The Devil's Acolyte aktm-13 Page 36

  ‘Nothing that would excite you, I daresay, Bailiff, but for a crowd of old women like we monks, it was quite thrilling. Young Reginald was discovered sprawled before the altar this morning, quite beside himself. Old Peter spoke to him last night, but it didn’t improve Reg’s mood. Poor fellow’s been put to bed in the infirmary to recover.’

  ‘You have not yet lost your sense of freedom, have you?’ Simon said suddenly.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  ‘Monks who have been brought up to the Abbey are more cautious in their speech, especially with relative strangers – by which I mean any outsider, like, for instance, a Bailiff.’

  ‘Aha! I have lived too long in the secular world, you mean,’ Mark said, picking up a jug and refilling his mazer. He waved it at Simon, who held up his hand in mild protest. ‘True, I can see further than the end of my nose, which makes me stand out a little. I mean, look at Brother Peter! A worthy, kindly enough man at first sight, but in reality, he has a terrible desire for knowledge about other monks. He cannot help but sniff out any little secrets, purely with the aim of satisfying his own inquisitive nature. If he had been apprenticed to a master like my old one, he’d have had that nosiness knocked out of him soon enough! Then there’s Augerus. He is less pious than he should be, but he has known only the cloister. How can a man respect the religious way of life if he can remember no other?’

  Simon was tempted to remind Mark that his own faults included gossip and imbibing too freely, but restrained his tongue.

  Mark continued, ‘My own strength comes from the knowledge of the outside world and the way that real people live. To me, there can be nothing more sacred than this convent, because I have seen how people live outside. That,’ he sighed to himself, but giving Simon a sharp glance, ‘is why I revere this place so much more than some of my brother monks do.’

  Simon said nothing but meaningfully raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters now,’ Mark said. ‘I have seen Gerard about at night. I feel sure that he was the thief, although I imagine he passed his stolen goods on to someone else.’

  ‘Did you speak to him about his stealing?’

  ‘Good God, no! I told the Abbot, though. And now, well, his guilt is proven, isn’t it? Why else should the boy have committed apostasy, if he wasn’t torn apart by guilt? Or unless he wanted to make off with his profits, of course.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Baldwin entered the room to find Peter standing at the side of the bed on which Gerard had been deposited.

  ‘How is he, Brother?’

  Baldwin was struck, not for the first time, with the thought that a man with so extensive an injury to his face should not have survived. During his time as a Templar, both in the Holy Land and afterwards, Baldwin had seen men who had suffered less violent, less apparently lethal wounds, and yet they had died in hours or days, but this man had clung on. True, he had become an object of loathing or ridicule, but he was living, nonetheless. To Baldwin, it proved that he had a strong character and will to live. Many others would have scorned life and sought death.

  Peter appeared to read his thoughts. He gave one of his odd, twisted smiles. ‘Perhaps he will be as fortunate as me, eh, Keeper?’

  Baldwin was embarrassed and looked away, but Peter’s voice continued gently.

  ‘If he has an urge to live, he will live, with God’s good grace. If he doesn’t, or if God decides that he is ready for heaven, then he shall die. Whatever God wills, so be it.’

  ‘What are they?’ Baldwin asked, glancing at some bowls sitting on the floor near the lad.

  ‘Egg-white for cleaning his wounds, warm water to slake his thirst, a little strong wine for my comfort, and a cushion for my old knees to pray upon, or to rest my head when I grow too tired to hold my head up.’

  It was tempting to leave the man there alone with Gerard, but Baldwin did not quite trust him. There were no other chairs in this little infirmary, only two more beds; all three in plain view of the altar which was the salvation of all those who could glance upon it while they suffered. Baldwin planted himself on one of the other beds and waited.

  They had both been sitting in silence for some while when Gerard began to moan softly, his voice snuffling and adenoidal from his ravaged nose. Peter at once leaned forward and rested his hand upon Gerard’s, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He groaned several times, muttered like a man who was deeply asleep, and every so often, whimpered like a dog in pain. It was pitiful, and Baldwin felt his flesh creep to hear the agony of a poor fellow so young, damaged so severely for no reason. And then there was a sudden pause, and he spoke again, this time clearly.

  ‘I can’t take any more, Augerus… I won’t steal any more… Joce, go to hell. I won’t do it any more!’

  Baldwin felt his heart almost stop in his breast. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Peter left his hand on the boy’s, and glanced upwards as though praying. ‘I did. And may he rest now that his heart has confessed, even against his will.’ He slowly, painfully, came to his feet. ‘With your permission, Sir Knight, I shall go and tell the good Abbot about his Steward.’

  ‘Did no one suspect him?’ Baldwin wondered aloud.

  ‘Some of us did, yes.’

  ‘Then in God’s name, Brother, why didn’t you tell anyone?’

  Peter smiled and sat again, resting his hands in his lap with a serene expression. ‘Why should we do that?’

  ‘If the man was guilty of stealing–’

  ‘God will know. And God will punish that which He feels He should. It is not my place to accuse or seek another’s punishment.’

  ‘You knew?’

  ‘Aye. And I tried to make the boy see by my own example that it was pointless and silly, but he wouldn’t listen to an old fart like me. Besides, I think that there was some coercion used. Perhaps he had committed some more minor crime, and Augerus sought to make him obey his commands to prevent his secret being discovered. That, I think, is most likely. I don’t believe this boy is peculiarly evil.’

  ‘What sort of hold could Augerus have had on him?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Some trifling matter, Keeper. A youngster is always hungry – perhaps it was merely the naughty theft of a bread roll, or some pieces of sausage from the salsarius’ room? Who can tell? A minor offence like that might have been discovered and the evil, older man used it to bend the younger to his will. Make no mistake, the older will be evil. Not this poor child. And now,’ he added, climbing to his feet, ‘I must warn the Abbot. We know all about the thefts in the Abbey. Although there is one detail I am keen to understand.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘How he managed to steal the wine. Surely that was a wonderful thing to do. And just think of all the Abbot’s good spiced red wine. I could certainly be persuaded to bribe the lad for that secret, eh, Keeper?’ he said, and winked.

  In a moment he was gone and Baldwin sat back on his chair. ‘Well, boy, you still have many secrets which others would like to learn,’ he said wearily.

  As Simon left Mark, he gave in once again to the old feelings of despair. The Abbot was right to doubt his abilities. He was nothing more than a fool. Useless. He had no idea who had killed Wally or Hamelin. His enquiry was going nowhere, and so was he. There could be no surprise in the Abbot’s decision to replace him with another man better able to investigate crimes. Almost anyone must be better than him, Simon thought bitterly.

  Just for a moment his mind returned to his wife. Meg would take the idea of leaving their house very badly. She would not say anything, of course, she would be entirely loyal and supportive, but he knew she would hate the thought of going from Lydford. They had been very happy there.

  Just then, he arrived at the Great Gate. From here he could see the scarred monk leaving the infirmary, and he walked across to him.

  ‘Not now, Bailiff, please!’ Brother Peter said hastily.

  ‘What is it?’

  �
��Gerard has just told us who was guilty. It was Augerus who persuaded the lad to steal.’

  ‘Yet not who killed Walwynus?’

  ‘No. Walwynus was alive when I left him, and when I returned after seeing the shepherd, he was not at his house. I came straight back to the Abbey. I spoke to my friend the groom and drank ale with him because Augerus and Mark were away and there was no refreshment.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘Aye. Why?’

  Simon gave him no answer, but stood deep in thought. Obviously the only reason for the lack of drinks was the absence of Augerus and Mark. Ellis had said that Mark had returned and was already in the Abbey when he went to shave some heads later. Perhaps Mark had gone elsewhere, not straight back to his storerooms?

  He was about to enter the infirmary when he saw Mark waving to Peter, and Peter hurried over to the salsarius’ room. The two spoke for a moment, and then Peter made straight for the Abbot’s lodging. Mark immediately locked up his room and crossed the court to the infirmary, and entered by the door which Peter had just left.

  Simon suddenly had a strange idea… then dismissed it. Surely, he thought, he was leaping to foolish conclusions. To clear his mind, he walked to the trough near the stables and sipped water from his cupped hands. After wiping a little over his face to refresh himself, he stared down into the water.

  Wine! Simon had ignored the theft of the wine, at first because the Abbot had told him to leave it alone, and later because there were so many other things for him and Baldwin to consider, with the murder of Wally and Hamelin, but there was still that central problem of the wine. Who had taken it – and why? For some reason he recollected what he had seen when he was leaving the Abbot’s presence that first time, when he had just begun to suspect that Abbot Robert had lost his faith in him: a syphon.

  Simon was still standing and thinking when he heard shouting at the entrance to the court. Looking up, he saw Ellis. At his side was an attractive woman, and he had his arms about her waist, while her head rested upon his shoulder. Ellis pointed to him meaningfully.

  ‘Christ Jesus, what now?’ Simon muttered to himself, and strode forward. ‘Well?’

  ‘Bailiff, this is my sister. I couldn’t tell you her secret before, but she is happy to tell you herself now.’

  Simon glanced at her. ‘Lady? I don’t need to know if it will embarrass you.’

  ‘Embarrass me?’ She stared at him, her face empty for a moment as she recalled the last minutes she had spent with Joce. A sob threatened to burst from her bosom. All her hopes, which had been crushed on the day of the coining, then briefly fanned to life again today, had at last been shattered in horror as he attempted to throttle her. ‘My Lord, Joce swore his oath of marriage to me, in secret, purely so he could enjoy my body. Then he denied that oath in public, shaming me, and calling me whore. Today I saw him in town, and he assured me that he was my husband, that he would protect me and my child, but then he tried to kill me! He took me by the throat, see?’

  Simon could see the red marks of fingers and a thumb. ‘Good Lord! Why?’

  ‘He wanted me to walk with him to his house. I think he wished to fetch fresh clothes, because he had fallen or been thrown from his horse, but I wouldn’t go with him. I have some pride left, even after his deceits!’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘He ran from me because two guards saw me being attacked by him at his back doorway.’

  Simon nodded. ‘And where did he go?’

  Ellis answered. ‘He knocked a man from his horse and stole the beast, riding up the road to the moors.’

  ‘Then he shall be caught by Sir Tristram’s men,’ Simon stated.

  ‘Won’t you fetch him?’ Sara asked.

  ‘I have other pressing matters,’ Simon said as gently as he could.

  ‘Did you know that Joce beat Wally on the day after the coining?’ Sara interjected quickly. She was determined that the Bailiff should know. Seeing Simon’s quick interest, she told him about Joce’s words. ‘He said he had beaten Wally because Wally told him to leave me alone. Perhaps he did more than beat Wally, though?’ she finished.

  Simon nodded doubtfully. No one had seen Joce up on the moors, so far as he knew. Ellis had said that Wally had been in a fight that morning. Maybe it was Joce who had beaten him. Joce himself showed no sign of having been thumped. Could he be so professional that he could protect himself against a strong lad like Wally?

  ‘I am grateful you told me this,’ he said, signalling to a passing novice.

  ‘Find Sir Tristram for me, lad. I think he is in the guest house still. Tell him that Joce Blakemoor has taken a horse towards his men.’ Turning to Sara, he added, ‘I shall tell the knight about his escape. Sir Tristram will find him and bring him back, never fear.’

  She nodded fretfully. ‘I had hoped you would fetch more men and seek him out.’

  ‘There is no need,’ Simon said. He could see Sir Tristram, who descended from the guest rooms with a pot of wine in his hand.

  ‘Well, Bailiff? What is so urgent?’

  Simon explained briefly. ‘This man Joce must be caught.’

  Sir Tristram threw him a contented smile. ‘Fear not but that he shall be back here this evening, whether dead or alive!’

  Simon left him then, as he bellowed for a fresh horse, and made his way up to the infirmary. At the doorway, he stopped, looking back.

  Sara and Ellis still stood in the same place, Ellis with his arm about his sister’s waist, she with her eyes streaming with tears for her lost future, while Ellis merely gazed about him dumbly, like a man who had known that the world was cruel, but who had still hoped for better. He looked entirely crushed.

  Joce slapped the reins over the horse’s flanks, whipping the old beast onward, even though the brute was faltering.

  ‘Fucking thing!’

  The owner must have ridden this nag miles already. It was so frustrating! All he needed was a good animal to get him away, and here he was astride this broken-winded, knackered bag of bones. It was only good for the tanner’s yard.

  ‘Hurry up or I’ll slay you,’ he hissed, kicking as hard as he could, wishing he had spurs.

  They were almost at the moors now, and they hadn’t passed any sign of the men yet. He was hoping that they might have continued along the line of the trees, in which case he should have a clear run to the Swiss travellers, but even as he hoped this, he saw someone else on the road ahead, another rider.

  The horse was close to collapse. Rather than see it expire beneath him, he yanked on the reins to slow it, then stood, panting a little.

  If only that bitch had gone in with him so that he could have changed his clothes. Then he wouldn’t be in this state. Silly cow! He could have killed her inside, away from prying eyes, and got a fresh change of clothing, before escaping. Now, all because of her, he had to hide until he could steal a change of clothes and get rid of these tatters.

  He trotted into the security of a small clump of trees near a cross, listening as the sound of hooves approached, but then they stopped. ‘Well, friend, are you going to come out here, or do I have to get you out?’ a voice bellowed.

  Joce froze at the words. He didn’t recognise the voice, but there was unmistakable menace in the words, and to match them he heard the slithering sound of steel against wood as a sword was drawn.

  ‘I was only concealing myself in case you were a ruffian,’ he declared, allowing the horse to walk forth. ‘I am no villein.’

  ‘Joce Blakemoor?’ the man asked, peering at him.

  ‘Aye. That’s me.’

  ‘I’m Jack, Sergeant to Sir Tristram! I remember you, Joce Red-Hand!’

  In a moment the sword was whirling through the air towards his head. Joce fell back against his horse’s rump, then slipped his weight to one side, avoiding the first thrust and slash, but then his own sword was out and he could parry the next blow.

  ‘Attack an innocent, will you?’ he roared, and t
urned his blade as Jack’s met it, slicing it down into Jack’s thigh. The Sergeant screamed, and his horse danced away nervously even as Joce’s backed, but Joce thrashed it with the flat of his sword. It stepped on reluctantly, and Joce whirled the sword about his head, swinging it at Jack’s neck. Jack brought up his own, but Joce could feel that the man’s strength was ebbing, and then he saw why. He had severed a blood vessel in the man’s thigh, and there was a spray of arterial blood pumping. Joce smiled, and snarled, then brought his sword round again, beating at Jack until Jack failed to move in time. There was a soft, shuddering contact through Joce’s arm, and his vision was blurred for an instant as blood fountained, and then he saw that Jack’s headless body was still mounted, but the hands were empty. The sword was fallen.

  Joce wiped his face free of the blood, and reached for Jack’s horse’s reins, but the beast was maddened with fear. The smell of blood, the terror of death, combined to make it insane, and it bolted, running straight for Tavistock, the body lurching in the saddle. Joce swore as he watched it as it gradually sagged to the right and toppled to the ground. All he felt was rage, pure fury, that he should be thwarted again. He needed that mount, a strong, fresh horse that would take him farther.

  Joce wearily pulled his horse’s head around until it faced east again. Beating it with the flat of his sword, he urged it into an irregular canter, eyes skinned for more enemies.

  Baldwin was still sitting on the stool watching the boy when he heard footsteps approaching. He felt no need to rise, and merely nodded to Mark when the monk entered and bowed at the altar.

  ‘Brother.’

  ‘Peter told me he was here. How is he?’

  ‘Weak.’

  ‘Perhaps he will survive – but he looks terrible.’

  Baldwin could not argue with that. ‘It is unlikely that he can live.’

  Gerard was stirring again. He grunted, then shouted out, ‘Joce, please, no! Don’t kill me!’

  ‘That,’ Baldwin said, ‘appears to be proof of that man’s guilt. I had not suspected that Joce could have tried to do this.’