Abbot's Passion Page 12

  He hesitated for a moment looking from Hamo’s wife to me and back again. Then without a word the door silently closed again. I inwardly groaned. No doubt my standing had just taken another dive in Gilbert’s estimation. I could see I was going to have some explaining to do when this was all over.

  ‘I thought you wanted a chaperone?’ Hamo’s wife asked wryly.

  ‘I meant someone like the novice master,’ I said frowning at the closed door. ‘Oh well, my reputation has been sinking lately it can sink a little lower.’ I turned back to her. ‘Child - erm, what is your name?’

  ‘Cathrin.’

  I nodded. ‘Cathrin. Have you told anyone else about this? Your lord? Your priest?’

  She shook her head. ‘Hamo is accused of murder. No-one is going to help me.’

  ‘There must be someone you can turn to for protection.’

  ‘Joseph. He sent me to you.’

  ‘I don’t see how I can help you. You need to tell the abbot.’

  She gave a sick laugh. ‘You mean the man Hamo stole a king’s ransom from?’

  ‘You don’t know him. He wouldn’t put money above a lady’s honour.’ My neck, yes, but not a lady’s honour.

  ‘I am no lady. I am a mercer’s wife from London.’

  ‘It makes no difference. I assure you if you are telling me the truth you will receive the abbey’s protection.’

  At that those dark eyes filled with tears again and she began to sob. I resisted with great difficulty an urge to put my arms around her and comfort her.

  ‘Now now, my child,’ I said wringing my hands awkwardly. ‘There’s no need for that. There must be something we can do. Is there somewhere you can go, some place of safety where the sheriff’s men won’t find you? You must have family. What about neighbours?’

  She shook her head brushing away the tears. ‘They are too afraid to help. You are my only hope.’

  God help her if I was her only hope.

  I was round to Joseph’s shop before the dust had time to settle on my laboratorium floor. This time Chrétien was there alone.

  ‘Where is he?’

  The boy looked at me in that infuriatingly guileless way of his as though he had been expecting me.

  ‘Good day to you too, Master Walter. Joseph thought you might be coming. He sends his apologies. Alas, he was called away on business.’

  ‘Deliberately avoiding me, you mean.’

  Chrétien demurred. ‘He thought it best if you and he were not seen together - for the time being.’

  I snorted. ‘Afraid of Abbot Eustache, you mean.’

  ‘Let’s just say he’s being cautious.’

  ‘Is he, indeed? Well I’ve just had an incautious visit from Hamo’s wife.’

  He nodded. ‘Cathrin.’

  ‘You know her? Why am I surprised? Well since you seem to know everything else, perhaps you can tell me why Joseph sent her to me.’

  ‘He thinks she needs protection.’

  ‘Why can’t he protect her? He protected her husband.’

  ‘He thinks she might need something a little more permanent this time. Her home is unsafe. She could hardly stay here. Her presence would be too obvious.’

  ‘And in a monastery it wouldn’t be?’

  He gave me an indulgent smile. ‘He thinks you might know somewhere a little more discreet. Just for her own protection, you understand. And that of her daughters. We wouldn’t want any more unpleasantries with the sheriff’s men, would we?’

  ‘He thinks that, does he?’

  But he was right, I might know somewhere. I frowned at the boy.

  ‘Did Joseph say anything else before he was called away on such urgent business?’

  ‘There was one other thing he thought might be of interest to you - if you’d care to follow me.’

  We went out into the courtyard behind the shop. It’s not a large area but plenty big enough to store Joseph’s stock of herbs and spices, mostly in sacks and barrels. The area is completely surrounded by a high wall with a secure gate in the farthest end which opened out onto the back lane. Chrétien led me over to a secluded spot near the farthest corner. At first I saw nothing, but then he pulled back a tarpaulin to reveal what was hidden beneath.

  ‘Good lord!’ was all I was able to say.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A MATTER OF INTERPRETATION

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Did Hamo give it to you?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Well, presumably it wasn’t simply lying by the side of the road?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  Samson glared at me. ‘You may not be at liberty at all shortly. Is it all here?’

  ‘Barring half a mark or so, yes I think so.’

  Samson walked slowly around the four money bags which I’d dumped on his study floor. These were the same four bags that Hamo had taken from me on the road to Ely. The truth is I didn’t know where they came from. Chrétien wouldn’t tell me and I didn’t like to ask for fear of what the answer might be. But it wouldn’t take much to work it out. Hamo must have handed them over to Joseph presumably as token of his sincerity. Unfortunately I couldn’t tell Samson that without disclosing Joseph’s involvement. Having been shown the hoard by Chrétien in their back yard I’d got Jocellus to bring one of his handcarts and between us we’d managed to haul it down to the safety of the abbey grounds hidden among a consignment of Welsh cheese. Miraculously Abbot Eustache didn’t appear to have gotten wind of what we were doing or he wouldn’t be standing so passively by albeit twitching with suspicion.

  Samson tried again: ‘It must have been Hamo gave it to you. He was the one who took it.’

  I shrugged. ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Oh, c’est ridicule,’ snapped Eustache losing his patience at last. ‘It is obvious what has happened. They are in league together. Him and the glove-seller.’

  For the first time since the abbot-legate arrived in Bury Samson rounded on him:

  ‘I hope, father abbot, you are not suggesting that one of my senior obedientiaries is capable of colluding in a felony? It was I appointed these men to their positions and I would take it as a personal slight if their integrity was called into question.’

  At last Samson was showing some of the mettle of his namesake. Bravo! It may not bring down the temple of Dagon but it would lower the abbot-legate’s ego a little. Eustache, taken slightly aback, assembled his features into something resembling a smile:

  ‘I would not dream of impugning your judgement, mon cher père abbé. Nevertheless it is curious, is it not, that every time something of this nature occurs le médecin is never far away?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Samson. ‘Brother Walter is the one Hamo stole the money from. Naturally it would be to him he would wish to return it.’

  ‘Then ask him again how he acquired them. It can only be that he has had contact with the glove-seller - or with someone else who did.’

  He meant Joseph. But the fact that he didn’t say so confirmed that Jocellus and I had managed to move the money without being seen.

  ‘If Walter says he cannot disclose his sources then he cannot disclose his sources,’ said Samson. ‘What matters is that the money is back. Let us be satisfied with that.’

  ‘And may I just point out,’ I added, ‘it has been returned voluntarily. That suggests something, does it not?’

  ‘Indeed it does,’ agreed Eustache. ‘It suggests the sheriff’s methods are working.’

  ‘And what methods would they be, father?’ I shot back. ‘Because some of the methods the sheriff’s men have been using to drive Hamo into the open are somewhat unorthodox to say the least.’

  ‘There, you see?’ Eustache said to Samson. ‘He admits it. He has been in contact with the man.’

  ‘Not him, his wife. And before you ask, no she didn’t give me the money either.’

  ‘What exac
tly do you mean by “unorthodox”?’ said Samson.

  ‘I mean rape, father.’

  For a moment no-one said a word. I could see Samson was shocked.

  ‘Who brings this claim?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘The lady herself. Cathrin.’

  At the mention of her name Eustache’s eyes narrowed. ‘First the husband now his wife. You seem to be on intimate terms with both, maître.’

  ‘Can she be specific?’ said Samson. ‘Can she name the man?’

  ‘Curiously enough she didn’t ask his name. But she gave a good description.’

  ‘Where is this assault supposed to have occurred?’ asked Eustache.

  ‘At her home.’

  ‘Witnesses?’

  ‘None who would testify.’

  Eustache snorted with contempt. ‘Then the accusation is clearly vexatious. What proof is there that rape even took place?’

  ‘If you’re still here in nine months time, father, I dare say you’ll have your proof.’

  He glowered at me. ‘Even then, maître.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘I mean it depends on your definition.’

  ‘Definition?’ said Samson struggling to keep up. ‘What are you talking about? Rape is rape, surely? A man forcing himself on a woman against her will. What other definition is there?’

  Eustache gave Samson his most syrupy smile. ‘Ask Brother Walter, père abbé. He is the medical man. I’m sure he can clarify better than I.’ He put his hands behind his back and wandered casually over to study a tapestry of Christ in Torment on the far wall.

  Samson raised his eyebrows to me.

  I sighed. ‘The abbot-legate is referring to Galen’s definition of rape. You know who he was, father?’

  ‘Some ancient Greek physician.’

  ‘The greatest physician the world has ever known or is ever likely to.’

  Samson shrugged. ‘So?’

  For this I had to dig deep into my memory of theoretical medicine which I hadn’t studied for fifteen years:

  ‘Galen starts with the assumption that a woman can only conceive if she orgasms. If you accept that premise it follows that if she falls pregnant she must have enjoyed the experience, and if she enjoyed it then it cannot be rape.’

  Samson was clearly finding the subject distasteful. ‘Is she pregnant?’

  ‘We won’t know for some time - during which she could be raped again, of course.’

  ‘Or be serviced by her husband,’ sniffed Eustache still with his back to us.

  ‘Serviced father? You make her sound like a brood mare.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t fall pregnant,’ asked Samson still grappling with the details. ‘What’s the situation then?’

  ‘In that case, mon cher abbé,’ said Eustache spinning round, ‘there is no evidence that intercourse even took place. It would be her word against his - the wife of a thief and a murderer against that of an officer of the law.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ I said. ‘Cathrin is not accused of anything. She’s the victim.’

  Samson sighed heavily. ‘It does sound as though the woman is trying to pressurize us - bringing an accusation in the hope that we will back off.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Eustache. ‘In which case we should do the opposite and harass her even more. Force her to give up her husband.’

  ‘That would be a truly wicked thing to do,’ I said.

  Eustache glared at me. ‘We are losing patience with this business, maître. It needs to be brought to a conclusion.’

  ‘I’m afraid I have to agree with the abbot-legate there, Walter,’ sighed Samson. ‘It really can’t go on for ever. Hamo must have no refuge. If his wife is aiding him then she is culpable too. He has to be apprehended by whatever means necessary.’

  ‘Including rape?’

  ‘We don’t know that it was rape. And besides, I have little power over the sheriff. This is a civil matter. Let him continue his work. He knows his business best.’

  ‘And if Cathrin is killed or injured in the process of his work?’

  ‘Then the perpetrator will face the same justice as Hamo.’

  ‘Small comfort to a dead woman.’

  ‘You’re exaggerating, Walter. It won’t come to that.’

  ‘You hope,’ I said. But he would not be drawn further. The meeting as far as Samson was concerned was at an end. He summoned Reeve Alwyn to pick up the three full and one nearly full bags of coin and had his men return them to the abbey treasury. As we were leaving Samson stopped me:

  ‘A word before you go.’

  Eustache and I both turned.

  ‘I’m sorry, father abbot, I need to speak to Brother Walter alone. A private matter between a physician and his patient. You understand.’

  Still twitching with suspicion, Eustache had no option but to agree. ‘Of course, father,’ he bowed.

  ‘Close the door,’ said Samson when we were alone.

  ‘Is it your protuberances again, father?’

  ‘Don’t be impertinent. Sit down.’

  We sat facing each other on opposite sides of his desk.

  ‘I’d like to thank you for supporting me against the legate just now,’ I began.

  ‘I did no such thing. I was defending the integrity of this place which is always my first priority. But I’m not having anyone dictating to me how I’m to run my abbey, not even the pope’s envoy.’

  It seemed Samson no longer needed the abbot-legate’s support over Lakenheath. Good. I was relishing the prospect of his giving Eustache his marching orders.

  ‘I take it your trip to London was successful?’

  ‘It was not. I never even got to speak to the king about the charter. And it’s probably a good thing I didn’t. Whose idea was it to go blundering into Lakenheath like that?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yours, I thought.’

  He shook his head. ‘I told Eustache to make a show of strength, not indulge in wholesale hooliganism.’

  ‘Then perhaps he’s the one you should be saying this to.’

  Samson leaned forward threateningly. ‘It’s you I left in charge. Instead you seem to have allowed Eustache to take over.’

  ‘I tried to dissuade him, father. We all did - me, Jocelin, Jocellus, even Prior Robert. But the abbot-legate is stubborn and can be very persuasive.’

  ‘Well his actions have made matters worse. A lot worse. Any chance of a negotiated settlement ended in Lakenheath village pond. The bishop can rightly claim to be the victim. We’ll never get the market closed now.’

  ‘Well that may not be such a bad thing.’

  ‘However,’ he interrupted, ‘the legate is right about one thing. You are far too close to the glove-seller. What were you doing consorting with his wife? And alone in your laboratorium, by all accounts. Good God, man, can’t you see how it looks?’

  ‘I wasn’t consorting with her. She sought me out.’

  ‘Yes, and why? Because her husband sees you as an ally. It makes me wonder what really did happen on the road to Ely.’

  ‘I’ve explained all that to you, and about the rod and Hamo’s reaction to it. And now he’s returned the money. It simply isn’t the behaviour of a murderer.’

  ‘Oh, and you’re an expert on that too now, are you?’

  ‘It’s not just that. I’ve had confirmation from other sources that Hamo isn’t the murderer.’

  He stared at me. ‘What other sources?’

  ‘I’m not at liberty to say.’

  ‘Don’t start that again. You could be forced to say. I’m sure the abbot-legate has his methods.’

  ‘It would do no good. I can’t reveal what I don’t know. Trust me on this, father. I don’t know who the murderer is but I am convinced it isn’t Hamo.’

  ‘I wish I had your confidence.’ He grimaced painfully. ‘That business about the rape. Was it true?’

  ‘So Cathrin says. I’ve no reason to disbelieve her. I can’t see that falsely accusing one of the sheriff�
��s men is going to help her husband. It might have made a difference if she’d complained directly to the sheriff. But she chose to tell me.’

  ‘Yes. Odd that isn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because she realises I am the one person willing to give Hamo the benefit of the doubt.’

  ‘Your personal sympathies are not important. We must allow the law to take its course. But mark this: if I do find you have been colluding with the glove-seller it won’t be just the abbot-legate’s wrath you need to worry about. It’ll be mine too.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  ALL JOKING ASIDE

  And then it was Easter Week, and it came none too soon for me. Everything stops for Easter, even hunting for murderers. Instead the week is filled with more sublime preoccupations beginning on Palm Sunday when we celebrate Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, through to Maundy Thursday when he washed the feet of the apostles leading to the Last Supper the night before Good Friday and the Passion of the Crucifixion itself. Finally two nights of gloom when the Son of Man is absent from the world until at last the glorious sunny morning of Easter Day when Christ rises again victorious from the grave thus vanquishing death and saving mankind.

  Except Easter wasn’t at all sunny this year. In fact the weather had been miserable all week with blustery winds and heavy showers made even more miserable by Jocellus who was still bemoaning the loss of his precious Sunday market:

  ‘I don’t know what we’re going to eat. Lamprey and trout from the fish ponds. With the market still closed there’s nothing else.’

  ‘Lamprey sounds delicious,’ I said trying not to gag at the thought. ‘Actually, I’d make do with a good lump of cheese myself. There’s one called Stinking Bishop which I believe derives its name from a pear grown by our Cistercian brothers, appropriately enough. I must remember to ask Father Eustache if he’s heard of it.’

  Usually Jocellus laughs at my jokes and the fact that he didn’t this time was a sign of how serious things were becoming for him.

  ‘When is he going?’ he frowned. ‘Has he said yet? I haven’t been able to send a single wagon of supplies to the convent in Thetford in over a fortnight. The nuns will be begging alms at the gates of the Cluniacs if I don’t find something for them soon.’