It was with a light heart that David Holcroft walked into the room over the gatehouse to the Abbey. His duties as a port-reeve were almost at an end, his wife’s moodiness was explained at last, the murders had been solved, and the weather was excellent. Life felt good.
His clerk was there already, and Holcroft seated himself in the chair with his small sack jingling merrily, bellowing, “Come on, then!” Soon the men were sidling in. He had already seen to the mounted ones, they had all been paid at the stables where they were resting before making their way home. Now there were only the watchmen on foot.
He dropped the leather bag on the table-top, and as the clerk read out the amounts, he carefully counted out the pennies and slid them across the table. A man would walk up on hearing his name, and David would have the coins ready as soon as the hand was held out. It took no time at all, but today there was a long and pregnant pause.
It was when the men from Denbury appeared.
Holcroft sat back and stared, dumbfounded. There was not one who did not have a bad bruise, a broken nose, or a bandage round his head. All stood in glowering discomfort as the other watchmen tried to restrain their amusement. Holcroft was not so reserved. He sat back on his seat, his hands behind his head as he took in the immensely pleasing sight. The chagrin on the face of Long Jack was emphasized by the large black eye that had almost closed it, giving the man the appearance of a furious one-eyed owl. “We want our money.”
“Not made as much as usual? I didn’t think you’d need these few miserable pennies,” Holcroft said happily.
The watchman snarled incoherently, and Holcroft felt his smile broaden. All of a sudden his day was looking better and better.
“Where’s our money, then?”
Holcroft came upright and slowly counted out each coin, but before he slid them over, he gave the men a speculative look. “Tell me, before I give you this lot – when did this happen to you?”
“On St. Rumon’s Day. The crowd went mad, beating us with our own belts and such.”
“You deserved it, I daresay,” Holcroft said dismissively.
“That’s not fair! We did our job for you, kept things quiet, all orderly, like you wanted.”
“But you are all in a mess.” Holcroft looked Long Jack up and down, then nodded at the clerk. “They’re each amerced two pennies per day since the attack. We can’t have watchmen in our town looking like this.”
“You can’t do that!” Long Jack growled.
“Can’t I? You can demand justice from the Abbot, if you want, but if you do, I’ll bring out three men who’ll swear that you have all been forcing honest traders to pay you for not damaging their businesses. You want that?” Long Jack eyed him with something of the expression of a horse watching a frenzied terrier – there was contempt for so small a creature, but also nervousness in the face of such suicidal recklessness.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Take your money and be grateful. And next year, don’t return: you won’t be wanted. I will inform the Abbot that you have all been getting into fights this fair. He won’t want you back.”
He dealt with the rest of the men with the smile never leaving his lips. Afterward, he took a quart of ale with the clerk, before bidding him a cheery farewell and setting off for his home. All was well with his world. The pressure of the fair was waning, and he could feel the load of his work lightening, and there was a new child to look forward to. It was a contented Holcroft who stepped out through the wicketgate into the street.
Simon sat on his horse with his leg crooked over the beast’s withers as he read the paper.
“What is it, Simon?” the Abbot asked.
Simon passed him the paper. “Only another farmer complaining that a tinner has infringed his lands and refused to pay compensation after letting his sheep run free. He claims three have been eaten by wolves.”
“Is it true, do you think?”
“No! I’ve no doubt that when I get there to find out the details, there’ll be several lamb pelts hanging up to dry as evidence, but this is just one of the normal complaints one receives every month. The moors are constant only in the amount of paperwork and litigation they produce.”
“I defer to your greater knowledge,” said Champeaux thankfully. It was good to know that his bailiff understood the land so well. He would be able to save the Abbot much work with his position of Warden.
It was two days since the death of Luke and the resolution of the murders, and Simon and his wife were preparing to leave for Lydford. Their packhorse was loaded, Margaret was waiting to mount – she knew she would be sore from the saddle over the miles to their home and had no wish to begin the pain earlier than was necessary. Hugh scowled from his pony, Edgar sat at ease on his palfrey, and the only one missing was Baldwin. Simon glanced round the court as he waited. “Where is he?”
The Abbot said, “I saw him walking with Jeanne a short time ago. He will be here soon.”
“Don’t fret, Simon,” Margaret said. “There’s plenty of time.”
“But what is he talking to her about, eh? What could be so urgent when he’s had all the time here to talk to her?” he grumbled.
At the gate he suddenly caught sight of a pair of figures, a man and a woman. The bailiff swung his leg down and found the stirrup. “Is that him?”
“No, it’s Avice and Pietro,” the Abbot said. “They look happy, don’t they?”
Margaret nodded. “It is good to see two youngsters so wrapped up in themselves.”
“It’s better to see their fathers so easy in each other’s company,” Simon said, pointing with his chin to the two men trailing along behind the couple, heads close together.
“Yes,” Champeaux said. “It is less a marriage of two families, more one of two businesses.” But beneath his light words, he was secretly delighted to see that the girl and her swain were so happy. After the elopement he had thought that their chances of persuading Arthur to allow them to wed were reduced to nothing, yet the two merchants had discovered ventures which could offer advantages to both, and the prospect of marrying her daughter to an old Venetian family had finally swayed even Arthur’s ambitious wife. Antonio’s uncle was an Italian noble, and he was reassuringly bereft of children, so there was the likelihood that on his death the title would fall to Antonio.
Hearing steps, Champeaux saw Baldwin and Jeanne approaching. The Abbot’s eyes slitted keenly. He wanted to see the widow happy, and he wasn’t sure she was. She looked a little stiff to him, and Baldwin appeared reserved, as if uncomfortable. The Abbot felt his spirits fall a little. “Have you had a pleasant walk, Sir Baldwin?”
“Yes, very pleasant. And now, I think I recognize Simon’s expression. He is eager to be off, as usual. My lord Abbot, my thanks again. It has been a very enjoyable break for me.”
“My thanks go to you, Sir Baldwin. You and Simon have saved Jordan Lybbe from the rope, and if you never achieve anything else in your life, that act will ever be to your credit. And I personally owe to you the fact that my port has enjoyed a successful fair, and not one which has been overshadowed by either unsolved murders or unjust hangings.”
Baldwin showed his teeth in a grin. “In which case we are both well pleased with each other’s company, Abbot. And now, seeing Margaret is mounted, we should be off.”
Simon bowed in his saddle to the Abbot and Jeanne. “Abbot; my lady.”
Margaret watched as Baldwin bade them farewell and rode through the great gate and set off up the road toward the Abbot’s gibbet and Lydford. Jeanne, she saw, kept her eyes downcast as Baldwin spoke, but stared after him as he made his way up the road. Then, as Margaret passed, Jeanne glanced up, and Margaret saw a curious, measuring expression in her eyes. It was only there for a fleeting moment, and then Jeanne was smiling again.
The bailiff’s wife urged her pony up the hill after her husband and the knight.
The town was quieter now, most of the traders having left as soon as St. Rumon’s fair was
over, and the streets were getting back to normal. Margaret saw Elias outside his shop haggling with Will Ruby over a basket of meat, Jordan and Hankin watching on. Elias’ elder brother wore a broad grin which froze on his face when he caught sight of the knight. Jordan seemed to have to remind himself he was free now and no more thought of as a felon. He gave a curt nod, which Margaret saw Baldwin return absentmindedly.
Margaret was eaten up with curiosity. Baldwin had told her and her husband nothing of his talks with Jeanne, yet Margaret was sure that she and the knight had reached an understanding. They had spent a great deal of time alone together since Luke’s capture, strolling in the fair or walking in the Abbot’s orchard and private gardens, but both Baldwin and Jeanne had been silent on the subject of their talks.
“I will miss Jeanne,” Margaret said after a few minutes.
Baldwin cocked an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”
She pursed her lips with frustration. “Yes, Baldwin. I will miss her, and I would like to see her again soon. Especially since I would like to know whether you and she intend to meet again. Some might think you were enjoying keeping us in suspense.”
“Oh, I hardly think so,” Baldwin said, urging his horse on once more.
“Baldwin, tell me!”
“There is little to tell,” he said, but then he cast a glance at Simon before giving Margaret a quick grin. “But if you truly feel you will miss her, perhaps you should arrange to see her again – and soon. Oh, and it’s surely time you came to visit me at Furnshill – maybe you could bring her with you? Jeanne said she would like to see the place.”
They carried on past the last of the houses. The road began to climb, and near the top of the hill Margaret saw Baldwin frown and stiffen. Following his gaze she saw the dismal clearing where the gibbet stood. Here there was a steady breeze, and the leaves rustled on the trees as the little cavalcade approached.
To Margaret’s surprise, Baldwin stopped his horse and pointed at it. “When we first came to this town, I was almost jealous of that gallows. It is so much newer and more solid than the scaffold at Crediton, and I thought it was a symbol of the Abbot’s power and wealth. Now I don’t know.”
“It’s only a gibbet,” Margaret protested.
“Yes, and as such it is a potent reminder of justice. But if we had not understood the meaning of the clues at the last minute, if Hugo had not been here, or if we had simply been lazy, the wrong man might have been hanged. Then it would have ceased to be a mark of justice and would have become the representation of evil. I loathe the sight of it.”
Simon gazed at the simple wooden frame. “I don’t understand you. There must be thousands of identical ones all over the kingdom. Do you mean you hate this one because Lybbe was nearly hanged here by mistake?”
“Mistake? It would not have been a mistake but a simple travesty of justice. If Lybbe had died here, it would have been because Luke had perjured himself. Fearing retribution from neither God nor any man, Luke swore that Lybbe had been a trail-baston purely for his own revenge. Luke would have made a mockery of justice to see an old enemy hang, and that act would have polluted the whole town.”
“But God let you see the truth, Baldwin,” Margaret pointed out gently.
“God? Perhaps,” he muttered, his attention still fixed on the gibbet. After a few moments he spurred his horse and they passed by the wooden frame. As he rode, Margaret’s words rang in his ears. They carried a serene confidence, proof of her religious faith.
But Baldwin could recall the faces of friends who were dead, Knights Templar like himself, men who had died during torture, or been hanged or burned alive. They had been betrayed by politicians who coveted their wealth. The loyal knights had all been unjustly slaughtered, and God had not helped them, even though they were dedicated to His glory.
Suddenly he felt sick. All those good men were gone now, yet Lybbe had not been hanged: why should he live when the Templars had suffered so much? Baldwin did not have the comfort of belief. He could never again trust in God’s justice. As he passed the gallows, he made himself a vow: he would not rest if he thought that his own efforts could save an innocent man.
The gibbet squeaked in the wind. It almost sounded like laughter, and Baldwin shuddered. No matter what his intentions, the Abbot’s gibbet seemed to be reminding him that long after he was buried, it would still be there, ending other lives, whether justly or not. Its very permanence mocked him, and made his resolution futile.
But it did not change his decision.
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The Abbot's Gibbet aktm-5 Page 33