Devil's Acre

by Stephen Wheeler

  The monk’s elation quickly turned to consternation. ‘Oh but father why was I not informed of your visit? I fear you find me naked.’

  ‘Not quite the weather for that, brother,’ chuckled Samson. ‘But no formality, please. We have no wish to impose.’

  ‘No imposition,’ frowned the man, ‘no imposition at all. It is a pleasure and an honour. Even so, Prior Peter will be mortified - that is to say, he will be delighted of course, but he will be desolated that we have nothing for you. Or rather we do but -’ The man bit his lip then jabbed his finger at the sky. ‘Brother Raymond has gone on ahead to spread the glad tidings. I should join him I think - if you will permit, father.’

  He ran off, then came back to kiss Samson’s hand a second time, then ran off again after the first monk. Samson nodded and smiled and waved encouragement in his wake.

  ‘Damn,’ he said under his breath.

  The Priory of Our Lady of Thetford stands on the north bank of one of those two rivers I mentioned earlier, the Little Ouse - there, I’ve remembered its name now. Across it on the opposite bank could still be seen the remains of the old Saxon cathedral when Thetford - or rather Theodforda as they would have known it - was Norfolk’s greatest town. In modern times the cathedral had removed to Norwich alongside the castle leaving behind only this half-dismantled shell.

  As a Cluniac foundation, the priory is not subject to any other English abbey but is directly under the stewardship of the Abbot of Cluny. However, any abbot outranks a prior, especially one as senior as the Abbot of Edmundsbury who can thus expect a measure of deference. But respect is a two-way street and it would have been discourteous not to have called in at the priory as we were passing especially now that our presence in the town had been rumbled. As we rode up to the gates we found a welcoming party hastily being assembled and headed by the prior himself - a tall, gaunt-looking man with arms like a monkey and a nose like a beetroot.

  ‘Father Abbot greetings! Welcome, welcome indeed!’ he bellowed coming forward with his arms spread wide. ‘This is indeed an honour!’

  ‘Brother Prior, how good of you to receive us!’ Samson bellowed back. Dismounting, he embraced the prior kissing him fully on the lips like a long-lost brother. ‘I do apologize for arriving unannounced like this. Truth to tell, we hadn’t expected to be here at all but we were forced by the foulness of the weather to spend the night with the sisters of Saint George.’

  ‘Your bad fortune is our good,’ gushed the prior. ‘By the inclement weather God has rewarded us with your presence. He moves as ever in mysterious ways.’

  ‘He does indeed,’ nodded Samson solemnly. ‘But I said to Brother Walter here - do you know my physician Walter of Ixworth, by the way? Walter, I said, now that we are here we simply cannot leave Thetford without paying our respects to my dear old friend Prior Peter Vincent at Our Lady of Thetford.’

  ‘Master Walter, welcome to you too,’ Peter beamed at me, then immediately frowned concern. ‘But Father Abbot, your physician?’

  ‘Oh no, nothing like that,’ Samson laughed off the suggestion. ‘Brother Walter is here as my companion, not my nurse. ’

  ‘God be praised for that,’ said the prior with evident relief. ‘But please, both of you, won’t you come inside and warm yourselves at our hearth?’

  Samson gave a slight bow. ‘For myself I’d be delighted. But if you don’t mind Walter will remain with the mules. It is…’ he lowered his voice ‘…a delicate matter.’

  The prior followed Samson’s eyes to the figure of Ralf lying across the back of one of the other mules. His eyes widened with understanding. ‘Of course,’ he nodded and went over to have a word with one of his monks.

  ‘Couldn’t leave without paying our respects, father?’ I hissed. ‘Forced to spend the night at the nunnery?’

  ‘Oh do be quiet Walter,’ Samson smiled through clenched teeth. ‘What else was I supposed to say?’

  ‘Father, you’re surely not thinking of leaving us outside while you go in and enjoy our host’s hospitality?’

  ‘We’re late enough as it is. If you come too we’ll never get away. Wait here with Jane. I won’t be long.’

  ‘But father, it’s freezing out here!’

  He thrust the reins of his mule into my hands. ‘Then stamp,’ and followed the prior in through the gates.

  Behind me Jane gave a snort of contempt. ‘Just a companion, nothing more.’

  ‘I’m sure Father Abbot knows what he’s doing,’ I said watching him disappear into the building with all the monks flooding in after them.

  I shivered involuntarily and decided to dismount and stretch my legs to try to get the blood moving in them again. Stamp, Samson said. I would if I didn’t fear my frozen feet would shatter on impact. Nearby a group of beggars stood hunched around a brazier and I wandered over hoping to share in their comfort. A young man dressed in filthy rags shuffled round to make room for me.

  ‘Thank you my son,’ I smiled rubbing my hands together briskly above the flames. ‘Brrr! Cold no? Enough to freeze a turd in a bucket, what?’ I chuckled.

  I prided myself that I knew how to speak to these people. After all, I’d been almoner at the abbey for a while. It is one of the joys of our Benedictine Order that we should show charity to the poor whenever we can - leftovers from the refectory table, our old bedding, that sort of thing.

  ‘Have you been waiting here long, my son?’ I asked the young man cheerily.

  ‘About a year.’

  I looked at him with astonishment. ‘Good lord!’

  One of the monks came scurrying out from the priory carrying two steaming mugs of spiced ale. He handed one to me and gave the other to Jane before scurrying back inside again. Normally I detest spiced ale but I was so cold I could have drunk the Devil’s spit if it was warmed first. As I blew across the steaming liquid to cool it I became aware of several pairs of eyes watching me.

  ‘Here,’ I said offering my cup to the young man.

  He looked at me in surprise.

  ‘No really,’ I insisted. ‘I don’t much like spiced ale. Too…spicy.’

  The young man didn’t need telling twice. He took the cup in both hands and gulped down half its contents before passing it to his companions. Behind me I heard Jane give another snort.

  ‘Why are you always so cynical?’ I frowned returning to her. ‘Are you so consumed by your own grief that you have no compassion for others?’

  ‘Compassion!’ she sneered. ‘I saw no compassion last night.’

  ‘If you are referring to the unfortunate incident between Abbot Samson and Father Ralf then I’m afraid that was Ralf’s fault. God knows the Sisters of Saint George are poor enough. They can’t afford the loss of a single pot. Father Abbot was justly angry on their behalf at the wanton waste.’

  I didn’t believe a word of what I was saying any more than she did but I had a duty of loyalty to my superior. It doesn’t do to break ranks before servants whatever the rights and wrongs of the matter. It gives them ideas.

  ‘Ralf wor blind. He can’t help accidents. Now he’s dead acause of it.’

  ‘Hardly that,’ I said. ‘And I’m sure had father abbot known Ralf was so ill he would have tempered his words. He couldn’t have predicted what was going to happen. No-one could.’

  ‘Could he not?’ she sneered

  I was beginning to lose patience with the woman. ‘Jane you are being unjust. I’ve known Abbot Samson for fifteen years and I can tell you there is no man living with greater compassion.’

  ‘Fifteen year?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She leaned towards me over her mule’s head. ‘I know’d Sam Tott’ton for nigh on forty year an’ I say ’twere malice.’

  My jaw dropped open. ‘Forty years? Are you sure?’

  She just grinned back at me. A thought suddenly came to me:

  ‘Jane, where is your home village?’

  ‘Tott’ton, same as Samson. Same as Ralf. There now, Brother Knows-it-all,’ she
smirked. ‘What d’ye think on that?’

  I had to admit it was a shock. I’d never been to Tottington but I knew it was a small village. Could they all have known each other in childhood?

  ‘Tell me Jane, when you first saw Ralf this morning, what condition was he in?’

  She looked at me suspiciously. ‘Why’re you asking that?’

  ‘Just answer me.’

  ‘He wor as Sister Benjamin left him.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t mean in the cellar. I mean when you first saw him.’

  ‘That wor when I first saw him.’

  ‘No,’ I said patiently. ‘When you discovered him - in the priesthouse.’

  ‘I weren’t at the priesthouse.’

  ‘But Abbot Samson said -’ I stopped. ‘Never mind. Well if you didn’t find Ralf, who did?’

  ‘Mother Odell.’

  I drew back a little at that. ‘You’re saying Mother Odell discovered Ralf’s body? In the priesthouse? Mother Odell? This morning? Mother Odell?’

  She pursed her lips at me as though I were an imbecile.

  ‘She do that when I aren’t there. Looks in on Ralf.’

  ‘Ah yes. Ralf said you were off sulking somewhere.’

  She shook her head. ‘Weren’t sulking. Ralf didn’t want me last night.’

  ‘Now I know you’re lying,’ I said. ‘You left because you were upset - understandably under the circumstances but nevertheless neglectful. Your duty was to be with your master.’

  She glared at me. ‘Jane don’t lie. I were waitin’ in the porch to take Ralf home. It were him sent me away.’

  My instinct was that she was lying in order to shift the blame away from her. After all, had she been with Ralf overnight she might have been able to save his life. But why would she lie about finding his body?

  When at last Samson emerged he was red-cheeked and exuding bonhomie having clearly enjoyed the prior’s log fire - and doubtless a cup or two of the prior’s wine. By contrast Jane and I in contrast were sitting sullen and silent astride our mounts.

  Samson pulled a face at me. ‘What’s the matter with you? Not still sulking about being left out in the cold, are you?’

  But it wasn’t that. There was something very mysterious about the whole Ralf affair. Someone was lying. Someone was covering up. But I didn’t know what or who or why. Prior Peter was waiting to see us off but I was in no mood for pleasantries. I set off along the Tottington road without a word leaving Samson behind to make our farewells alone.

  Chapter 8

  TOMELINUS

  ‘Walter that was very rude of you,’ Samson said catching me up.

  ‘I’m sorry father.’

  ‘Whatever is the matter with you? You shame me and Saint Edmund with your petulance.’

  ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. I will apologize to Prior Peter on our return journey. I take it we will be returning this way when our business in Acre is done - whatever that is?’

  I looked at him expectantly but he merely grunted, pulled up his cowl and spurred his mule on ahead. Behind me I heard Jane snort again and I had to fight the urge to reprove her. And thus we continued for the next few miles with Samson out in front, me a few yards behind trailing Ralf’s mule, and Jane bringing up the rear. The snow was falling heavily now covering everything in a blanket of pure whiteness. It was a beautiful sight to behold and one that would normally lift the spirit, but I cannot remember a time when I felt more miserable.

  We passed through just one more village that day in the bottom of a valley half way between Thetford and Tottington. I say “village” but it didn’t amount to much more than a few huts clustered behind a church which was in the process of having its tower rebuilt. The weather had temporarily halted building work but it was heartening to see that however poor the villagers were they had their priorities right. And poor they surely were for the soil in this part of Norfolk is very sandy and cannot support the numbers that are on my mother’s estate at Ixworth. If this was the sort of country Samson hailed from then it made for meagre farming indeed. It wouldn’t be long before I found out for Tottington village lay just a few miles further ahead of us.

  The climb out of the village was slow and gradual as we ascended from the valley below. The snow had begun to ease and finally stopped altogether as we reached the top of the slope with the sun coming out to bathe us all in its cold brilliance. Samson shook the snow off his cowl and waited for us to catch up.

  ‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’ he grinned and drew his hand across the expanse of white and brown fields. ‘Look at that view! This must have been what the very first Christmas was like. Why, I can almost see the shepherds abiding in the field. No star to guide our way of course, but look, that little hovel down there could easily be the Holy Stable itself.’

  ‘Very nice father.’

  He looked at me. ‘Still sulking I see. Tell you what - we’ll break for some refreshment. That’ll cheer us all up.’

  ‘Are you sure we can spare the time?’

  He pretended not to hear me. ‘I know this road well. It was the one my dear mother first brought me down as a child to pray at Saint Edmund’s shrine,’ he said dismounting. ‘Did I ever tell you that story?’

  ‘Often, father.’

  ‘It was as the result of a dream, you see? I dreamt I was standing in front of a cemetery gate when the Devil tried to seize me.’

  ‘I bet you were absolutely terrified, father.’

  ‘I was absolutely terrified. I cried out in my sleep for Saint Edmund to help me - a name I had never heard before. Hearing my cries my mother took me next day to the abbey which I immediately recognized as being the place in my dream even though I had never been there before.’

  ‘How fortuitous that your mother had.’

  ‘Indeed. It was clear to me that I was being called by the martyr to renounce the world and take up the religious life which I duly did. There, what do you think of that?’

  ‘Very uplifting, father.’

  ‘Hmn,’ he looked at me doubtfully. ‘Well all this happened a long time ago in Tottington village which is not far away now. A good moment, perhaps, to pause and reflect. So, let’s see what the good nuns of Saint George have furnished us with - something special knowing Benjamin. And a little extra for you I saw from Monica-Jerome.’ He winked. ‘I think the lady has a soft spot for you, my boy.’ He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘Come, the ride has made me ravenous. What have we got?’

  ‘Pottage.’

  His grin remained fixed but his eyes registered disappointment. ‘Pottage.’

  ‘But there’s always my apple.’ I took it out to show him. ‘You may bite on it if you wish.’

  He put up his hand. ‘No no. Monica-Jerome intended it for you and you shall have it all. Denial is good for the soul. Jane and I will make do with the erm…pottage.’

  I collected what dry twigs I could find and cleared a patch of snow for our fire. Then I got out my fire-striker. At least with all this clean snow we wouldn’t want for water. It would melt quickly on our makeshift hearth

  ‘How’s Jane been doing?’ Samson asked once I’d coaxed a flame.

  I looked across at her sullen countenance as she sat upon her mule. ‘I’m a little concerned about her, actually. She hasn’t moved from her saddle since we left the nunnery.’

  ‘Hm, still pining over Ralf.’ He patted my shoulder. ‘Get a good fire going and see if that will entice her down. I have to answer nature’s call. If she’s not down by the time I get back I’ll speak to her.’

  While Samson went off to relieve himself behind a tree I set the pot among the flames to warm. I had already hobbled the mule carrying Ralf so it could not wander off but Jane remained stubbornly on hers. When he returned Samson raised his eyebrows quizzically but I shook my head. He went over to her.

  ‘Now Jane, what’s this?’ he said firmly. ‘You can’t sit up there all day and not eat. We’ve already got one corpse, we don’t want another. And Clyte
mnestra could do with a rest.’ He stroked the animal’s ear.

  Jane did not respond.

  ‘You know, it’s bad manners to ignore someone when they are speaking to you. So I’m asking you, please come down and warm yourself by the fire.’

  Jane sneered and looked away.

  ‘Do you not want to shit?’

  Still no response.

  ‘Very well. As your lord I command you.’

  She shot him a bitter look. ‘You en’t my lord. My lord is the Bishop of Ely.’

  ‘I’m sure Bishop Eustace would be heartened to hear of your loyalty, but I’m afraid while you live with the nuns you are in my care like it or not. Now, I command you. Come down and eat. Brother Walter has lit a fire for you, and look, we have pottage.’

  She reluctantly swung her leg over the pommel. ‘I get down because I want it, not because you say.’

  She dropped onto the powdery snow and ambled off into the woods. Samson watched her go with disdain.

  ‘I fear we will be having trouble with that lady before very long.’

  It was then that we heard it. Distant at first but slowly getting louder. A sound that rose and fell like a cat in distress.

  ‘Yuuuule-prrrrrp-tick-tick-tickety, brr, brrr, pooo-bop!’

  ‘What on earth?’ said Samson squinting hard in the direction we had come. The road, I should point out, at this point was long and straight with no bends. We had chosen this place carefully just so that we have good views in both directions and could see trouble coming from afar. And trouble afar there seemed to be. In the distance coming up the hill from behind us was a tiny black dot that buzzed and fluttered like a fly.

  Samson screwed up his face and peered hard. ‘Your eyes are younger than mine, Walter. Can you see what it is?’

  I squinted against the sunlight and shielded my eyes. ‘It’s a man - I think.’

  ‘Or a devil,’ said Samson. ‘A fool whoever he is announcing his presence like that. Every footpad for miles must have heard him.’

  As the creature drew closer his words became clearer: ‘Yo-liddle-idus, my name is Tom-e-linus. I come up from Mont-i-pillery and I’m on my way to York-i-shivery. I’ve been away for a year and a day and won’t be back tomor-or-ow. Pirrip-pirrip-pop-pop-droooo!’ And then every few yards he would leap into the air as if skipping over some unseen obstacle. But there was nothing there - at least, nothing I could see.