The Dead Don't Wai

by Michael Jecks

  EIGHT

  We stayed at the village for another day after the little battle at the inn. Dorothy and Nyck seemed wary of us, and when we saw Roger, he averted his gaze as we walked past, as if he expected to be seized at any moment. Sir Richard, for his part, spent his time either telling outrageous stories and drinking or sitting and staring into the middle distance.

  Sir Richard finally seemed to shake off his strange mood in the middle of the morning of that day. He rose and strode out. Humfrie and I joined him as he marched up the lane towards the church. Inside, Roger was bent over the two corpses, deep in prayer. Atwood was sweeping the floor, showing more enthusiasm, I noticed, than he had ever displayed while cleaning my house. He looked up as we entered, and leaned on his besom while he studied us. ‘Jack, it is good to see you.’

  ‘Is it?’ I asked. I was past caring.

  Sir Richard scratched at his nose. ‘So you haven’t found it yet?’

  ‘Found what, Coroner?’ he said.

  ‘I know all about the treasure, Master Atwood.’

  Atwood glared at me then, as though I had told the knight. ‘I am not happy to be forced to share it three ways. This could cost you your share, Jack.’

  ‘I doubt you were content to share it two ways,’ I said coldly.

  ‘Jack, you should trust your friends more. I was there all the time, looking after you.’

  ‘You were looking after me?’

  ‘Wherever you went, I was behind you. I didn’t want to see you hurt. So once I made it obvious to some fellows that you were investigating Peter’s death, I watched your back. On the way to the mill, on the way to Sarah’s house, on the way to …’

  I gaped. ‘You told people I was … You could have had me killed!’

  ‘No. I was there every step. You were perfectly safe.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Sir Richard. ‘It is not going to be shared.’

  ‘You mean it does exist?’ I said. I had been growing increasingly doubtful.

  ‘Oh, it exists, certainly,’ the knight said.

  ‘You have looked in there?’ I said to Atwood, pointing to the box at the wall.

  ‘Of course. That was the first place I looked,’ Dick Atwood said sourly. ‘It only contains religious clothing, some books, some items for services. Nothing in the way of gold.’

  ‘But do you know what sort of treasure the box contained?’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘Treasure is treasure,’ Dick said.

  ‘In some ways,’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  In answer, I nodded to Humfrie. He led the way to the tower’s door and showed us the alcove he had discovered, where a box had lain. ‘You haven’t cleaned this. Look: you can see clearly the outline of a box.’

  He was right, the outline was still there.

  Dick grew excited. ‘You mean this could be the box’s size?’

  ‘Yes. But you may not like what you discover,’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘I will be happy with my share,’ Dick said.

  ‘Come with me,’ Sir Richard said.

  Sir Richard led us down the path and into the village, and from there, to my surprise, out on the lane towards Sarah’s house. All the way the knight spoke in a reflective tone that was so quiet that it only made the nearer trees tremble gently.

  ‘The trouble is, I imagine, a priest arriving here with a box filled with gold – well, a box like that would be an appalling weight, wouldn’t it? And a lowly priest sent here from his old parish could not carry much with him. A massy box of treasure would hardly be likely, would it? If it was small enough to carry, it would not be filled with much gold. A man couldn’t carry much gold very far. A small amount, perhaps, but not a great trunk load like that chest in the church.’

  ‘So you are saying that because he was a priest, he thought a matter of a few coins would be an enormous treasure? I suppose that is true enough.’

  ‘It is. But many priests would consider some other things to be even more valuable,’ Sir Richard said. ‘And Peter was very pious, no matter what he did to the female members of his congregation.’

  ‘Not the priests I know,’ Dick said. ‘They consider gold to be gold. Riches are riches.’

  We were at the gate to Sarah’s house now and entered her garden. Dick looked about him with disdain. ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘Because this woman was one whom Roger trusted,’ Sir Richard said. ‘And he asked her to look after his treasure.’

  Dick Atwood cast a suspicious eye at him on hearing that, but he made no objections as we entered the house.

  Sarah was waiting for us. Ben had been despatched with a message before we left the inn to speak with Dick Atwood, and now she stood stirring a pot over the fire. ‘Ah, you are already here? That is good.’

  ‘You have the box, mistress?’ Sir Richard said, once the usual pleasantries had been exchanged.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It was given to you by Roger of Ilford?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dick Atwood’s eyes were almost on stalks as she confirmed this. He glanced at me with a wolfish grin. I could tell that he was excited. ‘May we see it?’

  She gave him a curious look. In it were mingled amusement and some contempt. ‘If you wish.’

  Walking to the back of the chamber, she reached for a light-coloured box. There were tracks and trails in the wood, and I guessed it was oak. It was the same dimensions as the mark in the church’s alcove, but it was no great height, and was not set about with bands of steel as a strongbox would be. I could feel Dick Atwood’s confusion mount as she brought it to us, rubbing the lid where some mark had marred the surface.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said.

  Dick took it from her. A simple hinged hook of metal fitted over a metal button. He slid the hook from the button, and lifted the lid. The inside of the box was beautifully lined in green velvet, and nestling softly on the cloth was a leather-bound book.

  ‘It’s a list of all the books that the abbey owned at Ilford,’ she said. ‘The father abbot was very proud of his library. When his monastery was to be dissolved under the new religion, he felt that it must at some time be reversed.’

  ‘A book?’ Dick Atwood said. He looked shattered by the revelation.

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah said. ‘He caused all the books to be listed carefully, so that when King Henry died, the abbey could acquire all his books once more. So each book is listed, and who took it. He felt that they must all be returned when the abbey was renewed. Of course, the poor man never saw that. He gave it to Peter, and Peter told Roger about it back at Ilford. When Roger came here, he found the box again. After Peter’s death, he brought it to me and asked me to look after it, knowing my religion.’

  ‘But … there was gold. A great treasure, I was told,’ Dick said.

  She took it from him again, holding it gently in her hands and smiling at him. Then she replaced the book in the box and closed the lid. ‘The abbot felt that this was indeed a great treasure. There is much learning in those books. It’s just sad that the abbot did not live long enough to see the Queen on the throne, bringing renewed hope to all of the Catholic faith. In time, with God’s grace, the abbey might be rebuilt, and then this will guide the new abbot in his quest for the books that were once his.’

  ‘There’s no gold?’ Dick Atwood said hollowly.

  Sir Richard shrugged. ‘King Henry didn’t give abbots time to hide all their gold and jewels. He had auditors list everything that was in each abbey’s possession, down to the weight of lead on the roofs, so that when he closed the abbey, he had a full inventory. He did the same with all the abbeys and monasteries in the kingdom. There could never be a great treasure hidden from the King. And nothing so vast that a mere country priest could easily carry it from his parish, having kept it concealed for many years, and bring it all the way here, with never a single person noticing his wealth, or being suspicious at the great weight of some of his belongings. Did he come here w
ith four or five chests like a baron on procession? No! He was a priest. He arrived with a pack over his shoulders, and little more.’

  Dick’s mouth opened, and I was delighted to see that no words came to him. I gazed at him enquiringly, wondering whether anything might emanate, but nothing was said. He cast a look of deep pain at the box containing the ledger, then turned and left.

  He looked a broken man. It was a delight to see him so low.

  ‘Would you like a bowl of pottage?’ Sarah asked us.

  And that was the end of the tale. That afternoon, I left the village of St Botolph’s, hoping never to see it again. The sun was trying fitfully to burst out through the clouds that loured overhead, but after we had ridden a scant mile, the rain began.

  Humfrie pulled his cowl over his head. ‘That was an interesting diversion,’ he said.

  I said nothing. The horses themselves were walking on with their heads down as though in agreement with my own feelings.

  London was a riot of noise when we arrived. I had not noticed in recent months just how raucous the people were. Sellers of all wares bellowing their offerings, trying to outdo those nearest, and the whores trying to hide from the pelting rain by standing in doorways and offering themselves to passers-by. I don’t know why they bothered. They would have no trade on a day like that. They would be better off sitting before a fire and offering themselves to the drinkers in a tavern.

  There was one standing in my own doorway, when we had left the horses at the stables and walked the short distance to my house. I sent her off with a threat to call a bailiff, and she scampered away with a curse hurled over her shoulder at me. But then I opened my door, to be accosted by a monster.

  I had stepped inside and was pulling off my gloves when the beast launched itself at me. I gave a cry and stumbled backwards, but my foot caught on something, and I was sent over. Instantly, the brute was at my throat, so I thought, yelping and making an unholy row. I had to fend it away with my arms and try to slap it with my gloves, but that seemed only to send it into further paroxysms of viciousness.

  After many long minutes, I heard Raphe hurtle down the corridor. I could hear Humfrie laughing uproariously at my undignified entrance, and then Raphe had his ‘Hector’ by the scruff and pulled him away, wriggling and panting. I climbed to my feet and was incapable of speech, wiping the slobber from my face and throat.

  ‘He likes you, master,’ Raphe said hopefully.

  ‘The vile brute tried to bite my throat! He attempted to savage me!’

  ‘Nay,’ Humfrie said, trying to control his own amusement. ‘He was welcoming you to your home.’

  ‘Well, I can live without his welcomes!’ I said. ‘Keep the thing away from me, or I’ll have it thrown from the house!’

  But as I looked at it, the monster did seem to be struggling to get to me less for reasons of aggressiveness and more for an opportunity to demonstrate his affection. Perhaps he would be a companion; my needs of a guard were lessened now that Arch and Hamon were gone.

  I walked through to my hall and pulled off my dripping cloak and hat, telling Raphe to bring wine and spices so Humfrie and I could share a pot or two of something warming. Humfrie sat on a bench near the fire, which, fortunately, Raphe had not forgotten to light that morning, and I took my seat. When Raphe came in, so did Hector, but this time, when he tried to climb into my lap, Raphe gave a loud ‘No!’ and the creature subsided, casting a wary look up at him. He did appear to be able to learn obedience, then.

  We left the jug beside the fire with the spices in it.

  ‘I thought Atwood would faint away when he saw what his vaunted “treasure” was,’ I chuckled.

  ‘He was barely able to walk,’ Humfrie said with a smile.

  ‘Do you think Sir Richard really will contrive to leave Roger without seeing him captured?’

  ‘I think Sir Richard is an interesting man who is learning to consider his own actions carefully,’ Humfrie said with quiet contemplation. ‘I believe he will try to support Dorothy and her children more.’

  The knight had said as much as we parted. He wanted to ensure that the children and Dorothy were helped. Perhaps, he thought, he could arrange for apprenticeships for the older boys, and perhaps some service for Ben. However, Dorothy would have her own say in such matters, it was plain. And Nyck had done much to ease her life and protect her and her children, so it was reasonable to think that he would continue to have a role in their futures.

  ‘What of Jen and Hal?’ he said. ‘Will you be seeing them again?’

  I shivered. ‘When the pair of them robbed me of everything? If I never see them again, I will be content. I hope that the mutt there will be able to warn us of any attempt to rob me again, but I am not hopeful.’

  ‘Still, at least you are free of Arch and Hamon,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. I wonder what will happen to all those who owe them money?’

  ‘They will be free of Arch and Hamon’s greed.’

  ‘But they used to wait near the gambling dens and offer men money so they could return to gamble some more.’

  ‘No doubt someone will take over that business.’

  I guessed what he meant. ‘You?’

  ‘Someone must see to their customers, I suppose.’

  ‘So you will take on their system of loans?’

  ‘Not in the same manner, no. But if someone wants a short-term loan, and I think they are a secure person to lend money to, I suppose perhaps it would make sense to offer them terms. But no one works for nothing, obviously.’ He held out his hand, and I realized he wanted his money.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I owe you for the days you were working with me. That will be—’

  To my surprise, he held up his hand to silence me. ‘No. Two guineas.’

  ‘That was if you were to stay with me for two weeks!’

  ‘No, Master Jack, it was for the removal of two felons trying to rob or kill you.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t!’

  He shrugged. ‘I had to fight three. I slew one. You managed to kill another, but that was an accident. I think that is fair effort for so little reward.’

  ‘But two guineas is a fortune!’

  ‘Think how you would feel if those snippers had come closer to your nose or your ballocks.’

  ‘This is robbery!’

  ‘No, it is an investment. After all, you wouldn’t want an assassin to be disappointed in you.’

  There was an edge to his voice. Suddenly, I realized that he was quite right. I wouldn’t want him to be upset by me.

  I paid him.

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