by Rosie Lear
“He didn’t pass the key over to the monk?”
“Oh, no. I saw nothing pass between them. Ben had a bag containing glove samples, and he had slipped the key into this.’
Sir Tobias smiled, and had to be content with that. There was no guile in Will Shergold, and he had obtained all the information he needed.
His last visit was to Abbot Bradford. He was not well received. Abbot Bradford was preparing for Easter mass, parish baptisms, which were a very lucrative source of income for the Abbey, and Easter processionals. He was determined not to give an inch to the Bishop’s instructions that the doorway should be widened until they were ready to obey the order to remove the new font which had been placed in Allhallows. He hoped his Easter sermons would leave them in no doubt as to who was in charge. It seemed that they were at an impasse.
He was even less welcoming when he learned that Sir Tobias had come
“I can promise you that all my monks are honest, and quite above consorting with mere apprentices of the town,” he said, stiffly.
Sir Tobias tried another avenue.
“Abbot Bradford, - what secrets do you hold from the King’s advisors?”
“None, my dear Sir Tobias. Sherborne is a very backwater compared with other Southern towns. That I can certainly vouch for. We have not had the pleasure of a visit from any representative of the young King for many, many months – running into years.”
Sir Tobias thought carefully.
“Then what do you hold in the Abbey that is of value?”
“Priceless vestments…silver plate..” replied Abbot Bradford, proudly, “all carefully counted and locked away from prying eyes when necessary.”
“Nothing more? No gold… precious stones…relics?”
The Abbot shook his head.
“We are not so rich as some abbeys and monasteries within riding distance of here,” he said. “If thieves were to break in to our coffers, they would be disappointed with their haul. We have nothing else of value here.”
Sir Tobias had to be content with that.
Much later, a dark robed figure slipped silently from the nave of the Abbey and into the monastery by an unlocked side door – one he had unlocked himself earlier in the day. The cloisters were silent and deserted for the moment, it being between offices. No-one saw him. The monks were mostly at private prayer or uneasy sleep, and he had deliberately chosen an evening during Holy Week, knowing that even these pampered brothers would be more devout during this time.
The door he needed was locked. He stood still outside the heavy oak door, feeling the cold hinges…pressing his face into the fragrant wood. He slipped his hand into the deep pocket of his robe, and closed it on the key. It was his, and his alone. He breathed the cold, crisp air. It filled his lungs cleanly as he paused for a moment’s delicious anticipation. The sky seen through the cloister arches was deeply , darkly blue, the stars splintering brightly through the velvet night. This would be a sweet moment.
He slipped the key carefully into the lock and turned it slowly and carefully to avoid making noise. He stepped into the unlocked room, and swung the door noiselessly shut behind him.
The boy Roger turned uneasily on the cold, damp flagstones. His back was sore and bleeding where he had been beaten. His ankles were bound to prevent his escape. The tiny room was dark and silent. The rough ropes chafed his ankles so that any movement was excrutiatingly painful.
His belly ached from hunger; his eyes were sore from crying, but crying was no use to him. He had no idea where he was, but he knew what they wanted – they wanted the key that he had promised to steal for them. How easy it had seemed three months ago , - a little key was all they wanted, - and they’d promised a handsome sum of gold for it. His problem had been that he didn’t know where it was kept. Then two monks had sought him out unexpectedly and had told him where to find it, and in his cleverness, he’d managed to steal it from under the Abbot’s very nose – or rather, belt. It had all fallen so neatly into place, or so it had seemed to Roger, the clever boy-thief. Mary had arranged that Ben Glover would copy the key immediately Roger obtained it, and Roger had re-placed the original with no great difficulty. He’d been lucky to find Ben – it was Mary who suggested asking Ben to help, although Mary didn’t have the faintest idea that she was helping to copy a stolen key. Mary just knew Ben could arrange to copy a key through his work, and might be interested in earning a little extra money.
But it hadn’t turned out like that. The two monks had insisted on seeing Ben and asking him to do extra things for them… like find other information about the movements of the brothers during evening hours. That was when Roger had begun to feel a little afraid, and had realised that these two monks were not all they seemed, but he hadn’t confided his fear to anyone, - the pull of the promised gold was too great.
Ben had found that new task very tedious, - he wasn’t privy to the movement in the Abbey, and in addition to that, Ben was supposed to have handed the copied key over, and he hadn’t done that for some reason – and now Ben was dead. Mary should have known where Ben had concealed the key, - but even Mary was dead now. As long as Roger could convince the men that he did know where the key was and could lead them to it, he was sure he would live, but the beatings were getting more and more savage each time they came. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been here, - it was too dark to count the days and nights, but it seemed a long time. He moved uncomfortably again, aware that he was lying in his own excrement. When would the monks return?
Chapter 12
Davy tossed uneasily in the little back room where he and Elizabeth were housed, together with Sir Tobias’ serving man.
His ribs pained him; it was difficult to breathe without pain, and images of Ben, blind drunk in front of the abbey, kept flashing through his mind. There were no drapes at the windows of the room, and branches scraped across the outer fabric of the building, setting his jangled nerves on fire.
What had Ben said to him in between bouts of drunken retching? Davy wished he could remember, - wished he’d paid more attention…..and suppose Master Barton’s fine house was fired whilst they were away? He shouldn’t have agreed to leave, -…..it was folly…first Ben, then Lydia…Mary…the attack… images swam in Davy’s hot and tired eyes. His brain wandered back and forth, teasing hidden information. Elizabeth lay still beside him, aware that he was awake, but reluctant to speak. She was shaken and disturbed herself – no words could help Davy’s pain. Let him lie, and drift asleep.
And so, eventually, he did – into a troubled, aching void.
Ben was chasing him past the abbey which was a towering inferno of flames. A monk on horseback rode after them, dragging kegs of beer. Lydia had grown huge – seven foot tall at least, - and she appeared from no-where, throwing gold coins at him. Elizabeth had disappeared into the burning abbey, and Davy had to reach her before the flames swallowed her.
He woke as the early light filtered into the room, soaked with sweat, his head pounding as hard as his heart. Elizabeth had already risen and was striving to make herself useful in Sir Tobias’ household.
Davy lay still, knowledge of where he was gradually flooding his consciousness. Ben had been shouting slurred words, - something to do with a book. It made no sense to Davy at all. What did Ben want with a book? He couldn’t read.
Davy swung his legs cautiously over the side of the bed and bracing himself on the stones of the wall, stood up. Great God! But he didn’t know how many muscles you used just to stand up! Pulling his rough night shirt up cost him some stabbing aches, - luckily Elizabeth had had the forethought to leave a piss pot by the bed. At least relieving himself gave him pleasure – he didn’t have to move.
Dressing in his simple tunic and hose caused some unpleasant twinges, but at last he was able to unlatch the door and venture into the large kitchen.
Elizabeth was watching for him – she had heard his faltering sounds of movement, and she indicated a place for him to sit at the big scrubbed
table around which five or six servants sat, with mugs of watered ale and coarse bread. William was with them, but in a chair apart from the table, and Davy noticed he had some slices of cheese with his bread.
After breaking his fast with Sir Tobias’ servants, Davy moved closer to William. The older man looked tired – Davy felt sorry that he should have had to make another journey for him, after returning from the coast.
“Are you rested, Davy?” William asked, kindly.
“Not much, but I’ll do,” Davy replied, drawing a cautious breath.
“William, I need some counsel over a matter concerning my friend Ben.”
William stood up.
“Walk outside with me, Davy.”
The two men slipped out of the kitchen and into the cobbled courtyard, Davy wondering how he was ever going to walk again without clutching hold of door posts and corners of walls. There was a pump in the courtyard, and Davy marked it in his mind as a suitable place for a wash in due course, when he could bend over without wincing.
“I work for Sir Tobias,” William warned him, “whatever you tell me cannot be kept from him.”
“I understand that, but just counsel my conscience,”
William nodded, and waited.
“I had need of searching for Ben one afternoon, about a month ago. He had not returned home, and Lydia was afraid. It was a Saturday,and he should have been home from Sherborne early in the morning. I walked into Sherborne – it was becoming wet and cold by then, - and eventually I found Ben on the green in front of the Abbbey. He was shouting and hollering rubbish – blind drunk he was. Ben wasn’t given to excessive drinking – I tried to lead him away but he shrugged me off – he didn’t recognize me – and then he puked up all over the grass, - over and over and over.”
Davy paused for breath, remembering the sour smell of vomit on the rain-wet green.
“When he’d finished, he wiped his mouth and asked me why they expected him to carry the damned book. He was talking nonsense – I fetched some water and stripped his shirt off – it was befouled with vomit – and bathed his head and mouth. After a bit he was easier, and he seemed to know me. We sheltered under the abbey walls out of the wind.”
“What then?” William asked, as Davy seemed lost in the remembering.
“Ben slept on my shoulder for an hour or so – and then woke with a blinding head-ache. He made me swear to say nothing of the incident to anyone – I thought he was ashamed of it – so I promised. It was bitterly cold as it grew dark, and Ben just needed to sleep, so I helped him to his lodging and put him in his bed. Luckily we didn’t see Mistress Fosse, his lodging lady, for I slept on the floor beside him for very fear of making the walk back to Milborne Port in the dark. Next morning we woke early and crept out of the house, and returned to Milborne Port. Lydia and Elizabeth were so relieved to see us that they assumed we had just had too much ale, but Ben made me swear over and over that I’d tell no-one of the incident. I’ve kept that promise. William, Ben is dead. Do you think this might be of some importance?”
William was silent for a short while.
“I don’t know, Davy. It may throw some light on it – the ale was certainly doing the talking, but Sir Tobias is privy to a great many matters that concern the war, the young King, the Abbot and this area generally. Let him be the judge – and your own young master is no fool. The two of them together may piece the matter into some shape.”
Davy was silenced by his grave words.
“Do you really think this could be King’s business?” he asked, “here, in Sherborne? We are small and insignificant, and tucked away…”
“King’s business is everywhere, Davy,” William replied, “but like you, I would doubt it. But let Sir Tobias be the judge of that. He is mindful of such matters.”
The two men went inside, and William went through into the main house to seek out Sir Tobias.
He found them deep in conversation by the fire, Sir Tobias noting items of importance on his fingers. He looked up as William entered.
“Ah, William, - I’ve just spent time with Matthias going over events…”
“A little piece of information from Davy might fit into the puzzle,” interrupted William, although there was doubt in his voice. Matthias looked up, startled.
“From Davy?” he asked, in surprise.
“He’ll tell you himself, - it’s best,” William said, and on a nod from Sir Tobias he returned to the kitchen to fetch Davy.
“Now don’t be put out, Matthias,” warned Sir Tobias, a friendly arm touching Matthias, “You’ll find he thought it was nothing – and William obviously thinks otherwise.”
Davy was ill at ease and somewhat sheepish, having to re-tell the events as he related them to William. He glanced several times at Matthias as if to satisfy himself that his master was not about to explode with anger, but Matthias, forewarned by Sir Tobias, sat slumped in his chair, chin on hands, listening intently to Davy’s account. He even managed to bite his tongue at the end, when he really wanted to ask Davy why he hadn’t mentioned this before.
Sir Tobias said nothing when Davy had finished. His legs were astride his chair, his head tilted back, his arms folded across his chest.
“Let’s re-construct.” He announced, looking at his ceiling.
“Imagine. Ben is a trusted employee – an apprentice nearing the end of his time and looking to catch customers of his own. His work is satisfactory. His life is in order. His wife is with child. Some-one puts a simple idea to him that will make a little extra money. Ben is tempted. Let’s say it’s Mary’s brother Roger – the clever little thief. Maybe Roger is asked by some-one – whom we do not know yet, - to steal what in this case appears to be a key. He has no access to this key. Why? But he knows someone who has – Ben – and he can reach Ben through his own sister Mary, who is the serving girl in the house where Ben lodges.”
He paused.
“Why would Ben have access?” Matthias queried, frowning.
“Because he is being given greater access to customers now he is reaching the end of his apprenticeship , and he lodges and works in Sherborne. Maybe the observer knows that Ben could have an easy in-out to wherever the key is for. The key has something to do with the abbey – and Ben had a duplicate made of this key.”
“Did Ben have access to a customer at the abbey?” William asked.
“Apparently not, but they may have realised that he could make a reason to go into the Abbey,” Sir Tobias said, “but I can twist Richard Cope’s arm no further. He told me about the locksmith. I really think now that he knows no more that can be of value to us.”
The little party were silent for a few moments, pondering Sir Tobias’ assessment of the situation. Sir Tobias continued, “Ben obtained, we presume, the key. He had it copied as instructed and returned the original without being detected – or so we assume. He must have told Mary that he had the key so that she could pass the information on to his overlords, whoever they are.”
So far the story seemed simple – but why had it led to murder? And not just one murder, but two, an attempted murder by burning and the disappearance of Roger.
“It becomes more sinister now,” said Matthias. He felt uneasy here – he had a home of his own – his father’s inheritance for him. Was it safe to have left it?
“Indeed it does,” agreed Sir Tobias. “It appears to be more than a village squabble over a filched key. Ben was murdered . Why? Was he perhaps waiting for more instructions, but saw who was behind this intrigue? Did he guess at more than he was supposed to, and threaten to call in the sheriff? Or did he perhaps try to double cross his overlord, thinking his trouble was worth more money? Was that why he was murdered? And murder implies a dangerous mission . King’s business? I doubt it. Your father was once involved in King’s business, Matthias – it tailed off some years before he died. Oh No,” he hastened, before Matthias could even raise the question, “I did not know him. I know of him from certain enquiries I have had to make r
ecently.” He forbore to say what these were, and Matthias wisely did not ask.
“The young king has protectors, as you know, and only comes into his own this year. Gloucester will argue and bicker over the protectorate for some months to come. I only hope young Henry will emerge a strong and just king, but only time will tell.”
Privately Sir Tobias had serious doubts and many fears, but to air them would be treason, even in this select gathering. There were many tales of disaster and defeat in the closing wars with France, and numerous small lawless bands of deserting soldiers appearing near sea ports. William had brought such tales back from Poole, but now was not the time to discuss these.
“So if not King’s business, then what else?” Matthias wondered.
“Bishop’s business. War spoils. French spy business,” William surmised.
Sir Tobias nodded.“The abbey plays a significant part in this matter – we may be sure of that. I believe trade,- or illicit trade – with France probably makes up the other part of the story.”
“The only kind of trade there is with France at present is illicit,” muttered William, darkly.
“I must visit the good Abbot yet again,” Sir Tobias said, with a wry smile. “The key holds the secret, and Ben’s mutterings do begin to make some sense to me, but first I must visit Abbot Bradford and make sure of some facts.”
He rose from his seat and straightened his clothing about him.
“William, ride with me. Davy, stay here and rest your bruised ribs, - and Matthias, enjoy some quiet reading until I return. You two have been somewhat battered, and you are unaccustomed to this strange life of action!”
After William and Sir Tobias had ridden off, Matthias felt unsettled and restless. Davy had returned to the servant’s hall, and he was left alone. He became much more certain that his own home was at risk, and he determined to ride over to Milborne Port in Sir Tobias’ absence to put his mind at rest, and maybe to do a little work while he was there.