The Abbot's Gibbet (24 page)

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Michael Jecks

“I see. They’ll be here for some time, then.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I reckon as soon as they have their contract they’ll be gone. They seem to have other business to deal with, according to my friend who works with the guest-master, and want to leave quickly when the Abbot has agreed their contract.”

“They must be rich to negotiate with the Abbot.”

“They
say
they are.”

Henry’s ears pricked. “You think they aren’t?” he asked, feigning disinterest.

“Something’s not right about them. They say they are merchants and bankers, and such men are very well-off. But these fellows, they have very fine clothes and their saddles and harnesses are good quality, but their horses are cheap creatures.”

Henry could understand the distinction. His master often played the host to affluent men, and as a groom he knew that those who sported good clothing owned the best horseflesh as well, and spent fortunes on finery for their animals. There was no point in a firstquality mount if it was made to look like a broken-winded nag by cheap saddle and harness. The wealthy flaunted their money. He recalled the Camminos’ arrival in town. “Why should that be?”

“They said they were robbed, but if they were, why wasn’t their money and plate taken? And if someone took their horses, wouldn’t they have taken the saddles and equipment as well? I think these men aren’t as well-heeled as they would have the Abbot believe. Still, it’s none of my concern.”

Henry stayed until they had finished the pitcher between them, but there was little more to learn, and he left the monk, now with every appearance of contentment, to make his way back to his master’s The Abbot’s Gibbet

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house. En route he saw a familiar figure, and dawdled to study him. It was the young Venetian, Pietro, and his servant. The pair waited a little to the north of the tavern, standing in an alleyway in the shadow of a large house. Henry was not sure, but he had a feeling that they were waiting for someone, and as he watched, he saw the figures of Avice and her maid approach. When he noted how the young girl’s face lit with joy at the sight of her lover, Henry looked on grimly. His master would have a problem in persuading her to leave the Venetian alone.

He realized that the four were continuing down the hill toward him, and he turned to hurry away before he could be seen, when he tripped. Another hurrying fairgoer had stumbled into him, and Henry stifled a quick curse at the man as he recognized the young monk Peter. The groom scrambled to his feet and hurried to a wall, glancing up the road. He was amazed to see the monk standing before his master’s daughter. Also watching was the old friar, from the other side of the street.

“My lady, I must demand that you—”

Henry saw Pietro take a casual step forward. “If you are prepared to renounce your vocation, your habit is no protection. Leave my lady in peace!” he said, and suddenly his hand whipped out and slapped Peter on the cheek, almost spinning the boy completely around before he fell to the ground.

Peter lay sobbing with fury and jealousy, while Avice and Pietro stepped past. He could not even muster the energy to call out; he was exhausted—and ashamed of his action. The day before, life had seemed full of promise; his future was mapped out for him, and 216

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he knew his vocation—and yet now all was ruined. He was in love with a woman who spurned him, his life’s ambition was destroyed, and his hope for happiness had been crushed beneath her dainty heel. He felt a hand grasp his elbow and he was hauled to his feet. “My son, my son, what is all this?”

Peter wiped his eyes, smearing dirt over his face.

“Friar? It’s nothing. Nothing.” His eyes followed Avice as she made her way down the hill with her squire.

“How could she prefer
him
?”

Hugo patted his shoulder. “It is better that she should choose a man such as he rather than persuade you from your calling.”

“But he . . .”

“What, my son?” asked Hugo patiently.

Peter set his jaw. “He might be a murderer!”

“What?” Hugo took an involuntary step back.

“Yes! I was there—you were, too! In the tavern on the night that man was killed, you must have seen it. When the man was in the way, that Venetian puppy almost drew his knife.”

“That means nothing. He didn’t actually draw it and—”

“But what if he waylaid the man later? What if he stabbed him? That would mean Avice was going to wed a murderer!”

Henry heard the words. He saw Hugo shake his head and advise the novice to be careful to whom he made such wild accusations, but the boy was not of a mind to be placated. “She is not for you, my son. You have a calling. You have to forget the passions of the flesh if you are to become a good monk.”

“I won’t be a monk. I have already told the Abbot.”

Hugo rested a hand on his shoulder with compassion. “Before you make a decision like that, you must The Abbot’s Gibbet

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reflect long and very hard. God has sent you this temptation to test your resolve. Can you really fail Him so easily?”

Peter shook the friar’s hand from his shoulder. “I love her.”

The friar shook his head in sympathy as the boy, head bowed, walked down toward the Abbey. Hugo had been lucky—he had never suffered from lust, and found it hard to understand the torment of others. For him, adoration of Christ’s Mother was enough. Henry took his chance and walked to him. “Friar? Is the monk all right?”

Hugo glanced at him. “He is not harmed,” he equivocated.

“Those foreigners should be less arrogant.”

The friar put the young monk from his mind. He still wanted a theme for preaching, and he spoke absently.

“It is not only them. Arrogance is not the preserve of Venetians.”

“It is typical of foreign bankers.”

“Bankers? Are they bankers? I thought they were only merchants.” Hugo suddenly stopped dead in the street and gave a little gasp of pleasure. It might be a well-worn theme, but at last he had an idea for a sermon.

- 16 behind Simon and his wife, partly out of B aldwin and Jeanne walked a few steps self-defense. While behind them, the

knight felt that he was not quite so much under constant observation.

It was always the way, he knew, that a wooing couple would be subject to continual scrutiny, and the slightest failure of manners or courtly behavior would render the squire open to the most vicious of verbal leg-pulling, or worse. It was not all on one side, for any girl offering what might be considered by parents and friends to be overly indecorous or flirtatious comments would be severely reprimanded. He had hoped that if he was to find a woman to court he would at least be able to do so without the embarrassment of a friend listening nearby, and no doubt storing up each foolish word or misused phrase with a view to reminding the knight later when he was in a defenseless position. He was painfully aware that his servant and Simon’s were both behind him, and that was almost more appalling than Simon and Margaret being within earshot in front. Baldwin had recently been given enough proof that Edgar had enjoyed the companionship of The Abbot’s Gibbet

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several of the younger women of Crediton. His martial appearance and easy flattery seemed to win them over, although Baldwin could not understand why. Only the week before he had heard his man paying court to a hawker in the street, and Edgar’s expressions of amazement at the girl’s beauty (although to Baldwin’s mind she was rather plain) won him a dazzling beam of happiness and every promise of more than a mere discount.

Flighty talk of that nature, which to Baldwin was little more than lies clothed in politeness, was irritating to him. It was meaningless. He would prefer to be able to make an unequivocal statement of affection to one woman he loved, and remain on terms of honorable politeness to all others than have to make even one gutchurningly embarrassing statement that was untrue. Baldwin was a knight, and the soft nature of a campaign to win a woman’s heart was a mystery to him. One thing he had already discovered was that wooing a lady was not so straightforward as setting his horse at an enemy and charging. A certain subtlety was required which was alien to his soul. With a feeling of defeat, he wondered whether he should take advice from his servant. Edgar knew how to fight this kind of battle. Once inside the fair, the women naturally gravitated together, and Simon moved to his friend’s side. Baldwin ignored his leer and wink, and the elbow jerked into his side, maintaining what he hoped was a dignified silence. Simon grinned wickedly, enjoying his friend’s discomfort. “Have you had any more thoughts on Elias?”

“I am afraid not. Until he realizes his own danger, there’s little we can do to force him to reveal the other man’s identity.”

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“Your mind has been on other things, I know,”

Simon smirked, “but one thing did occur to me. Elias is weakly in build, while Torre was barrel-chested and powerful. The clothes put on Torre fitted him, but they wouldn’t have fitted Elias. The man with Elias must have been the same in shape as Torre.”

“Yes, but how many hundreds here have a similar build?” Baldwin eyed the latest counter at which the women had paused. It held expensive gloves, and he felt a glow of sadistic pleasure as Margaret excitedly discussed them with the stallholder. “Why has Elias remained silent? That is what puzzles me. Do you think the man with him was the murderer?”

“Perhaps. From the descriptions, he might have been similar in size to Torre, and the clothes bear that out, if indeed he swapped clothes with the corpse. Also, if it was he who killed and decapitated Torre, it would explain how Elias could have reappeared in the tavern without a mark of blood on him.”

“But what sort of hold could the man have over Elias that would persuade the cook to keep silent when his life is at risk?” Catching a glance from Jeanne, Baldwin felt a burst of irritation. He needed time to figure out the best manner to court this lady, yet he was forced to concentrate on catching a murderer. For a moment he felt an unreasonable loathing for Elias. It was the latter and his damned silence which was causing him this problem. If it weren’t for him, Baldwin would be able to join the women and perhaps buy a present for Jeanne. “And what possible motive could the man have?” Baldwin continued. “He was new to the area, only a traveller, or so the alewife implied. He was certainly no local man, for she did not recognize him.”

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“A personal slight, an accident—who knows?

Maybe we should go to the tavern again and ask there; maybe meet up with Holcroft and see if a night in the clink has loosened friend Elias’ tongue.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Baldwin grumbled. “If that pathetic damned cook would only speak, we could stop wasting our time. Why didn’t he just tell us what happened?”

They walked over to the women. Jeanne instantly turned to Baldwin questioningly. He shrugged apologetically as Simon explained, then added, “I think Simon is right—we should go and check on this.”

To his surprise, she nodded understandingly. “Of course you must.” He looked so chagrined at going, she wanted to give him a hug, like a mother cuddling a recalcitrant child. She gave him an encouraging smile instead. “It would be boring for you to trail after us anyway, going from stand to stand looking at clothes and boots. No, you both go, and we’ll see you later.”

Jeanne was no fool, she had seen the expression on Simon’s face as they were talking, and knew how shy the knight was. The bailiff had been ribbing him unmercifully, that she was sure of, so as they turned to leave, she called them back. “One moment, Simon—

surely when your wife has so much to buy you wouldn’t leave her with only a little change? Your purse is full, and hers is almost empty—won’t you give her your money?”

Simon stared open-mouthed. “My money? But—”

As Jeanne held her hand out he retreated, walking into the grinning Edgar, who quickly caught the bailiff’s arm and led him back. Under Jeanne’s firm gaze, he felt he had no choice but to untie his purse-strings and remove all the coins. “Don’t spend it all on sweet-222

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meats,” he said gruffly, and jerked his arm free. “Come on, Baldwin. Let’s leave these beautiful thieves behind and seek a good, honest murderer.”

They left Hugh with the women, looking mutinous at the thought of the goods he would have to carry again, and walked away with Edgar, heading through the main gate and down to the market-place. Here Baldwin strode up to the cell’s window and peered in. He saw the cook huddled uncomfortably in the corner, wrapped in his thin and threadbare blanket, shivering. Passing the market area, they had to push past the crowds which had already collected to watch the jugglers and acrobats. Minstrels were tuning their instruments, one woman singing in a high, nasal voice. Then, at the far end, they saw the friar. Hugo was standing on a barrel to preach. “God teaches us that there is a fair price for everything, and it should be enough to allow a man a profit. But He teaches that if a man makes too much profit, that man is actively pursuing avarice, and that is a sin. That’s why our laws prevent you from hiring more staff than you need, or anything else that might give you an advantage over others in your trade. It is why you mustn’t overpraise your work to the detriment of that of other people.

“It is why usury is such a unique sin, for usury adds nothing to man’s well-being. Bankers add only to the misery of the world, because they lend money and charge interest on that money. What does that benefit mankind? If you are a cordwainer, you help us by making us shoes so that we can walk far without hurting our feet; if you are a cooper, you allow us to store our food and drink so that we don’t starve during the winter; if you are a weaver, you make cloth for us to clothe The Abbot’s Gibbet

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ourselves; if you are a farmer, you provide us with food that we might eat. But what do bankers do? They make nothing, provide nothing, add nothing to the good of men.”

Baldwin muttered, “He’d best be careful. We don’t want the rabble roused.”