The Abbot's Gibbet (8 page)

The men all looked bitter. When a corpse was found, the nearest neighbors must be attached, held on promise of a surety, before they could be formally released. It was the only way to guarantee that they would definitely pay their amercement for allowing a murderer to break the King’s Peace.

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Looking at the shops either side of the alley, Baldwin asked, “You are the butcher?”

Will nodded glumly. “Yes, sir. That’s my shop there.”

The first finder interested Baldwin. Will Ruby was a short and strong-looking man, with massive biceps and a belly to match. A thick rug of short, curling hair of a reddish brown covered his large, rounded skull. From the look of his woollen overcoat the knight saw that the butcher enjoyed a profitable business.

“How did you come to find him?”

Will explained about his journey to fetch his midden-baskets. “I saw his foot sticking from the pile there and pulled it.”

Baldwin listened closely while he looked carefully at the body. “Do you have any idea who this was?”

Holcroft answered for Will. “Not with those clothes. He doesn’t seem to be from within the port—these things are very foreign.” He frowned, staring at the body. “I’ve seen someone wearing clothes like these before, though I can’t think where.”

“You think it was someone visiting the fair?”

“It seems likely.”

Simon scratched his chin. “So where’s his head?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Holcroft said.

“What?” Baldwin asked. “It is not here?”

“Not in the heap or anywhere nearby. We’ve hunted up the alley and everywhere, but there’s no sign of it.”

“Strange.” Baldwin wandered closer to the pile and stared at it a moment before returning to the body.

“Did you find a knife?”

“Knife?”

“His sheath is empty.”

Holcroft shook his head.

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“It is strange that his head should have been cut off,”

Baldwin murmured. “Why should someone do that, I wonder? And why take his knife afterward?”

“Simon, do you think we could go on ahead if Baldwin is going to . . .”

“Margaret, I am so sorry,” the knight said and leaped to his feet. “This is nothing to do with me. I am here for the holiday.
We
are here to see the fair. My apologies. It was inexcusable to make you wait here with a corpse. Come, we shall go on immediately.”

Simon climbed on his horse and waited until Baldwin had mounted his own before setting off to the Abbey. The bailiff knew that his friend was always intrigued by crimes, and was surprised at the speed with which Baldwin gave up his questioning. Then Simon saw Baldwin’s eyes return to the body and stay fixed there. The knight caught sight of Simon’s expression and gave a rueful shrug.

“No, we are here for St. Rumon’s Day.”

- 5 and held his arms wide in welcome. A T he Abbot of Tavistock stood in his hall cheery, red-faced cleric of middle

height, his tonsure needed no shaving, for his head wore only a scanty band of gray hair that reached as far as his temples on either side. All his pate from his forehead to the back of his head was bare.

“Bailiff, welcome! And your lady, too. Please be seated. You must be Sir Baldwin Furnshill. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. Come, please be seated.”

Abbot Champeaux’s enthusiasm was infectious. He led them to a sideboard littered with expensive plate, upon which stood a flagon of wine and a number of goblets, all carefully crafted in pewter. Baldwin took one from the bottler and studied it. There was a hunting scene carved round it. The Abbot, he decided, was not averse to displaying his prosperity. While Simon chatted to his new master, his bag slung over his shoulder, Baldwin sat and took in his surroundings. The room was comfortably furnished, with tapestries on the walls, and padded cushions on the chair seats. A solid moorstone fireplace took up a large part of the eastern wall. From where he sat, with The Abbot’s Gibbet

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his back to the hearth, he could gaze out through the glazed windows over the fishponds and gardens. The grounds took up a large area, stretching to the strip fields. He could see the lazy sweep of the river as it meandered away from the town.

When he saw a flash of reddish brown, he stiffened. It was near the water’s edge, and he sat up to peer. The Abbot noticed his concentration, and turned to see what had attracted his guest’s interest. “Ah, Sir Baldwin, you have a good eye,” he chuckled.

“It looks a good beast.”

“Yes. We are fortunate in having over forty deer in our park, though we do sometimes have difficulties.”

“What sort of difficulties?” Margaret asked. The abbot smiled genially, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Sometimes they manage to escape from the park when we’re trying to catch them. I’ve been told off for chasing my venison on to the moors before now. We do try to make sure that our hounds catch the beasts before they can get out of the park, but every now and again one of them will succeed, and what then are we to do? It’s hard to keep the ditches and hedges maintained.”

Baldwin could not restrain a grin. That an abbot should dare to roam over the chase of Dartmoor to poach, and then happily confess it, was unique in his experience. “I should like to see your pack of hounds,”

he said, and the Abbot nodded delightedly.

“It would be my pleasure. Perhaps I could tempt you to join me for a hunt as well?”

“I would have to accept so kind an offer.”

Simon patted his bag. “Would you like to go through the business of the stannary now?”

“Oh no, Simon. You’ve had a tiring journey to get 62

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here. Please,
rest
! We can talk about business later. I’ve been Abbot here for four and thirty years, and while Our Lord may decide not to let me carry on for another four and thirty, I hope that I’ve a few more years left in me! There’s time for us to discuss our work later.”

Baldwin leaned back in his seat. The Abbot was a good host, chatting with Simon and his wife and putting both at their ease. Baldwin had known many priestly men, but this one, Robert Champeaux, seemed to wear his power and authority lightly. And he
did
have authority. Baldwin had spent some time enquiring about his host with Peter Clifford, the Dean of Crediton Church, and had found the time instructive. As Champeaux said, he had been Abbot for over thirty years. When he had taken on the post, the Abbey had been in debt, but now, after his careful administration, it was rumored to be one of the soundest institutions in the shire.

Abbot Robert had attracted money by improving the fairs and markets, taking business from Chagford and Lydford, and reinvesting the money to buy lucrative offices. He had been appointed controller of all the silver mines in Devon in 1318, and Baldwin understood he had recently extended his management of the mines in exchange for a sizeable loan to help with the war against Scotland. This year, 1319, he had become the warden of the Devon stannaries,
and
keeper of the port of Dartmouth, both highly profitable positions, yet he was content to sit and discuss the quality of cloths in the market with the wife of one of his bailiffs. That displayed a humility and generosity of spirit many other priests would do well to emulate.

There was a knock at the door and a young monk The Abbot’s Gibbet

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entered, bowing low. “My lord, the port-reeve would like to speak to you.”

“Please show him in. Ah, Holcroft, you have sent for the coroner, I hear?”

“Yes, sir. And I have attached the four neighbors and Will Ruby, the first finder.”

“The hue was raised, of course, so there is little more to be done. Where is the body?”

“I couldn’t leave it there, sir.” Normally a body would be left where it had been found until the coroner could view it. “It would be impossible with so many people around. “I’ve had it moved to the inn. There’s an outhouse there where the coroner can view it.”

“Good.”

Baldwin leaned forward. “What of the man’s relatives?”

“Until we find his head, there’s nothing we can do. We don’t know who he is, after all.”

Simon waved his goblet questioningly. “No one’s reported a missing man? A wife would recognize her husband’s body, after all. You’re sure he must be a foreigner?”

“Yes, sir, he must be from outside Tavistock. Nobody’s reported a man who’s disappeared.”

“That means nothing,” Baldwin said. “While the fair is on, people will be spending their time in the alehouses and taverns. How many women would be surprised if their husbands turned up late or not at all every night of the fair? This man might well be a resident of the town whose woman thinks he’s sleeping off a hangover in a tavern.”

“It’s not only that, Sir Baldwin,” said Holcroft. “The clothes look familiar to me, but I don’t remember where from. They’re not local; there’s no one I know in Tavistock who wears stuff like this.”

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“This isn’t good,” the Abbot said. He stared wistfully out through the window toward his deer park. Simon guessed that the talk of bodies was distasteful to him—he would rather be discussing his hounds or hawks. “It will be my court that has to resolve all this, and I don’t want a whole group of men from the town penalized when they have done nothing.”

Baldwin nodded thoughtfully. The usual procedure was for the first finder and neighbors to be held against a surety, to guarantee that they would go to court. If no killer could be found, they would all be fined.

“I hear that Sir Baldwin and the bailiff have found many other killers,” Holcroft suggested tentatively.

“You want us to help you?” Simon asked, throwing Baldwin a glance. The knight shrugged.

“Sir, I can do nothing,” said Holcroft plaintively.

“We rarely have murders in the port, and I’m only in this post for a year. I don’t know how to perform an inquest or anything.”

“That is down to the coroner,” Baldwin observed.

“Yes, sir, but the killer could be leagues from here before the coroner arrives.”

Robert Champeaux nodded pensively, looking from Simon to Baldwin. “You would be doing me a great service, gentlemen. Would it be possible for you to investigate this death? It should be the duty of the coroner, but this is my land, and the murder was within my court’s jurisdiction. In the interests of justice I feel justified in investigating it swiftly.”

Baldwin stood. “Come, master port-reeve, let us return to where the body was found.”

“One moment.” Champeaux walked to the door. He held a brief conversation with another monk before returning. “All should be noted down in case the coroner The Abbot’s Gibbet

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wants to see exactly what has been said or done. Take young Peter here. He can write down everything for the report.”

As the young man entered, Holcroft shook his head. He recognized the novice who had guided the Camminos to the tavern the night before. Things were bad enough already, he thought, without having an aggressive monk tagging along. Holcroft led them through the Great Court of the Abbey and out through the court gate—a massive square block large enough to house a small chapel. From there they followed the street northward until they came to the alley.

Baldwin was pleased to try to help the Abbot, particularly since he was fascinated by the mystery of the missing head, but Simon felt a degree of irritation that they should so speedily have been involved in a murder hunt. He only hoped that their investigations could be concluded quickly. He had left Hugh to help Margaret settle into the room Abbot Champeaux had allocated for them. Baldwin did not bother to ask Edgar to remain. He would not leave his master in a strange town. When they were serving with the Knights Templar his place had been at his master’s side, and he took his responsibility seriously. When away from home, Edgar rarely let his master out of his sight. The servant’s expression betrayed only boredom. Baldwin was sure that his keenness in coming to the fair was largely due to his wish to buy a bolt of good cloth for his woman. It was a comfort to Baldwin that his servant was focusing on Cristine at the inn. Beforehand Edgar had pursued an increasing number of women, and Baldwin had become concerned that his 66

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servant’s peccadillos could harm the respect which was so important to the knight’s position. When they arrived at the alley, the people had gone. Once they had provided sureties, the guards had no further interest in them. The body had been carried away, and only a small pool of dried blood showed where it had lain.

Baldwin stared down at it, shook his head and walked over to the garbage heap. There was a besom with a broken handle leaning against the wall, and he used it to fastidiously disarrange the rubbish and study the contents. “Nothing here,” he said, throwing down the pole, and strolled back to the bloodstained spot.

“Why would someone take the head?”

“A very good question,” said Simon.

“I reckon he was from outside the port,” said Holcroft, “and probably only came here to buy or sell something. It stands to reason he knew no one here.”

“If that is so, we should soon find who he was,” said Baldwin. “His stall will be empty, and somebody will report that, if only the man from whom he rented the space.”

“I’ve sent watchmen to see whether any stall is empty—but it’ll take time with so many to visit. And many stalls have more than one man to serve customers, so they may find nothing.”

“Well, let us see whether we can learn anything from the corpse. You are sure he was not local?”

“Not with his clothes. He must have been a foreigner, murdered by someone he met on the road. They argued; he died.”

“If it was someone on the road, he would have been killed on the road,” Simon said. “Why should he have been followed all the way to town, where there are The Abbot’s Gibbet

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watchmen, when he could be stabbed and left hidden somewhere in the country? No murderer would run such a risk.”

“Maybe he had attacked the man who killed him, and left him for dead, then his victim recovered and came here to exact his revenge?”