, the night before we’d had a few more drinks than usual, and when we went to the undercroft to top up the barrel with some cheaper wine, we realised we’d emptied it. The tap was open and wine was puddled all about it.
‘Augerus panicked. I said we should fill it with some rough stuff that had turned to vinegar, and tell the Abbot that it was gone off, but Augerus said that the Abbot could always tell a good wine which had gone off compared with a bad wine. He kept insisting that there was nothing to be done other than we should show that the wine had been stolen. It was his idea to prove that there had been a clever thief by leaving the door locked. Either someone had taken the keys from him, or they had entered without keys. Whichever was true, he reasoned that it would be a mystery.’
‘And that this boy would probably be blamed, although he was blameless,’ Baldwin observed.
‘Blameless? When he robbed people inside the convent, to the risk of the convent’s reputation?’ Mark said pointedly. ‘I should not feel too much compassion for someone with that guilt on his conscience.’
‘On the day Wally died,’ Simon said, ‘you were up on the hill. You spoke to Wally. You were seen there by Hamelin and Ellis.’
‘Yes. I spoke to him.’
‘Come on, man!’ Simon exploded. ‘You were the last man seen with him. Do you tell us you killed him?’
‘No! I was there to demand that he return the things he had taken from the place. He denied it all, of course, but I knew that he was a thief.’
‘Did he continue to deny being involved?’
‘No. He said, “Oh, so Brother Peter has told everyone, has he?’”
‘What do you think he meant by that?’
‘Peter had been his accomplice, of course.’
‘What then?’
‘Wally said that he had nothing now. A part of the profit had gone to his colleagues and his own share had gone as a gift to Hamelin. He said he didn’t want to profit from something which could hurt the Abbey.’
‘Did he say anything more?’
‘Only that he supposed it was the cut which had led to people finding out. He was quite phiosophical about it. He said that he had taken four-sevenths of the money for the pewter instead of the agreed half. I rather think he considered it was a judgement on himself for cheating an associate.’
‘It doesn’t make much sense,’ Baldwin said.
‘No,’ Simon said. ‘You were there, you took a stick from Hamelin’s store to show that he had committed the murder, because you wanted him silenced after all the embarrassment about your not paying him back the money you owed him.’
‘This is ludicrous, Bailiff! Why should I kill Wally?’
‘Simple. He had stolen from the Abbey, and you knew about it. There could be nothing more intolerable to you than the thought that someone would harm the reputation of the place. The Abbey is now your sanctuary, isn’t it? Often
those who take on the cloth later in life are more protective of their Order than those who wore the habit from an early age. How did you find out about Wally?’
‘It was Peter. I saw him many times, walking about the place. One night I couldn’t sleep, and I saw him at the Abbot’s lodging, staring down into the garden.’ Mark shrugged. There was little point in concealing his knowledge. ‘I have never much cared for Peter. He seems to think his looks mean he should be treated with favour compared with the rest of us. So, I went and looked myself, and saw that Wally was there, leaving the garden with a small sack in his hand. I thought Peter must have given him something. Then, when I heard about the pewter being taken, I was struck with horror at his crime, and I was determined to show his guilt. I went to see Wally, it is true, but I didn’t have a weapon of any sort. I told him he had to bring back the pewter or I would tell the Abbot what I knew, and he went. That is all.’
‘You didn’t wait for him?’ Baldwin interrupted.
‘There was no point. He said it wasn’t there with him. I left him to fetch it. I intended bringing it back to the Abbey and giving it to the Abbot. The thief would surely never dare to commit his thieving again once he knew that his thefts had been solved, but I was prepared to give him some time.’
‘Why were you prepared to give him time?’ Simon demanded.
‘He had been in a fight. His eye was closed, and there was no need for instant action. I was content that he would comply. That was enough for me.’
‘But the pewter didn’t reappear,’ Simon said.
‘No,’ Mark said sadly. ‘Wally died, and the metal was not found. I thought that was a judgement on him by God, and I was content to leave the matter in His hands.’
‘What of Hamelin?’
‘I know nothing about his death.’
‘Even though you hated him?’ Baldwin pressed him.
‘I didn’t hate him, as you put it. He was an embarrassment, a reminder of the sinful life I once led, but that was all.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Art looked out from the cart’s back as it rattled and thumped over the moors.
‘Are you all right, boy?’ Rudolf asked.
‘Yes, Master.’
‘Don’t call me that, boy. We’re all freemen here. None of us is owned by a master. That was what we Swiss fought for at Morgarten. Now you are with us, you are safe.’
Art heard his words, but they were so momentous that he found it hard to believe Rudolf. ‘I can work my way, sir.’
He saw the flash of teeth, but there was no answer. Art was partly terrified of this calm, tanned foreigner, but he was also filled with admiration. The man seemed so confident and assured. So too was Joce, Art thought, but Joce was cruel, often for the sake of it, while this Rudolf with his funny accent and voice had shown no desire to beat him yet.
The man who had caught him brought him straight to this Rudolf, who questioned him carefully, but plainly decided that there was no harm in him, and passed Art to his woman, who undressed him and gave him a fresh, clean, overlarge tunic and gown while his own clothes were taken away and beaten in the waters of a stream. While the clothes were being dealt with, a youth gave him a big wooden bowl filled with large pieces of meat in a rich, peppery gravy. Art devoured it with gusto, running his fingers around the bowl to collect the last vestiges.
Then the Bailiff and the others arrived. Art cowered in terror, thinking that they had come to take him back, for all knew how powerful Joce was, but Anna had passed him in among the women with their children, pushing him down until he squatted, invisible, in their midst.
It was a miracle that he had not been found, but then he could hear most of the conversation, and it was plain that they weren’t after him as he feared, but instead were still trying to learn what had happened when Wally died. It almost made him want to cry out in relief.
He was safe, he thought. Joce would find another young servant boy to abuse and beat, and Art would take up his new life as a sailor. Soon, very soon, he must make his fortune. All sailors did, he understood. As he was considering the advantages of this, he heard a muttered curse from Rudolf, and looking back the way they had come, he saw the distant figure of a man walking quickly towards them.
For some reason a feeling of awe and hatred welled up in his breast, although he had no idea at this distance whom this walking man might be. There was just something, in his gait, or the set of his head, or simply the aggressive stance in which he stalked forwards, as though he was attacking the roadway in order to subjugate it, that gave his identity away.
‘Sweet Jesu!’ Art whimpered.
He could see it all now. Joce had refused to accept his going. Joce wanted him back, would drag him, screaming, to the house, and once in there, Art knew that all the pain and indignities he had suffered before would be as nothing. For running away, he would be forced to endure the cruellest tortures his master could conceive.
Art gave an inarticulate cry and drew back into the security of the cart.
Rudolf glanced at him in surprise, then jerked his head. ‘Your master?’
‘Yes!’ It was little more than a whisper. Art’s eyes were fixed upon the steadily approaching figure.
‘You are safe with us,’ Rudolf said calmly.
‘He will kill me!’
‘No.’
Joce was in earshot now, and he bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘Hold! Stop those carts!’
Rudolf, hearing his command, muttered in German to Welf, ‘The bastard thinks he can order us around like English peasants!’
‘I said stop the carts! I must speak to you!’
To Joce’s relief the cavalcade drew to a halt, the men and women separating and the men forming a line at the rear of their column.
He was bone tired now. The horse had collapsed near Sharpitor, and he had been forced to make his way on foot after that. At least he’d been in luck so far. He wondered whether Jack the Sergeant had been the last of a line of men searching for him, because after killing him, he had seen no more evidence of a man-hunt on his trail. Perhaps he had escaped after all, he thought. Certainly this stranger with the thick accent seemed to pose no danger. If anything, he looked a bit stupid.
‘You are welcome, sir,’ Rudolf called, emphasising his accent. It was always useful to be able to deny comprehension when necessary, he found. ‘How may we serve you?’
‘May I crave your generosity? I have been robbed, and my food and water were stolen. Could I share a little of your food with you?’
‘Certainly, sir. It is poor fare for a gentleman. Still, you are welcome to share what we have,’ Rudolf said.
Joce smiled, although he was thinking that this man was a fool. He would eat with them, drink with them, and then, when all was dark and these ignorant foreigners were asleep, he would take the pewter. Perhaps someone might wake – well, if they did, Joce would enjoy setting his blade across the man’s throat. It would be pleasant to kill again. There were many of them, and only one of him – but that didn’t concern Joce. He knew he was more than equal to them.
Coroner Roger lunged at the runaway horse and hauled on its reins, almost unseating himself as the wild animal pulled him and his own horse along. ‘I have it!’ he roared gleefully as he drew it to a slower pace, then to a canter, leaning over to pat the beast’s neck, wiping some of the foam and froth away.
‘This is my Sergeant’s mount,’ Sir Tristram said with icy calm.
‘Is he the sort of man to lose his horse?’ the Coroner asked, but even as he spoke his eyes caught sight of the stain. ‘Blood.’
‘Christ Jesus!’ The blasphemy was deserved. All along the horse’s flank was a great gout of blood.
‘I fear your man is dead,’ Coroner Roger said soberly.
‘Up there! Ah, by the devil’s cods, he must have got past all the men! Jack was up there as a last line to stop him. If he cut Jack down, he could be anywhere.’
‘Not anywhere,’ Roger said thoughtfully. ‘T
here are not that many paths from here. And the ground is quite damp. Let’s see if we can find out where he has gone.’
They left the runaway horse with another of Sir Tristram’s men and made their way back up the hill. The hoofprints were clear enough, for the horse had galloped wildly, each steel horseshoe cutting deeply into the soft, well-cropped grass, and they had no need of a tracker. They could ride at a gentle canter until they came to the body.
‘Dear God!’ Sir Tristram said with disgust.
‘It’s your man?’ the Coroner asked.
‘Yes. That looks like Jack’s body. But where’s his head?’
Coroner Roger jumped lightly from his horse and left the corpse, walking along the hoofprints until he came to a place where the blood lay thickly. ‘Here it is,’ he said, picking up Jack’s head. He set it with the body and gazed east. ‘That’s his direction. He’s going to Ashburton.’
‘Then let’s be after him!’ Sir Tristram grated. ‘I want his head.’
Simon and Baldwin entered the Abbot’s lodging after him, and while Abbot Robert roared for his Steward, the two sat in chairs near his table. When Augerus hurried inside, he was instantly sent out again to fetch wine. Meanwhile the Abbot instructed a messenger to collect Brother Peter.
That monk, when he entered, found himself being gazed at by the stern quartet of the Abbot, Baldwin, Simon, and Mark; the latter wore the most savage expression of them all, as though, Peter thought privately, he was determined to outdo all the others in righteous indignation.
‘My Lord Abbot, you asked for me?’ Peter asked, with apparent surprise. He had been warned, but their expressions were fearsome.
Augerus entered behind him, and now stood contemplating him with some surprise, a tray of cups and wine in his hands.
The Devil's Acolyte (2002) Page 37
