‘There will be consequences,’ Gervase reminded him. ‘If we are to devote our full attention to this matter, we will have to forgo our work in the shire hall. That will not make us popular with the claimants.’
Ralph was dismissive. ‘I care nothing for popularity.’
‘It is just as well, Ralph, for the sheriff will also hurl abuse at us. My fear is that he'll do far more than that and actually prevent us lending our assistance.’
‘No question of that!’ insisted Wulfstan.
‘You have the power to stop him?’ said Gervase.
‘The King does, Master Bret, and he has already used it on your behalf. When I told him of your splendid efforts thus far, he was so impressed that he more or less ordered Durand to allow you to continue. The sheriff has been muzzled. Ignore him.’
‘This is excellent news,’ said Ralph genially. ‘Come, Gervase. It's time to batter on a couple of doors. One of those locksmiths must provide another key for us. The one that unlocks this mystery.’
‘Aren't you forgetting something?’ said Gervase.
‘What?’
‘Brother Frewine still has that money.’
‘Of course!’ said Ralph, slapping his thigh by way of selfreproach. ‘How remiss of me! That leather pouch.’ He smiled at the Precentor. ‘Could I trouble you to show it to us?’
‘With pleasure, my lord.’
Opening the door of a cupboard, Frewine took out the pouch and handed it to Ralph. He weighed it in his palm. When he opened the neck of the pouch, Ralph tipped the coins on to the table beside the flickering candle. Wulfstan was shocked by the amount of money and Gervase fascinated by its glinting newness. Ralph's interest was in the pouch. He took out the strip of leather he had found in the bell tower and held it against the thongs which threaded their way through the pouch.
It was a perfect match. Ralph grinned with satisfaction.
‘What you found was only part of his hoard, Brother Frewine,’ he explained. ‘The rest was hidden behind a beam in the bell tower and, if my guess is correct, snatched away by the man who killed him. I've got his scent in my nostrils now, Gervase. Let's after him!’
Seated in a chair, Abbot Serlo stared ahead of him with an expression of remorse on his face. Canon Hubert stood beside him to offer consolation.
‘It was my fault,’ said Serlo quietly. ‘I am to blame, Canon Hubert.’
‘Nothing could be further from the truth, Abbot Serlo.’
‘But I gave that key to Brother Nicholas.’
‘Unwittingly.’
‘That is how it all started.’
‘We do not know that for certain.’
‘I provided the key which allowed three of my novices to be taken from the abbey against their will. What dreadful fate awaited them when they left here? What obscenities were they subjected to? What agonies did they endure?’ His whole body convulsed. ‘I will never forgive myself.’
‘There is nothing to forgive, Abbot Serlo. How were you to know to what use that key would be put? When you loaned it to Brother Nicholas, it was, presumably, for another purpose.’
‘Yes,’ explained Serlo. ‘He was due back late one night from his travels with a satchel full of the rent he collected. He asked if he could let himself in by the back gate so that he could deposit the money here at my lodging. At least, that was the reason he gave but I surmised that there was another more benevolent one.’
‘Benevolent?’
‘Brother Nicholas had his detractors but he was, at heart, a kind man. At the time of which we speak, almost two years ago now, we had an ancient porter, Brother Andrew, too old to discharge the office at night but too proud to admit it. Callers are rare after dark so he was able to sleep most of the time.’ He looked up at Hubert. ‘I thought that Brother Nicholas was showing consideration to an old man, asking to be let in by the back gate so that Brother Andrew was not roused from his slumber.’
‘Did Brother Nicholas ever borrow the key again?’
‘Never. Shortly after the first occasion, our dear porter fell into an eternal sleep. If he came back late after that, Brother Nicholas had no qualms about ringing the bell at the main gate for his successor.’ He rose to his feet. ‘It never occurred to me that he had no more need of my key because a duplicate had already been made.’
‘That is only supposition.’
‘The lord Ralph seemed convinced. So did Master Bret.’
‘Their theory is plausible but still unproven.’
‘It has the awful ring of truth about it.’
‘Even if that is the case,’ said Hubert gently, ‘you are beyond censure. Brother Nicholas had his throat cut. Is the man who made the knife culpable because he sold it unknowingly to a murderer?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘The same holds for you.’
‘But it does not, Canon Hubert.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because the cutler who provided the knife has not been directly confronted with its gruesome handiwork. I have. In supplying that key, I gave Brother Nicholas and his accomplice a means of access to this abbey. That access made possible a murder and three abductions.’
‘I am unpersuaded,’ said Hubert, shaking his head. ‘My colleagues may be a little too hasty in their judgement. Let us take these supposed abductions. How do we know that is what they are, and where is the evidence that the same man was involved?’
‘Three novices have been seized from this abbey.’
‘Three have disappeared, it is true. But were they seized?’
‘They must have been, Canon Hubert.’
‘When did the first boy go astray?’
‘It must have been all of eighteen months or two years ago.’ His despair intensified. ‘Yes, almost two years ago. I recall it now. Soon after I lent that key to Brother Nicholas. That is when Siward was taken.’
‘It could be an unfortunate coincidence.’
‘No, Canon Hubert. The link is undeniable.’
‘What of the second boy?’
‘Dena vanished from our midst some time last year.’
‘A considerable time after Siward, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘If someone really did have designs on them, why not abduct both together? It does not make sense to delay the second visit so long. No, Abbot Serlo,’ said Hubert, ‘I begin to have reservations about this.’
‘I wish that I could share them.’
‘At least absolve yourself of any criticism.’
‘Impossible!’ said the abbot, wringing his hands as he paced the room. ‘And even if I do not accuse myself, they will.’
‘They?’
‘Owen's parents.’
‘I was forgetting them.’
‘They will be utterly heartbroken when I tell them. They are good Christians, Canon Hubert. God-fearing people who placed their only child here in the abbey in the confident belief that he would be nurtured and protected. What am I to say to them?’ he asked, arms flailing. ‘No words of comfort exist for parents in such a situation. I have been through it twice before, remember. First, when Siward left. Then with Dena's parents. I have never been through such harrowing interviews.’ He clasped his hands in prayer. ‘Dear God in heaven, do not inflict the ordeal on me again. Help us to find him, Lord. We humbly beg you to return your young servant safely to the abbey.’
‘Amen,’ said Hubert.
‘They will have to be told,’ said Serlo through clenched teeth. ‘It is their right. Owen's parents must be informed.’
‘But not just yet, Abbot Serlo.’
‘It is a cruelty to keep it from them.’
‘Is it not more cruel to put them through a torture which may yet be avoided. Hold off a while, I implore you. Give us a little time to look more closely into this crime. With God's blessing, we may be able to give Owen's parents some good news.’
‘That depends on your colleagues.’
‘Hold faith with them.’
‘Can they r
eally solve these crimes, Canon Hubert?’
‘The lord Ralph and Gervase Bret are remarkable individuals.’
‘But you said earlier that you had doubts about their theory.’
‘I do,’ admitted Hubert readily. ‘But in matters like this, they have a curious habit of proving me wrong.’
By the time they left the abbey precincts, Gloucester had already stirred. Tradesmen were open for business and people were milling in the streets. Ralph and Gervase called on the first of the two locksmiths but drew a complete blank. The man neither recognised the key which they showed him nor remembered having made one quite so large. Everything hinged on the second locksmith. Ralph had misgivings.
‘What if the duplicate was not made in Gloucester?’
‘Where else?’
‘Brother Nicholas travelled far and wide.’
‘Only into the country,’ said Gervase, ‘and locksmiths are thin on the ground there. I daresay that Tewkesbury has one, Winchcombe, too, but the abbey holdings do not lie in that direction. The rent collector would have no cause to visit either town.’
‘His accomplice might,’ suggested Ralph. ‘What better way to cover his tracks than to employ a locksmith far away from here?’
‘But there was no need to cover his tracks.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he never expected anyone to discover that the duplicate had been fashioned. For two whole years, nobody did. Brother Nicholas and his accomplice made one fatal mistake, Ralph.’
‘What was that?’
‘They never expected us.’
Ralph was reassured enough to give a hearty laugh. When they found the second locksmith, the street in which his shop lay was quite busy. Two customers were calling on the tradesman himself. Ralph wanted to push to the front of the queue but Gervase advised patience so that they could study the locksmith and gauge his character. Palli was a short, fussy, fidgety man with shoulders hunched by a lifetime of bending over his work. Thick veins stood out on the backs of unwashed hands. Ralph noted the dirt under his fingernails.
‘I'm glad the fellow does not cook my food,’ he said.
‘He seems proficient enough at his trade,’ noted Gervase, looking around. ‘His shop is larger than the other one and these customers clearly trust him. He may well be our man, Ralph.’
‘And if he isn't?’
The question hung unanswered in the air. When both customers departed, Ralph and Gervase stepped up to the counter. Palli appraised them with a keen eye. It did not approve of Ralph Delchard. The little locksmith turned instead to Gervase Bret.
‘Can I help you?’ he grunted.
‘I hope so,’ said Gervase, showing him the key borrowed from the abbey. ‘Did you make this?’
‘No,’ said Palli at once.
‘How do you know? You have not looked at it properly.’
‘I don't need to. I can see at a glance that it doesn't bear my mark. Here,’ he explained, taking a large key from a hook and pointing to a crude pattern stamped into it. ‘All my work bears my signature.’
‘Forget this particular key,’ said Gervase, wishing that the man would stop twitching. ‘I borrowed it from the porter at the abbey. What I want to know is whether or not you made a duplicate of it.’
‘Why didn't you say so?’
‘Take it, man,’ ordered Ralph irritably. ‘And be quick about it.’
Giving him a hurt look, Palli accepted the key, weighed it in his hand then subjected it to thorough scrutiny. He ran a finger gently over it as if stroking a cat. Ralph's irritation grew.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
‘I may have done,’ said the other uncertainly, ‘but I couldn't be certain. So many keys pass through my hands, my lord.’
‘But surely not as large as this one,’ argued Gervase. ‘Apart from the abbey, only the castle and the churches would have something this size.’
‘I know. I make keys for both.’
‘So you are used to this kind of work.’
‘It is my trade, sir.’
‘There is another locksmith in Gloucester. If someone wanted a duplicate of that key, where would they go? To him or to you?’
‘To me, if they had any sense. He is a poor workman.’
‘Stop boasting about yourself,’ ordered Ralph. ‘It's very important that we know if a duplicate was made. Now, have you seen this key before or one identical to it?’
‘I've seen a number like it, my lord,’ said Palli, turning it over in his hand. ‘Whether they were identical is another matter. I've certainly made no duplicate in recent months.’
‘This would not have been a recent commission,’ said Gervase.
‘Oh.’
‘We can't give an exact date but it might be up to two years ago.’
‘Two years!’
‘Think back.’
‘You're asking a lot there,’ said Palli, fidgeting with the key before handing it back. ‘Two years! Several keys have passed through my hands in two years.’
‘This one will pass through your innards if you don't try harder,’ warned Ralph. ‘Cudgel your brain, man. A key from the abbey. Two years ago. A duplicate is wanted. That sort of thing doesn't happen every day.’
‘No, my lord,’ conceded the man. ‘You have jogged my memory. It's not often that a monk walks into my shop. Especially one who pays me so well. Yes,’ he said, groping in his mind for detail. ‘I'd have thought it was only a year ago but it could well be two, even more. And he did ask for a duplicate to be made. Quickly, for he could not leave the key with me for any length of time. The one I sold him must still be at the abbey. You'll know it by my mark.’
‘You'll know me by my mark, if you're not careful!’ warned Ralph.
‘This monk you mention,’ said Gervase. ‘Can you describe him?’
‘They all look the same to me.’
‘But he was definitely from the abbey?’
‘Oh yes. He left the key with me first thing in the morning and came back after nightfall. My wife and I had gone to bed. She was not best pleased when he came knocking on our door.’
‘You said that he paid you well.’
‘More than I asked.’
‘Why was that?’
‘Because he was so delighted with my work,’ said Palli. ‘He had this satchel over his shoulder and he took the money out of that. I could hear the coins jingling. That satchel sounded as if it was full.’
Ralph and Gervase had the identification they needed. Brother Nicholas had bought the duplicate key himself. The one which he had given to Palli had been borrowed from Abbot Serlo. It was not needed by the rent collector again. Gervase thanked the locksmith and they went out. Ralph's annoyance gave way to a surge of excitement.
‘I knew it, Gervase! We're on the right track.’
‘It's going to be a long and winding one.’
‘No matter. We'll follow it.’
‘Where next?’
‘To the odious Nigel the Reeve,’ said Ralph. ‘Our work at the shire hall is suspended indefinitely. He'll need to inform everyone of that. And while we're at it, we can ask him how he knew that King William was due in the city last night.’
‘There is someone else to whom I'd like to put that question.’
‘Who's that?’
‘The Archdeacon of Gwent.’
‘No, Madog. Put it from your mind at once. I will not listen to such talk.’
‘The others have listened,’ said Madog, indicating his men. ‘And they agree with me. It's too good a chance to miss.’
‘This is madness.’
‘It's revenge.’
‘You would have no hope of success.’
‘Let us worry about that.’
‘I forbid you even to discuss it.’
‘You are too late. It's settled.’
‘Does my opinion count for nothing?’
Madog looked shifty and declined to answer.
Abraham the Priest had found them in the sa
me copse. They were bored with the encampment, weary with the long wait and desperate for action to relieve the tedium. The news he brought from Gloucester would not be welcome.
‘There has been a further delay,’ he told them.
‘Again!’ said Madog over the general murmurs of complaint.
‘I fear so.’
‘But why? We all hoped that we would have ridden back to Wales by now with a piece of our territory restored to us. What is wrong with these commissioners? Can they not make a simple decision between the four of you?’
‘This dispute is far from simple, Madog.’
‘Is that why it is being dragged out?’
‘I have no idea,’ admitted Abraham. ‘All I can tell is what Nigel the Reeve told me. Judgement is suspended. I must wait to be called.’
‘How long?’
‘As long as it takes.’
‘This is villainy on their part, Archdeacon. They mean to keep you until you tire of waiting and ride away, thus forfeiting your right to be heard. Demand a speedier resolution.’
‘It is the same for the others as for me, Madog. They, too, must sit on their hands while the commissioners are otherwise engaged.’
‘I care not for them. Yours is the only claim that matters.’
‘God willing!’
‘Make them see that.’
‘I have put our case as eloquently as I could,’ said Abraham with quiet dignity. ‘They recognised its strength. I could see it in their eyes. But they will not make a judgement until they are ready. I will stay in Gloucester with Tomos until we are called again but there is no need for you to tarry,’ he said, raising his voice for all to hear. ‘I was grateful for your company on the ride here but we can make our own way back. Go home, friends. Your wives and children miss you. Why spend another night under the stars when you could be back in Wales?’
‘We'll stay,’ said Madog firmly.
‘But we have no need of an escort.’
‘We rode with you to make sure that you were not ambushed on the way and because we have a vested interest in the land you are trying to restore to us. That in itself is reason enough to linger.’
‘It might take days.’
‘What I have in mind would take only a second. And that's the real reason we won't go from here. We have business in Gloucester.’
‘No, Madog. Keep away from there.’
The Owls of Gloucester (Domesday Series Book 10) Page 20