Devil's Acre

by Stephen Wheeler

  The tolling bell brought folk from their houses to greet us - a dozen chattering wives with their coifs pulled down and their shawls pulled up together with their more reticent husbands and a gaggle of goggle-eyed children peeking out from behind their mothers’ skirts. Barking dogs added to the general cacophony that swirled around us as Samson dismounted with undisguised pleasure bestowing benevolence on all by name. Pretty soon he was lost to view among the well-wishers as what seemed like the entire village wanted to touch the great man. It is at times like this that one realises just how important a personage is the Abbot of Bury. To me he is as familiar as my own fingers for I see him every day, but to simple folk like these, even close family, such a man must seem almost godlike. But Samson was not playing Jupiter today. I can’t remember when I’d seen him more relaxed. He was among his own kind and had fallen back into his old Norfolk dialect which made me feel more like an outsider than ever.

  ‘Walter,’ he called placing his arm around one man’s shoulders. ‘See this disgraceful fellow? This is Henry, my cousin on my mother’s side.’

  I nodded. ‘Master Henry.’

  ‘And here, this is Margaret his wife - a second cousin on my father’s side.’

  ‘Mistress Margaret.’

  ‘This here is cousin Robert. This his brother John and his four - no five sons, heaven help his poor wife! And this old reprobate,’ said Samson roughly pulling another arm out of the crowd, ‘is my first and most beloved cousin Absalom, priest and paterfamilias to this rabble of ne’er-do-wells!’

  To my astonishment there now came smiling towards me another Abbot Samson - an exact copy of the original right down to the bushy white eyebrows, pink pate, thick sensuous lips and bulbous nose. I had to blink to be sure I was not seeing double. Cousins they may be, but they were also twins. A whisker more here, a tooth less there, but otherwise they were a match for each other exactly. And looking about me now I could see the family likeness in most of the faces around us.

  ‘Goodness me!’ I found myself exclaiming. ‘Is there anyone in the village not related to you, father?’

  ‘Not many,’ grinned Samson.

  ‘Dear father abbot,’ said Absalom pumping his hand.

  ‘No ceremony, I beg you,’ said Samson. ‘Here I am as I always was, a poor son of the parish.’

  ‘A most famous and cherished son of the parish,’ beamed Absalom. ‘Come cousin, bless our humble church by praying with us and giving thanks to Almighty God for your deliverance.’

  Samson put his arm around the man’s shoulders. ‘Cousin, with the greatest of pleasure.’

  And thus the whole mass of them moved off towards the church amid much rejoicing.

  I decided not to join them but hung back with Jane and the mules. Poor Jane. In the midst of all the general bonhomie no-one seemed to have noticed her.

  ‘I gather that you are not one of the great band of Samsonites,’ I said helping her down from her mule.

  ‘It were always thus,’ she mused. ‘His tribe dominates here.’

  ‘So it would seem. Not your family, I take it?’

  She shook her head. ‘We were poor folk.’

  ‘In that case you will want to visit them.’

  ‘The last of my line died twenty years ago. I will stay with Ralf’s family. There I will be welcome.’

  ‘Are you sure? They may not…’ I didn’t finish my sentence.

  Jane shot me one of her now familiar stares. ‘You no need to worry, brother. They aren’t Samson’s blood either. They’ll not reject me.’

  I sincerely hoped she was right but I know how these things go. Families often tolerate unorthodox relationships while their relative lives. But with Ralf dead I feared she may not be quite as welcome as she once was. I decided to accompany her just to make sure.

  Two youths were taking charge of the mules.

  ‘Just a minute. Where are you going with them?’ I asked the older one.

  ‘To the stables, brother.’

  I nodded and drew the elder out of Jane’s earshot. ‘What about the body? Where are you going with him?’

  ‘Father Absalom said to take him to the church vestry,’ said the younger.

  ‘Did he indeed? When did he tell you to do that?’

  The boy was about to answer when the older one hit him in the shoulder. Both boys now stood in sullen silence.

  ‘All right. Off you go. But make sure you lock the vestry after you.’

  I watched them lead the mules away. I know they were only a couple of village youths who may have got their facts muddled but something wasn’t quite right about their account. Since Ralf’s death had come completely unexpected no-one in Tottington could possibly have known of it before we arrived. So how and when did Absalom tell these boys what to do with the body?

  Jane led me to a corner on the far side of the village. By now it was growing quite dark but from what I could see of the house it looked neat and well-kept. This presumably was the Ralf family home, a little outside the village proper. As we came up to the door it was opened by a man who was clearly Ralf’s relative - same stature, same features - accompanied by a shorter woman.

  ‘Jane, my dear,’ said the man stepping out and taking Jane’s hands in his own. ‘I am so sorry.’

  As soon as she saw him Jane broke down and wept openly. I admit to being quite moved. This was quite a different Jane to the one she presented before and it made me realise just how attached she must have been to her dead “husband”. And judging by the response of the couple my fears for her reception were equally unfounded. She was being welcomed as a full family member. For a few moments the three of them stood in a close embrace until the woman took off her shawl, placed it around Jane’s shoulders and gently led her into the house.

  ‘Thank you, brother, for bringing Jane to us,’ said the man. ‘We will take care of her now.’ He started to retreat into the house.

  ‘You are relatives of Father Ralf?’

  ‘I am Ralf’s cousin Michael. Our fathers were brothers.’

  More cousins. Tottington, it seemed, was a village of cousins.

  ‘May I offer you my condolences, sir?’

  ‘Thank you, Brother…?’

  ‘Walter de Ixworth,’ I bowed. ‘Physician at Saint Edmund’s abbey.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he nodded.

  ‘You’ve heard of me?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you know the abbey?’

  The man gave a sardonic smile. ‘Everyone knows the abbey, brother. And its famous abbot of course.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just that your family seems to be the only one in Tottington not related to Abbot Samson.’

  ‘Tottington is not so large that anyone living here is not related to someone else in the village in some way.’

  ‘But I understood there was a gulf between the two families - yours and the abbot’s.’

  He smiled. ‘You’ve been listening to Jane.’

  ‘May I ask what the nature of the difficulty was?’

  ‘It’s long past and forgotten.’

  ‘Not by Jane.’

  ‘She doesn’t know the details. I’m not sure I do anymore.’

  ‘Even so,’ I persisted.

  For a moment he looked anxious and I wondered what he was thinking. Was he perhaps afraid to speak too openly? Afraid of what though? Samson? I suppose it was difficult for someone having to live in the village.

  ‘How well did you know my cousin Ralf?’ he asked me.

  ‘Hardly at all. We met just last night for the first time in fact. I had hoped to become better acquainted with him. Alas, it was not to be.’

  ‘His death must have come as quite a shock to you.’

  ‘And to you.’

  He shrugged. ‘Ralf had been ill for some time.’

  ‘So I believe.’

  He looked up. ‘You sound doubtful.’

  ‘It’s true he was a little breathless when I spoke to him, but I did not think it life-
threatening.’

  ‘In the midst of life we are in death, brother - is that not right?’ He shivered and looked over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m keeping you out here in the cold. I’ll leave you. No doubt we’ll see each other tomorrow at the funeral. Perhaps we can talk then.’

  He nodded. ‘Perhaps. Goodnight then brother - and thank you once again for bringing Jane.’

  When he closed the door I heard the bolt being slid firmly across.

  I met up with Samson again at the church door. The service of welcome was over and most of the villagers had left. Only Samson was still chatting to his twin-priest-cousin Absalom in the porch. I was impressed again at how alike they were. It really was quite astonishing.

  ‘Walter, my lad, you’ve missed a splendid service, simply splendid. Absalom here made an embarrassingly flattering speech about me. But I forgave him - just this once.’ He grinned.

  ‘I was escorting Jane to her lodging. She’s staying with Ralf’s cousin.’

  ‘So you’ve met Michael. How is the old bird?’

  ‘You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the funeral.’

  ‘Ah yes. The funeral.’ Samson glanced briefly at Absalom.

  I looked irritably from one to the other sensing something amiss. ‘Is there a problem? I can’t think what. Ralf needs to be put in the ground as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ agreed Samson. ‘And he will be. The only question is, whose ground?’

  I frowned. ‘What do you mean “whose ground”? God’s good ground of course. The church’s ground, hallowed ground, this ground,’ I jabbed a finger at the churchyard.

  Samson tapped me lightly on my shoulder. ‘Perhaps Absalom should explain.’

  Absalom cleared his throat. ‘Brother Walter,’ he began awkwardly. ‘I can only apologize. We find ourselves - how can I say? Temporarily embarrassed.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry father, you’ve lost me.’

  ‘It seems there are no spades,’ supplied Samson.

  ‘No -?’ I staggered.

  ‘You’ve seen the ground. It’s hard as rock. Far too hard to split with wooden blades. That’s all that’s available, I’m afraid.’

  I looked at him with incredulity. ‘Are you telling me there isn’t a single iron spade or pick to be had in the whole of Tottington?’

  ‘Please don’t embarrass the good father more than he already is.’

  ‘We are a poor community, Brother Walter,’ explained Absalom.

  ‘Does no-one die in Tottington in winter, father?’

  ‘Of course they do. But normally they are kept above ground until the spring thaw.’

  ‘Ridiculous!’

  ‘Brother Walter!’ snapped Samson. ‘I’ll remind you these people are your hosts.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry father, but what do you propose we do? Remain here until April?’

  ‘No need for that,’ said Samson. ‘We can take the body with us. Acre is only a few more miles up the road.’

  My jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘And do what with him?’

  ‘Bury him of course. At the priory. The prior’s an old friend, he won’t mind.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘We can’t move the body again. It’s - sacrilegious.’

  ‘Well, we can’t leave him here.’

  ‘We should have left him in Thetford.’

  He shook his head. ‘We’ve been all through that. It was impossible. No, taking him with us to Acre is the best option. It’ll be no trouble.’

  No trouble? The thought of travelling another day with Ralf’s decaying body strapped over Clytemnestra’s back didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘What about Jane? Perhaps she doesn’t want Ralf to be buried in Acre. Tottington was far enough. At Acre she might never see him again.’

  ‘What has this to do with her? She was only his servant.’

  ‘Father,’ I said eyeing Absalom cautiously, ‘you know she was much more than that. We should at least ask her - in fact I insist that we do.’

  ‘You insist?’

  ‘Yes I do. And another thing,’ I added while I had the bit between my teeth. ‘My examination of the body.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘You agreed I could do it.’

  He shook his head. ‘Not tonight. It’s far too late.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning, then. Before we leave. It won’t take long. While there’s still enough of a body left for me to examine. Please father. Don’t make me ask again.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘Very well.’

  ‘You agree?’

  ‘I’ve said so haven’t I?’

  I have to admit I didn’t expect him to give in quite so readily.

  ‘Good. Well,’ I said before he could change his mind again, ‘in that case I’ll bid you both goodnight.’ I started to leave.

  ‘Walter?’

  I frowned irritably. ‘Yes father?’

  ‘Don’t you want to know where you’re sleeping tonight?’

  ‘What? Erm, I mean yes.’

  Samson nodded. ‘Absalom’s house - it’s the long, low building at the foot of the hill. He’s generously offered to give up his bed.’

  I turned to Father Absalom. ‘Where will you sleep?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll sleep in the church.’

  ‘Well if you’re sure,’ I mumbled. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘You’re both very welcome,’ smiled Absalom.

  ‘Both?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Samson. ‘It seems we share.’

  Chapter 10

  THE BODY DISAPPEARS

  I didn’t sleep at all well that night. Absalom’s was a single man’s cot - perfectly adequate for one rotund country parson, but we were two and Samson was not the easiest of bed-fellows. Wider and heavier than I, he occupied most of the available space and I was left clinging to the edge for fear of rolling off - or worse, rolling onto him. He also rose several times in the night as old men do to answer the call of nature which he did copiously and noisily into a bucket in the corner of the room. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Being a part-time farmer as well as the village priest, Absalom kept his animals inside during the winter months which meant we had to bed down with two milkers, a dozen chickens, three goats and a pig all in the adjoining room. The proximity of so many warm bodies certainly kept the chill off but they brought with them their own menageries of tiny creatures which, not being content with their usual hosts, were happy to gorge themselves on my ankles. So all in all it was a noisome, restless and above all itchy night.

  But it wasn’t just physical discomfort that kept me from sleep. My mind would not stop turning over the events of the previous two days. Despite my best efforts I could not escape the suspicion that the man snoring peacefully next to me had somehow been complicit in another man’s death. Still the notion seemed impossible to me. We had our differences and on occasion I found him tiresome to the point of exhaustion but if I were asked to name one man I would trust with my life Samson of Tottington would be that man.

  Yet what did I really know about him? He had been my abbot for fifteen years and a monk for twenty-some years more. But he had a life before that, possibly even a turbulent one - Jane certainly seemed to think so. And we all have things in our pasts which we would rather not remember. Barely a day goes by when I do not cringe at some embarrassing episode recalled from my own youth - like the time Ellen our kitchen maid caught me spying on her from the branches of an apple tree as she bent to gather windfalls in her upturned skirts. She teased me for weeks about that and the memory of it still haunts me. But there is a world of difference between sneaking a glimpse of a woman’s bare calf and cold-blooded murder.

  All of which put me in mind again of the tale Samson told me of his journey as a young man across Europe to see the pope. He must have been a sturdy and courageous young man then to have undertaken such a hazardous journey alone, not the puffing el
der churchman he is now with sagging jowls and receding locks. Is this the man who could do physical harm to another?

  If only I knew the cause of his antipathy towards Ralf. His cousin Michael wasn’t much help and I wasn’t sure Jane really knew. Maybe there was none - at least, none that warranted killing somebody for. Maybe he simply frightened the man to death. I’d seen enough monks wilt in the glare of the great man’s wrath. But Ralf hadn’t struck me as being particularly intimidated by Samson’s ranting. If anything he’d seemed amused by it. But maybe that was simply bravado to cover his vulnerability. As everyone kept reminding me, the man was not in the best of health.

  No no no. Things always seem starker at night with only our thoughts to keep us company. In all probability Ralf died as everyone said from natural causes as his cousin Michael and the sisters of Saint George believed. It was only Jane who thought otherwise and she was biased. He could simply have left Ralf’s body with the nuns and they would never have questioned his motives. Safer for him perhaps if he had for by now we would be in Acre and Ralf would be but a fading memory.

  So why had he decided to move him? The charitable answer was that it was an act of compassion, to carry Ralf to his home village where his family could more easily visit the grave. The less charitable answer was that Tottington was Samson’s own home village where practically everyone was his kin, surely no safer place to hide a body that held a secret. But now he wasn’t going to be left here either. On the frankly ludicrous excuse that no grave could be dug for him Ralf was to be moved again this time to Acre. I was quite sure that had Samson insisted some sort of grave could have been found, or failing that do as Absalom had suggested and leave the body until the thaw.

  Well, the morning would give me an opportunity to find some of the answers when I examined the body properly. At least I had his agreement on that. Doubtless it would show my anxiety to be just that - groundless apprehension. I certainly hoped so. And I had the added comfort of knowing that I did so with Samson’s blessing for surely no true murderer would be so stupid as to permit another to scrutinize his victim.