Missal for Murder

by Rosie Lear

  On his return to Milborne Port, he took advice from Thomas Copeland, despite the fact that Thomas was well past middle-age now. Thomas became his friend and mentor, and now Matthias was ready to begin again.

  Barton Holding was a substantially built dwelling, the front door opening into a large hall which would serve as the main room for his scholars. Leading off the hall were two further rooms, one of which was Matthias’ personal study and main relaxing place. This had a small ladder leading upwards into a private solar and sleeping place. The other door led into the kitchen with a fire place used for cooking, and a further small room where Davy and his wife Elizabeth slept.

  Davy and his wife had kept house for Matthias since he had returned to Milborne Port. The old feudal system of serf and villein was changing fast. Many of Davy’s generation were enjoying a new way of life - working for an overlord for monetary gain instead of being bound to his land in exchange for a place to live. Davy’s father had been a miller until his death, when the mill had passed to Davy’s older brother, Tobias. Tobias and his wife had no need of Davy’s services, preferring instead to use the cottagers, whom they could order more as they pleased, and Davy’s character was too independent to be always under Tobias’ thumb.

  Today, a crisp March day with the promise of sun, Matthias sought out Davy to prepare his schoolroom. He found Davy outside in the small courtyard, his square jaw set in unusual lines of concentration as he clipped at the box hedge surrounding the lavender bushes which Matthias’ mother had planted.

  “Will you be long finishing the clipping, Davy? I think it’s time we prepared the tables for the schoolroom.”

  Davy looked up. “I can finish this later if you wish to start now, Master.”

  “Finish the clipping and then join me. I can start the tables alone.”

  Matthias found several trestle boards in his outside store and began to carry them into the yard. They needed scrubbing down before taking them in to his house. He glanced at Davy several times as he worked. Davy’s mind was clearly not on his task. He put down the tools and wiped his forehead in perplexity. His expression was clouded, and once or twice he made as if to speak to Matthias and checked himself.

  Matthias leaned on one of the trestles, dusting cobwebs from it with his hand.

  “Something you want to say to me, Davy?”

  Davy’s grateful look eased his way.

  “ Do you remember Ben Glover, Master?”

  “I do indeed, Davy – your helpmate in poaching when you were lads! The chief apple scrumper! Weren’t you part of his marriage feast last year?’

  “That I was, Master….it was just after Elizabeth and I wed…all part of the village, as it should be! Ben’s wife, Lydia called on me today. Ben went to Sherborne two days ago and hasn’t returned. Lydia asked me to walk out on the track to see if he lies injured. You hear of lawless bands on some trackways. Ben had nothing of value - and looked nothing....” He tailed off, his imagination failing him.

  There were no reports of which Matthias knew concerning gangs of outlaws locally, but he supposed it was always possible. The declining and failing war in France had given rise to dispirited soldiers returning whenever they could…rumour was rife that they had not been paid for months, so those that reached England were starving and penniless…and the young king had not the spirit or belly for war that his father had displayed….it was becoming a cause for concern, even in country districts where news traveled slowly and was often convoluted before it reached them

  “When did Ben come home, Davy?” he asked.

  “A couple of days ago, Master,” replied Davy, “He’d arranged to come especially to be with Lydia for the birth.”

  “So why did he suddenly go back to Sherborne?” wondered Matthias.

  Davy shook his head. He had wondered exactly the same himself, when he’d seen Ben set out, almost furtively, two days ago.

  There had been something almost dishonest about the disappearing figure of his young friend in the afternoon light, - Davy couldn’t quite put it into words.

  “I hope he hasn’t fallen foul of Master Cope,” Matthias muttered, acidly. “Ben was given special dispensation to come home – the glover won’t think too highly of him if he meets him in the market when he thinks he’s at home.”

  Davy said nothing – he rubbed one foot awkwardly against the calf of his other leg, waiting for Matthias to decide.

  “We’ll carry these trestles in and set them up, then go down to Sherborne - take my horse - but do please be back before sunset.”

  Davy heaved the trestles onto his shoulders and edged them through the heavy oak door.

  In his heart he was afraid of what he might find – Ben had altered subtly during the last few months

  Once, although he had told no-one, Davy had found him insensibly drunk in the grounds of the Abbey itself. As lads together, they had often been drinking partners when they’d had a few coins to spare, but never had Davy seen anyone as drunk as Ben had been that night, and in the Abbey…what on earth was he doing on Abbey ground? Davy could find no answer to that.

  He was grateful to his master for permission to do Lydia’s bidding, and especially grateful for the use of his horse.. Normally if out and about on Matthias’ work, Davy would use the nag - quite adequate, but Matthias’ horse was a faster, smoother ride.

  His friendship with Ben was long standing. They had gleaned corn together after harvest as young boys, had collected stones from the manor field before planting, had shared food when harvests had failed, as had happened several times….bad times they were….this year wasn’t going to be too good so folk predicted…fished, poached, joined with villagers in funeral wakes, weddings, just the normal things one did in life. So where was Ben now?

  As he neared Pinford, he looked towards Sherborne, half hidden in the fold of the hills. So far there had been no trace of Ben - no signs of a scuffle - no discarded shoes.. no broken bushes... A feeling of deep unease overtook him as he resumed his lonely journey.

  The track widened; he passed Pig Hill on his left and jogged wearily down Coldharbour, with its squat houses and higgeldy lanes...still no sign of Ben.

  He entered Hound Street Tithing and came into Lodborne Lane, where Ben’s lodgings were. He paused on the narrow cobbles and looked anxiously down the alleyway for any sighting of Ben or the maidservant of the house. There were people about, but no sign of Ben.

  Children were playing in the leat of water that ran down the centre of the cobbles. It didn’t look too clean but with their bare feet they were shouting with glee as they splashed each other with the water. Davy stepped over the stream, designed to carry away night refuse and dismounting, knocked on the door with his knuckles. There was a significant pause before Mistress Fosse, the widow-woman, opened it herself, cautiously. Davy could hear weeping from inside the open hallway. He lowered his eyes respectfully.

  “May I see Ben Glover?” he asked.

  “Who asks for him?” she replied, falteringly.

  “Davy - I’m sent by his wife, Lydia. She is missing him from home.”

  Mistress Fosse covered her face with her hands and steadied herself on the doorpost.

  “His wife? No message has come to her yet? You’d best come in, I cannot talk on the doorsill.”

  Davy showed a small coin to the oldest of the playing children, who were looking at the scene curiously. If the horse was safe when Davy came out, the child had earned the coin.

  Mistress Fosse beckoned Davy into the darkened hallway. The house was a small town house, with one large hall downstairs and an outside kitchen at the back. Upstairs was her small solar, and the room she let to Ben. The serving girl lived in the kitchen and was glad of her position.

  The windows were small and covered with parchment, making it hard for Davy to see anything in the hall very clearly.

  Mistress Fosse stood looking at him for a moment. She drew breath to speak - thought better of it and covered her face again.

&nb
sp; “What is it?” Davy cried, cold suddenly to his heart.

  “Ben is dead.” Mistress Fosse declared, flatly,

  “His body was found this morning lying in the Lady Chapel of the Abbey”.

  Davy stared at her, the chill in his heart now icy. The murky hall seemed to sway around him.

  “No, - there must be some mistake” he exclaimed, “The Lady Chapel? What would he be doing there? He came to Sherborne to deliver something.”

  Mistress Fosse shivered violently, despite the fire burning in her central hearth.

  “He was stabbed twice in the back, Davy.”

  Davy gazed at her in horror.

  “Ben? Stabbed? But why? He had nothing worth stealing - and his wife is with child - Mistress Fosse - are you sure it was Ben?”

  The serving girl stepped forward out of the shadowy corners of the room. Davy realized the weeping he had heard had been coming from her.. her eyes were reddened and her hands were twisted round each other ..

  “It was Ben, sir,” she faltered. “Master Cope identified his body.”

  Davy’s stomach lurched, but he knew he must make the effort.

  “Where is he now?” he asked, simply.

  Mistress Fosse looked at his white face.

  “What is he to you?” she asked.

  “I grew up with Ben - we played and fought together as boys,” Davy said. “I am come from Lydia specially - and I must see him.”

  “His body lies in the Chapel of Ease, All Hallows-next-the Abbey. The monks have washed him.”

  As Davy left Mistress Fosses’s house, a tumult of emotions swept over him. The child had earned the coin, but Davy had no memory of giving it…he must have done so, for the coin was no longer in his hand. He led his horse towards the Abbey in a daze. How could this have happened to his friend.?

  The afternoon sun lit the abbey door with a cold, wintry light. Davy tethered the horse near the old almshouse and walked slowly towards the great door of the Abbey. He knew he had to look at Ben - he had to see for himself what had been done - had he the courage? But had he the courage to face Lydia if he did not?

  The Abbey was silent. He looked above his head, awed by the towering stonework and intricate carvings. Building was in progress at the East end of the Abbey, and Davy could hear the shouts of the masons and their workmen, and the hammerings and clatter of their work. He closed the heavy door behind him, and slipped through the narrowed opening which led into the Chapel of Ease where the townspeople worshipped. The Abbot had narrowed the opening significantly, and there would certainly not now be room for a processional to pass through into the Abbey. He glimpsed a kneeling figure at the foot of the makeshift bier, and slowly advanced towards the place where Ben had been laid. The monks or their lay workers had washed Ben and arranged his clothes decently. He was on a stone slab near the altar, and his hands had been arranged across his breast to hide the dark stain of blood which had spoiled his green tunic. His eyes had been closed and his dark hair was smooth and unmatted. His friend looked strange in death, as if he was carved in wax. The monk continued his vigil of prayer without turning; there was no-one else there.

  Mistress Fosse had been right; this was indeed Benjamin Glover, lately apprenticed to Richard Cope.

  Davy stumbled from the church, breathing unevenly. He was oblivious to the presence of the monk who had risen to his feet swiftly and followed Davy outside, and was now watching him darkly from just inside the shadowy door.

  Davy leaned his head against the horse’s flank, a half sob escaping him. He managed a confused prayer for the soul of his friend and then closed his eyes the better to see Ben’s face clearly, eyes alight with mischief and fun, or watchful in the gathering dusk as they’d snared rabbits as young boys.

  The brother watched him keenly, half hidden by the stone-work. When Davy finally felt more composed, mounted and rode off, the man moved swiftly to the back of the old almshouse and returned, mounted.

  Davy was unaware that he was followed all the way to Lydia’s house.

  It was nearly dark when Davy returned to Milborne Port. He did not stop at Barton Holding, Instead he rode through the village to Ben’s small cottage. He must see Lydia first.

  Matthias Barton was relieved to see Davy on his return. Tracks to Sherborne were well marked; it was a central enough place in this part of the world, but after dark it became no better than any place in the Year of Our Lord 1436, and depending on the weather, tracks and pathways were not always easy to pass through.

  Davy stabled the horse and came through the small courtyard to his own entrance. Elizabeth greeted him with a thankful cry, and then looked at his stricken face.

  “It’s not good news, is it..” she said quietly

  “Hush, woman,” he murmured and went straight to the solar, where he knew he would find Matthias.

  Matthias had eased his long body down into a wooden chair near his hearth. His wine goblet was full and his relief at Davy’s return was apparent.

  “Ben is dead – stabbed through the back in two places.” The bleak statement eased Davy’s anger.

  Matthias looked up at his man in disbelief. He was quick to notice Davy’s eyes, black now with shock, his lips drawn together in a thin line to control his emotion. There was suppressed anger as well as grief shadowing his face.

  “Ben is dead?” Matthias repeated the phrase stupidly, hardly believing what he had heard.

  “He was found in the Lady Chapel..stabbed twice. He was fully dressed..exactly as I saw him leave here…the workmen found him when they started work…Mistress Fosse didn’t know he had returned to the town. She thought he was still at home here until they called her…” Davy ran out of words in his distress.

  “But what was Ben doing in the Abbey? He didn’t work there, did he? He would have had no cause to be there… Someone in Sherborne must know more about this…he must have gone there deliberately..”

  “I don’t know, master, - he wasn’t an Abbey man.” Suddenly the fight was gone from Davy – it was as if a bladder of air had deflated and left an empty skin. He fought to control the tears which stung his eyes.

  “Ben couldn’t have had enemies, surely, he was always so amiable and friendly – I can’t believe anyone could have done this to him.”

  Tears pricked the back of Matthias’ eyes in sympathy for Davy as he poured a measure of wine and handed it to him.

  “Did anyone send for the Coroner?” Matthias asked.

  Davy shook his head. He had no idea. He had found Ben….he had seen the body…he had visited Lydia....beside that, he had no idea what to do to be of any help.

  “He must have become involved in something…something which had gone wrong. Someone needed to silence him… or just punish him but went too far.” Matthias’ quick brain had imagined scenarios which Davy could not even begin to forsee…Davy and Ben had lived a simple existence….village boys together. Davy was the older of the two and had looked out for Ben as they grew through boyhood to manhood…they had known each other all their lives. Now had arrived an unhappy parting of ways.

  “Some-one had a plan for him, Davy” , Matthias said, quietly, “What I want to know is who? Why should a young man with apparently no enemies be found in a place so strange to him? Did he have information to deliver to some unknown person? That was odd in itself. How could anyone have latched on to a simple apprentice with a plan which was so deadly that it involved killing?”

  “I wish I knew,” Davy sighed. He was tired, and wanted nothing more now than to go to his own quarters and grieve for his friend.

  “Get some rest, Davy,” Matthias said, quietly. “Tomorrow we will ride down into Sherborne and have words with the Abbot’s bailiff. He may be able to throw more light on this – if whatever Ben was involved in became a killing matter, we may need to watch out for Lydia.”

  On the night following the murder of Ben Glover, the Abbey Garden was silent. Brother Francis slept easily in his narrow bed; Abbot Bradford had prayed hims
elf to sleep on his knees; there was no-one to see the silent watcher in the garden, who now knew where Ben had lived.

  Chapter 3

  Davy saddled their horses the next morning and both men armed themselves for the road. A thick fog was ideal for wolfheads, robbers and outlaws to way lay innocent travellers. Some of the unrest in the country as a whole was beginning to filter out into the country, and Matthias had no wish to be caught unawares if lawless men should take advantage of two riders.

  The cold, grey wisps swirled round them as they left Milborne Port, first following the high track which joined Sherborne to Shaftesbury. Trees and bushes made weird shapes in the fog. It was a day with no colour – leaves and blades of grass were hung with beads of moisture.

  The way was very open here. The dangers of the forest lay more to their South, where outlaws and discharged or deserting soldiers were to be found. Matthias felt the dampness seep into his very garb as they rode, with minute droplets of fog clinging to his eyelashes, making his nose run unpleasantly. The two men rode in silence, uneasy and troubled. There was little movement on the way, - one or two travellers making their way to the market with goods, but the fog and murky weather had discouraged movement.

  In less than an hour they were riding into Cheap Street, the fog thinning a little round the shops and houses, revealing cobbles wet with fog and slippery with the refuse of humanity. The day was well begun – Cheap Street was busy, despite the weather. The shop fronts were open for business, and the usual swirl of dogs, children and beggars thronged the narrow streets and the many side alleys. Here their senses were assailed by street cries, boys eager to hold their horses, beggars whining their needs and smells of baking, mingled with less pleasant odours as maid servants disposed of night soil. Matthias wrinkled his nose – Milborne Port smelled sweeter. A solitary monk, stepping carefully over refuse in open sandals, reached the corner of Hound Street as they rode by.

  He turned to stare after them briefly, before disappearing in the direction of the Abbey.