Day of Wrath (32 page)

‘You look as if you need it,' said the Prior. ‘What's been going on?'

‘You've not heard then?'

‘I've not heard anything since Cromwell's minions arrived. We've been over the accounts. They think we spend too much on unnecessary luxuries. The infernal cheek of it! I can't see that what we spend is of any concern except to ourselves. We don't owe anybody anything.'

‘I'm sorry they're giving you so much trouble, but now listen, Prior…'

Nicholas talked and Prior Thomas listened. When he'd finished, he refilled their glasses and sat down heavily in one of the armchairs.

‘I'm so sorry that this happened to Mistress Warrener. Are you saying that you think this wasn't an accident?'

‘I think that someone knew that Jane and Brother Benedict were going to rehearse in the parish church at four and attempted to kill her.'

‘But why on earth would anyone want to do that? And, God help us, he could have killed Brother Benedict as well; and then what would I have said to his abbot?'

‘Well, give thanks that only one of them was hurt. But as to why anyone should want to kill Jane is because she is the one person Agnes Myles would talk to when she recovers.'

‘And you think Agnes Myles might be able to lead us to finding out who this traitor is. My God, Lord Nicholas, I thought we'd got rid of the conspirators when Mortimer was arrested, but now it appears that they're rearing their ugly heads again.'

‘And, just in case you've forgotten, the King is coming to stay with me next week. Unless we find this traitor, his life could be in great danger.'

‘And you really think this man is here with us in the village?'

‘I'm saying more than that, Prior. I think he's right here, in your Priory, and cursing his luck at this very moment because he missed his chance to get rid of Jane.'

The Prior's eyebrows shot heavenwards and he stared in amazement at Nicholas. Then he jumped to his feet and confronted him, stabbing his podgy fingers into his chest.

‘Now this really is sacrilege, my Lord. Are you telling me that this traitor could be one of us?'

‘I think so, and I would like you now to assemble all the Brothers together and ask each one, under oath, where they were at four o'clock this afternoon. Brother Benedict and I will then check out their alibis.'

‘You take the most appalling liberties, my Lord,' the Prior roared, his face flushing alarmingly. ‘What's Brother Benedict got to do with this? He's our guest.'

‘He's also agreed to be my assistant, until Jane recovers.'

‘Your assistant? Over my dead body. Since when have monks been asked to assist in tracking down traitors?'

‘Calm yourself, Prior. I'm sure there are precedents. Brother Benedict seems to think he's answerable only to his own abbot. But it's only for a short time. Jane will be on her feet very soon, I'm sure. Now, if you please, will you assemble all the brethren?'

‘Certainly not. It doesn't please me at all. It's supper time, and I can't keep them waiting.'

‘It won't take long. All I want you to ask them is where they all were at four this afternoon.'

‘We don't have to go to all the trouble of calling an assembly. I know where they were at four. In the choir, of course, singing Vespers.'

Nicholas sighed. Another blind alley. ‘Were they all present, Prior?'

‘How should I know? I wasn't there. I was dealing with Wagstaff and Laycock.'

‘Then who checked all the monks into choir?'

‘Usually Father Hubert presides when I'm busy. But I sent him off to collect more young nettles. I can't do without them at the moment after a winter of salt meat and dry fish. So today, I asked Brother Oswald to lead them.'

‘Then we must send for Brother Oswald and you'll soon be able to get to your table.'

*   *   *

Brother Oswald arrived looking flustered after this disruption to his routine. He looked nervously from Nicholas to the Prior.

‘You want to speak to me, Prior?'

‘Yes. You took Vespers this afternoon, I gather?'

‘Yes, I always do when Father Hubert is otherwise engaged,' he said with a faint hint of disapproval in his voice.

‘What time did you begin?' said Nicholas.

‘The usual time, four o'clock,'

‘Was everyone present?'

‘Nearly everyone. Brother Benedict had been given permission to rehearse in the parish church. Father Hubert was up in the woods, and Brother Michael was visiting Old Eddie up in High Dean.'

‘What's the matter with Old Eddie?' said Nicholas.

‘He can scarcely draw breath, my lord, after all that smoke he's been breathing in all his life. It's the lot of charcoal burners to die before their time because their lungs give up. Brother Michael gives him something to ease the pain.'

‘So there you are, my Lord,' said the Prior triumphantly. ‘We're all accounted for. Now can I please ask Brother Cyril to serve supper. Oh, and by the way, send my regards to Mistress Warrener and I hope she soon recovers.'

*   *   *

Nicholas collected Harry from the gatekeeper, who had brought him over from Warrener's house. He mounted and trotted off up the street towards the woods and the neighbouring village of High Dean.

The charcoal burner lived in a clearing in the woods, in a beehive shaped house made of wattles. Beside the house, the great kiln which slowly reduced the wood to charcoal, smouldered and crackled, belching out smoke which hung over the clearing like a heavy pall. Harry sneezed and backed away from the furnace, and Nicholas dismounted, tied him to a tree, and went across the glade to the cottage. Inside, he saw, in the far corner, a dim figure lying on a mat. He went across and spoke quietly to Eddie, whose breath was coming in huge laboured gasps which racked his body.

‘Eddie. It's Nicholas Peverell. Can you speak?'

‘I'm sorry, my Lord. My lungs are playing me up,' came the wheezing reply.

‘I'm sorry to see you like this. Can I bring you anything to help?'

‘Thank you, my Lord. But one of the monks has been with some medicine. It'll soon make me feel a lot better. Don't worry about me, I'll soon be up and about. When this lot of wood's done, I'll let the kiln go out for a bit, and then my breathing comes easy.'

‘Do you remember which of the monks came to see you?'

‘The same one who's been before. Brother Michael, the miserable-looking one. But he knows how to make people feel better.'

‘Do you know what time it was when he came?'

‘Oh Lord, how should I know? Everyday's the same to me. The sun rises, and I gets up, or tries to. When it's overhead I eats a bit of bread and cheese, if I'm up to it. I goes to sleep when the sun does. That's my day. He came, if you really want to know, after the time when I usually eats my dinner, and before bed time. About two hours ago, I suppose.'

A terrible burst of coughing stopped him from saying any more. He tried to sit up, and Nicholas handed him the little jar of medicine which stood by the mattress and removed the stopper. Eddie drank a mouthful with a sigh of relief and sank back on to his bed and shut his eyes. It would be cruel to ask him any more questions, so Nicholas left him and walked back to where he'd tethered Harry. So Brother Michael had been to see Eddie; but what time it was was anybody's guess.

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘I can't hang on to 'em for ever, my Lord,' said Sheriff Landstock tersely. ‘They keep moaning about their rights; and they have every reason to. I haven't arrested them yet because a burn on a sleeve of a jacket's not enough evidence and unless we have a witness who comes forward and says that they actually saw Bovet and Perkins start the fire I can't hold them for questioning much longer. I can't make 'em talk, you know.'

‘I thought you had ways of making people talk,' said Nicholas, who was standing at the window of the Sheriff's office in Marchester watching the crowds surging round the nearly completed market cross.

‘I've done what I can, within the law. I've kept them in the dark and starved 'em. I can threaten them with the manacles but I can't move them to Lewes to use them. We need some proper evidence. What about the ale-house keeper and his wife? Any joy from them?'

‘None at all. But I'm sure they know something, and in time, they will probably come out with it. But not yet. Everyone seems frightened; everyone's clammed up. You know how it is. Who are all those people out there, Sheriff?' said Nicholas, leaning forward to get a better look at the crowd outside.

‘God knows. They come to look at the cross, I suppose. They make a lot of work for us – thieves, vagabonds, muggers – ale-houses working all hours; more trouble when they close and the drunks roam the streets. People have heard that the King's coming and rumours are flying around that he's coming here to Marchester. What do you think, my Lord?'

‘I'm quite sure he'll be giving Marchester a wide berth. All that business with the cathedral Precentor, Rodney Catchpole, has put him off coming here for a long time. Besides, we're running a tight schedule. Because of the dangerous security situation, Southampton wants him off his territory as quickly as possible. I think we'll get him to leave most of his retinue behind and ride to Portsmouth with just a handful of people he can trust. The King's quite capable of riding the twenty miles to Portsmouth and back on fast horses. It's probably safer keeping him moving than letting him lumber along in a coach where he could be ambushed. I know Southampton says he's providing soldiers to line the route, but he hasn't enough men to cover every square inch of the way. There's bound to be gaps.'

‘Fitzroy wants to bring his men here. Says we'll need extra men to guard the King. What do you feel about that?'

‘Tell Fitzroy to stay where he is until we need him. I don't trust him; and neither does the King.'

‘My sentiments exactly. Southampton'll give us enough men. He's edgy enough as it is and wants to put bowmen all along the route and cannoneers at Portsmouth Point; much good they'll be!'

‘They can be deadly if the ball lands in the right place.'

‘Let's hope the beggars know how to aim straight. In any case the King won't be standing on his own for long. He wants to see the fleet sail past – God willing. Let's hope the wind changes direction by this time next week – it's coming from the east at this moment, and that's hopeless. Let's hope, too, that it doesn't give up altogether, or work itself up into a storm and scatter the fleet all over the Solent.'

‘Cheer up, Sheriff, I didn't know you were such a pessimist.'

‘A pessimist? Aye, that's the right word. It's because I'm losing sleep over this visit. I don't like it one little bit. The sooner next Thursday's over, the happier I shall be. Then it's back to the thieves and muggers again – child's play! Oh, by the way,' he went on, looking across at Nicholas sympathetically. ‘I'm sorry about this lass of yours. I hope she's not too badly hurt. A pretty girl, if I remember rightly.'

‘Yes, she is. It was a wretched business; and what's more, I don't think it was an accident. Someone tried to kill her, Sheriff.'

‘Now that's a bit far-fetched, isn't it? No one takes a wench seriously.'

‘They do if she's the one person a key witness is likely to talk to.'

‘You mean that old witch of yours. I thought you put her safely out of harm's way.'

‘She's under lock and key, but it now appears there's more than one key, so she's not entirely safe. Fortunately she's still confused, but when she comes to her senses, it'll be Jane she'll talk to – provided nothing happens to her in the meantime.'

‘Better keep an eye on both of 'em then; just like I do with Bovet and Perkins. How is the lass?'

‘She'll recover. I'm going to see her after I leave here, provided that old bear of a father lets me in. Now Sheriff, I've got something to tell you that's going to shock you. But just hold still until I'm finished.'

‘Shock me? Sheriff of Marchester? Never. I've seen everything. Mind you, I was pretty shocked when Mortimer was arrested.'

‘Then you'll be even more shocked when I tell you that I am beginning to think that our traitor, who took over when Mortimer was arrested, could be one of the monks.'

The Sheriff whistled. ‘Now that does take a bit of swallowing. And I hope to God, Lord Nicholas, you know what you're doing. But you've got a good head on those shoulders of yours, even if you're not too keen on using it. Now what makes you think that this fellow with the damn silly Latin name is one of the holy monks?'

‘Because, in the first place, they've got a motive. They've got a grudge against the King. Secondly they're all literate and quite capable of carrying on a correspondence with Reginald Pole. They know Latin. They know the King's coming, and they're on the spot. And they know how to poison people with harmless-looking herbs, and they know they are above suspicion.'

‘And they're also enclosed behind the monastic walls.'

‘Not all the time. The Prior's very lax. They visit the sick, collect herbs in the woods, and one of them runs messages for me.'

‘Let's hope it's not the Prior?'

‘It's possible, but I don't think so. I don't think he's capable of murder. He's far too easy-going. This Ultor, like Mortimer, is a ruthless fanatic. He's not afraid to die if he's caught in the attempt to murder the King. In fact, he's probably training up someone else to take over should he get caught before the King arrives.'

‘This is bad, my Lord. And very worrying. Damn me, it's time we got some good ale down our throats.'

He called for a servant who came with a jug and two tankards in hand. Both men drank in silence.