The Devil's Acolyte (2002) (48 page)

‘No! I was there to demand that he return the things he had taken from the place. He denied it all, of course, but I knew that he was a thief.’

‘Did he continue to deny being involved?’

‘No. He said, “Oh, so Brother Peter has told everyone, has he?’”

‘What do you think he meant by that?’

‘Peter had been his accomplice, of course.’

‘What then?’

‘Wally said that he had nothing now. A part of the profit had gone to his colleagues and his own share had gone as a gift to Hamelin. He said he didn’t want to profit from something
which could hurt the Abbey.’

‘Did he say anything more?’

‘Only that he supposed it was the cut which had led to people finding out. He was quite phiosophical about it. He said that he had taken four-sevenths of the money for the pewter instead
of the agreed half. I rather think he considered it was a judgement on himself for cheating an associate.’

‘It doesn’t make much sense,’ Baldwin said.

‘No,’ Simon said. ‘You were there, you took a stick from Hamelin’s store to show that he had committed the murder, because you wanted him silenced after all the
embarrassment about your not paying him back the money you owed him.’

‘This is ludicrous, Bailiff! Why should I kill Wally?’

‘Simple. He had stolen from the Abbey, and you knew about it. There could be nothing more intolerable to you than the thought that someone would harm the reputation of the place. The Abbey
is now your sanctuary, isn’t it? Often those who take on the cloth later in life are more protective of their Order than those who wore the habit from an early age. How did you find out about
Wally?’

‘It was Peter. I saw him many times, walking about the place. One night I couldn’t sleep, and I saw him at the Abbot’s lodging, staring down into the garden.’ Mark
shrugged. There was little point in concealing his knowledge. ‘I have never much cared for Peter. He seems to think his looks mean he should be treated with favour compared with the rest of
us. So, I went and looked myself, and saw that Wally was there, leaving the garden with a small sack in his hand. I thought Peter must have given him something. Then, when I heard about the pewter
being taken, I was struck with horror at his crime, and I was determined to show his guilt. I went to see Wally, it is true, but I didn’t have a weapon of any sort. I told him he had to bring
back the pewter or I would tell the Abbot what I knew, and he went. That is all.’

‘You didn’t wait for him?’ Baldwin interrupted.

‘There was no point. He said it wasn’t there with him. I left him to fetch it. I intended bringing it back to the Abbey and giving it to the Abbot. The thief would surely never dare
to commit his thieving again once he knew that his thefts had been solved, but I was prepared to give him some time.’

‘Why were you prepared to give him time?’ Simon demanded.

‘He had been in a fight. His eye was closed, and there was no need for instant action. I was content that he would comply. That was enough for me.’

‘But the pewter didn’t reappear,’ Simon said.

‘No,’ Mark said sadly. ‘Wally died, and the metal was not found. I thought that was a judgement on him by God, and I was content to leave the matter in His hands.’

‘What of Hamelin?’

‘I know nothing about his death.’

‘Even though you hated him?’ Baldwin pressed him.

‘I didn’t hate him, as you put it. He was an embarrassment, a reminder of the sinful life I once led, but that was all.’

Art looked out from the cart’s back as it rattled and thumped over the moors.

‘Are you all right, boy?’ Rudolf asked.

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Don’t call me that, boy. We’re all freemen here. None of us is owned by a master. That was what we Swiss fought for at Morgarten. Now you are with us, you are safe.’

Art heard his words, but they were so momentous that he found it hard to believe Rudolf. ‘I can work my way, sir.’

He saw the flash of teeth, but there was no answer. Art was partly terrified of this calm, tanned foreigner, but he was also filled with admiration. The man seemed so confident and assured. So
too was Joce, Art thought, but Joce was cruel, often for the sake of it, while this Rudolf with his funny accent and voice had shown no desire to beat him yet.

The man who had caught him brought him straight to this Rudolf, who questioned him carefully, but plainly decided that there was no harm in him, and passed Art to his woman, who undressed him
and gave him a fresh, clean, overlarge tunic and gown while his own clothes were taken away and beaten in the waters of a stream. While the clothes were being dealt with, a youth gave him a big
wooden bowl filled with large pieces of meat in a rich, peppery gravy. Art devoured it with gusto, running his fingers around the bowl to collect the last vestiges.

Then the Bailiff and the others arrived. Art cowered in terror, thinking that they had come to take him back, for all knew how powerful Joce was, but Anna had passed him in among the women with
their children, pushing him down until he squatted, invisible, in their midst.

It was a miracle that he had not been found, but then he could hear most of the conversation, and it was plain that they weren’t after him as he feared, but instead were still trying to
learn what had happened when Wally died. It almost made him want to cry out in relief.

He was safe, he thought. Joce would find another young servant boy to abuse and beat, and Art would take up his new life as a sailor. Soon, very soon, he must make his fortune. All sailors did,
he understood. As he was considering the advantages of this, he heard a muttered curse from Rudolf, and looking back the way they had come, he saw the distant figure of a man walking quickly
towards them.

For some reason a feeling of awe and hatred welled up in his breast, although he had no idea at this distance whom this walking man might be. There was just something, in his gait, or the set of
his head, or simply the aggressive stance in which he stalked forwards, as though he was attacking the roadway in order to subjugate it, that gave his identity away.

‘Sweet Jesu!’ Art whimpered.

He could see it all now. Joce had refused to accept his going. Joce wanted him back, would drag him, screaming, to the house, and once in there, Art knew that all the pain and indignities he had
suffered before would be as nothing. For running away, he would be forced to endure the cruellest tortures his master could conceive.

Art gave an inarticulate cry and drew back into the security of the cart.

Rudolf glanced at him in surprise, then jerked his head. ‘Your master?’

‘Yes!’ It was little more than a whisper. Art’s eyes were fixed upon the steadily approaching figure.

‘You are safe with us,’ Rudolf said calmly.

‘He will kill me!’

‘No.’

Joce was in earshot now, and he bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘Hold! Stop those carts!’

Rudolf, hearing his command, muttered in German to Welf, ‘The bastard thinks he can order us around like English peasants!’

‘I said stop the carts! I must speak to you!’

To Joce’s relief the cavalcade drew to a halt, the men and women separating and the men forming a line at the rear of their column.

He was bone tired now. The horse had collapsed near Sharpitor, and he had been forced to make his way on foot after that. At least he’d been in luck so far. He wondered whether Jack the
Sergeant had been the last of a line of men searching for him, because after killing him, he had seen no more evidence of a man-hunt on his trail. Perhaps he had escaped after all, he thought.
Certainly this stranger with the thick accent seemed to pose no danger. If anything, he looked a bit stupid.

‘You are welcome, sir,’ Rudolf called, emphasising his accent. It was always useful to be able to deny comprehension when necessary, he found. ‘How may we serve you?’

‘May I crave your generosity? I have been robbed, and my food and water were stolen. Could I share a little of your food with you?’

‘Certainly, sir. It is poor fare for a gentleman. Still, you are welcome to share what we have,’ Rudolf said.

Joce smiled, although he was thinking that this man was a fool. He would eat with them, drink with them, and then, when all was dark and these ignorant foreigners were asleep, he would take the
pewter. Perhaps someone might wake – well, if they did, Joce would enjoy setting his blade across the man’s throat. It would be pleasant to kill again. There were many of them, and only
one of him – but that didn’t concern Joce. He knew he was more than equal to them.

Coroner Roger lunged at the runaway horse and hauled on its reins, almost unseating himself as the wild animal pulled him and his own horse along. ‘I have it!’ he
roared gleefully as he drew it to a slower pace, then to a canter, leaning over to pat the beast’s neck, wiping some of the foam and froth away.

‘This is my Sergeant’s mount,’ Sir Tristram said with icy calm.

‘Is he the sort of man to lose his horse?’ the Coroner asked, but even as he spoke his eyes caught sight of the stain. ‘Blood.’

‘Christ Jesus!’ The blasphemy was deserved. All along the horse’s flank was a great gout of blood.

‘I fear your man is dead,’ Coroner Roger said soberly.

‘Up there! Ah, by the devil’s cods, he must have got past all the men! Jack was up there as a last line to stop him. If he cut Jack down, he could be anywhere.’

‘Not anywhere,’ Roger said thoughtfully. ‘There are not that many paths from here. And the ground is quite damp. Let’s see if we can find out where he has
gone.’

They left the runaway horse with another of Sir Tristram’s men and made their way back up the hill. The hoofprints were clear enough, for the horse had galloped wildly, each steel
horseshoe cutting deeply into the soft, well-cropped grass, and they had no need of a tracker. They could ride at a gentle canter until they came to the body.

‘Dear God!’ Sir Tristram said with disgust.

‘It’s your man?’ the Coroner asked.

‘Yes. That looks like Jack’s body. But where’s his head?’

Coroner Roger jumped lightly from his horse and left the corpse, walking along the hoofprints until he came to a place where the blood lay thickly. ‘Here it is,’ he said, picking up
Jack’s head. He set it with the body and gazed east. ‘That’s his direction. He’s going to Ashburton.’

‘Then let’s be after him!’ Sir Tristram grated. ‘I want
his
head.’

Simon and Baldwin entered the Abbot’s lodging after him, and while Abbot Robert roared for his Steward, the two sat in chairs near his table. When Augerus hurried inside,
he was instantly sent out again to fetch wine. Meanwhile the Abbot instructed a messenger to collect Brother Peter.

That monk, when he entered, found himself being gazed at by the stern quartet of the Abbot, Baldwin, Simon, and Mark; the latter wore the most savage expression of them all, as though, Peter
thought privately, he was determined to outdo all the others in righteous indignation.

‘My Lord Abbot, you asked for me?’ Peter asked, with apparent surprise. He had been warned, but their expressions were fearsome.

Augerus entered behind him, and now stood contemplating him with some surprise, a tray of cups and wine in his hands.

‘Wake up, Steward!’ the Abbot snapped. ‘Serve us. Brother Peter, I have had some alarming news. It is said that you knew who was stealing from me; that you have known for some
time.’

Peter sniffed, his brows lifted. ‘It is true that I guessed, as you know, but I couldn’t swear to know for certain.’

‘How did you guess?’ the Abbot demanded, his face darkening.

‘My Lord Abbot, as I told you before, I saw Gerard and also Wally, taking goods. Thus when I spoke to Wally, his part was known to me, and he swore he’d fetch back the
pewter.’

‘Brother Mark has said he thinks you were helping the thieves. Is this so?’ the Abbot rapped out.

‘No, it most certainly is not. I knew he was about, and for a short while I did wonder whether
he
could be involved, but now it seems . . .’

‘You decided he was not?’ Simon prompted.

Peter glanced at Mark with an apologetic smile. ‘It is hard to imagine someone less suited to clandestine work. He would always be too drunk later in the evening to be able to perform any
quiet or secret operation without discovery.’

‘He was able to perform one,’ Simon said.

‘Oh, stealing the wine, yes,’ Peter said dismissively. ‘That was simple enough, though. Mark likes his drink too much to be able to leave it alone, and it was easy for him to
persuade Augerus to get drunk with him one night, and then, when Augerus’ wits were entirely fuddled, get him to open up the undercroft and permit him to taste the wines.’

‘You knew of this?’ the Abbot said.

Peter shrugged uneasily. ‘I thought you yourself knew. Otherwise I shouldn’t have spoken. It is a matter for Mark and God. Not me.’

The Abbot slowly turned and stared at his
salsarius
. ‘I shall wish to speak with you, Brother,’ he said heavily before facing Peter again. ‘You say that Augerus let
him in to drink my wine?’

‘I saw them.’

Augerus felt Abbot Robert’s eyes turn upon him, and hastily gabbled, ‘I am sorry, my Lord, but if I did let him in, it was because I was too drunk to realise! I could scarcely have
wanted to let him in to take all your wine.’

‘Four times in a week?’ Peter murmured in surprise. ‘You must have been extremely drunk, Augerus.’

‘Is this true?’ the Abbot snarled. ‘You went to enjoy private parties in my undercroft each night?’

‘My Lord, I don’t know. All I know is, I woke up one morning and Mark there told me that I must replace all the wine from one barrel because he had finished it, and you had announced
your imminent return. Oh, my Lord, don’t scold me and punish me for weakness – rather, punish the man who brought me down.’

‘What have you to say, Mark?’ the Abbot said.

The monk noted the absence of the fraternal title. ‘My Lord, I cannot lie to you. I did enjoy your wine. But that is all I have done, and I did tell you about Gerard. I couldn’t
bring shame to this Abbey. I believe that Gerard was not alone in stealing. I believe he had an ally within who helped him pass the pewter out to Wally.’