As he lowered his arms again, Margaret said, “So, what now?”
He caught a yawn, stifled it, and then had to blink to clear away the tears of tiredness. “It depends. It depends on what the men find. If we—‘
“No, Simon,” she said gently. “I meant, what about Brewer, what about our move to Lydford? Do we forget his death for now, and postpone the move?”
“Oh, yes. Yes, there’s no way we can worry about them for now. The abbot’s murder is going to be of more interest to everyone than Brewer’s. What is the death of an old farmer compared to the murder of an abbot? And there’s no way I can move to the castle until we have some idea about what happened to the abbot.”
She nodded, saddened. She knew he was right, of course, but it hurt to hear her husband, the man she knew to be a thoughtful and caring person, say that the death of the farmer was irrelevant. All she said was, “And tomorrow?”
“Ah, tomorrow, my love, I think I’ll go back to Clanton Barton and talk to the monks again. I don’t think they’ve been as helpful as they could have been.”
They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, both absorbed in their thoughts of the killing as they stared at the flames dancing and dying on the packed clay of the hearth. Suddenly Margaret drew in her breath in a shocked gasp.
“What is it?” said Simon, startled.
“Oh, Simon,” she said, turning a face filled with terror to him. “What if the two men who died were killed by the same men?”
“What?”
“Brewer and the abbot were both robbed, both killed and both killed in the same way. By being burned. Simon, I’m afraid!”
Chapter Thirteen
Next morning, Simon was up early and had soon set off with Hugh trailing along behind. Margaret had agreed to let Black know that he would not be at home, and had sent one of the farm helpers to ride over to his house. She had also arranged for a man to go to Furnshill Manor to explain that the bailiff would be absent for a while and could not help with the investigation of the farmer’s death. But then she had overcome all his objections and forced him to take his servant with him.
Her concerns annoyed her. Margaret knew full well how unlikely it was that he would be attacked, but she could not forget how her father’s body had looked when the men brought it back. The sight had almost destroyed her and she did not want ever to suffer that sort of devastation again. To see his corpse, hacked and violated like that… If she saw Simon’s in a similar state, she thought, it would make her lose her mind. So now she was softly persuasive, insisting gently, “I know he’ll slow you down, but I don’t care. I need to know that you are travelling safely, just in case these men are still in the area.”
“But we don’t know that they’re round here, my love, they could be anywhere. And Hugh’ll slow me down.”
“No, we don’t know where they are, because you couldn’t follow them. So they could be here, so you’ll take Hugh, just in case.”
“No, but…‘
“So you’ll take Hugh, just so that I know you’ll be a bit safer.”
“Well, the only thing is…‘
“Because that way I know that there’s someone who can help to protect you.”
So at last he had shrugged and given in. He knew Margaret should be safe enough with all the men at the farm, even if the outlaws came here, so it did make sense for him to take Hugh with him. Even so, the thought of the journey did not seem to have put Hugh in any better frame of mind than Simon himself. Hugh was loyal, and had shown himself to be capable in a fight when they had been attacked by three cut-purses many years before, during market day at Moretonhampstead. Simon had been amazed to see his surly and reserved companion suddenly explode into action and, with his bare hands and the use of a cudgel retrieved from one of the band, put the three of them to flight.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Simon had asked, more in astonishment than surprise.
His servant had immediately lost his look of grim pleasure at his victory and instead became shifty, as if shy of demonstrating his skill, wary of earning a new reputation as a fighter. At last, after continual prompting, he looked up again and said, “You try to look after sheep on the moors when you’re small for your age. You try to keep them together when bigger boys come and try to take one or two of yours, because they want to hide the fact they’ve lost a couple of their own. You try it when your dad’ll take the skin off of your arse if you lose even one. You’d soon learn how to fight then, too.”
But that was two years ago now, and he was obviously unhappy about the thought of being waylaid and possibly having to fight with steel. He spent the journey constantly looking all around, which, if possible, seemed to make them go even slower than usual, to Simon’s annoyance.
After a while Simon dropped back until he was level with his servant. “Come on, Hugh. What’s the matter?”
“Hunh?” Hugh looked at him, and Simon was concerned to see the fear on his face.
“I’ve never seen you like this before, what’re you so worried about?”
“I’ve never had to fight serious before. I’ve never known anyone burn a traveller at the stake. I’m just worried that we could get caught by them.”
“But there were only two of them. We should be able to defend ourselves against two.”
“Two knights? Two men in full armour? Two men who’re prepared to risk eternal damnation for killing an abbot? You think we can protect ourselves against them? God!”
Simon rode forward, his face frowning at his servant’s anxiety. It was understandable, certainly, but the bailiff was irritated that his own man could already be anxious. It seemed to show how other people would feel, scared and fearful of travelling until the killers were caught.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, both deep in their own thoughts. The sky was slightly overcast, with thin, watery clouds moving swiftly over the sky and keeping the main heat of the sun for themselves. They were forced to keep up a good pace merely to keep warm, much to Simon’s delight and Hugh’s disgust, and they seemed to cover the distance in no time.
When they arrived at Clanton, Simon was surprised to find David, the young monk, standing quietly leaning against the gate post to a field, and apparently meditating.
“Good morning, David.”
“Hello, bailiff,” he said, but there was no cheeriness in the welcome, only a kind of blank confusion, bordering on despair.
“Are you alright, David?” asked Simon, feeling sympathy stirring at the sight of the obvious misery of the man.
The monk glanced up at him, with a look of loathing, as if furious at such a facile question. “Alright? Alright? After what we saw yesterday? An abbot killed like a heretic? How can I be alright.” His voice dropped to a low mutter, like a child who has been cheated of a promised toy. “We set off in good spirits, and now our leader is dead, murdered in an obscene way. Nothing can be alright again. All I want to do is go back home again, to Tychfield, and now because of this I must go on to Buckland and give my condolences to the priory. I’m sorry, bailiff,” he said suddenly, looking up at him with a small frown. “I’m sorry to be so curt, but I am not used to seeing such sights, and that it should have happened to him…‘
The bailiff and his servant dropped from their horses and walked towards the farm with the monk. “I am sorry, it was a foolish question. But this is not: do you have any idea why the abbot was killed?”
Apart from a shrug of the shoulders, he received no response. Simon grunted, head down in his shoulders as he slouched along. “Hunh! I only wish I had the vaguest idea. Why on earth anyone would want to try to hold a man and then make off before he could demand the ransom money… and then to kill the hostage like that - it just makes no sense.”
The monk shrugged again. He was obviously just as confused.
Simon turned a frowning face to the young monk. “Tell me, David. How well did you know the abbot?”
“Not at all, really. I met him when
he arrived at Tychfield, my abbey. He was on the way down to Buckland and I was asked to join him and take some goods and gifts with me. He wasn’t very talkative on the journey, he seemed too engrossed with his own thoughts for the most part, so I never really spoke to him much.”
“Oh. Oh well. So what do you know about him?”
“Well, not very much. He came from France, I know that. I saw his letters of introduction from the pope.”
“From the pope himself?” Simon was surprised. “What was he doing going to Buckland, then. I’d have thought he would have stayed in Avignon.”
David cast a quick glance at Simon, narrowing his eyes and obviously assessing him. “He may have found it better to be out of France.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well the new pope didn’t like the last one, so quite a number of men that were in favour then aren’t any longer. I think the abbot was unpopular with the new pope and he was given Buckland to get him out of France.”
“Oh?”
“He never wanted to talk about it, but…‘ He fell silent and pensive for a moment, but then continued in a rush, as if he wanted to get the words out before he could change his mind. ”Well, I think that’s what happened. I think he wasn’t in favour any more. I think the new pope heard about something he had done and he was sent here to be out of the way, and the fact of it hurt him deeply - especially his pride. He was very proud.“
“Why do you say that?”
The monk gave a short laugh, sounding a little bitter. “I’m a monk! I may be young and new to the order, but even so… We’re supposed to be humble. He behaved like a knight in the way he treated others, always arrogant and often abusive. There were several times when he got drunk and insulted other people, and we had to calm them to stop him fighting them. But if you want to know more about the abbot, you’ll need to speak to brother Matthew. He came over with the abbot from France. He must know something about him.”
“Which is brother Matthew?”
“He’s the old one, the happy one - well, usually, he’s not happy now. Poor man! He seems to have taken the whole affair worse than any of us. I suppose because he came over with the abbot from France.”
“Were they friends?”
“Oh, I suppose so… that is… well, yes.” He seemed unsure.
They continued in silence for the rest of the journey. David seemed to almost regret having said as much as he already had and merely grunted at any attempt at further conversation, leaving Simon with the uncomfortable sensation of being a confidante without the pleasure of a secret to hold. He was relieved when they finally came up to the farmyard of Clanton Barton, and he looked forward to speaking to the others with anticipation, hoping that they would be able to shed some light on the affair.
But when he walked into the room with the great fire blazing away he was struck by a complete inability to frame his thoughts clearly, let alone ask any questions. It seemed grotesque to be asking about the abbot’s past in front of these good men when he had only just died, but he could think of nothing else to do. And then again, he knew that he must try to find out as much as possible about the man. It was not a pure guess that he would find answers in the man’s past, it was more a premonition that there must be a logical reason for the murder; especially the method of the killing. Why else would he have died in that way? Either it meant that the killers had taken him and murdered him for no purpose, or they knew him and wanted to kill him for some very specific reason. So the question was: would anyone want him dead? Why would they want to kill an abbot? The only way to find out was to question the monks - surely one among them must have some knowledge of the man who had led them?
“I suppose you have all heard that we found your abbot’s body?” he started, as he walked in and sat down, looking around at them all. They had all started at the sound of Simon’s voice when he had entered, all turning swiftly to stare, as if panicked by the mere sound of a human, looking as frightened as a flock of sheep upon hearing a dog. Now they seemed to be listening intently, sitting forward on their seats as he spoke and staring at him with the fixed, eagerly frowning concentration of men who would try their best to help. He sighed, this was not going to be easy. “He was killed by someone who tied him to a tree and burned him - probably while he was still alive. Obviously he was robbed, but that hardly explains the matter, does it? Why should he have been killed in that way? Why would someone burn him like a heretic? I have no idea why or what could have happened, and I need your help.”
He stood and slowly paced the room behind the huddled monks, who turned to watch him. He kept his eyes on the ground, carefully thinking as he went, as if he was talking to himself and not to them, almost as if he was unaware of their presence. “He was taken from you, as if he was to be kept for a ransom; he was taken deep into the woods like a hostage. But robbers normally go in larger groups, they don’t usually go around in pairs. They stay within a group so that they can ambush travellers more easily. So were these men part of a bigger group, or were they alone? Only the two were seen, there were no tracks of any others, so it seems that they were alone.
“They took the abbot into the woods. That would be normal, to avoid the roads and make an escape before the hue and cry could be raised. But normally it would mean that the robbers would be trying to escape, to go somewhere safe, somewhere to hide with their hostage and his money until they could claim the ransom. These men simply tied the abbot to a tree and set fire to him. Why? Why would they do that?” He spun around and glowered at the monks. “I can’t see a reason.”
He slowly tramped back to his chair by the fire, sat and stared at them again. “So I want you to tell me all you can about this abbot. What was his name, where did he come from, why was he going to Buckland? Everything. Who knew him best, out of all of you?”
He tried to ask the question as gently as possible, but the monks all stared at him in silent alarm, as if they were scared that he might accuse one of them of wanting the abbot dead. Perhaps it was the shock of the realisation that this seemed to be no ordinary attack by robbers that held them so quiet, but after a few minutes Simon could feel his confusion at the lack of response turning to impatience.
He looked over at David, his voice harsher. “One of you must have known him, even if only a little. Who was he? What was he like?”
“He was a proud man.” It was a statement of fact, a mild comment, as if it was an easily pardonable fault in one who ranked high in God’s army. The oldest monk had spoken -no longer the cheerful monk who could wink as if snaring a joke, now he was a small, worried man who sat with his eyes cast down as if he feared the response of his brothers, but even as Simon looked at him, his gaze came up to meet Simon’s questioning scowl with calm defiance. He seemed to consider for a moment, then continued. “He had been a knight in France and had served the pope well, which gave him his pride, and he was favoured by Pope Clement, rest his soul, until Clement died. Afterwards he was offered Buckland, and he resolved to come here to spend his last years in peace and dedication.”
“Your name?”
“I said Matthew.”
“Thank you. So who was he?”
“His name was Oliver de Penne.”
“Why would he have been offered Buckland? Why not an abbey nearer his home? Why was he sent so far from the pope?” asked Simon, his eyes narrowing as he tried to understand.
“Why Buckland? Maybe the pope thought it would be far enough away from any old temptations, from anything in his past that could persuade him to stray.”
“How do you mean, a woman?”
The old monk smiled gently. “There are many temptations, bailiff. I do not know. Maybe, yes, a woman. Who can tell?”
“Do you have any idea why he was so worried about being attacked on the road?”
“Worried about being attacked?” The old man seemed genuinely surprised at the question.
“Yes. When I met you all on the road near Furnshill, he seemed very worr
ied about being attacked. He kept asking me to join you on your journey and seemed annoyed when I refused.”
“Perhaps,” said the monk, shrugging. “I think many people are anxious when they are in new lands, when they don’t know the roads and the villages. I am sure that he was simply hoping to have the company of a man who knew the area.”
Simon thought for a minute. “Possibly,” he admitted. Now he thought about it, could he not have been wrong?
Maybe it was just the natural fear of a man of peace in a new and seemingly threatening country? No, even as he wondered, he knew that the abbot’s fear was more than the normal caution of a traveller. It seemed to be a deep-rooted terror, almost as if he expected to be attacked. “But, surely, if he had been a knight and was proud he would not have been so fearful of a new land? He must have travelled before.”
“Ah, yes, bailiff. Perhaps he had.”
Simon sighed. “Can any of you remember anything else about him? Anything that could help me?” None of them moved. They sat staring at him in silence, apart from the older monk, Matthew, who gazed imperturbably at the ceiling.
The Last Templar Page 17