The Abbot's Gibbet (32 page)

The wine arrived, and Baldwin filled a goblet, nodding to the man to drink. Arthur lifted it to his mouth with shaking hands, sipped, then put it down. His Avice had run away, it was inconceivable!

“Sir, when was your daughter last seen?” Baldwin asked.

“I don’t know. Marion?”

“About the middle of the morning.”

“Thank you, madam. And she had been forbidden, I assume, to see this boy again, is that right?”

“Yes,” Arthur said heavily. “We told her this morning. You see, we’d checked up on him and his father, and they were not as they portrayed themselves. The pair of them had made out they were prosperous, yet I know that they only have poor riding ponies. Would a wealthy man stint on his horse-flesh like that?”

“I see.” Baldwin chewed his lip. There was one thing that concerned him more than any other. “Tell me, do you know of any reason why he should have decided to run away with your daughter now?”

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“Yes. I saw him this morning, arrogant damned fool!” Arthur explained with a sidelong glance at his wife—he hadn’t told her this yet. After seeing Pietro, he had been so angry that he had gone straight back to the tavern. “I informed him he would not be able to see my daughter again, that he was not suitable for her as far as I was concerned.”

“I see. What did he do after you spoke with him?”

“He scampered off toward the Abbey. After what I said, I assumed he’d never dare to show his face again.”

“Do you have horses kept here?”

“Yes, there are stables at the back in a yard.”

“Has your daughter’s gone?”

“I don’t know—follow me!”

He rose and hurried out to the screens. The back door gave onto a small yard with stabling on the left. While he went to question the groom, Baldwin cast an eye upward. There was a ladder leaning against the wall. “That’s how, then,” he said to Simon, jerking his head at it.

“Not the most difficult inference you’ve ever made,”

Simon muttered.

There was a cry from the stable, and they ran over to the entrance. Inside they found the merchant bending over a squirming figure. “The bastard tied up my groom!” Arthur bawled indignantly.

The knight bent over Henry and cut the cords binding his arms and feet. Edgar helped him to his feet and with his help Henry was taken to his palliasse and laid down on it gently. The knight stood at his side.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Baldwin asked.

“I was clobbered, sir,” Henry said painfully. “Someone belted me from behind.”

“Did you see who it was?”

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“No, sir. All I know is, I was out here seeing to the horses, and next thing I had a headache and was trussed like a capon.”

“You didn’t see which way they went?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you hear anything? Screams or shouting?”

“Do you mean,” Arthur said, drawing himself straight with indignation, “do you mean to suggest that my daughter might have willingly eloped with this Venetian jackanapes?”

“It is possible,” said Baldwin, raising a hand to cut short the angry expostulation that Pole’s daughter would never connive at such a betrayal of her parents’

wishes. “At this moment we don’t even know for sure that Pietro da Cammino is involved. We shall leave you now, and go to the Abbey to question him.”

“He won’t be at the Abbey—I tell you he’s run off!”

“In that case, when we have made sure he is not at the Abbey, we will organize a search for him—and her.”

“There is one more thing, Sir Baldwin. If the Abbot doesn’t believe this, tell him that his guest, that bastard Pietro, has been impersonating a monk.”

“What?”

“My man saw him last night. He was dressed like a Benedictine, wandering round the town. My daughter met him, and he wooed her under the protection of holy garb.”

“God’s blood!” Simon breathed. “Was
he
the thief?”

- 21 imon and Baldwin sent Edgar to get their horses saddled and bridled, and ran S across the court to the Abbot’s lodging. A monk told them he was in his private chapel, and they had to wait, chafing at the delay, while another monk went in and asked the Abbot to see them.

“My friends—do you have news from the girl?”

Simon told of the missing girl, and the Abbot froze.

“But . . . the Venetians have gone.”

“When?” Baldwin asked quickly.

“After the rabble came to the gate. Both Pietro and their servant were terrified by the appearance of so many ruffians calling for their blood. Someone had roused them against bankers. Pietro insisted that they should leave. His father was unwilling at first, not wanting to lose his deal with me, but I refused it, and he agreed to leave then.”

“It would appear that Pietro had an ulterior motive. The crowd at the gate gave him his excuse, and he took his chance.”

“Sir Baldwin, you must find them.”

“We shall try, sir. But where they could have gone is a matter of guesswork. We will need to hunt them down carefully.”

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“I shall come to the yard with you. It’s impossible for me to join you on the Feast Day of the Abbey’s saint, but at least I can make sure you are sent off with as many men as possible.”

So saying, Abbot Robert led the way out of the room. A monk was outside in the Prayle, and the Abbot called him over, telling him to prepare men to join the hunt. He scurried off and the Abbot and the others continued on their way.

Edgar stood waiting with the horses, and Baldwin took the reins from his servant. “The trouble is, we have no idea where they might have gone. Do you have a hunter used to tracking animals?”

“I do, but he’s not here, he’s out working.”

Simon said, “Surely they’ll make straight for the coast? Plymouth would be best for them.”

“Perhaps,” Baldwin mused. “But the port there is very small. The chances of finding a ship before we catch up with them are remote, unless they have a ship waiting.”

“Did they leave in a great hurry?” Simon asked the Abbot. “What about their clothes and belongings—are all gone?”

“I don’t know, I . . . You,” he called to a lay brother. The man ambled over, a spade on his shoulder like a weapon. “Go to the guest-master and find out whether the Venetians left anything behind. Quickly, brother!”

The man dropped his shovel and hesitated, wondering whether to pick it up. Catching sight of the Abbot’s face, he let it lie and ran off. The Abbot sighed. “Only a few hours ago all was normal. It was merely a hectic Feast Day for St. Rumon, and now I have lost a novice to a murder, a pair of guests are to be hunted like venison, and—”

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“My lord Abbot!”

Champeaux glanced at Baldwin with surprise. “Eh?”

“Hunted! Your hounds!”

He stared for moment, then groaned and slapped his forehead. “I must be the greatest fool alive!” and dashed off toward the River Gate. A few moments later he returned with a man, narrow-faced, and with a sallow complexion. Bright blue eyes glittered under dark brows. “This is my berner, the master of my scent hounds.”

“Berner, you have harrier hounds?”

“We have—twenty couple.”

“Could they chase men?”

He chuckled. “They could chase an ant from its smell.”

There was a commotion from the guests’ quarters, and when they turned to see the cause, they saw the lay brother coming toward them at a run. “Abbot, the servant is still here!”

Seeing the berner shrug and start to make his way back to his beloved hounds, Baldwin called to him,

“Master berner, bring ten couples here immediately, and a horse for yourself. We shall be hunting men.”

Simon turned to the monk. “Where is he?”

“In the guestroom.”

“Good. Come on, Baldwin.”

Guests could be placed in various parts of the Abbey depending upon their rank and importance. Those of lowly position would stay in the communal accommodation above the Great Gate itself, while the most important would stay in the Abbot’s own private rooms alongside his hall. For others, when this was already being used, there was the main guest block overlooking the river, and it was in this building that 294

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the Venetians had been placed. Simon walked up the stairs to the first floor, and only when he arrived at the door did it occur to him that the man inside might be desperate and dangerous. He was uncommonly glad to hear the steady steps of Baldwin and his man behind him as he reached for his sword and tested the hilt in his hand. He glanced at the knight, then opened the door in a rush and burst in, drawing his sword as he went. He fetched up against a wall, holding the weapon before him.

“The sword is unnecessary, Simon,” he heard Baldwin murmur as the knight walked in. In the far corner of what was a broad and long room, he saw the servant Luke folding clothes and stowing them into a light cloth bag, suitable for dangling from a saddle. The man stared in astonishment, eyeing Simon as if doubting his sanity.

“You are the servant of Antonio and Pietro da Cammino?” Baldwin asked, walking quietly toward the man. He nodded, which was a relief to the knight, who had feared that he might not speak English. “What is your name?”

“Luke, sir.”

“Good. Luke, do you know where they have gone?”

“No, sir,” Luke said, his gaze still fixed upon Simon as the bailiff carefully felt for his scabbard and thrust his sword home. “They collected their things and went; I don’t know where.”

“Did you help them pack?”

“Yes, sir. After the shouting and everything at the gate, Pietro came straight up here, and told me to pack his things.”

“How did he seem?” Baldwin asked.

“Very upset, sir. Flustered and cross. He said I must The Abbot’s Gibbet

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prepare to leave immediately, and from his look I imagined something must have happened.”

Simon shook his head. “They already have a good head start on us, let’s get going.”

His friend shook his head and held up a hand. “Wait, Simon. Let’s not rush off before we have to. The hounds aren’t ready yet, and we don’t have a posse. Now, Luke, you say Pietro was flustered and angry. Did he give you any indication what had angered him?”

“No, sir. He only said that he’d been a fool, and went out as soon as I’d started packing his things. Then he came back a little later with his father, and Antonio seemed depressed. He said nothing to me at all while he was here, just paced up and down the room.”

The knight remained staring fixedly at the servant.

“When you were in Bayonne, weren’t you attacked by a mob there?”

Luke nodded. “Yes, it was fearsome, being chased like that. We had to leave almost immediately.”

“Did you know Pietro saw Avice’s father today? He told Pietro to leave and never see his daughter again.”

Simon interrupted, “Baldwin, is this really necessary?”

“Pietro must have seen the girl at some point, or how would he know she would go with him?”

“Fine, so the lad went to see her, and when she told him she’d be happy to go away with him, he came back here and prepared to leave. Can we get a move on now?”

“But there was this crowd at the Abbey gates, Simon. Was that just a fortuitous coincidence? And the mob dispersed as soon as the Abbot spoke to them. Did Pietro and his father really feel so threatened that they had to leave immediately? If he knew Avice would go with him anyway, what was the hurry? He could surely have waited until dark and gone then.”

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“Baldwin, you’re quibbling over details, and all the time they’re getting further away. Come on, let’s be after them!”

“Patience, Simon. Now, Luke, I do not believe that Antonio would have rushed off just because of a crowd making a noise. He would be safe in the Abbey here. Why would he agree to go in such a hurry? Enough hurry, for example, to leave
you
behind, Luke,” Baldwin finished imperturbably. Luke stared back. He knew he had to make the choice whether to protect his masters and hide their secrets, in which case he might be viewed with suspicion and possibly even accused with them, or discard them utterly and protect himself. He glanced quickly at the bailiff.

Simon gave an exasperated groan and dropped onto a bench. “I assume you have some reason for wanting to wait? Maybe the lad was in a hurry to go because he had killed the monk, and now we know he abducted the girl—”

“Simon, we know nothing of the sort! There is nothing to connect him to the murder of Peter, and we don’t even know that she wasn’t a willing accomplice in their departure. At this moment we know nothing about the matter.”

“Sir, my master Antonio was accused by the girl’s father of being a fraud, of inventing a bogus scheme to steal from the Abbot.”

“That made him suddenly run away?” Simon asked dubiously.

“Sir, I refused to go with them. I’ll tell you all I know, but only if I can be exempted from blame for what they have done.”

Baldwin nodded. “Speak!”

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“I first met Antonio and his son two years ago in France. They had lost their servant to a disease, and they were glad enough to have me instead.

“Last year we went to Bayonne to the fair, staying in a small inn. At the time, I thought it was to find new stuffs to sell, for they had made a fortune out of selling a great stock of Toledo metalwork, but then I began to have doubts.”

Simon was interested despite himself. The servant’s story was halting, but the bailiff could see that he was coming quickly to his point.

“Antonio spent much time talking to the Abbot there, and whenever I overheard them, it was always about the same thing—how Antonio had a fleet and was looking for the best suppliers of goods to transport to Florence. It sounded strange to me, for I had never seen any evidence of a single ship, let alone a fleet.

“Then one night Antonio came to me and instructed me to pack everything and prepare to leave. I thought he had lost interest in the Abbot and wanted to avoid his bill for stabling and food, so I did as I was told, but when I heard Antonio talking to his son, he was scornful and contemptuous. I had no idea why; I just did as I was told. When all was packed, Antonio himself led the way to the stables, and I found that a pony had been laden with other stuff, but I thought it was just the things that Antonio had bought from the fair. It never occurred to me . . . Well, I’ll come to that.

“We walked the horses from the stables behind our inn, and once we were outside the town, rode off. Some twenty or so miles farther on, there was another inn, and we rested there for a morning before setting off again, but before we had gone far, there was a sound of charging horses behind us, and when I looked 298

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over my shoulder, I saw a knight and others racing along. Antonio saw them at the same time, and cried to us to whip up.

“I didn’t know what was going on, but if they were after us, whether they were outlaws or lawful posse, I didn’t care: I didn’t want to be caught by so many warlike men miles from anywhere. Just like the others, I clapped spurs to my mount and tried to escape. But the pony was a heavy burden. Its load was too heavy for it to hurry, and the men were gaining on us. I tried whipping it, but although I cut its hide in many places, it couldn’t keep up. In the end I let it go.”

“And?”

Baldwin’s voice was quiet, but it shattered the silence like a mace hitting glass. The servant looked up again.

“Sir, when Antonio saw what I had done, he was in a towering rage. He said, ‘What was the point of stealing all that pewter if you’re going to let them take it all back?’ I was horrified: I’d had no idea he was stealing it. Maybe there are some things I’ve done in my life I’m not proud of, but I’m no thief, and the thought of robbing so many, and all under the Abbot’s guarantee . . . It was like stealing from the Abbot himself.