He’s right. Blind alleys - that is indeed what riddles are. They create false paths that frustrate and confuse. They have too many twists and turns, too many dead ends. No sooner do you find a promising route through the labyrinth than you discover it leads nowhere and you have to retrace your steps. But this time I am determined to get over every obstacle round every twist and turn to find the exit if it is the last thing I do. No more blind alleys. The truth - yes. Step by step I will get there. By God I will!
Chapter 16
TOMELINUS AGAIN
I have now to break the thread of my narrative for a moment in order to describe an incident that occurred that is not unrelated to the story in hand but whose relevance will only become clear later.
As I have already mentioned, the town of Acre is crammed inside its high bank and ditch that envelope the town on three sides with the castle occupying the fourth. The massive twin gates at either ends of the street are the only access in and out of the town - all well and good in times of war when the townsfolk can run inside with their animals and hide behind their portcullises and murder holes until the danger is past. But there had been no civil strife in Norfolk for three decades, Deo gratias, and with peace came prosperity and the desire to grow. By the time I am writing about the town had begun to spill out of the north gate and to spread along the road leading to the priory. It was on this road that the town pillory stood.
Now, most town stocks are like the ones we have in Bury: ankle bracelets secured to a stake in the ground by iron chains - an arrangement which at least has the humanity of permitting the malefactor to sit through his, or occasionally her, ordeal. Punishment consists mostly of having to suffer public disgrace and the vilification of neighbours. And if the occasional missile gets hurled - well, it is for the miscreant to remain alert and take what evasive action he or she can in order to avoid injury.
The machine in Acre was not of this sort. Here the felon was obliged to stand manacled by the wrists to an upright pillar - a position which, as well as being uncomfortable, offered little opportunity of defence from a well-aimed projectile. That morning on our way to the castle this evil contraption had been mercifully empty, and I wouldn’t have taken much notice of the afternoon’s occupant either - except…
‘Pirrrip-tip-tip…’
I slowed my step. Samson and Maynus were a few yards in front of me locked in discussion and I allowed them to get further ahead before looking to my left. There I was greeted by a sorry sight indeed: a bedraggled, bloodied mess barely recognizable as a man was hugging the post like a wrestler about the throw his opponent. The shape and size of this miserable wretch I thought I recognized:
‘Tomelinus?’
A single bloodied eyeball blinked at me. ‘Good day, brotherliness, pip-pip.’
I went closer and saw that he had a nasty gash above his left eye that was oozing blood and trickling down his nose. He was also filthy and missing a couple of teeth.
‘What on earth has happened to you?’ I said to him, shocked. ‘What are you doing here? You were supposed to be on your way to York.’
‘I will be, brotherliness, just as soon as I am free of these encumbrances.’ He flexed his wrists ineffectually inside the manacle and squirmed with the pain.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Don’t rightly know. Sommit hit me on th’head. I were knocked out.’
From the collection of debris lying about I could see that it must have been most of the morning while I was in the castle being entertained by the clan Warenne. Broken eggshells, rotting vegetation, an old shoe, and a single large cabbage that must have been the main cause of his injury for it lay directly beneath that cut. Luckily for him it was wintertime or there might have been more in the way of food matter coming his way.
‘Let me see that cut,’ I said stooping to look.
‘Ouch! Pirrip! Tip! Fuck! - sorry brotherliness.’
The wound was bloody but not deep. It looked worse than it was.
I tutted. ‘What did you do you to deserve this? Never mind, I can guess. You can’t stay here. One more brickbat and you won’t have to worry anymore about Yorkshire. What will free you?’
‘Payment of my fine.’
‘Do you have it?’
Silly question. I looked about me. There was a brutish-looking ruffian leaning against a nearby post and paring his nails with the point of a knife. Next to him was a stockpile of missiles - ammunition for anyone who fancied a little sport at Tom’s expense. I went up to the man.
‘Good day my good fellow,’ I said in my sternest voice. ‘I am Master Walter de Ixworth from the abbey in Bury. I know this man.’ I flung a casual wrist at Tom. ‘What’s he here for?’
The man paused his manicure long enough to glance at me and look away again. ‘He was caught cheating.’
‘Cheating - how?’
‘Ask him yourself.’
It was cold, I was still not in the best of humours after my morning in the castle and I was in no mood to play games.
‘Don’t bandy words with me, my man, I’m not one of the priory monks. I am with the abbot. Tell me what this man has done if you please.’
The brute stopped what he was doing and looked me up and down. ‘He claimed he had a box that was made of wood taken from the One True Cross - that’s the cross Our Lord was crucified on.’
‘Yes yes, I know what it is. Did he have such a box?’
‘He did.’
‘Well?’
‘He said that because the wood came from the True Cross no fire could touch it. Our Lord would not permit it. And he would show it to anyone who had the price of a meal.’
‘Yes, that sounds like him,’ I said glancing disconsolately at Tomelinus. I turned back to the man. ‘So? How did that propel him to you?’
‘He built a fire and placed the box on it.’
‘And did it burn?’
‘No. It leapt from the flames.’
‘Well then. A miracle.’
‘It also croaked.’
‘Croaked?’
‘It contained a frog.’
I stared at Tomelinus who shrugged back at me.
Sighing, I reached inside my belt pouch. ‘Will a penny release him?’
The man indicated the pile of missiles by his feet. ‘Brother, I can earn that in an hour.’
I looked again at Tomelinus. He looked dreadful. In all conscience I couldn’t leave him. I turned back to the man. ‘Will three hours’ worth do it?’
He took my three pennies and released Tomelinus. As he did so the nones bell sounded from the church tower.
‘Just in time,’ the man grinned. ‘He was due out now anyway.’
It was freezing. Tomelinus was shivering. I took off my cloak and wrapped it round him.
‘Where’s your own cloak? You had a fine leather one.’
‘Stolen.’
‘By that ruffian I don’t doubt. What about your jade-stone?’
He winked and grinned at me. ‘No, not that. That’s hidden where no man’s fingers would explore.’ He pointed to his codpiece. ‘My jade is my security. I can always get another coat.’
‘Not if you continue to trick people with frogs in boxes, you won’t.’
I wiped some more blood from his cut. He yelped in pain.
‘I’m sorry. This wound needs bandaging or it will infect. I could really do with having you in my laboratorium.’
He started to faint but I caught him. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘When we supped together, brotherliness.’
‘That was two days ago!’ I shook my head. ‘Come, we will go to the priory kitchens. At least there it will be warm.’
Monastic kitchens are always busy places having, as they do, to provide food for so many mouths twice a day. With all four hearths lit, Acre’s kitchen was also extremely noisy and extremely hot. Men were preparing everything from gutting fish to baking bread. There was an air of ordered panic about the place. Understandably th
e brother-in-charge was not best pleased to have two uninvited guests cluttering up his workplace. But it was also obvious that Tomelinus was a genuine case.
‘We will not disturb you, brother,’ I said to the man. ‘If you will permit, we will sit quietly in a corner while I tend his injuries. Just a little warmth is all we crave. And if you could provide him with a little food by way of alms…?’
The monk reluctantly found some scraps and a little warm milk which Tomelinus scoffed down in an instant.
‘Thank you, brother. Brother…?’
‘Wifrey,’ said the monk wiping his hands on a cloth tied to his belt.
An Englishman, I thought. How refreshingly unusual. ‘God bless you for your charity, Brother Wifrey.’
The man grunted and went back to what he had been doing. I found a bowl, some water and a little vinegar.
‘This may sting a little,’ I said dipping the corner of the rag into the vinegar. ‘Brace yourself against my arm if you wish.’
‘Brother, I’ve had toes drop off from the frost-bite in Italy, wounds sewed up by Irish fishermen and a broken arm set by a Turkish eunuch. I’m sure I can withstand a little vineg-aooow! Pirrip-pip-tirrrrl-yahoooh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!’
Wifrey swung round angrily and started to say something but was distracted by some boys sniggering on a bench by the fire. He clapped his hands together to shoo them out.
‘Forgive my friend, brother,’ I said quickly before he could do the same to us. ‘He means no harm. It is an affliction. We will be gone soon. Er, have you a strip of clean linen perchance - for the wound?’ I gave him my most endearing smile.
Wifrey pressed his lips together and went off to a cupboard.
‘Why do you do that?’ I said quietly to Tomelinus. ‘Curse and make these strange noises. You see how it alarms people.’
He thought for a moment. ‘Hast thou never had an itch that needed scratching, brother?’
‘Yes, but I don’t scratch in company if I think it will offend.’
‘But sometimes the torment is too great and thee cannot help theeself. It is the same with the itch I hold in my head. I have to let it out or burst from the holding.’
‘But if it means never being able to settle anywhere should you not try to desist?’
‘I try brother. All I know is it cannot be cured, pirrip-tip.’
‘It’s a devil then, prodding you?’
‘Some have said as much.’
Brother Wifrey returned with an old linen towel. It wasn’t really suitable for the job but it would have to do. He looked at me hard.
‘You’re the one, aren’t you?’
‘The one, brother?’
‘Who dug up the grave of that priest.’
Tomelinus looked up with interest.
‘They said you like a man bewitched,’ said Wifrey.
‘I fear the tale has been embellished in the telling.’ I held the towel up. ‘Thank you for this, brother.’
Wifrey grunted and returned to his task of eviscerating a chicken carcass. I could feel feeling Tomelinus’s one good eye burning into me.
‘Thee managed to deposit thee silent guest then?’ he said quietly.
‘Father Ralf is in the priory cemetery, yes,’ I said tearing the towel into strips.
‘And yon battleaxe from hell’s dungeon?’
‘Jane’s still here too.’ I started winding a strip of bandage around his head and jaw.
‘What did yon butcher mean just now about digging him up again?’
‘A misunderstanding, that’s all. Now hold still while I do this.’
‘But it was something you felt you had to do?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Like an itch you had to scratch, pip-pip?’
I finished tying the knot under his chin. Not my finest work but it would have to do. ‘I do hope it’s not too tight, Tom. I’d hate to throttle you and put you out of my misery.’
He did look ridiculous with a great swathe of bandages wrapped around his head and one bloodied half-shut eye.
‘Now, no more of your tricks at least until you get back to York. If you end up in the stocks again you’ll have to stay. I’ve no more money.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ll try, brotherliness.’
‘Hm, I wonder.’ I tentatively approached Brother Wifrey again. ‘Forgive me brother, I was just wondering: is there any possibility of some work you might give this man to do? He doesn’t ask for payment, just food in return for an honest day’s labour. He’s strong and willing to turn his hand to anything. It would be a charity if you could find him an occupation that will keep him out of trouble for a day or two - stop him preying upon the good folk of Acre. A benefit to all, in a manner of speaking.’
Wifrey stopped what he was doing, wiped his hands and looked at Tom doubtfully. ‘Can he speak English?’ He leaned towards him and yelled into his face like he was deaf: ‘English - yes?’
Tomelinus silently nodded.
Wifrey stood up again, one hand rubbing his chin. ‘I don’t know. Can he dig?’
I nodded enthusiastically. ‘Like a ferret - why?’
‘The latrines. They’re frozen solid. Since this cold weather there’s been nothing to flush the kitchens and I have to use boys to carry buckets. If he clears it I will feed him.’
‘Oh, Tom’s the man for that job,’ I assured him. ‘He’ll clear your drains in a trice. Yes indeed. He’ll get started right away. Won’t you Tom? Thank you, brother, you won’t regret this.’ I patted Tomelinus on the shoulder and we started to leave.
‘He is connected, of course.’
I stopped. ‘Connected, brother?’
‘To the church. It is our rule. You’ve no idea how many wish to work here. We have to set conditions or we should be overwhelmed. So long as he’s connected to the church he can have the work.’
I grinned. ‘Of course he’s connected to the church. Why wouldn’t he be?’
‘Then he won’t have any difficulty proving it.’
‘Proving it, brother? How, erm, exactly will he do that…?’
‘You must read a passage from the Bible,’ I told Tomelinus when we were alone again. ‘In Latin.’
‘Just to dig shit?’
‘The idea, you see, is that only churchmen can read Latin. That’s the test that you’re connected.’
‘To dig shit?’
‘I do wish you’d stop saying that.’
Tomelinus shook his head. ‘I’m sorry brother but I cannay read Latin - or any other tongue for that matter, pirrip-tip-tip.’
‘That’s all right. I have a plan. I will point to a passage in the Bible and you pretend to read it. That way Brother Wifrey will think you can read and that should be enough to convince him. It is vital you get it right or they won’t employ you, so listen carefully. These are the words you must repeat - they are from Psalm fifty-one. Learn them by heart and say them back when I prompt you. Now, repeat after me…’
I said each short phrase slowly and carefully and had him repeat it several times until I was satisfied he had committed it to memory before going on to the next. He was adept. I was impressed. When we were ready we went quickly to find Brother Wifrey before he had a chance to forget them again.
As the three of us filed into the priory church I don’t know who was the more nervous, Tom or me. He stood at the lectern and I pointed to each phrase in turn. To my relief he repeated it word perfect:
‘Miserere mei Deus secundum magnam misericordiam tuam et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum dele iniquitatem meam.’
‘There,’ I said to Wifrey when he’d finished. ‘Are you satisfied?’
Wifrey nodded. ‘Clear diction, strong voice, nicely spoken.’
‘There you are Tom,’ I beamed at him. ‘Nicely spoken. You’ve passed.’
‘Just a little more and that should do.’
‘What?’
Wifrey looked at me. ‘What he did was fine but I’d like to hear some more, please.�
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‘Oh but surely he’s proved himself. You said so yourself. He read eloquently.’
‘Brother, I’ve been deceived before. You won’t believe it but some people actually try to learn passages by rote in order to trick me into thinking they can read when they cannot. I’m sure that’s not the case here. But just to be certain, have him read a few more lines. In his own time.’
I turned in dismay to Tomelinus and shrugged. We’d failed. Time to own up and take the consequences.
But then Tomelinus cleared his throat:
‘Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea et a peccato meo munda me. Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco et peccatum meum contra me est simper…’
My jaw dropped open.
‘…Tibi soli peccavi et malum coram te feci ut iustificeris in sermonibus tuis et vincas cum iudicaris…’
‘All right,’ nodded Wifrey. ‘I’m convinced.’ He stood up. ‘Come to the kitchen door later and I will give you your orders,’ and off he marched back to the kitchens.
‘…Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum -’
‘Er, thank you Tomelinus, you can stop now. And perhaps you’d like to tell me where you learned to read like that?’
He shrugged. ‘I told thee, brotherliness, I cannay read, pip-pip.’
‘Then how…?’
‘I learned it as you did - by repeating it often in oratory.’
‘In oratory? You mean you were…?’
‘A monk like yourself, brotherliness?’ he grinned. ‘Not quite like you. I was but a poor fellow-soldier of Jesus Christ, pip-tirrip-tip.’
‘A Templar. You were a Templar? Well, why didn’t you say?’ I said, exasperated. That explained all the travelling, all the tales of far off lands. Of course! He’d been in the Holy Land.
‘We are bound by our oath not to speak of our past lives, brother. It was a violent life - we were knights as well as monks. But I had to give that up just as I have had to give up so many things.’
I shook my head. ‘Tomelinus, you are a constant source of wonder to me.’
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