‘If the cantor is harmed, it will go badly for you, Brother de Flexburgh, I promise you that in God’s name.’ The abbot turned to the prior. ‘Do we know who took him, or why? What’s this note Brother Scaflock mentioned? I know nothing of any note.’
‘No, Father,’ Ousthorp shook his head. ‘We don’t know who’s behind it, but a note did come yesterday, delivered by a boy from the village. He handed it to one of the monks in the garden, then ran off before I could question him.’
‘We do know who’s behind it,’ Will said, drawing another angry glare from the prior, who didn’t seem to appreciate the former wolf’s head taking control of the situation.
The abbot looked at Scaflock from beneath lowered brows, ignoring Ousthorp. ‘We do?’
‘Aye, Father, we do,’ Will said. ‘It was a group of outlaws—’
‘That much is obvious,’ the prior groused, but the abbot silenced him with an irritable flick of his hand.
‘A group of outlaws,’ Will repeated, ‘working with this piece of filth here.’ He slapped de Flexburgh on the back of the head and the taller monk glared at him in fury, but the beating he’d suffered in the kitchen was fresh in his mind and he held himself in check.
‘Here is the note,’ the prior muttered, looking unhappily at Will but unable to bring himself to upbraid the new monk for his violence. De Flexburgh deserved it, and more.
Abbot de Wystow took the scrap of parchment that had been folded and sealed with a blob of candle wax, although it bore no emblem or crest impressed in the wax, which was hardly surprising. The abbot inspected the wax and eyed the prior suspiciously – it wouldn’t be the first time Ousthorp had sneaked a look at his private correspondence. The seal appeared intact but it was impossible to tell if it was the original or not, so de Wystow opened out the parchment and squinted at it.
His eyesight was poor nowadays and it took him a few moments to read the short message. Will’s heart sank when the abbot groaned and handed the letter back to the prior, who read it for himself.
‘What does it say?’ Will demanded. ‘What’s wrong? De Flexburgh told me it was just a ransom note.’
The abbot nodded, ignoring Will’s lack of etiquette as he heard the concern in the ex-mercenary’s voice.
‘So it is.’
‘What’s the problem then? Pass it on to the cantor’s family and they’ll pay, right? The outlaws only want money and, from what I hear, Brother de Loup’s family has plenty of it.’
He looked at de Flexburgh, who leaned back, out of range of Will’s fists, and nodded agreement. ‘Yes, that’s right. The outlaws won’t hurt him. They just want the ransom. I swear it!’
‘You swear it?’ the abbot demanded, dragging himself upright in the bed. ‘What part do you play in this abduction, Brother?’
‘I . . . that is, I have some . . .’
Will broke in as de Flexburgh stuttered. ‘He has gambling debts which were going to get him into serious trouble, so he set up the cantor’s abduction with a group of outlaws he met in an alehouse in Selby. The riot that left you insensible and our abbey smashed up was no accident – Brother de Flexburgh here orchestrated the whole thing.’
‘What?’ the prior exploded, incandescent with rage. He crossed the room in an instant and grabbed de Flexburgh by the front of his black robe, glaring up at the sullen man. ‘Is this true, you great oaf?’
De Flexburgh turned his face away to stare at the wall but the prior shook him roughly. ‘Speak, Judas! Is Brother Scaflock’s charge correct?’
‘Let him go, John,’ the abbot sighed. ‘You can see from his guilty expression it’s true. We’ll deal with him, and any other accomplices within our walls, later. For now, we must address the problem of the ransom note.’
‘Where does the cantor’s family live?’ Will asked. ‘I’ll take word to them, make sure the ransom money is delivered to the outlaws and bring him home safely. You can trust me,’ he said, drawing himself up and clenching his fists. ‘You know my past. I’ll see it done.’
‘Ah, Brother Scaflock.’ The abbot smiled sadly and shook his head. ‘If only it were that simple. You see, the problem is, the cantor’s family are as good as penniless.’
There was a stunned silence in the room for a long moment, as the revelation was absorbed.
‘No they’re not,’ de Flexburgh finally said at last, his voice thin, the expression on his face one of disbelief. ‘Everyone knows they’re amongst the wealthiest families in all England. The ransom the outlaws have asked for is just a drop in the ocean to de Loup’s father.’
Even the prior nodded his head and, looking down at the note in his hand, said, ‘I must agree, Father Abbot. Seventy pounds? It’s a huge sum, but surely just a fraction of the cantor’s family wealth.’
‘No, you’re wrong,’ Abbot de Wystow snapped, wagging a finger imperiously at de Flexburgh. ‘The de Loups were one of the wealthiest families in England. Were! When the old king was on the throne. But the new king’s mother, Isabella, and the co-regent, Mortimer, have no love for the de Loups, who were staunch supporters of the previous regime. They seized much of the family’s lands and holdings and, on top of that, the cantor’s father suffered catastrophic losses when many of his trading ships were taken by pirates.’
‘What are you saying?’ de Flexburgh whispered.
‘I’m saying there will be no ransom money paid for the cantor’s release,’ de Wystow raged, slamming his emaciated fists onto the bed. ‘What will your outlaw friends do when they find that out?’
The tall monk looked in turn from the abbot to the prior and finally, fearfully, to Will. He didn’t say a word, but his expression said enough.
Brother de Loup was as good as dead.
Abbot de Wystow had a stronger constitution than Will had ever expected, and the old man was back on his feet that same afternoon. He’d agreed with Will’s suggestion that Brother de Flexburgh be locked away, at least until the situation with the cantor was resolved. They couldn’t run the risk of the wayward monk sneaking off and warning the outlaws that their ransom plans were unexpectedly dead in the water.
His closest friends, Brothers de Whitgift, de Hirst and de Pontefracto, were all confined to the dormitory, although Will didn’t really see any of those monks as much of a danger. They were drunkards who ignored their vows of chastity to sleep with any woman willing, but they weren’t desperate men like de Flexburgh, who seemed to think the world owed him something.
The fire was lit within the abbot’s chambers despite the summer heat, and Will wiped his tonsured head with a black sleeve that was already damp with perspiration. After their talk that morning, de Wystow had sent Will to refresh and rest himself, then called the former mercenary back to discuss how best they might help the abducted cantor.
‘It’s fortuitous that God sent you to us at this time, Brother Scaflock,’ the abbot said thoughtfully as he stared into the flames in the hearth. ‘We have some hardy men here in the abbey, but none with your experience of situations like this.’
‘What he means is: you’re a wolf’s head yourself so you’ll know how these scum think better than anyone.’
Will’s eyes narrowed at the prior’s insulting tone. ‘You’re right, Brother Ousthorp. I was an outlaw, and I slapped more than one clergyman about for talking down to me.’
The prior flinched as Scaflock jerked his head forward threateningly, and the abbot demanded both men be silent. A small, approving smile tugged at one corner of his thin lips though, as he turned back to Will.
‘What should we do, in your opinion?’
Will had been thinking about the problem all day and there seemed to be no simple solution. ‘We need to know where the outlaws are holding the cantor hostage. If we knew the location of their camp we – or at least the bailiff’s men, if he ever arrives – could surround them, and hopefully make them let our brother go without harming him.’
‘Do you think they will? Harm him, I mean.’
The abb
ot looked worried but Will couldn’t lie to him. ‘Aye, if they don’t get what they want, they’ll slit his throat and move on to their next camp miles away. We’d never find them then. I have no doubt about it.’
‘Surely we have some time though,’ the prior demanded. ‘They want their ransom money, and it would take at least a week for it to get here, if the cantor’s father actually had it. They won’t harm him until then surely, that would be ridiculous.’
Will shrugged. He’d seen men – and not just outlaws – do plenty of ridiculous, vicious things in his time. ‘They won’t kill him for at least a few days,’ he conceded. ‘Probably.’
‘What are we going to do then?’ the abbot muttered, grimacing at a twinge of pain before lowering himself slowly into a deeply cushioned chair.
‘I assume the note they sent has a location where they want the ransom money left?’
De Wystow nodded at Will’s query and pulled the folded parchment from the pouch on his belt, then stared at it. ‘A tree stump painted red not far from a bridge near Wistow, beside a great oak. There are directions here. Apparently they’ll be watching for our messenger and there’s warnings against bringing lawmen or guards along. They’ve obviously planned this quite thoroughly.’
‘So, we send someone with some of the ransom and ask the outlaws for more time to gather the rest.’
‘Where are we going to find a sum like that?’ the prior demanded irritably. ‘This is an abbey, not a palace.’
‘There’s gold crosses and other priceless altar goods all over this building. Including around your neck,’ Will spat, angered that this man would put trinkets before the life of the cantor. ‘He looked across at the abbot, whose face paled at the idea of losing his abbey’s wealth, but to his credit, de Wystow nodded.
‘If it buys Brother de Loup a few more days for the bailiff to come and bring these sinners to justice, it will be worth it.’
‘That’s it?’ the prior demanded. ‘That’s your plan?’
Will smiled, although the expression held little humour.
‘Not entirely. I’ll be behind the monk that delivers our ransom. I’ll track the outlaws to their camp and return to the abbey. Then, when the bailiff does finally get here, I’ll be able to lead him straight there.’
Ousthorp was somewhat mollified by that, although he still glared suspiciously at Will, as though he thought the former outlaw might run off and join up with the cantor’s abductors once they had the abbey’s wealth in their hands. Wisely, the prior held his peace.
‘Who will we send to them?’ the abbot mused, getting to his feet and pacing slowly up and down the cosy chamber. ‘This could very well mean death for whoever goes.’
‘I’ll ask for volunteers,’ the prior said, and with a final suspicious look at Will, he swept from the room.
The abbot stood up with some effort and filled two cups from a flagon of wine on a table next to the window. He handed one to Will, who took it gladly and drank with pleasure, realising this was no cheap stuff.
‘The prior is a good man, really.’
Will raised an eyebrow in mock disbelief and the abbot smiled, sipping his own wine.
‘I think he feels he has to be some severe disciplinarian to offset the fact so many of the brothers see me as a soft touch. But deep down, Ousthorp is a decent fellow and, more importantly to me since I’d have trouble recalling what I ate for breakfast this morning, an excellent administrator.’
They stood in companionable silence for a while, hearing the prior’s loud voice moving here and there around the abbey grounds as he sought a volunteer to carry the ransom to the outlaws.
‘What will you do if you’re discovered tracking those men?’
Will shrugged. ‘I’ve got a nice sturdy club and I can look after myself, have no fears on that count.’
‘You’d better get down to the kitchen then, Brother,’ the abbot eventually said, tossing back the last of his wine and arching his shoulders in a shiver, as if it was cold in the sweltering fire-lit room. ‘You’ll need provisions for your journey tomorrow morning. I know Wistow isn’t far, but who knows where the wolf’s heads are hiding? Tell the bottler to give you whatever you ask for or he’ll answer to me.’
Will returned the old man’s smile and, dismissed, headed out along the corridor to requisition his supplies for the hunt.
The volunteer Prior Ousthorp had found was none other than Will’s young friend, Brother Nicholas de Houghton. More than one of the monks had put their names forward for the task, such was the cantor’s popularity in the abbey, but Nicholas, despite his limp, was the youngest of the bunch and seemed best suited to the job of delivering the ransom. He couldn’t run properly, but he was fit and able to walk for hours.
It was a sensible choice but Will prayed the lad wouldn’t find himself on the wrong side of the outlaws.
‘Are you sure you want to do this? If the wolf’s head that comes to collect the ransom is drunk or just in a bad mood you could find yourself murdered.’
It was early morning and a fine, damp mist covered the gardens around the abbey as Will and Nicholas prepared to leave, Abbot de Wystow and the prior at their backs having given them final, unneeded advice on how to complete their tasks.
Nicholas nodded emphatically. ‘I’m ready. I like the cantor just as much as you and I want to see him back here safely.’
‘Good man.’ Will smiled, clapping the younger monk on the arm.
‘Take care not to lose that sack,’ the prior growled, fixing a steely glare on Nicholas. ‘Half the abbey’s treasures are in there. We don’t want some other, different gang of thieves stealing it. Make sure it’s well spent.’
‘He’s got a point,’ Will said. ‘You could do with a weapon in case some opportunist robbers attack you. Have you got anything?’
‘No,’ Nicholas admitted. ‘I learned to shoot a hunting bow when I was growing up, but I don’t have one. Or anything else. Is it really necessary? If some outlaws want me dead I doubt I’d be able to stop them even if I was carrying Excalibur.’ He patted his leg ruefully. ‘I can’t move very fast, remember?’
Before Will could reply Abbot de Wystow walked slowly forward and Will noticed a bundle in his arms.
‘Nicholas may not want a weapon but you should have a decent one, Brother Scaflock. Here.’ He stretched out his scrawny old arms and Will, surprised, unwrapped the cloth that covered the abbot’s bundle. As he did so, a boyish grin spread over his face.
‘My old sword.’
‘Indeed,’ de Wystow confirmed. ‘In most circumstances when someone comes to join us, we sell their unwanted possessions but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I kept this – thought you might need it again one day. Just as well I did, eh?’
Will looked at the sword with its plain, unadorned scabbard, but didn’t take it from the abbot’s outstretched hands.
He’d given up this weapon freely when he took up the life of a Benedictine monk. His previous life of violence and sin was behind him.
The abbot saw the conflict in Will’s eyes.
‘Take it,’ he commanded. ‘God has a purpose for us all, and your purpose is to bring our friend Brother de Loup back from the clutches of evil. If that means you using this sword once again, well . . . our Lord goes with you, my son.’
‘Amen,’ the prior grunted, and Will was pleased to see grudging respect in the man’s eyes.
He was to be an instrument of God.
So be it.
He took his old sword from the abbot, whose arms were visibly shaking from the effort of holding the weapon, and threaded his belt through the scabbard so it hung by his left hip, just as it had done for more than twenty years before he’d joined the abbey.
The abbot smiled at the sight of the former wolf’s head, who somehow seemed whole again, as if he’d been an incomplete man without the deadly blade at his side.
‘Here . . .’ Will grinned, reaching inside his robe to pull out the club he’d made, before handing it to
Brother Nicholas. ‘Take it. Hide it the same way I did. Here – let me show you . . .’
Moments later the crude but potentially deadly wooden weapon was secreted inside Brother Nicholas’s clothes and that was it – they were ready to deliver the ransom.
‘Please,’ Abbot de Wystow said earnestly as they began to walk towards the gate. ‘Take care of yourselves. The cantor is an old, close friend of mine but . . . you’re good men.’ His expression was one of sadness now, at the injustice and darkness in the world. ‘I wouldn’t want to lose either of you to those vicious criminals.’
The prior didn’t manage a smile but he nodded silent encouragement and made the sign of the cross as the two messengers of God walked through the damaged gates to carry out their mission.
Will took one last, lingering look at the great stone building as they joined the main road and headed north-west towards Wistow. The rising sun broke through the clouds at that moment, framing the abbey, wreathed in mist as it was, in a beautiful golden halo.
It almost seemed like an omen, although whether it was good or bad, only time would tell . . .
The road to Wistow was a well-maintained one, allowing the travellers to make good time. They feared the outlaws might have sent spies to watch the abbey, so, when they reached Selby, Will waved an exaggerated farewell to Nicholas and headed off into the town to buy a meat pasty. The younger man continued on towards Wistow, his limping gait worrying Scaflock since it might mark Nicholas as an even easier target than he already was.
Will hung around in Selby for a short time, allowing a gap to open between them as he ate his pasty and ignored the dirty looks from the townsfolk. Eventually he hurried back to the main road, which he planned to flank at a safe distance until they reached the ransom drop-off point.
He was breathing heavily by the time he finally spotted his friend in the near distance, his limp plain even to Will, who had never had the best eyesight, and he blew a small sigh of relief that the monk hadn’t been waylaid while out of his view.
The Abbey of Death Page 5
