Rest Not in Peace (21 page)

“Aye. This business has delayed us, but we will still be there by nightfall if we do not dally.”

“Abbot Thurstan asked that you call upon him. He wishes to know what befell John.”

“I cannot tell. But you may do as I suggest with a pig’s head and that may tell you how long past the novice was left in the wood.”

We paced in somber silence to the abbey. There I left Arthur to water the horses and followed Brother Gerleys to the abbot’s chamber while the other monks took John Whytyng’s corpse to rest before the church altar.

The abbot’s chamber door was open when we approached, and I could see Abbot Thurstan dictating a letter to his clerk. The aged monk saw our shadows darken his door and looked toward us. As he did so I heard the sacrist begin to ring the Passing Bell.

Abbot Thurstan is an ancient fellow. He was elected to his position when the pestilence struck down Abbot Nicholas, nearly twenty years past. It was no longer necessary for the abbot to be tonsured fortnightly: he had but a wispy fringe of hoary hairs circling his skull above his ears.

The old man swayed to his feet as Brother Gerleys announced my presence. It took some effort for the abbot to do this, and I was cognizant of the honor. An abbot need not rise from his chair when a mere bailiff calls upon him.

Abbot Thurstan looked from me to the novice-master, then spoke. “It was John?” he said.

“Aye,” Brother Gerleys replied.

The abbot crossed himself and sat heavily. “I thought as much. An able lad, with much to recommend him, yet he is taken, while the Lord Christ leaves me here.”

I thought to myself that the Lord Christ had little to do with the novice’s death, but held my tongue.

“Was it the pestilence?” the abbot continued.

Brother Gerleys looked to me.

“Nay,” I said. “The lad was struck down by a dagger in the back.”

Abbot Thurstan was silent for a time, then replied. “I would not wish for any man to die of plague. I have seen the agony in which the afflicted die. But I had hoped that the death was not the work of some other man’s hand. When plague first visited this house nearly twenty years past, I saw Brother Oswalt try to rise from his bed and flee the infirmary, thinking he could escape his torment if he could leave the abbey. I thought perhaps John, crazed by pain, might have done likewise.”

“Had the youth given sign that he was ill?” I asked.

“Nay,” Brother Gerleys said.

“The pestilence can slay a man quickly,” the abbot said, “but so will a blade.”

“I wish you success in discovering the felon,” I said.

The abbot looked from his clerk to the novice-master and then to me. “I remember,” he said, “when you discovered ’twas a brother of this house who stole Master Wyclif’s books. We have no man so skilled at sniffing out felons.”

“Has Eynsham no bailiff or constable?”

“A bailiff. But Richard is nearly as old as me. He sees little and hears less. He is competent for the mundane duties of a bailiff, but seeking a murderer will be beyond his abilities.”

I saw the direction this conversation was taking and sought to deflect its path.

“I am bound for Oxford,” I said, “and hope to arrive before nightfall. The days grow short, so I need to be on my way.”

“I am sorry to delay your travel. You have business in Oxford?”

“I intend to make a purchase there, and then return promptly to Bampton. My wife will give birth to our second child before Candlemas and I do not wish for her to be alone any longer than need be.”

“Ah, certainly. But…”

I saw in his eyes that the elderly monk’s mind was working rapidly.

“Could you not spare us a few days to sort out this calamity? Surely your purchase can wait, and there is a midwife of Eynsham who could be sent to Bampton to attend your wife till this matter is settled. I will pay the woman from abbey funds. What is it you wish to obtain in Oxford?”

“A Bible.”

“Ah, Lord Gilbert must regard your service highly.”

“He is liberal with wages to those whose service he values,” I agreed.

“As am I. In our scriptorium there are many brothers who are accomplished with pen and ink. Brother Robert and Brother Bertran are particularly skilled. The abbey has no important commissions just now. If you will set yourself to discovering the murderer among us, I will put the scriptorium to work upon a Bible. You will have it by St John’s Day, or soon thereafter.”

The youngest son of a minor Lancashire knight, as I am, learns frugality at an early age. I have become modestly prosperous, but not so that I would willingly forego the saving of thirty shillings. I stood silently before the abbot, as if considering his offer, but I knew already that I would accept.

“If I am unable to discover the murderer, what then?”

“The Lord Christ,” the abbot said, “commands only that we strive to do His will. He does not demand that we always succeed. So I ask only for your best effort. If you give the abbey that, it will suffice. You will receive your Bible.”

“Very well. But I must return to Bampton to tell my Kate of this alteration in my plans. When will you send the woman to keep my wife company ’til this matter can be resolved? And will she accept your commission?”

“Agnes is a widow, and since the pestilence few babes are born in Eynsham to provide her a livelihood. She is unlikely to refuse my offer. I will send her tomorrow.”

So it was that Arthur and I returned to Bampton that day, and I spent the evening sitting upon a bench before the hearth with my Kate, considering who might wish to slay a novice and why they would do so. I should have also considered what such a felon might do to avoid discovery.