Baldwin felt sick. He could remember how knights had spoken about hunting down his comrades from the Knights Templar after their destruction. It was repellent, this idea of treating men like so many deer or hares.
Gerard had suffered; it would be a miracle if he lived. Baldwin had seen the thick flap of skin cut away from his cheek, the smashed and all but cut off nose, the slashed ear that dangled from a small flap of flesh, the bloodied shoulder and flank. After so many wounds, any one of which might grow gangrenous, the lad would be fortunate indeed to live.
‘There they are!’ Sir Tristram exclaimed, pointing.
Following his finger, Baldwin could see a thin line of men working their way up the hill east of them. There was no sign of their prey.
The coroner saw this too. ‘I shall have to organise the watch to help them. Christ’s Ballocks! As if there wasn’t enough to do already!’
Baldwin nodded. ‘You go, and I shall see whether I can entice a little information from that poor wreck of an acolyte.’
* * *
Studying his coat and tunic in among the trees that stood at the side of the road, Joce was forced to accept that he’d be viewed a little oddly if he were to appear like this in town. He’d be better off leaving his coat behind.
He could hear the horn blowing, and when he stared over the river, he saw that Sir Tristram was shouting for more men to help. It made Joce grind his teeth with impotent rage. If he could, he would charge over that bridge and hurl himself at the tarse! Who did the arrogant sodomite think he was? The new conscience of the land, the new hero? From all Joce had heard, he was nothing more than a reiver himself. There were enough of them up there on the border, as Joce knew perfectly well.
Then he saw a saviour. There, standing near the bridge, as Sir Tristram’s men rode onwards, was Sara. She would help him: she wouldn’t be able to stop herself, he thought smugly. He stepped onto the road from his cover and walked across the bridge, his coat carelessly flung over his shoulder. Once there, he made straight for her.
‘Hello, Sara.’
Her face blanched. ‘What do you want?’
‘My love, all is well now,’ he murmured as soothingly as he could, ‘since that blasted fool Walwynus is gone, I need have no more fear.’
‘Fear?’ she repeated dully. ‘You wouldn’t talk to me after the coining, and now you talk of fear?’
‘It was Wally. I told you afterwards, I had hoped you’d understand,’ he said sadly. ‘Wally came and threatened me, telling me to leave you alone, not to play with your emotions. I was scared.’
‘I…’ Sara swallowed, her face a picture of confusion. ‘But you said you beat him.’
He laughed shortly. ‘Does any man like to admit that he’s been bested? No, my love.’
‘You said you wanted no more to do with me, that you’d deny your own child.’
‘No, never,’ Joce said firmly. He stepped forward and took her elbow, guiding her on, keeping his eye upon her the whole while, stepping up the lanes, away from the main roadway, away from the abbey, and down an alley which led to the back of his house. He could enter without being seen. ‘How could I reject my own child? Impossible.’
But confusion was already turning to anger as Sara recalled their last two meetings. She shook her arm free. ‘No! You’re not going to take me in the back here, like a slut. You swore to wed me, and that means I have the right to enter by your front door.’
‘Darling, please come with me just this once,’ Joce said, smiling. ‘It is a whim of mine.’
‘Don’t treat me like a fool!’ she threatened him. She was rubbing at her elbow where he had gripped her. ‘If you’re serious about honouring our vows, and are not going to deny me again, and if you will support Ellis as well, if he is accused, then I shall enter your house, for the sake of my children, as your wife. But I shall not go in the back door so that you can deny seeing me in the future. Ah, no!’
‘Stop rubbing your arm, woman. Come! I merely wish to see my horses.’
‘Then you can, once we’ve entered by your front door. Or is this all merely a jest to satisfy some cruel amusement of yours?’ she asked.
‘This is no jest, I assure you, Wife.’
She said nothing. Her hand was at her elbow still. As he watched, she picked at the material, and pulled a face as she realised that it was covered in mud. ‘Oh, look at that. My best linen shirt, too. What have you been up to?’
He could say nothing. Suddenly he felt as though the blood was draining from his face as she took him in, her features at first sharp and irritated, and then subtly altering until they registered pure horror. ‘My God!’ she whispered. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You tried to kill that boy!’
His arm was up and at her throat in a moment while he fumbled for his knife, but he was too late to prevent the scream that burst from her. She kicked at his feet, and he stumbled, and then she had broken free. Two men appeared from his gateway, and he stared at them dully, before bolting back the way he had come.
He made it to the bridge without anyone catching him, and then he found himself confronted by a traveller on a tired old nag. Without pausing, Joce ran to the man’s side. The nag side-stepped, rearing his head, and Joce caught the man’s foot, thrusting upwards viciously. In a moment the rider was up and over his mount, falling on the other side with an audible crunch as his shoulder struck the cobbled way. It took no time to shove one foot in the stirrup and lift himself up into the saddle. Kicking the beast’s flanks cruelly, Joce urged it into a slow canter.
No one else had a horse behind him, but now he was committed, whether he wanted it or not. The road south was at the other side of the river. He could attempt to ford it further downstream, but that would be hazardous. No, he was better off trying to cross over the moors.
In any case, this was the way he should be taking, he realised. What had the lad said? That Wally, the shit, had sold the plate to some foreign bastard on the moors. That was what Gerard had said, and he’d said it in the extremity of his pain, when he was trying to save his life. Surely that was what Joce must do now, then. Find these travellers and retrieve his pewter.
With that resolve, he whipped the reins across the flanks of the horse and forced it to go faster.
Joce would go up by the main roadway, for none of the line of beaters would expect the murderer to be behind them. Then he would ride to the first mining camp and ask about strange-speaking foreigners and whether anyone had seen them. And if the foreign bastards refused to give his property back to him – Joce smiled coldly – he would kill them. Without compunction. He had tried to kill twice today already, with Gerard and then Sara, and he was keen to succeed the third time.
* * *
Simon waited until Baldwin had followed the stretcher through a doorway, and then wandered down to fetch an ale. Mark was sitting as usual on his little stool in the doorway to his salting rooms.
‘Bailiff! Who was that?’ he called out, staring after the stretcher.
Simon walked over to him. ‘That poor acolyte Gerard. He was caught and attacked by someone on the other side of the river. We don’t know who it was, but we’ll get him.’
‘It wasn’t me, Master Bailiff! I have been here all day. And an exciting one it has been too.’
Gratefully taking a mazer filled with an excellent spiced wine, Simon leaned against the doorway. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘if you were to learn of a monk who’d been stealing from the abbey you’d want to punish him wouldn’t you?’
Mark eyed him curiously, then drained his cup. ‘Of course. No question.’
‘So what has been happening here, then?’
‘Nothing that would excite you, I daresay, Bailiff, but for a crowd of old women like we monks, it was quite thrilling. Young Reginald was discovered sprawled before the altar this morning, quite beside himself. Old Peter spoke to him last night, but it didn’t improve Reg’s mood. Poor fellow’s been put to bed in the infirmary to recover.’
‘You h
ave not yet lost your sense of freedom, have you?’ Simon said suddenly.
‘What do you mean?’ Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Monks who have been brought up to the abbey are more cautious in their speech, especially with relative strangers – by which I mean any outsider, like, for instance, a bailiff.’
‘Aha! I have lived too long in the secular world, you mean,’ Mark said, picking up a jug and refilling his mazer. He waved it at Simon, who held up his hand in mild protest. ‘True, I can see further than the end of my nose, which makes me stand out a little. I mean, look at Brother Peter! A worthy, kindly enough man at first sight, but in reality, he has a terrible desire for knowledge about other monks. He cannot help but sniff out any little secrets, purely with the aim of satisfying his own inquisitive nature. If he had been apprenticed to a master like my old one, he’d have had that nosiness knocked out of him soon enough! Then there’s Augerus. He is less pious than he should be, but he has known only the cloister. How can a man respect the religious way of life if he can remember no other?’
Simon was tempted to remind Mark that his own faults included gossip and, imbibing too freely, but restrained his tongue.
Mark continued, ‘My own strength comes from the knowledge of the outside world and the way that real people live. To me, there can be nothing more sacred than this convent, because I have seen how people live outside. That,’ he sighed to himself, but giving Simon a sharp glance, ‘is why I revere this place so much more than some of my brother monks do.’
Simon said nothing but meaningfully raised an eyebrow.
‘I don’t suppose it matters now,’ Mark said. ‘I have seen Gerard about at night. I feel sure that he was the thief, although I imagine he passed his stolen goods on to someone else.’
‘Did you speak to him about his stealing?’
‘Good God, no! I told the abbot, though. And now, well, his guilt is proven, isn’t it? Why else should the boy have committed apostasy, if he wasn’t torn apart by guilt? Or unless he wanted to make off with his profits, of course.’
Chapter Twenty-six
Baldwin entered the room to find Peter standing at the side of the bed on which Gerard had been deposited.
‘How is he, Brother?’
Baldwin was struck, not for the first time, with the thought that a man with so extensive an injury to his face should not have survived. During his time as a Templar, both in the Holy Land and afterwards, Baldwin had seen men who had suffered less violent, less apparently lethal wounds, and yet they had died in hours or days, but this man had clung on. True, he had become an object of loathing or ridicule, but he was living, nonetheless. To Baldwin, it proved that he had a strong character and will to live. Many others would have scorned life and sought death.
Peter appeared to read his thoughts. He gave one of his odd, twisted smiles. ‘Perhaps he will be as fortunate as me, eh, Keeper?’
Baldwin was embarrassed and looked away, but Peter’s voice continued gently.
‘If he has an urge to live, he will live, with God’s good grace. If he doesn’t, or if God decides that he is ready for heaven, then he shall die. Whatever God wills, so be it.’
‘What are they?’ Baldwin asked, glancing at some bowls sitting on the floor near the lad.
‘Egg-white for cleaning his wounds, warm water to slake his thirst, a little strong wine for my comfort, and a cushion for my old knees to pray upon, or to rest my head when I grow too tired to hold my head up.’
It was tempting to leave the man there alone with Gerard, but Baldwin did not quite trust him. There were no other chairs in this little infirmary, only two more beds; all three in plain view of the altar which was the salvation of all those who could glance upon it while they suffered. Baldwin planted himself on one of the other beds and waited.
They had both been sitting in silence for some while when Gerard began to moan softly, his voice snuffling and adenoidal from his ravaged nose. Peter at once leaned forward and rested his hand upon Gerard’s, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He groaned several times, muttered like a man who was deeply asleep, and every so often, whimpered like a dog in pain. It was pitiful, and Baldwin felt his flesh creep to hear the agony of a poor fellow so young, damaged so severely for no reason. And then there was a sudden pause, and he spoke again, this time clearly.
‘I can’t take any more, Augerus… I won’t steal any more… Joce, go to hell, I won’t do it any more!’
Baldwin felt his heart almost stop in his breast. ‘Did you hear that?’
Peter left his hand on the boy’s, and glanced upwards as though praying. ‘I did. And may he rest now that his heart has confessed, even against his will.’ He slowly, painfully, came to his feet. ‘With your permission, Sir Knight, I shall go and tell the good abbot about his steward.’
‘Did no one suspect him?’ Baldwin wondered aloud.
‘Some of us did, yes.’
‘Then in God’s name, Brother, why didn’t you tell anyone?’
Peter smiled and sat again, resting his hands in his lap with a serene expression. ‘Why should we do that?’
‘If the man was guilty of stealing—’
‘God will know. And God will punish that which He feels He should. It is not my place to accuse or seek another’s punishment.’
‘You knew?’
‘Aye. And I tried to make the boy see by my own example that it was pointless and silly, but he wouldn’t listen to an old fart like me. Besides, I think that there was some coercion used. Perhaps he had committed some more minor crime, and Augerus sought to make him obey his commands to prevent his secret being discovered. That, I think, is most likely. I don’t believe this boy is peculiarly evil.’
‘What sort of hold could Augerus have had on him?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Some trifling matter, Keeper. A youngster is always hungry – perhaps it was merely the naughty theft of a bread roll, or some pieces of sausage from the salsarius’ room? Who can tell? A minor offence like that might have been discovered and the evil, older man used it to bend the younger to his will. Make no mistake, the older will be evil. Not this poor child. And now,’ he added, climbing to his feet, ‘I must warn the abbot. We know all about the thefts in the abbey. Although there is one detail I am keen to understand.’
‘What is that?’
‘How he managed to steal the wine. Surely that was a wonderful thing to do. And just think of all the abbot’s good spiced red wine. I could certainly be persuaded to bribe the lad for that secret, eh, Keeper?’ he said, and winked.
In a moment he was gone and Baldwin sat back on his chair. ‘Well, boy, you still have many secrets which others would like to learn,’ he said wearily.
* * *
As Simon left Mark, he gave in once again to the old feelings of despair. The abbot was right to doubt his abilities. He was nothing more than a fool. Useless. He had no idea who had killed Wally or Hamelin. His enquiry was going nowhere, and so was he. There could be no surprise in the Abbot’s decision to replace him with another man better able to investigate crimes. Almost anyone must be better than him, Simon thought bitterly.
Just for a moment his mind returned to his wife. Meg would take the idea of leaving their house very badly. She would not say anything, of course, she would be entirely loyal and supportive, but he knew she would hate the thought of going from Lydford. They had been very happy there.
Just then, he arrived at the Great Gate. From here he could see the scarred monk leaving the infirmary, and he walked across to him.
‘Not now, Bailiff, please!’ Brother Peter said hastily.
‘What is it?’
‘Gerard has just told us who was guilty. It was Augerus who persuaded the lad to steal.’
‘Yet not who killed Walwynus?’
‘No. Walwynus was alive when I left him, and when I returned after seeing the shepherd, he was not at his house. I came straight back to the abbey. I spoke to my friend the groom and drank ale with him because Augerus and Ma
rk were away and there was no refreshment.’
Simon nodded. ‘Are you sure of that?’
‘Aye. Why?’
Simon gave him no answer, but stood deep in thought. Obviously the only reason for the lack of drinks was the absence of Augerus and Mark. Ellis had said that Mark had returned and was already in the abbey when he went to shave some heads later. Perhaps Mark had gone elsewhere, not straight back to his storerooms?
He was about to enter the infirmary when he saw Mark waving to Peter, and Peter hurried over to the salsarius’ room. The two spoke for a moment, and then Peter made straight for the abbot’s lodging. Mark immediately locked up his room and crossed the court to the infirmary, and entered by the door which Peter had just left.
Simon suddenly had a strange idea… then dismissed it. Surely, he thought, he was leaping to foolish conclusions. To clear his mind, he walked to the trough near the stables and sipped water from his cupped hands. After wiping a little over his face to refresh himself, he stared down into the water.
Wine! Simon had ignored the theft of the wine, at first because the abbot had told him to leave it alone, and later because there were so many other things for him and Baldwin to consider, with the murder of Wally and Hamelin, but there was still that central problem of the wine. Who had taken it – and why? For some reason he recollected what he had seen when he was leaving the abbot’s presence that first time, when he had just begun to suspect that Abbot Robert had lost his faith in him: a syphon.
Simon was still standing and thinking when he heard shouting at the entrance to the court. Looking up, he saw Ellis. At his side was an attractive woman, and he had his arms about her waist, while her head rested upon his shoulder. Ellis pointed to him meaningfully.
‘Christ Jesus, what now?’ Simon muttered to himself, and strode forward. ‘Well?’
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