The others hadn’t either.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter. I doubt if he’ll be stupid enough to return there.’ Samson looked hopefully up at the reeve. ‘Your men, I take it Alwyn, have not had any luck yet?’
The young man shook his head. ‘No-one saw him leave or even knows what happened to him. It’s very strange with so many people about.’
‘Well he can’t just have vanished into thin air. Someone must be sheltering him.’
‘Hard to see who. He isn’t a local man. Who would protect him?’
‘Other trades-people, out of some misguided sense of solidarity.’
‘Possibly,’ said Alwyn. ‘I’ve set guards on the gates in case he tries to leave the town. I’ve also sent scouts out onto the London road to see if they can intercept him. He’s injured so he can’t have got far. It’s the best I can do for the moment, I’m afraid.’
Samson nodded. ‘Keep me informed, Alwyn.’
The young man made a curt bow and left.
‘So we are going to assume this Hamo committed the murder?’ I said. ‘Just like that?’
Samson looked askance at me. ‘Oh dear. Do I hear the familiar bleat of Walter-esque scepticism?’
‘I just think we shouldn’t be too hasty with our assumptions, that’s all. No-one saw him actually thrust the iron bar into Fidele.’
‘No-one can be found to admit they saw it. Anyway, the abbot-legate is right, the facts speak for themselves. There was a fight, Fidele is dead and Hamo has absconded. Not exactly the actions of an innocent man.’
‘Maybe he simply doesn’t trust us. Some might say with good reason.’
I was referring to the time a few years earlier when the merchants of London refused to pay tolls in Bury market claiming special exemption from the king. Samson had initially refuted their claims and as a consequence the London merchants stayed away for two years costing us more in lost business than we ever would have collected from tolls. In the end Samson had relented and the merchants returned, but relations between the London traders and the abbey have been sour ever since.
‘I’ll be surprised if he’s able to run very far,’ said Jocellus. ‘The dwarf gave him quite a whack on the shin. I wouldn’t be surprised if his leg wasn’t broken.’
Samson frowned. ‘I doubt if it’s broken. And can we please stop referring to Fidele as “the dwarf”? The man is dead. Let us at least give him the dignity of a name.’
Jocellus inclined his head apologetically.
Samson looked hesitantly at me. ‘I don’t suppose it could have been an accident, could it? There was a lot of commotion by all accounts.’
I shook my head. ‘The rod went right through him. That would have taken considerable force. It had to have been deliberate.’
He sighed. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’
‘What s-staggers me,’ said Jocelin frowning, ‘is why there are no w-witnesses. A m-man gets killed in the middle of a crowd of p-people yet no-one s-see a thing. It b-beggars belief.’
‘It was chaotic,’ said Jocellus. ‘Barrows being turned over. Chicken and geese flying everywhere. It was all very confusing.’
‘Which is why I want you three to write down your versions of events while they are fresh in your minds,’ said Samson. ‘That way we’ll have a record for any trial, should it come to that.’
‘You think th-there will be a t-trial?’ asked Jocelin.
‘There’ll have to be an inquest. It’ll be up to the coroner to decide. I’ve had the body laid in the chapel of Saint Denis. A French saint seemed appropriate under the circumstances.’
‘I take it there are no restrictions to viewing the body?’ I asked.
Samson looked at me suspiciously. ‘View, yes. Examine, no. The coroner will want to see it intact.’ He looked round at the three of us. ‘Well if there’s nothing else, brothers. I will of course report any developments to the convent in full chapter. Walter, stay a moment.’
Now what? Samson waited until the other two had left.
‘I’d like you to go to the abbot-legate,’ he said lowering his voice. ‘See if you can give him something to calm his nerves. He was very close to Brother Fidele. His murder has affected him more than he’s pretending.’
‘He seemed to be coping quite well to me,’ I sniffed. ‘But of course I’ll see what I can do. Do you still want me to go to Ely? I am technically a witness.’
‘Yes, go. There’s no point in your hanging around. There’s bound to be an inquest but that won’t be for a while and I don’t want this Lakenheath business dragging on.’ He leaned back heavily in his chair. ‘This murder is very inconvenient.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Very annoying.’
He glared at me. ‘I meant coming just now. I need the abbot of Fly to remain focussed on this Lakenheath issue. Naturally I don’t expect him to give priority to our problem after what has happened. But it doesn’t diminish its importance. Tragic as Brother Fidele’s death is we mustn’t lose sight of everything else.’
‘Very well, father.’ I got up to leave.
‘Just before you go,’ he said putting up a hand, ‘perhaps you’d like to tell me why you were asking to view the body.’
I contrived to look guileless. ‘Can a brother not pay his respects to a deceased fellow monk?’
‘Anyone else, yes. But you don’t ask questions about bodies for no reason. What have you noticed about this one?’
In truth I didn’t really know. I shrugged. ‘Probably nothing. I daresay I’ll just say a prayer to Saint Denis and the Virgin and make a small donation to the poor.’
He looked at me sceptically. ‘Well you’ve got until tomorrow. Then I want you in Ely smoothing the ruffled feathers of Bishop Eustace.’ He gave an ironic snort. ‘Ely and Fly.’
‘Father?’
‘Ely and Fly. Have you not noticed how just one letter separates the two names? And not even a complete letter. Just a tick between them.’
I hadn’t noticed.
‘Eels and Flies. Do eels catch flies or do flies catch eels?’ He shuddered and shook his head. ‘I’ll be happy when I’m rid of them both.’
Downstairs I found Jocellus waiting for me.
‘What did Samson want?’
I told him about Eustache and his nerves.
‘I was hoping he might have said something about keeping the market open.’
‘No such luck, I’m afraid. He’ll close the market for the day if only out of respect for the dead man.’
‘As long as it is only for a day. I have merchants on my back needing to offload barrels of fish. And with Easter week coming up.’ He shook his head.
‘I’m sure we’ll settle this before then and things will be back to normal.’
‘I hope you’re right.’
We started to walk together across the great court. I chortled. ‘What about old Jocelin standing up to Eustache like that? Who’d have thought it?’
‘What? Oh yes, divine retribution,’ he nodded.
‘I think he just grew a little tired of the abbot’s constant sniping. Jocelin can be prickly at times. He doesn’t like disruptions to his routines.’
‘It’s this murder. It’s left all of us on edge. Did I hear you say you were going to view the body?’
I nodded. ‘Though I don’t know what I expect to see. It was something Samson said that reminded me, but I’m not sure of what.’
‘Would you like me to come with you? Two heads are often better than one.’
‘No. It might if I knew what I was looking for. But thank you anyway.’
I left Jocellus at the cellarer’s gate and went over to my laboratorium to pick up my herb satchel. Then I made my reluctant way over to the senior lodge of the abbot’s palace. If I’d known what I’d find when I got there I might have brought more than saffron and wormwood. As I approached his door I could hear strange moaning coming from the other side. What was this - remorse? Abbot Eustache didn’t strike me as an emotional man - at least,
not those sorts of emotions. Perhaps I’d misjudged him and he was more affected by the death of his clerk than I thought. I knocked gently and waited. When there was no reply I tried the handle and tentatively pushed the door open. To my horror what I discovered inside the room was a scene out of the Last Judgement. Eustache was on his knees in the middle of the floor naked to the waist and drenched in blood with a vicious-looking lash in his hand.
Now, as monks we are used to accepting “the discipline” as it’s called - a scourge of knotted cords which we use to beat ourselves while in private prayer. The purpose is to inflict a certain degree of mild pain partly to remind us of the sufferings of Christ, partly in the hope of atoning for our sins, and partly to achieve a greater unity with God. But Eustache’s scourge went far beyond any of that. It had thorns imbedded in each knot and they were drawing blood - a lot of blood from what I could see. And from the many scars on his back this wasn’t the first time he’d used it. All the while his eyes were closed, he was moaning and rocking back and forth as though in a sort of trance.
‘Father Abbot?’
He turned round and scowled at me. ‘What do you want?’
‘Abbot Samson asked me to look in.’
‘Why? So that you can inflict more pain?’
I nearly said he was doing a pretty fair job of that himself.
‘No, to try to relieve some of yours. I only told the reeve what I thought to be my duty, father.’
‘Your duty was to support me.’
‘And I did - sort of. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I’ve come to offer my help as physician. Those wounds look nasty. Some look infected. Won’t you at least allow me to wash them?’
‘God will wash them with his tears.’
‘But what is the purpose of this self-chastisement?’
‘Someone has to atone for the sins of the world. Others won’t therefore I must.’
And I was thinking it was because of what happened to Fidele. It seemed I was wrong.
‘You mean you are doing this because we have a Sunday market?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Six days he laboured, mon frère, and on the seventh he rested.’
‘Yes, but God was creating the universe, not selling herrings.’
He curled his lip at me. ‘Still mocking brother? It will avail you nothing. Your blasphemies will find you out. God hears all.’
I shrugged. ‘Well if you won’t allow me to treat your wounds then at least accept this.’ I held out the potion I had brought.
‘What is it?’
‘Wormwood. It will calm your mind and help you to sleep.’
He turned the phial around in his hand without opening it. ‘I don’t need to sleep, brother. And I don’t have worms. The pain that gnaws at my entrails is of a different kind.’ He handed me back my potion.
‘As you wish.’ I put the phial back in my satchel.
Irritated as I was, I was still a doctor and while he was on abbey soil Abbot Eustache was my patient. I tried one more time to consol him:
‘Father, I understand the distress you must be going through. But rest assured, Abbot Samson will find whoever is responsible for Brother Fidele’s murder and bring him to trial.’
‘You English and your trials,’ he sneered.
‘Do you not wish the law to take its course, father?’
‘There is only one law, brother. God’s law.’
Well at least I tried, but if the patient doesn’t want to be treated there is little a physician can do. Besides, I had other matters on my mind. I still wanted to see the body before I went to Ely. Something about it on that handcart had bothered me and this may be my only chance to find out what. Having returned my herb satchel to my laboratorium I hurried over to the abbey church.
The chapel of Saint Denis lies immediately to the left of the narthex as you enter the church. As a final resting place for Fidele it was singularly appropriate, for as well as being one of France’s most important saints Denis was, like Fidele, killed by the single blow of a length of cold steel - in Denis’s case, a sword decapitating his head. After his martyrdom Denis is said to have picked up his head and walked for several miles preaching all the way before he finally dropped. How I wished Fidele could now speak from his grave and reveal who his killer was. In a way, I thought as I entered the chapel, that is what I was hoping he would be able to do.
Fidele’s body was laid out on the altar and was being watched over by a young monk whose name I think was Mark. He stood up as I entered.
‘Don’t disturb yourself, brother,’ I nodded to him. ‘I’ve just come to pay my respects.’
He sat down again and I went over to the body. Fidele was still in his white robe with a bloody gash in the middle where the iron bar had gone in but the bar itself had been removed.
‘Damn!’ I muttered to myself.
The young man looked up.
‘Sorry brother,’ I apologized. ‘I meant no disrespect.’
‘Was there something you wanted, master?’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. Well actually there is something: did you lay him out like this?’
The young man came over. ‘We were told not to lay him out, master,’ he said apologetically. ‘Merely to place him on the altar and to make sure no-one disturbs him.’
‘So he hasn’t been washed? He’s exactly as he was when he arrived?’
‘It’s what father abbot ordered.’
‘Quite right,’ I agreed. ‘The body has to remain undisturbed for the coroner. But I notice the iron rod that killed him seems to be missing.’
He looked a little flustered. ‘We had to remove it or the body - that is, Brother Fidele - could not be made to lie flat. Brother Bernard and Brother Neville did it. Even then it was a struggle. The bar was stuck fast.’
‘But you saw it being removed?’
He lowered his eyes. ‘I tried not to, master.’
‘I understand. It can’t have been a pretty sight. But tell me, can you remember whether it was sticking out more at the front or the back?’
The young man looked a little confused. ‘It went right through the body, master. That’s what killed him, wasn’t it?’
‘Quite so, but longer in front or behind? His chest or his back? Please try to think.’
He thought for a moment. Eventually he just shook his head. ‘Sorry master.’
‘Never mind. It was probably too much to ask. Do you know what happened to the iron bar once it was removed?’
‘It was placed over there by the door.’
I looked to where he was pointing. ‘Well it’s not there now.’
‘Maybe the cleaning staff took it away. If it’s important I can ask them.’
‘No no. Probably propping up someone’s vegetable patch by now,’ I smiled. ‘Has anyone else been here other than you and the cleaning staff?’
‘Not while I’ve been here, master.’
‘You’ve been here all day?’
‘Yes master.’
‘And of course you haven’t left the body in all that time?’
He blushed. ‘No master.’
I could tell that wasn’t entirely true. And I sympathized. It can’t be easy sitting here alone for hours with only a corpse for company. He probably left briefly to answer a call of nature or some such. He would only have been gone a minute or two. Hardly worth mentioning really. Unfortunately in that time someone could have come in and removed the murder weapon, possibly the murderer himself.
‘I must ask you again: you are sure you have seen no-one here today?’
‘No, master.’
‘A man perhaps with a limp?’
‘There’s been no-one but you,’ he insisted.
‘Very well.’ I had to leave it there. But there was one more thing I wanted to do before I left. Without asking I quickly rolled the body onto its side.
The lad was instantly on his feet again. ‘Master please!’
‘It’s all right,’ I said gently returning the b
ody to its original position and holding my hands well away from the body. ‘No harm done.’
To save the lad any further embarrassment I took a step back leaving space between me and the body. In any case I’d seen all I wanted to see - or all I was likely to be allowed to see. There were indeed two wounds one on either side of the body where the iron bar had gone right through as the lad said. I’d only had a moment to glimpse the body but it was impossible to tell which was the entry wound and which the exit. Death had been instantaneous so there had been no time for bruising to develop. However, my memory of the way Fidele had been lying on the cart was that more of the iron bar protruded from the back than from the chest. Was it important? I wasn’t sure.
There seemed no point in my staying any longer since I wasn’t going to be allowed to see any more. However, while I was there I thought I might as well do as I told Samson I would and offer up a prayer for Fidele’s soul. I knelt down in front of the altar and crossed myself, but I couldn’t concentrate on prayer. In my mind’s eye I was still trying to visualize that brief image I’d had glimpsed of the body being lifted onto the handcart before it was covered up and driven down the hill.
Chapter Six
THE MOTHER OF ALL CLUES
Brothers Bernard and Neville, splendid fellows though they are, work mostly in the abbey gardens and were seconded for the task of removing the iron bar from Fidele’s body more for their brawn than they brains. Neither could remember out of which side of his chest the bar stuck furthest. Still, it was worth asking.
Was I making too much of this iron bar business? I didn’t think so. I was trying to establish exactly how Fidele died in the hope of identifying who the murderer might be - or at least eliminating who it couldn’t be. My starting point was the rather obvious one that the blow that killed Fidele must have come from either in front or behind. Now, I’m not very good with a hammer and nails - I usually end up doing more damage to my own thumbnail than the iron ones. But I do know that when a nail is first struck most of it ends up sticking out of the top of the wood with only the point poking through the other side. Surely, I reasoned, the same must be true of an iron bar and a man’s body. If I was right it followed that whichever side of Fidele’s body the bar protruded from most must be the side at which it entered.
Abbot's Passion Page 5
