by Rosie Lear
It was good to see the proud and haughty Abbot flinch under the tirade, Prior Simon thought, and then mentally flagellated himself for indulging in such delicious malice. He opened the accounts book as if nothing had happened.
“You misunderstand me –“ the Abbot began,
“I think not,” rejoined Sir Tobias, crisply.
“As you wish, my Lord Coroner,” returned the other, pressing his thin lips together as if offended by being so misunderstood. He was right – North Dorset did indeed have an honest coroner who would seek out wrong doers until they were justly punished. Despite the rebuke for his implied bribe, he felt a shaft of sneaking admiration for the man.
Prior Simon sat down with Sir Tobias, and together they ran their eye over the list of paid employees of the monastery, - all lay people from the town or its surrounds.
“You have over fifty men and women to look after just twenty four monks?” Sir Tobias asked with some disdain.
“The brother’s task is to pray,” Abbot Bradford reminded him, frostily, “They cannot be expected to work twentyfour hours a day and pray twenty-four hours a day.”
“But why vintners, bakers, carpenters, pot boys, stable lads, gardeners, serving girls – the list is endless,” Sir Tobias said.
Prior Simon glanced up slyly.
“Surely you will not expect to speak to all these then, my Lord Coroner? It will take many hours.”
Father Abbot shot him an approving glance.
“I will start with yourself and your brothers,” Sir Tobias decided. “Then if necessary, I will request help from Matthias Barton, with your permission.”
“That is irregular,” Abbot Bradford said at once. “Matthias Barton, as you yourself said, is a young man of Milborne Port. He is not a Sherborne man. I have a bailiff who will be pleased to assist you.”
“Very well,” Sir Tobias agreed resignedly. He knew he had no choice in the matter.
“But I would like to speak first to the brother who prayed in AllHallows with the young man’s body.”
Abbot Bradford glanced at Prior Simon for a name. Prior Simon stared blankly back.
“There was no brother detailed to remain in the chapel” Prior Simon said
“I think you are mistaken, Sir Tobias
The young man’s friend visited the chapel…” he said, with a puzzled frown,
“There was a brother in attendance on the body.”
“With respect, Sir Tobias, there was not.” Prior Simon spoke with authority
on this point.
“Strange,” mused Sir Tobias, “I believe there was a person in Benedictine garb in the chapel. However, it may have been one of your more compassionate brothers giving of his own time?”
Abbot Bradford noted the barb and smouldered.
Sir Tobias was forced to concede that this was so, and be pleased to accept the Abbot’s bailiff.
The Abbot called in his scribe, who by the gleam in his eye and the satisfied smirk on his face, had heard most of the conversation by simply pressing his ear to the door.
Abbot Bradford was not able to offer any further help. He had prayed on the night of Ben’s murder. How did he know? Because he prayed every night after offices had been sung in the monastery chapel. Had he been present at the final office of the day? Evasive – he could not be certain. Sir Tobias suspected he was not always present at offices sung at inhospitable times. Had the Lady Chapel been re-consecrated? Yes, it had. Who was present? Himself, Prior Simon, Father Samuel, - and as many of the brothers as wished to be present. How many was that? He didn’t know. Were there any lay people present? No. How often did the brothers leave the vicinity of the monastery and abbey church? Several of them at various times walked in the immediate environs of the town for diverse reasons, but on the whole, the monastery was their world. They had everything they needed. And a lot more besides, Sir Tobias thought, in disgust. It was becoming clear that the brothers led a fairly easy life, and that Abbot Bradford was far removed from the life of the town.
“The argument you had with Father Samuel,” began Sir Tobias, trying a new tack,
“Correction, Sir Tobias,” interrupted Abbot Bradford, “The argument is not of my making. The argument lies with Father Samuel.” The scribe raised his eyes to his master’s face, expecting another explosion, but Sir Tobias’ face was calm and serene.
“Quite so,” he remarked, “Might it throw any light on our present matter? I understand there are some very angry people in the town at present.”
“Their anger is a storm in a piss-pot,” expostulated the Abbot.
“I have narrowed an archway and they have built their own font in the Chapel of Ease – entirely unsuitable, and, if I may say so, illegal. They are being fanned into rash words and actions by the very man I appointed as priest-in-charge of All Hallows, - which is only a chapel of ease. St. Mary the virgin – our Abbey church – is the mother church – and they know that it is. But no – although the topic is becoming a festering boil, it cannot be a killing matter. Until this first death, I knew nothing of this apprentice. He did not worship with Father Samuel, he was nearing the end of his apprenticeship and was, so I understand, preparing to go back to Milborne Port to live.”
Sir Tobias was amazed at the venom and bitterness which had spewed out of the Holy Abbot as he spoke of the quarrel.
Here was surely a man who would be obeyed….a proud man who could not forgive a slight…but he was right. This was a town concern and although town factions were not wholly united against the Abbot, and the sore was spreading as Easter approached, it could hardly be a killing matter.
He spent the rest of the day with the brothers, his scribe enjoying every moment of his insight into the holy places where so much luxury seemed to lie. He spoke finally with Brother Francis, who had duties in the infirmary, and so he came to him last, after he had spoken somewhat more gently and kindly to the seven elderly brothers who were seeing out the end of their days here.
Brother Francis was himself elderly, but certainly not infirm. He did remember seeing two shadowy figures in the garden when he had risen to ease his digestive processes.
Didn’t he think it strange? Yes, he admitted, a little bashfully, but he’d assumed it to be younger brothers slipping back into the dorter after a night in the town whore house. This did not surprise Sir Tobias – rather it saddened him as an admission of the changing face of the church. Had he any idea of whom it might be? Here, Brother Francis had paused. He had no real idea, but there were three or four brothers who might well fall into that category, - but no, he couldn’t say for sure. Had he not thought of glancing at the dorter to see whether there were empty beds? No, sadly he had not.
There seemed little else the brothers could tell him so Sir Tobias went down to the guesten hall to speak with the chamberlain monk.
Documentation here was slack. The guesten hall was mostly run by lay persons, few of whom could read or write, and Brother Jerome did not keep a written record of travellers.
“On some days – fair days – there are too many of them,” he said.
Sir Tobias tried to jog his memory,
“The day before yesterday”, he said, “A young well-made man with auburn hair,.. He would have been tired and wet through.” He waited hopefully.
“Yes, yes – he sat on that bench-“ he indicated the high-backed bench on which Matthias had sat. “Phoebe would have served him”
Sir Tobias wearily tried Phoebe.
“The weather worsened during the afternoon, sir,” she told him, nervously. “There were several travellers in after the red-haired gentleman. He left before dark, I remember.”
“What can you remember about the other travellers, Phoebe?” he asked, gently. She was slow and middle-aged, her hair neatly tucked into a cap, and a large, clean white apron covering her russet dress. She wrinkled her face into a concentrated frown.
“There were two merchants ,- I do remember they – been in here afore, they have, – t
hey were wet through, too. They left just after the red-haired man. Wanted to get somewhere afore dark I suppose.”
“Good,” encouraged Sir Tobias. He had Matthias description of the two in whom he was interested, but he wanted to hear it from someone else as well.
“There was a sea captain from Poole – He had business in town he did say.”
Sir Tobias waited. Phoebe closed her eyes, the better to picture the afternoon in question.
“The two merchants sat behind the young man – I think they carry spices or something like. They did converse with a monk, but he was not one of ours. They spoke with him a little while.”
“Have the fine spice merchants gone now? Sir Tobias asked.
“Oh, yes, sir. I told you – they left soon after the other gentleman.”
Sir Tobias had to be content with that – it was the only information he could establish from his visit. Was the monk seen briefly with them the same one who had prayed – or watched- in the chapel? He thought it probably was, and he thought the idea of prayer was nonsense. Presumably the monk had been asked, or even ordered, to stay close to the body to see who came to see, to lead them to any family or friends in whom Ben might have confided.
He outlined his meagre findings to William that evening. Matthias had long left for his own home, and Lady Bridget and her husband were enjoying peace together before retiring.
“Do you think the merchants are significant?” Sir Tobias mused, frowning in the shadows of their comfortable room.
“It would seem they may be – could the monastery’s guesten house be a meeting place for messages? What would a sea captain from Poole be doing so far from home?” the Lady Bridget wondered. “And how does the unknown Benedictine fit in? Is he from the Abbey?”
William’s round face creased in concern. He was a little younger than Sir Tobias, - a fighting man who had followed Sir Tobias through France as his squire, and who had seen death at the hands of the French - and French dead, too. He’d experienced plunder, seen rape victims, heard the screams of women as they were dragged from their houses – even from their churches. He had been pleased when Sir Tobias had been wounded sufficiently to return home to Dorset, where Lady Bridget and William had refused to allow Sir Tobias to give up and die.
William remembered well how he’d had to leave Sir Tobias, half conscious, on the quay side at Calais, propped against a bale of rope. The binding of his wound, which had been a deep gash to the bone in one thigh, and a head wound which William felt wholly responsible for, had been attended to in a nunnery, but was opening again due to the movement of the destrier. He had lashed Sir Tobias to the high war saddle of his destrier and led him to Calais – two days it had taken, and the countryside unfriendly, sullen, deserted, blackened. They had travelled by night. At Calais he’d paid for their passage by selling the destrier. How he’d dreaded having to tell Sir Tobias that on his recovery! A destrier cost many marks of silver, but William had nothing else of value to sell. The armour had been damaged in battle – the removal of the helmet by William had cost Sir Tobias his head wound from a stray arrow, and what was left of the armour he had used to pay for his medicines in the nunnery. Besides that, armour was too heavy to transport when a man’s life hung in the balance, so William had travelled light. He’d sold Sir Tobias’ gold ring at Poole to pay for the hire of a horse to get them home, and three days later, with Sir Tobias still semi-conscious and near to death, he’d led the horse into Purse Caundle. Once there, he and the Lady Bridget had simply refused to allow him to die.
“I will go to the coast and enquire regarding this sea captain,” he said. “These men could be French spies.”
“There is very little to spy on in our corner of Dorset,” Sir Tobias reminded him, “but yes, - go. Poole is probably our biggest harbour now. It may be rather tenuous, but it seems our only lead.”
Sir Tobias and Lady Bridget retired to their private solar, and William prepared himself for yet another journey. He did not mind – he was restless by nature and enjoyed travelling. His life was bound to Sir Tobias and he was content that it was so.
Chapter 9
Matthias Barton was restless. He had ridden hard home from Purse Caundle, arriving at Barton Holding as daylight faded, and now at the end of his solitary meal, found himself restless and dissatisfied again. The Lady Bridget had given him food to break his fast after his early morning ride. He had spoken with Sir Tobias at length, and had felt a surge of relief as the coroner’s face had darkened and he’d called for his scribe to accompany him to Sherborne.
“Your task is to watch, Matthias,” he had said, as the horse clattered on the cobbles in the courtyard. His scribe slung his satchel with writing tools and vellums over his shoulder and mounted his fat little pony. William, armed as usual to provide safety on the road, brought up the rear, and the little trio were soon gone. Matthias would have liked to have gone with them, but as well as watch, Sir Tobias had also expressed concern for the missing boy.
“Watch out for the boy, if you can,” he said, “do nothing to cause these men alarm – just watch.”
Matthias had lingered in the garden with Lady Bridget long enough to hear horses hooves in the courtyard. Alice and Luke had ridden from their home, and Matthias found he was disturbed by Alice’s presence. It was difficult not to be rude when Lady Bridget invited him to take warm spiced wine with them before he left. He hoped he had not appeared sullen as he accepted.
Luke was taken outside to see a litter of kittens newly born, and for a few minutes Matthias was alone with Alice. Conversation was stilted. Alice had expected her father to be there, and instead there was Matthias, whom she did not know. Matthias was not certain how much he should say about his business with Sir Tobias, and he was discomfited that although he had two sisters and been most comfortable in their presence, he was tongue-tied and embarrassed simply at being in the room with her.
He stayed only as long as courtesy dictated, and was relieved to be away from the house. As he left, he heard Alice laugh – a rich sound, filling his ears with a merry sound. He hoped she was not laughing at him.
Now, as he sat alone in his own solar, he envied Davy and Elizabeth their married state – and Alice and whatever her husband was called. He could see the comfortable ease which existed between Sir Tobias and Lady Bridget, and he remembered the firm feeling of security he’d had as a boy, when, repast over, his mother and father would exchange glances and retire to their own rooms. He could appreciate the depth of grief and loneliness Lydia must feel – and her fear, too, at facing an uncertain future.
He couldn’t help his mind dwelling on Alice – her proud, uplifted breasts, her trim waist with its girdle tightly pulled in, which accentuated those firm breasts, rounded and feminine. Her hair had been fastened into two plaits and braided to match her girdle. One of the plaits lay on those tempting breasts, and he imagined them rising and falling with her uneven breath as he cupped his hands round them. Her skin would be soft and smooth to touch, and to unbraid her hair would be an erotic luxury, candle light glistening on her milk white skin. He felt a pleasant stirring in his loins and lingered to enjoy the sensation - he stroked her back and found the fastenings of her gown. His body moved in a gentle thrust without him being aware of it…. for a few moments he was only conscious of the delightful and exciting sensation of a new sexual awakening that had died when his family had been destroyed. He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to take control of his imagination.
His pleasure was short lived and unfulfilled. He sat up in self-disgust. However would he face Alice again after such delicious and lascivious thoughts? She was a married woman with a child of her own, and she the daughter of a man he admired. And yet the feeling remained – a physical ache that had been awakened and now increased his restlessness and sense of dissatisfaction with his life.
His sense of loneliness remained physical as he retired to bed, and for the first time since returning from Italy, he yearned for the vibrant
colour, warmth and vulgarity of the foreign whore houses. A man could be roused with lust and buy a night’s satisfaction there, and face the next day with pride in the performance.
Perhaps he had been wrong to return to this little backwater, with only Davy and Elizabeth for company? He thought he was done with restless travel.
The following day he had a genuine need to go down into Sherborne to place an order for cloth. He tried to concentrate on his own business, and Davy had set trestles and wooden benches in the room leading off the open main hall where the fire burned warmly. He had obtained inks, quills and horn books and immediately after the feast of Easter, his first five pupils would begin.
They would start at eight in the morning, pause for a simple repast at midday, and leave before sunset. During Winter months this would be about three in the afternoon. All five boys were to come daily, for Matthias had not considered himself established enough to offer them board. Three boys were from Milborne Port, and two from outlying manors. All families were merchants who had made progress in this changing world; they could see the value of their sons being able to read, write, do simple accounts and learn something of the wider world in order to increase their trade and social standing. Matthew would need to provide stabling or grazing for their ponies during the day. Davy’s job was to attend to that.
He thought of the tapestries and hangings in Lady Bridget’s home as he trotted briskly down Pig Hill, past the castle and so into Long Street. He needed to visit the cloth merchant for suitable hangings for his hall, lest the five boys gave him no privacy during the day. Davy and Elizabeth’s living arrangements must not be disturbed, and his high hall was large enough to take some simple hangings to avoid the boys being forever in his sight during their day.