Abbot's Passion (6 page)

‘The market’s closed.’

I retreated again. ‘I’ve not come to buy anything. You see my robes? I’m a monk. I just want to see something over there near where the murder occurred this morning, that’s all.’

‘The market’s closed.’

‘Do you know any other phrases?’ I put up my hand before he could say it again. ‘Never mind.’

‘It’s no good, brother. They won’t let you in.’

I turned to see a man seated nearby on some sacking. With him was a young lad. I went over to them.

‘I been trying all morning,’ said the man. ‘Them over there’s my pies,’ he said pointing to a nearby barrow. ‘What’s left of ’em. What are you after?’

‘Nothing. Certainly not pies. I just need access for a few minutes.’

‘This is that French monk’s doing, ain’t it?’ he smirked. ‘Him what got his clerk killed.’

I didn’t want to get into another discussion about Abbot Eustache. ‘Are you local?’ I asked him.

He shook his head. ‘Scole. That’s the other side of Diss. Must be twenty mile or more. Rode all night to get here. And I got another market in Sudbury tomorrow. If we don’t get them pies back today there’ll be stale, that’s if there’s any left after the rats and them kids is finished. Ger-off you little buggers!’

The man threw a stone at one tiny waif who had managed to dodge the stone and grab one of the pies before making off with it.

‘Lovely pies they is, too. Me and my lad spent all week baking - didn’t we, boy?’

The lad, a thinner version of his father, gave me a cheery smile and a wave.

‘Have you spoken to the reeve?’ I said trying to be helpful. ‘He’s a reasonable sort of chap. I’m sure he’ll let you retrieve your property.’

‘Me and everyone else,’ the pie-man said indicating all the other traders trying to do the same thing. ‘Looks like we’s all goin’ be disappointed.’ He suddenly sat up straight. ‘Tell you what, I’ve just had an idea.’ He nodded towards the guard. ‘There’s only one of him and there’s three of us. Let’s all go together. You go that way, I’ll go this and the lad can take the middle. One of us is bound to get through.’

‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ I said eyeing the guard’s vicious-looking lance.

‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said the man getting to his feet. ‘We can do it. On a count of three.’

‘No I -’

‘One -’

‘No wait!’

‘Two -‘

‘No really!’

‘Three!’

Before I could object again he and his son started running hell for leather towards their barrow.

‘Oi you!’ yelled the guard and started after them not knowing which to tackle first.

I hesitated for a moment longer, and then I started running too.

Chapter Seven

THE WRONG MURDER WEAPON

‘What
on earth did you think you were doing? Look at the state of you! Your robe’s ripped, your lip’s cut and you’ve got mud in your hair.’

I was standing in front of Samson’s desk again with him glaring up at me a look of thunder on his face. Abbot Eustache was also there with a smirk like an engorged hernia on his. Admittedly I was a little dishevelled.

‘I got into a slight tussle with one of the guards,’ I said trying discreetly to hold the two halves of my hood together. ‘The good news is he knocked my bad tooth out - look!’ I showed them both the gap where the rotten molar had been and flinching at my cut lip.

‘You’re lucky that was all you lost,’ said Samson. ‘That guard had orders to keep the market clear, especially the area around the murder site.’

‘Oh I don’t think it would have come to that. Fellow was quite amenable once he understood what I was after - and released me from the headlock.’

Samson shook his head. ‘You knew the abbot-legate’s orders. The market was to remain closed.’

‘Yes, but only for tradesmen, surely, not to senior members of the abbey?’ I raised a quizzical eyebrow to Eustache.

‘Your irresponsible actions enabled one tradesman to get in,
mon frère
.’

‘You mean the pie-man?’ I said eagerly. ‘Did he manage to get his pies?’

‘He did not. They were impounded.’

I turned to Samson. ‘Oh really, father!’

‘Never mind the pie-man,’ said Samson flapping a dismissive hand. ‘What were you doing there?’

‘Looking for this.’

I produced the thing I’d been secreting beneath my robe and laid it on the desk before them. They both stared at it.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s the rod Fidele used to whack Hamo on the shin. I found it under the remains of his stall.’

Samson shrugged. ‘What of it?’

‘Well don’t you see? If it was still at the murder scene it can’t have been used to kill Fidele.’

‘Walter, Brother Fidele’s body is at this moment lying in the chapel of Saint Denis with a hole in his chest. Are you suggesting he isn’t?’

‘I’m suggesting this isn’t the weapon that killed him. But if Hamo was the murderer it would have to be.
Ergo
, he can’t be the murderer.’

Samson and Eustache exchanged glances.

‘Explain.’

I was happy to: ‘There are two metal rods like this one on a market stall that hold up the canopy roof. I didn’t realise that till I saw one today. They slot in, you see, one on the left side of the stall and one on the right. Quite clever really.’

Samson twitched. ‘Get to the point.’

‘This is the rod from the
right
side of the stall, the one that Fidele used to whack Hamo on the shin - you’ll notice it’s bent where he hit him with it. The other rod, the one from the
left
side, is the one that ended up in Fidele’s chest.’

Eustache frowned. ‘What does it matter which rod killed him? It is
who
killed him we are concerned with.’

‘It matters, father, because Hamo was never near the left side of the stall. I can vouch for that. He was all the time up at the market cross end, the
right
side of the stall. The only rod he had access to was this one. And since I found it under the rubble and it’s not sticking out of Fidele’s chest it follows that it couldn’t be the murder weapon. Therefore Hamo could not have been the killer.’

For a moment neither abbot said anything, both trying to absorb what I was saying.

‘Left-hand rods, right-hand rods,’ snorted Eustache at last. ‘I too was there,
monsieur
le détective
. We all know who killed Fidele. It was glove-seller.’

‘With respect, father, no we don’t know that. Not for certain. And there’s more,’ I said ignoring his jibe. ‘I also think the blow came from behind which would further rule out Hamo as the killer.’ I went on to explain my theory about the rod projecting further from the side it entered the body. By the time I’d finished the two of them were staring at me in incredulous silence. But I could tell from Samson’s expression that I had sown a seed of doubt there at least.

‘Where is the murder weapon now?’ he asked. ‘The one that did end up in Fidele’s chest?’

‘Ah. There’s a bit of a problem there. It seems to have gone missing.’

‘Ha!’ Eustache snorted. ‘How convenient!’

‘It was still in Fidele’s body when he was taken to the abbey,’ I insisted. ‘But it was removed so he could be laid out on the altar. Since then it appears to have, erm...disappeared.’

‘Is that the reason you wanted to view the body?’ asked Samson tapping a thoughtful finger against his chin.

Eustache jumped in before I could reply: ‘You have been to view the body? Well then, that’s the answer. You,
maître
, took the rod, planted it under the rubble and then pretended to find it.’

My jaw dropped in astonishment at that. ‘Why on earth would I want to do that?’

‘Because you do not want this man to be caught. That has been obvious from the start.’

‘Now just a minute,’ interrupted Samson. ‘Don’t let’s get carried away. Brother Walter hasn’t planted anything - except a lot of confusion. There’s obviously an explanation. I also saw the body. There was a rod protruding when it was brought to the abbey church, Walter’s right about that.’

‘You saw the body, father?’ I said. ‘In that case you’ll know which side the rod was projecting from.’

‘I...can’t remember.’

‘Father!’ I groaned with exasperation.

‘I can’t be expected to notice something like that,’ defended Samson. ‘It meant nothing to me which side the damn thing was sticking out until you mentioned it just now.’

Eustache gave a snort of contempt. ‘
C’est une théorie très fragile
. I have a better one. What if Fidele had been running away when he was attacked? In that case he would have had his back turned to his killer.’

I admit that was the one weak part of my theory. But would Fidele have been running away? He was the attacker. Why would he run? No, I was sure he would have been facing Hamo when the fatal blow was struck.

But Eustache was looking pleased with himself. ‘If you want my opinion there never was a second rod. This,’ he said pointing to the one on the desk, ‘is the only one.’

‘Then where is the blood? And before you suggest it, no I did not wipe it clean. It’s exactly as I found it. Bent and covered in dirt.’

‘It was lying beneath rubble. It is also hollow. Anything could have bent it. Or any
one.
’

‘Meaning?’

Eustache gave one of his exaggerated Gallic shrugs so that his neck practically disappeared into his shoulders. What a shame if he got stuck in that position.

‘Perhaps we should ask Jocelin and Jocellus,’ I said to Samson. ‘I’m sure they’d support me.’

‘There’s no need to ask them. I have their witness statements here,’ he said tapping a pile of parchments on his desk. ‘They make no mention of iron bars.’

‘I’ll ask them anyway.’

Before he could reply the bell for vespers started to sound.

‘Well,’ said Samson, ‘I doubt if we will get the answers we want sitting here. It is time to pray. Shall we rise for the Angelus?’

He was right. It was a convenient moment to stop. Eustache and I both had entrenched opinions which because of our mutual dislike of each other we were never likely to compromise. We all three stood and bowed our heads as Samson recited the Angelus ending with the usual entreaty to the Virgin:

‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death.’

To which I for one responded with a heart-felt:

‘Amen!’

Later at supper I gave Jocelin and Jocellus a run-down of the afternoon’s events. We three were rapidly turning into a little cohort of our own whispering in corners. We shouldn’t be talking at all during supper but listening to the uplifting words of the devotional reading from the pulpit while we chewed in silence. Fortunately the reader for the day was Brother Cyril who was a little deaf.

‘You really should t-try to do as Samson advised and n-not antagonize the abbot-legate, Walter,’ said Jocelin when I finished telling my tale.

‘
Me
antagonize
him
? The man practically accused me of being Hamo’s accomplice.’

‘All the s-same, he is an abbot - and the p-pope’s representative.’

I just glared at him. Sometimes Jocelin’s unquestioning devotion to authority figures infuriated me. Anyone would think the pope was infallible. His Holiness’s appointment of Eustache as England’s legate certainly nailed that one.

‘Where is the iron bar now?’ asked Jocellus. ‘The one you found in the market.’

‘I left it with Samson. I’m not sure he was entirely convinced by my argument but it gave him pause for thought. I think he realises Father Eustache is a bit too keen to have Hamo convicted and won’t listen to anyone who disagrees with him.’

‘In the s-same way as you are to h-have him exonerated?’ said Jocelin.

‘That’s because I’m right.’

‘F-father Eustache thinks he is right.’

I pouted. ‘Whose side are you on?’

Jocelin smiled graciously. ‘You don’t think your j-judgement is being clouded by your d-dislike of the abbot-legate?’

‘Well you tell me. Do you think Hamo is the murderer?’

He shrugged. I ripped a roll of bread in half and aggressively stuffed it in my mouth.

‘What do you think happened to the other iron bar - the real murder weapon?’ asked Jocellus.

‘Well that’s the ultimate question, isn’t it. Did it simply get lost or was it deliberately taken?’

‘By whom?’

‘By the murderer, presumably.’

‘He was taking a risk. If anyone saw him it would immediately draw suspicion.’

‘W-we are right in assuming it was a “him” and not a “her”?’ frowned Jocelin, ever the pedant.

I looked at him in astonishment. ‘Well of course it’s a man. No woman would have the strength to put an iron bar through a man’s chest.’

‘You haven’t seen some of those fish-wives I have to deal with,’ said Jocellus.

‘Why would the m-murderer risk being caught just to retrieve it?’ frowned Jocelin.

‘That’s what’s been puzzling me. And how did he know? It’s not as if it could identify the murderer. It was just one of the bars from Hamo’s stall.’

‘Unless Hamo is the t-true murderer and he came back for it.’

‘With half the town looking out for him?’ I shook my head. ‘I doubt if he could get within half a mile of the abbey without being apprehended. Anyway, why would he?’

‘Maybe the murderer was seen but no-one took any notice,’ suggested Jocellus.

‘Now that’s an interesting point. Who wouldn’t be noticed in an abbey chapel?’

We all said in unison: ‘Another monk.’

‘B-but we three were the only monks in the m-marketplace this morning,’ objected Jocelin. ‘Ap-part from Fidele and the abbot-legate, of course.’

‘The only ones we know about,’ I said. ‘A monk out of his robe is just a man.’

Brother Cyril had stopped reading to glare at us. Jocellus nudged me in the ribs and we immediately lowered out heads and concentrated on our food. As soon as Cyril looked away we started again:

‘We’re forgetting something,’ whispered Jocellus. ‘Saint Denis’s chapel is up near the west door. Dozens of people pass it every day on their way to the shrine. Any one of them could have taken the rod, and for perfectly innocent reasons. They wouldn’t know it was the murder weapon.’

‘That’s more or less what Brother Mark said. Oh, it’s so confusing. I’m afraid, brothers, that unless we can come up with a credible alternative Hamo will remain the prime suspect - for now at least.’

‘Do you s-suppose he knows the m-murderer’s true identity?’ asked Jocelin.

‘If he does why didn’t he stay to identify him?’

‘Perhaps if we c-could discover where he went and who is p-protecting him?’

‘Yes, that would be a help,’ said Jocellus.

‘No no,’ I said quickly trying to expunge the image of Joseph’s face from my mind. ‘I don’t think that’ll be much use. He’s obviously long gone from there - we’d only be wasting a lot of time trying to find out where he went. We need to know where he is now.’

And, I could have added, if Abbot Eustache caught the merest whiff that Joseph was involved he’d have him thrown out of the town and who knew what else. There was going to have to be another way to catch this murderer.