The Lost Prophecies (21 page)

That was where his imagination failed him. Alexander had been bound to the pillar in which he had hidden the book. Who could have done that to him? And how? The lad wasn’t incapable. He had looked quite strong enough to protect himself. Perhaps the assailant had a partner? Again, the vision of the two Franciscans sprang into his mind. He could easily envisage one holding a knife to Alexander’s throat, while the other gripped his hands and bound them behind the pillar, only to have the first begin to cut with his blade at the poor lad’s breast, slowly slicing to peel back the flesh.

It was a repellent idea, and yet Simon was unable to eradicate it from his mind. He could imagine the poignant agony of the point of the knife settling on his breastbone, then slipping slowly downwards . . .

What had the lad done to deserve such a foul death? Merely pick up a book. That was insane! No one deserved death from touching a book.

‘Ah, awake at last?’

‘Baldwin, I didn’t sleep very well last night.’

‘Nor did I as a result!’ Baldwin said grinning.

‘My head feels a little strange, as though it has been filled with feathers,’ Simon confessed.

‘There is a strange thing, now. And you hardly finished your fourth jug of wine.’

It was a terrible thing to admit, but there were times, especially when Baldwin was at his most righteous, when Simon could dislike his old friend. This reaction had much to do with the fact that the knight preferred to avoid strong drink and only supped sparingly of wine. Last night Baldwin had drunk little, from the sight of him.

Suddenly Simon’s belly felt uncomfortable. There was a feeling that his head was hotter than the rest of his body, and he had a roiling sensation in his gut. ‘I think I need a little water,’ he said.

After breakfast, which comprised bacon, cold beef, some thick slices of bread soaked in gravy and four eggs fried in the bacon’s fat, Simon felt considerably better.

‘You don’t deserve to be able to eat all that,’ Baldwin muttered after toying with his own cold meat.

‘I have managed to learn a little about our friends the Franciscans,’ Bishop Walter murmured. ‘This morning I spoke to a friend who is close to the order.’

‘And?’ Baldwin asked, leaning forward keenly.

‘It would appear that they have come from the Pope himself,’ Walter said.

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed this. ‘Why should they be at the abbey, then? Are they on an embassy for the Pope? But then they would be going to the palace to discuss the matter with the king. Yet here they are, remaining in the abbey itself.’

‘Perhaps they have business elsewhere?’ Simon said.

‘If that is the case, surely they would have continued on their way until they came to the place where they should conduct their affairs? There is no reason for them to break their journey.’

‘Unless, of course, their business is to be conducted at the abbey itself,’ the bishop said.

‘Such as acquiring a book which the Pope wants?’ Baldwin guessed.

‘That is a thoroughly scurrilous comment,’ the bishop said with finality.

‘But what else could they be doing?’

‘I do not know, but I have been told that Martin is one of the most highly regarded friars in his order.’

‘What of James?’

‘His reputation is more . . . ambivalent.’

‘Interesting,’ Baldwin murmured.

‘Why?’ Simon asked.

‘If they are truly on an embassy from the Pope, surely he would pick two men of equal integrity? Not one above reproach and one who was less than spotless?’

They were soon at the abbey, and Baldwin led the way into the abbey’s grounds. Once there, they crossed the northern tip of the abbey church and went down to the abbot’s house.

The young novice, Robert, who had served them wine the day before, was at the abbot’s door when they knocked.

‘He is very busy, Sir Baldwin.’

‘Ask him if he could make a little time to speak to us.’

The boy looked reluctant, but he did as he was bid and soon returned to take them up to the abbot’s hall. Here they found the abbot standing near his fire, head jutting pugnaciously. ‘Well?’

‘Abbot John, we do not wish to make your life more difficult,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘As you know, we have been asked to find out who was responsible for the murder of Alexander. Is there anything you can tell us which could help us?’

‘What on earth could I know? Do you suspect me of the murder?’

‘Abbot, please. We have heard nothing but good about your ministry here. No, I do not accuse you.’

‘That is good. I have spent all my waking hours doing the very best possible for this house since I was elected to the abbacy. I will not tolerate any insinuations about my work. How could anyone think that I would do anything to harm this house? I love it with all my heart.’

‘It has been through hard troubles in the last years, I think?’

‘Under Abbot Wenlock it was sorely tested. He was . . . well, he was a weakly man. Many of us are. He misused his position, and that meant his monks could misbehave as well. They were involved in frolics with whores, they consorted with gamblers and gamers, and then there were the robberies.’

‘More than one?’ Simon asked. ‘We heard only of the attempt on the crown jewels.’

‘Which attempt? There were many. Once a short while after the loss of Acre, again at the turn of the century. And did you know that a hundred pounds were stolen from the money given to the abbey for the chantry Masses to be held for Queen Eleanor on her death? Can you imagine that? Monks stealing from money donated for the good of a woman’s soul!’

‘Is that why the king had the men skinned and set their hides on the door?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Probably. It was a good reminder to the monks about the sort of treatment they could expect if they were to misbehave again. Not that the king trusted them after that, and nor did his son. The crown jewels were removed after the last attempt, and now they’re stored in the Tower of London, I believe.’

‘At least that must have been the end of the problems here, though,’ Simon said.

‘Would that that was true! After the disaster of the robbery, many of the monks were held in the Tower, and even when they were released the king never forgave them. They fell to internal squabbles. Disputes that could serve no useful purpose, but led only to the diminishment of the abbey. It did not stop until the old abbot died. Fortunately, since then we have had a period of calm and have re-established some sense of
purpose
.’

‘Only to see it savaged by this latest disaster,’ Baldwin finished for him.

‘Exactly! How can I possibly hope to protect my community from news of a terrible murder like this?’

‘You cannot save it entirely, but if the killer is located and brought to some kind of justice then at least there will be some resolution. If the killer is not found, matters will be a great deal worse.’

‘Why?’

‘All will think that the murderer remains here within your walls. Not only outsiders, but those within your community will remain distrustful of their own brothers. Lay brothers will look askance at the brethren in the choir; those in the choir will be doubtful of their companions; all those outside the abbey will wonder who was responsible. It will never be possible to clear the taint unless you help us to find the actual murderer.’

It did make sense. The abbot was silent for a period, staring hard at Baldwin. Then he turned away and gazed through his window. It was all very perplexing. The abbey was his responsibility, as was the community within. The book was very important. It had to be kept from the eyes of those who could not understand it. It was too provocative, too sensational. Too dangerous. But he had another duty. As the abbot, he had to protect the abbey itself. The abbey was more than merely a collection of monks – it was a small outpost of God’s on this very tainted soil. Monks had a duty to serve and save souls, but the abbey was more than merely the sum of their efforts. Eventually, he sighed. ‘Very well. I will do all I may.’

‘We know of the book already. Do you think that Alexander could have been selling it for his own benefit?’

Now he had chosen the path of honesty, it was easier to answer. ‘No. I think that the lad was incapable of such an action. I tell you plainly, I never acted as confessor to him, and so can be honest: he never struck me as particularly bright. He was a good illuminator, true, but no more than that. He would never have plotted anything, I believe, to the detriment of the abbey. He did not have the imagination, and he was not evil.’

‘Unlike the man who killed him.’

‘Quite so.’

‘Why should he have been slain in so foul a manner?’

‘The boy was skinned, just as the earlier thieves were. Master Puddlicott was the instigator of the robbery of the crown jewels, I believe, and he was hanged and skinned. One could almost imagine that poor Alexander was looked upon in the same light by someone who saw him in the crypt.’

‘Do you mean to suggest that one of your monks saw him there and decided to punish him?’

‘I make no suggestion. I merely reflect on the facts and wonder.’

‘Is there anyone in the abbey whom you could suspect of such an offence?’

The abbot turned and stared at him. ‘Do you seriously believe that if I knew a man here who was capable of such an appalling act I would conceal him?’

‘He was speaking from his heart,’ Simon said as they left the abbot’s chamber.

‘He gave that impression,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘And yet I am sure he has suspicions. I refuse to believe that he would not have his own idea about who could be guilty.’

‘Perhaps he is fearful to admit to them.’

‘Why should he fear any man here? Within the community he has full powers. Any man he thought could be responsible could be arrested in an instant and held securely in gaol.’

‘That is true if he feared a death, but he could be more anxious about damage of another sort. The danger of the book, for example.’

‘What sort of danger could that book hold?’ Baldwin wondered aloud.

‘If all that we have heard is true, and if it is thought to promote the prince as the Antichrist, do you not think that it could bring retribution upon the abbey itself? The king may accuse the abbot of harbouring the book to the detriment of his son and thus the realm?’

‘That is possible. Although the abbot could hardly be blamed for something written long ago by someone in Ireland, surely?’

‘When the king is involved, it is best not to be too confident,’ Simon said.

Baldwin nodded. King Edward II had a reputation for brutality which was unequalled.

Simon noticed the novice Robert near the entrance to the buttery as they walked to the door. He nodded, and Baldwin peered. The novice appeared to have been weeping.

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

‘Yes. Yes, I am well.’

‘You knew the dead monk, did you?’

‘Yes. He was a good man. Kind and generous.’

It looked as though he was going to burst into tears again. Baldwin beckoned him over. ‘Is there anyone who could have wanted to harm him? He appears to have had no enemies here, and yet he was killed in a particularly foul manner.’

‘No one in the abbey could have wanted him dead. All loved him. He was respected by the prior, and his work was highly praised by all who saw it. No one could have wanted to do that to him!’

‘But someone did,’ Simon muttered.

‘It must have been someone from outside the abbey, then. No one in our community could have wanted to see him dead.’

‘Do you mean to accuse the Franciscans?’ Baldwin asked sharply.

‘I accuse nobody!’ the lad blurted anxiously. ‘I am only a lowly . . .’

‘Did you hear anything the night he died?’

‘We all heard his screams.’

‘You know that is not what I meant. Was there anything specific you heard which would lead you to believe that the Franciscans might have been guilty?’

Simon interrupted before the boy could respond. ‘This is a matter of murder, Robert. Not some novice’s prank. If I want I can ask the abbot to command you to answer.’

‘I heard them.’

‘Who?’

‘The Franciscans. On the night he died. I heard them talking in the passage. They were talking about the book, saying that they must get it.’

‘They knew about it, then?’ Baldwin said.

Simon was frowning at Robert. ‘You knew about it too, didn’t you?’

‘All of us know of the Black Book of Brân. It is not the sort of thing that could be kept quiet. How could you keep a thing like that secret? We all knew that it was there.’

‘You all knew it was in the crypt?’

‘Yes. In one of the boxes.’

‘I see. What did the friars say?’

‘They were angry that they couldn’t find it. I heard the younger one say that they would have to search again.’

‘What did his friend say?’

‘I didn’t hear,’ the lad admitted. ‘I suppose he spoke more quietly.’

‘And this was in the corridor near the dormitory?’ Baldwin said.

‘Yes.’

Simon was frowning. ‘But before or after the screams?’

‘Oh, before. I went out with the others as soon as we heard the screams. They were terrible.’

‘If that’s so,’ Simon said, ‘you must have seen Alexander rise and go out?’

‘I just thought he was going for a piss. It didn’t occur to me that he was going to the crypt,’ Robert protested.

‘We accuse you of nothing,’ Baldwin said soothingly. ‘But tell me: it was after you had heard the voices?’

‘Yes. He must have heard them too, I think.’

‘Why?’

‘It was almost immediately afterwards that he rose. He was as quiet as possible, and I looked at him, but he was going so quietly I assumed he didn’t want to speak to me. And I didn’t want to wake the others.’

‘Where did he go? Straight out into the corridor?’

‘No. Not at first. First he went to the prior’s house. I could tell. I heard the doors over at the far end of the dormitory, and then the door to the prior’s house.’

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a look. Both recalled Friar James’s accusations about homosexuality against Alexander and the prior.

Simon said: ‘You can tell that? It couldn’t have been the abbot’s house?’