Unholy Innocence (26 page)

‘The last time we spoke on the subject I told you that King John’s hold on the throne is tenuous. I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Quite simply the Angevin Empire is finished.’ Samson ran his hand wearily over his pink pate. ‘Much as we all admired King Richard as a warrior, his foreign adventures drained the country over the ten years of his reign and left nothing for his brother with which to start his. Now Richard is dead, England is a wounded lion and the wolves are circling. Next year or the year after John will lose his territories in France, and when he does those English barons with estates on the other side of the Channel will join their French colleagues in rebellion. The loyalty of those remaining on this side cannot be guaranteed either. The Earl Marshal and Archbishop Hubert both agree with me that we cannot afford another distraction at such a time. Peace hangs upon a thread. If de Saye’s…indiscretions…were to become public knowledge our enemies abroad would use them to attack his nephew the Justiciar and weaken the government further. Rebellion will turn to civil war and we will have the Anarchy back again. That cannot be allowed to happen. England needs firm government now as it never needed it before.’ He looked at me with piercing eyes. ‘Now perhaps you will appreciate how difficult my position has been. I spoke of loyalty. If it’s a choice between one dead Jew and
the security of the realm I know where my duty lies.’

I thought for a moment. ‘Father, I do not pretend to understand the complexities of government. I am a simple country doctor, I can only deal with the symptoms that present before me. You say you didn’t want de Saye’s part in this murder to become public knowledge, but if that’s the case why did you have it investigated? Surely it would have been better to have no investigation and allow matters to take their course. You had your motive for the murder – a boy martyr. A Heaven-sent motive, you might say. That being the case, de Saye’s name need never have been mentioned.’

‘I had to give the appearance of doing all we could to solve the murder,’ he explained. ‘Too many people were watching us – you’ve no idea.’ He looked at the window as though expecting to see one of King Philip’s spies crouched on the ledge. ‘If it had looked like a cover-up the consequences might have been even worse. I needed someone to investigate the case convincingly – at least to
appear
to be doing so.’ He looked at me sheepishly. ‘If you want the truth, I never thought you’d be successful.’

I felt my face colour at his words. ‘I see. So when you said you chose me because of my investigative skills the opposite was actually the truth. You were expecting
me to fail.’

This brought a wry smile to his face. ‘But you didn’t fail, did you? You managed to work it all out.’ He studied me thoughtfully. ‘You have worked it out haven’t you, Walter?’

I frowned, shaking my head slowly from side to side. ‘No. Not all of it. There’s something more, something you’re still not telling me. Anyone else – Jocelin, say - could have done what I did and probably finished this case much more quickly and neatly. There’s another reason you wanted me, something to do with de Saye’s hatred of me.’ I drew myself up. ‘You know the reason for that too, don’t you? Isn’t it time you told me?’

Samson sat thoughtfully for a long minute. I could see the turmoil going on behind his eyes. I waited. Finally he said quietly, ‘Does the name Mandeville mean anything to you?’

Of course it did. Who in the east of England had not heard of Geoffrey de Mandeville, the so-called
Scourge of the Fens
? My father told me about him when I was a little boy. Geoffrey de Mandeville had been a nobleman at the time of the Anarchy and had fought at different times for both Matilda and Stephen, switching sides according to whichever he thought would profit him the most at any one time. Eventually he committed one treason too many and was arrested. As punishment he was given the choice of execution or of giving up all his possessions. He chose life and fled to the marshy swamps of Cambridgeshire from where he and his private army of mercenaries plundered, tortured and murdered anyone unfortunate to fall into their hands and lived by extorting ransoms from their families. No-one, regardless of age, sex or rank was safe. King Stephen was unable to get an army through the impenetrable Fens to rid the people of this menace leaving de Mandeville to carry on terrorizing the east of England for more than a year.

‘Eventually he was killed,’ concluded Samson. ‘Rather as King Richard had been, struck down by a sniper’s arrow while he was besieging a castle. This time not a French castle but an English one not far from here. Burwell Castle, near Cambridge.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I said shortly. ‘My father was one of the defenders.’

Samson nodded. ‘Did you then also know that it was your father, William de Ixworth, who fired the fatal shot that killed Mandeville?’

I was stunned. I knew my father had seen action during the civil wars but I never knew before that he’d killed anyone. He had certainly never mentioned it to me. Maybe that was what had turned him against war when he was sent to the Holy Land and why he devoted the rest of his life to saving others instead. I sincerely hoped so.

‘So are you now going to tell me that Geoffrey de Saye is somehow related to Geoffrey de Mandeville?’ I guessed, almost chortling nervously at the absurdity of the suggestion. ‘It would certainly explain where he got his character from if he were.’

Samson continued to study me stoically. ‘Geoffrey de Mandeville’s sister, Beatrice, married a man called de Saye. Geoffrey de Saye is her grandson.’

Now I was angry. Not that de Saye hated me because my father killed his uncle but because Samson knew all this, must have known it even before de Saye arrived in Bury. My life had been in danger from the moment
he set foot within the town walls and yet Samson had never warned me, never even mentioned it. At the banquet, in the King’s bedroom and any time thereafter de Saye might have murdered me and I would have been completely unprepared. It was what Joseph had come to warn me about the night of the football match, the night Matthew was killed.

‘So I was to be the bait. That’s the real reason you chose me to investigate the murder, to provoke de Saye into doing something foolish. If he’d managed to kill me it could have been explained away as the actions of a man obsessed with revenge and de Saye could then have been quietly disposed of. No messy business involving fraud and blackmail, just the simple case of settling old scores.’

‘
Attempted
to kill you, Walter. There was never any possibility of him succeeding.’

‘He very nearly did this morning.’

‘But, God be praised, he didn’t and you are still here to tell the tale. And de Saye has compromised himself just as we hoped. Believe me, you were never in any real danger. I took care of that.’

‘Are you telling me it was one of your spies who saved me in the forest this morning?’

‘Naturally,’ Samson nodded modestly. ‘How could you think otherwise?’

‘So it was your man all along. The same man who’s been following me around the town for the past two weeks?’

He looked puzzled. ‘Following you round the town? No no, I meant the wagon driver and his sidesman.’

Yet again my mouth dropped open. ‘You mean that smelly snaggle-toothed midget and his lice-ridden pal?’ I guffawed. ‘They ran away at the first sign of trouble.’

Samson flapped his hand in the air. ‘That’s neither here nor there. The point is de Saye was unsuccessful and now he will pay the price.’

‘Oh?’ I fumed. ‘And what price is that?’

Samson grinned broadly and raised a fat finger in the air. ‘Until now Earl Geoffrey would never hear anything against his uncle – you know what these old families are like, they stick together like dog-shit sticks to fur. And by the way, you’ve nothing to fear from the Earl over this business with your father. He’s not like his uncle where blood feuds are concerned – different generation, d’you see?’

‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

Samson nodded. ‘But now the King is involved. He knows about de Saye’s attempt to defraud him of his rightful inheritance and he is displeased. Mightily displeased.’ He rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘Oh-ho yes, he’s tripped up there and no mistake. De Saye has queered his pitch with the King. So that means he’s finished. No amount of toadying will get him out of this one. Naturally he won’t have a trial for all the reasons we’ve discussed. But there is a vacant manor in the gift of the Earl which would more than liquidate de Saye’s debts – provided he remains on it.’

‘I see. Exile. To where?’

‘Shropshire.’

I snorted. ‘So, in the end de Saye escapes justice. Like all of his rank.’

Samson mooed coquettishly. ‘I wouldn’t exactly say that. Have you been to Shropshire?’ He smiled, rising from his seat. ‘I think you’ll find things will quieten down now.’

‘What if I don’t want them to quieten down?’ I said remaining seated. ‘Suppose I decide to expose the whole shoddy business.’

Samson stared at me. ‘Did you not hear what I was saying? This is all to be kept strictly between us. Babble any of it about and it could be construed as treason.’

‘Not if it was the King I babbled it to.’

Samson eyed me suspiciously. Slowly he sat down again. ‘I’ve told you, the King already knows. And besides, he won’t see you again.’

‘He might,’ I said. ‘If he thought there was the possibility of a year or two’s income - from a vacant abbacy.’

I paused to let the implications of my words sink in. As Jocelin had mentioned much earlier, Saint Edmund’s was one of the richest abbeys in Europe.  In law the income from any abbacy that fell vacant defers to the crown until a new abbot is appointed – a very tempting source of money to a cash-strapped monarch, and John was greedy enough to encourage it. And what will happen to my lord abbot in that case? Exile back to Norfolk? Or worse.

‘Treason, Walter,’ warned Samson quietly. ‘The penalties are not pleasant.’

‘Then I suppose it comes down to which of us has most to lose. As I said, I am but a humble physician. My concerns are with justice not with the whining of some faceless nobles in France. However,’ I continued quickly before Samson could respond. ‘If Isaac Moy is shown not to be involved in the murder, and there was a public exoneration of all the Jews of Bury naming Isaac and Jacob Moy specifically, then I might feel I have no need to go to the King.’

Samson sat thinking for a long minute. Finally he smiled. ‘Well, we don’t want another Palm Sunday massacre, do we?’ He started to rise again.

Inwardly I sighed with relief. I didn’t know whether I would have had the courage to carry out my threat but was just thankful that I wouldn’t have to find out.

‘It may already be too late,’ I said. ‘The common folk have taken Matthew to their hearts. Jocelin may even write another history, God help us.’

Samson seemed unconcerned. ‘Memories are short,’ he said coming round to my side of the desk. ‘These things come and go with fashion. I have told Egbert and Jeremiah that they will not have my support if they appeal to the Pope and the Holy Father has enough problems of his own at the moment without our parochial squabbles. It will all blow over, you’ll see. And now that Brother Alric is dead...’

‘What?’ I interjected. ‘Alric
dead
?’

‘Yes,’ said Samson. ‘Haven’t you heard? His body was fished out of the Lark this morning. A tragic accident.’ He frowned shaking his head.

‘Oh no,’ I said, sincerely shocked by the news, and lowered my head in a moment of silent prayer.

Samson drew himself up haughtily. ‘By all means pray if you think it will help him where he’s going.’

‘Alric was a victim too,’ I said.

‘I doubt if Matthew’s mother would agree with you. I have made provision for that woman, incidentally, even though it pained my hand to authorize it. She will be allowed to keep the fuller’s cottage together with a pension - on condition that she does not visit her son’s grave in the abbey grounds. No doubt in the fullness of time his body can be moved to a churchyard closer to her home – once things have quietened down. Don’t take it so personally, Walter,’ he said placing an arm round my shoulders. ‘You have your reputation restored and you can carry on doing what you do best - healing the sick and comforting the poor.’

He gently coaxed me towards the door.

‘By the way,’ he said in a confidential tone. ‘Speaking of healing the sick, I’ve been meaning to ask your advice on another,
personal
matter. This whole unfortunate business has been playing havoc with my digestive system – something not dissimilar to the King’s as a matter of fact,’ he laughed nervously and lowered his voice. ‘It’s a little embarrassing.’

‘You are constipated, father?’

He grimaced. ‘It’s a little more advanced than that,’ he said rubbing the back of his thigh. ‘Some, erm,
protuberances
. I was hoping you could suggest an infusion I could take? Something perhaps a little less drastic in its effect than the opiate you gave the King.’

I thought for a moment and then nodded. ‘Rhubarb, liquorice and goose fat, father.’

‘Really? How interesting. I’ll try it.’

He frowned thoughtfully as I opened the door and stepped out into the now crowded antechamber. ‘Erm - just one thing. The rhubarb and the liquorice I understand. But the goose fat - how should one take it?’