by Rosie Lear
They led their horses now, anxious to avoid the crowds going about their daily business., and aware of the confined streets lined by tall town houses. Matthias glimpsed several finely garbed young men, loitering round shoe makers, trying on the ridiculously long pointed slippers which had become the fashion…points of the shoes so long that they had to be tied to wrists for safety. He couldn’t imagine what pleasure they gained for such impractical footwear….callow youths who were no doubt part of some noble household in the vicinity. They were loud and rude in their jostling, and Matthias was pleased to move on.
His first call was to Thomas Copeland. At present the schoolroom was in his own house in Cheap Street. He was busy with his scholarly duties, but Matthias was invited to wait in his small ante-hall. After the noise and smells of the street, he was glad to be in the relative peace of Thomas’ house. He could hear the lazy hum of the town, muted by his now being inside; Davy waited outside and watched the horses, absently allowing his eyes to slide over the apprentices at the shop opposite, shaping leather into soft shoes with long, curling points in leather dyed in contrasting colours.. He guessed they must be nearing the end of their apprenticeship, for such work needed skill and craftsmanship. The young men they had seen previously had not yet reached that shop, so he was able to observe the colours and contrasts of the fabrics.
Thomas eventually freed himself for a few moments and joined Davy,
“So soon, Matthew?” enquired Thomas.
“I come on another errand entirely,” Matthias told him.
“You’ve heard about the death in the Abbey?”
Thomas nodded gravely. He was well known to the monks and their establishment. They had in fact called on Thomas after the discovery to ask whether any of his scholars were missing.
“The body was that of Ben Glover,” continued Matthias, “a friend and neighbour of my man, Davy.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Whatever was he doing in the Abbey, then?” he asked.
“That is what I have come to try and find out,” Matthias told him. “Ben was a young married man – his wife gave birth to their first child last night, and it seems to make no kind of sense to me at all.”
Thomas looked Matthias squarely in the eye. “I don’t believe the Abbot has called the coroner,”
Matthias frowned. “Why? Surely he should have done so as a matter of law.” This was a serious breach ….how could the Abbot account for this failing? The coroner should have been informed immediately.
Thomas hesitated. He tried hard to be loyal to his employers, but the laxity of monastic life made it difficult for him to support their ways
He regarded Matthias silently. Matthias was animated, - even angry – and Thomas was aware that the zeal of the Abbot and the monks was not as it should be. They had grown lazy, too wealthy and complacent. It was inconvenient to have found a body in the Lady Chapel – no more than that, for it would have to be cleansed and re-consecrated. Thomas suspected they would make some superficial enquiries and then dismiss it as part of the animosity which had developed and was increasing between the townspeople and the abbey. He knew that the monks had washed and laid out Ben. He knew that even now they were waiting for Master Cope to claim the body of his apprentice and rid them of it. Were they alarmed that there appeared to have been a death in the Abbey? He thought not – it was merely dismissed as the result of a town brawl. He doubted whether they had given any thought as to whether Ben had any relatives who might mourn his death.
“The Abbot’s bailiff might be involved,” he volunteered. “Then perhaps you should visit Master Cope, who should at least be able to tell you of the arrangements for the removal of Ben’s body, and if you find yourself in difficulty come back to me and I will try and help you. I am part town and part Abbey, so I can direct you to whoever you need to speak to.”
Matthias left Davy with the horses and made his way up Cheap Street towards the top, where Master Cope had his house and his shop.
Some of the houses in Cheap Street were fine hall houses, mostly standing alone on a small plot of land, and owned by the more prosperous merchants of the town. Some of them were next to alleys running through to the row of dwellings behind them, narrow runnels giving way to houses of lesser importance and wealth, hidden from view by the fine houses on the main street. Much of the town was built of fine Purbeck stone, but there were many less well built houses that were still cob and thatch, hidden from view in the narrower streets surrounding Cheap Street, the main thoroughfare.
Richard Cope was a master glove maker whose house stood nearly at the top of the steep rise of Cheap Street, almost opposite the Julienne Hospice. He employed four apprentices who were all at different stages of their seven year run; to begin with Ben had lived with him, as did the other boys, but when he and Lydia had married, he had arranged to lodge with Mistress Fosse from Monday to Saturday…Master Cope had been satisfied with Ben’s work and as he had only a short time left to serve, the new arrangement had suited them both very well.
The small town was bustling with better trade as Matthias walked up the hill towards the top of the street. This end of Cheap Street contained the silver smiths, gold smiths and purveyors of fine cloths, leaving the lesser traders further down the hill. He kept one hand on his purse, fastened to his belt, for there were thieves and pickpockets even here, far away from busy cities. Street cries still assailed his ears, and the fragrant smell of baking made his mouth water as he passed the open front of the baker’s shop half way up. The cellar of the Julienne Inn was open to the street, receiving casks of wine from an open cart….the carter impatient to be off to his next customer. Boys were working hard, rolling casks into the underground cellar by the trap door, which opened in the street. There were cloth merchants, fletchers, potters and glove makers in this part of the town, and Matthias strode past them, anxious to reach Master Cope’s glove making shop. Glove making was a feature of Sherborne, and there were at least three other makers in the vicinity. Master Cope’s establishment was nearly at the top, and Matthias was out of breath by the time he arrived there for Cheap Street was a steep climb.
Matthias found Master Cope in his shop. He was a vigorous man of heavy build, his florid complexion revealing his liking for fine wines, and his fine dark blue houpelandde speaking loudly of his prosperity.
“Good Morning, young man,” the glover began, expansively, eying Matthias up as a prospective customer. He was about to wave one of his apprentices forward to continue to talk with Matthias, but Matthias forstalled him.
“I need to talk with you on a private matter,” he said.
The glover’s eyebrows shot up.
“What can a young man like yourself possibly want to talk with me about? I have no secrets.”
Matthias was instantly alarmed at his mention of secrets…what on earth made the glover’s mind leap to secrets so readily?
“I don’t come here to speak of secrets,” Matthias assured him. “I come here as a friend of Ben.”
The merchant’s face clouded and closed.
“I can tell you nothing,” he said; Matthias noticed a nerve in his cheek twitch as the neck muscles taughtend.
“When did you first learn of his death?” Matthias asked.
“Early yesterday morning,” The merchant told him. He looked away down the street as he spoke, and his eyes fixed on a distant spot as he replied.
“Why did you not send word to his family?” Matthias was puzzled by this lack of courtesy.
“I was waiting..” the glover tailed off, lamely.
“Waiting for what?” Matthias asked, puzzled. “Surely you knew he had a young wife who would be anxious, especially as her birth time was near.”
Master Cope appeared to lose his concentration. His florid face reddened a little. He forced his eyes to look directly at Matthias.
“When in a guild, there are formalities to consider first,” he declared, rather too loudly and pompously, Matt
hias thought.
“Besides, Ben was not working for me that day – he had taken leave. I did not consider myself responsible.”
“But you have made arrangements now for his body to be conveyed back to Milborne Port?” Matthias persisted.
Richard Cope bowed his head in agreement.
“Do you know any more of his associates here in Sherborne?” Matthias asked.
The glover’s eyes became wary.
“He is merely an apprentice, and one who has neared the end of his time, - why should I trouble myself with knowing his associates? He lodged with Mistress Fosse – he was a pleasant and hard working young man – beyond that I know nothing.”
“Have you informed the Coroner of this death?” Matthias asked.
“That is not my responsibility.” Richard Cope replied.
Matthias sighed, - he was achieving nothing. There seemed to be no point on which he could fasten to lead him forward, and yet he felt Master Cope knew more than he was uttering.
“May I speak with some of your other apprentices?” Matthias asked, casting around for any idea which might throw some light on Ben’s last hours.
“There will be nothing they can tell you that I have not. Ben often delivered packages for me when goods were finished, - and he dealt with one or two minor customers - but this is really none of your business. It is enough that I have arranged the transport of his body to his home. What more would you expect of me? The other lads here are younger and had few direct dealings with Ben.”
“Thankyou for your help, Master Cope,” said Matthias, moving away from the shop, sadly. The glover was plainly uneasy, but Matthias failed to see why. As Matthias moved off, he returned to the shop and closed the door firmly. A monk opposite the shop nodded to himself and moved towards the glover’s shop front, deliberately casual.
The fog had lifted a little as the serving girl of Mistress Fosse stepped into the street. She had a mission to accomplish which drove spears of ice into her heart, but do it she must.
Clasped in one hand was a key, copied to order by Ben. Ben would not be delivering it now to its destination, so Mary must do it.
Despite the fog, there were many people in the market in the nearby Shambles bartering for poultry. The stench of animal blood sickened her and she met several friends who also had kerchiefs pressed to their nose as they waited to be served, but Mary wasn’t buying today. She had a different mission. She slipped hastily past them and turned right towards the Abbey, glad to be away from the slippery surface of the Shambles, and the cries of the poulterers. Today was a meat day….not every day was a meat eating day….strict rules still applied, so the Shambles was thronged with customers today.
The grey walls towered up in front of her, glistening with damp this morning, and as she passed the building work several of the workman whistled at her. Normally she would have looked up at them boldly for Mary was an attractive girl, but today her hair was coiled and hidden under a cap, and she picked up her blue fustian gown carefully as she picked her way amid the mud and animal excrement on the slippery cobbles.
Her heart pounded in her chest as she entered the Abbey by the Great West door. The silence seemed to whisper around her head, and she paused for a moment to gaze in wonder at the soaring roof and the mighty pillars holding such a roof. Within these walls one could feel small and insignificant… how little and unimportant one’s daily life seemed. She crept softly towards the Lady Chapel. She felt a compulsion to see where Ben had been found…Ben, who had been kind to her so many times… he had been like an older brother to her. She had listened as he had told her of the coming baby…how he could use a little extra to buy soft woollen coverings for Lydia and the little one. A monk was praying near the spot where Ben must have fallen….her footsteps made little sound and she paused to try to remember a prayer for Ben’s soul but panic overcame her. Her mouth felt dry as she went quietly down the far aisle and slipped out of a side door leading into the Abbey garden.
The fog rose and fell around her like an ethereal sea, mingling with her uneven breath as it hung in little clouds in front of her. She had never been in here before, and that made her more afraid, for she wasn’t familiar with this area, nor even whether she was allowed to walk in this part of the Abbey. The trees were partly obscured from her view, and grasses and beads of moisture became one, soaking into the hem of her garments, sucked up into the fabric like a wick. She glanced round anxiously, imagining invisible eyes on her, but seeing no-one. She shivered, sensing danger.
The sounds of the masons working on the building were muted here and the isolation of the garden in this March mist was intense. A shiver of dread passed through Mary. Where had she been told to tell Ben to leave the key? She paused, listening. The dripping trees, leafless in this cold Spring seemed to shudder in the eerie stillness of the garden. Her mother’s garden was a friendly place, - this was not so. The third tree from the monk’s gate, yes, that was right - .Mary peered through the fog to find the monk’s gate. Her eyes could not penetrate the gloom sufficiently to locate it……ah…there….she ran over the wet grass too fleetingly to avoid the granite stones hidden there, and fell headlong, grazing her elbow and jarring her wrists as she put out her hands to save herself. She clambered up awkwardly and stumbled on towards the tree she had been seeking… there was a cavity in the trunk. Mary’s shaking fingers sought the rough bark of the cavity and she leaned against the wet tree trunk to regain her balance after the fall. Mistress Fosse would not be pleased at the mud on her gown, and she would have to mend the tear in the hem, already soaked by heavy dew.
So engrossed was Mary that she had failed to heed the monk from the Lady Chapel who had emerged from the Abbey and was waiting silently for her to deliver the package…
To her horror she realised too late that the key was no longer in her hand. Panic seized her. A glance over her shoulder told her what she had most feared……..she had been seen in this garden, and by a monk! She did not dare retrace her steps to search for the key in the place where she had fallen. She would be in trouble now… he would report her to the Abbot. The Abbot would complain to Mistress Fosse and she would lose her position. Her Mother would be so angry… Mary turned towards the distant gate with no coherent thought but to escape and lifting up her skirts, took flight like a frightened bird, stumbling over the damp tussocks of grass. The monk moved faster than Mary. His long strides reached her before she even realised the pursuit. His hands, which had been plunged deeply into the sleeves of his habit, moved like lightning to sink the needle sharp dagger into her back. Only one accurate thrust was needed as she fell heavily and choked on a scream as the hot blood gargled up into her throat. She clawed the wet ground as she fell…… but her assailant was gone, retracing her steps to the tree. He plunged his hand into the cavity to retrieve the prize, but his hand met with nothing but wet twigs and damp moss. He had not seen Mary fall; he had followed her at a discreet distance and in a moment he was on his knees, feeling the surrounding grass with his bare hands. He wiped his dagger hastily on the grass as he heard approaching voices, and backed away through the garden retreating into the shadows, mentally marking her path for a more urgent search when there would be no danger of companions.
Unbeknown to him, the voices failed to materialise, their owners being directed elsewhere, and Mary lay dying in the silent garden with the cold March wind for company.
Chapter 4
Abbot Bradford tapped his fingers on the desk impatiently.
“What am I supposed to do about these petty complaints?” he asked, angrily.
He had listened with increasing anger to the catalogue of complaints from the brothers concerning the townspeople, and he was not a man to sit idle when his authority was being so directly flouted. This unseemly wrangling had begun in Abbot Brunyng’s time, but was escalating now out of all proportion.
Today the townspeople had rung the bells of Allhallows at 6 a.m. The bells were especially loud and the ringing had se
emed endless. Several old monks in the infirmary had woken, not to mention those brothers who had sung offices at 2.a.m.
“The new building work is being systematically interfered with by careless tramping..”
Brother Francis was chosen to carry the complaints to the Abbot, and he enjoyed his mission as he went on,
“..and the smoke from many heedlessly tended cooking fires drifts over the Abbey garden – preposterous!”
His final thrust was the ringing of the bells.
“They mock us, My Lord Abbot – we rise for services at regular times, but their bells ring out, breaking across the necessary contemplations we are so called to do.”
Abbot Bradford sent for his scribe. His resulting letter to the Bishop of Salisbury was direct and detailed. In it, he entreated my Lord Bishop Robert to summon the townspeople and have them understand that these deliberate goads and annoyances must end, and they must abide by the recommendations of his public enquiry last November.
Two trusted lay brothers were summoned to horse, and the letter dispatched forthwith. In his few months as Abbot, there was, to be sure, much anger and animosity in this small town.
“Really, the dumping of the body in the Lady Chapel after a common brawl was the last straw,” Abbot Bradford complained to Prior Simon. His expression was one of deep distaste. The two men were on their way to inspect the building works which were now making good progress after their enforced over-Wintering. They lifted their eyes skyward to inspect the scaffolding, and to watch some of the labourers carrying materials.
“These stones will endure long after we are gone,” commented the Abbot with a great degree of satisfaction.
The stones were solid, cold to the touch and had an enduring appearance which inspired all who looked upon them to believe that this Abbey would certainly be a testament to the glory of God for several hundred years to come.
“If the culprit is apprehended, he will of course appear in the next Hundred Court?” Prior Simon asked, - it was a question, not a statement.