Abbot's Passion Read online

  When I got to Heathenmans Street I was shocked to find that my worst fears had already been realised. Sometime in the night a fire had been started in the shop entrance. Chrétien was still sweeping up the mess as I arrived.

  ‘Dear God, what’s happened here?’ I said stepping over bits of fallen burnt plaster.

  ‘It was only a small fire, master, quickly put out.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as a small fire, Chrétien. Small fires quickly turn into big fires and pretty soon half the town is ablaze. How did it happen? Did you see?’

  ‘I was asleep in the upstairs chamber. A neighbour’s dog raised the alarm.’

  ‘Lucky for you it did,’ I said and added grudgingly: ‘Are you injured?’

  ‘Only my foot.’

  ‘From the fire?’

  ‘From running down the stairs. I stubbed my toe.’

  I frowned at him. ‘This is no time for humour, Chrétien. You could have been badly burned. This looks deliberate to me. The killer obviously thinks you know his identity.’

  ‘You’re assuming the fire and the murder are connected.’

  ‘Well of course I am. What other explanation can there be?’

  ‘Fires are common enough hazards in shops, master - just as they are in abbeys,’ he smiled.

  ‘If you’re referring to the fire that nearly destroyed the shrine three years ago, that was an accident. Someone left a candle burning. And we had the advantage of the saint watching over us. Edmund raised the alarm himself in a dream and was never in any real danger.’ I looked about. ‘This fire was started in the doorway, yes?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Well there you are then. It was clearly not an accident but a deliberate warning.’

  ‘Warning of what?’

  I rolled my eyes with exasperation. ‘Of worse to come, of course. God in heaven, Chrétien, for an apothecary’s assistant you’re not very bright. The murderer is warning you what will happen if you disclose his name. So out with it. Who was it?’

  ‘If it’s a warning not to tell, master, then perhaps I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Well not me you fool, you can tell me, I didn’t mean me.’

  He shrugged. ‘As I’ve said before, master, I don’t know the name.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. And more to the point, the murderer clearly doesn’t either, hence all this.’

  But he just gave me his enigmatic smile and shrugged.

  ‘Ach, you’re as bad as Joseph. He’s still away, I take it?’

  ‘Yes master.’

  ‘And you don’t know where he is.’

  ‘No master.’

  ‘Would you tell me if you did?’

  ‘No master.’

  ‘Well if you do happen to speak to him tell him from me that time is running out. The coroner will be here any day now and unless we can come up with an alternative for Fidele’s murderer Hamo is the only credible suspect. He will hang, do you understand? Tell him that. Also that Abbot Eustache is intent on pressing his case hard against Hamo and he can be very persuasive.’

  ‘I am sure Joseph is already aware of the permutations, master, but I will see he gets your message - if I see him.’

  ‘Do that, and while you’re about it put a barrier against that entrance. I don’t want to come here in a day or two and find a blackened corpse.’

  ‘Your concern for my welfare is most gratifying master, but I doubt if the murderer will try the same trick again.’

  ‘No, you’re right. Something a little more permanent next time - like a dagger under the ribcage.’

  They are maddening the pair of them. But at least Chrétien managed to dowse the flames before they did too much damage. It was only a small fire and I doubt whether his life was ever in much danger. But I couldn’t believe it was accidental. Joseph wouldn’t permit naked flames to burn unattended in doorways. No, the fire had to be deliberate. Of course it could have been started by someone else and have nothing to do with the murder. But it was one hell of a coincidence if it was. I told Jocellus and Jocelin all this when I met up with them later.

  ‘D-did the boy give you the murderer’s name?’ asked Jocelin.

  ‘He claims he doesn’t know it.’

  ‘And you b-believe him?’

  ‘Oddly enough I think I do. I know the way Joseph’s mind works. He will have calculated that keeping Chrétien in ignorance was his best shield. What he doesn’t know he can’t tell.’

  ‘But the k-killer won’t know that. If he thought Chrétien knew before he may t-try again.’

  ‘Try telling him that.’

  ‘You still think Joseph knows the name?’ said Jocellus. ‘In which case he is in danger as well. Where is he now?’

  ‘I’m guessing at my mother’s house in Ixworth. It’s where he usually goes when danger threatens. How did you get on with your former Cistercian brother?’

  ‘Oh, no help I’m afraid. He knows of the abbey at Fly and has heard of Eustache and his clerk. It seems they are quite a celebrated pair among the Cistercians. Unfortunately he couldn’t tell me much about Fidele other than his reputation for diligence - something that would endear him to the abbot.’

  ‘And bring him a good many enemies, I’d imagine,’ I nodded. ‘Which might explain why no-one is willing to come forward to testify.’

  ‘You th-think there are others who kn-know the killer’s identity?’ said Jocelin.

  ‘I don’t see how there can’t. The murder took place in the middle of the day in a busy Sunday market. Someone must have seen something. We just have to find that someone.’

  ‘Reeve Alwyn interviewed everyone in the vicinity and came up with nothing,’ said Jocellus.

  ‘I’ve a theory about that, too. Right from the start Hamo was assumed to be the murderer, therefore no-one was looking for anyone else. Maybe someone did see something but didn’t connect it.’

  ‘H-he ran away,’ said Jocelin. ‘Th-that’s what guilty men do.’

  ‘Exactly, which is why I think we should be talking to people again.’

  ‘Like who?’ said Jocellus. ‘There were so many. We don’t have time to interview them all.’

  ‘We can start with the first-finder - the woman who found the body. Any ideas who she was?’

  Jocellus shrugged.

  ‘I th-think I might know,’ said Jocelin tentatively.

  The back alleys and track-ways in the north of the town are among the poorest in Bury, the land in these parts being lowlying and close to the river. They are known as the bracklands and are as unsavoury as the name makes them sound. Jocelin’s family originated from here which was why he knew the woman who first found Fidele’s body. Alice Nevus she was called on account of the distinctive wine-coloured birthmark she had across one side of her face. Jocelin had known her from childhood, although he hadn’t spoken to her in all that time. The area he grew up in was barely half a mile’s walk from the abbey yet in all the years I’d known him I never knew him to visit his home once. He was a little reluctant to come with us on this occasion, too. I have often wondered if there was some history here that he found painful.

  Alice Nevus’s house lay close to the town’s north gate not far from the town ditch. The air here is filled with disease-carrying miasmas emanating from the rotting filth, animal carcasses and decaying vegetation that gets dumped in the ditch. Small wonder Jocelin was anxious to escape it. Despite her birthmark Alice was a not unattractive woman in her fifth decade of life. She seemed very nervous when we arrived unwilling at first to let us across her threshold. I suppose having three monks suddenly appear uninvited at your door can be little intimidating. And we were in a hurry, which didn’t help. But we had to tread carefully. If we pressed her too hard she might clam up completely. She did eventually let us in and stood at the back of the room wringing her hands nervously.

  ‘I don’t want any trouble, brother.’

  ‘And we’ve not come to bring you any, sister,’ I smiled. ‘All we want is to ask you about the mu
rder.’

  ‘I already told Reeve Alwyn everything I know.’

  ‘For which he was very grateful. But I’d like you to tell us, too. Nothing more than that. Begin with why you were at the market that day. Were you buying or selling?’

  ‘Selling. Beans - my own grown in my garden.

  ‘I’m sure they were. So, there you were in the marketplace selling your beans. Did you manage to sell many?’

  She nodded. ‘Most.’

  ‘Good,’ I smiled. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. Then what?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘You arrived with that foreign monk.’

  ‘Abbot Eustache.’

  ‘He started spouting about markets and devils.’

  ‘Which meant nothing to you. Of course not. You were trying to sell your beans. So what happened next?’

  ‘He got to arguing with the glove man. Then that other monk, the little one, jumped down from the market cross.’

  I nodded. ‘Slow down, this is the important part, the part I want you to concentrate on. What happened with the little monk?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  I frowned. ‘What do you mean “nothing”?’

  ‘He vanished.’

  ‘Vanished?’

  ‘I think she means he d-disappeared among the crowd - he was a dwarf after all,’ said Jocelin. ‘Is th-that what you mean, Alice? Be t-truthful now.’

  She looked frightened. ‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’

  ‘All right,’ I said placing a restraining hand on Jocelin’s arm. ‘Fidele vanished into the crowd. But you must have seen what happened to him. How did you come to find him?’

  ‘He was just lying there with that bar through him.’

  ‘You didn’t see how the bar got into his chest? Or who put it there?’

  ‘You fainted, d-didn’t you?’ said Jocelin. ‘That’s what happened. T-tell the truth now, Alice.’

  Alice’s eyes were beginning to fill with tears. She was clearly very frightened - mostly of Jocelin’s bullying. It was most unlike him to be so aggressive.

  ‘Before you fainted,’ I said to the woman. ‘Did you see anyone go near the little monk?’

  ‘No, brother.’

  I sighed. ‘All right. Let’s go back a bit. You saw the little monk hit the glove-seller.’

  ‘No.’

  I gawped. ‘You must have done. That’s the one thing everyone saw. Fidele whacked Hamo in the shin with the metal bar. Think carefully before you answer. I may not be the only one to ask. The coroner will soon be here. He won’t take kindly to being lied to.’

  Her eyes started welling up again. ‘It was all I saw. And that’s the truth.’

  So saying the flood gates opened and she burst into tears.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter with the woman?’ I said once we were out in the street again. ‘She seemed absolutely terrified.’

  ‘I kn-know these people,’ said Jocelin. ‘They’re f-frightened of their own sh-shadows. You can’t believe a word they t-tell you.’

  ‘Your bullying certainly didn’t help. Whatever got into you?’

  ‘I think I know why she’s frightened,’ said Jocellus. ‘The hue and cry.’

  I frowned. ‘What about it?’

  ‘She’s worried that she didn’t raise the alarm.’

  ‘But she did raise the alarm. She screamed. She certainly alarmed me.’

  ‘Yes, but by law it is for the first-finder to raise the posse. If not she can be fined.’

  ‘Well it can’t be very much,’ I said putting my hand into my belt pouch.

  ‘F-forty shillings,’ said Jocelin.

  ‘Forty -!’ I carefully removed my hand from my belt again. ‘Why that’s more than I earn in a year.’

  ‘Th-that’s the prescribed amount. It’s m-meant to ensure felons don’t escape the law.’

  ‘Yes well, it’s no wonder she was upset.’

  ‘M-maybe she’s seen the murderer since,’ suggested Jocelin. ‘M-maybe she does know but is too f-frightened to speak. M-maybe Chrétien isn’t the only one he’s threatened.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s fair to expect Alice to give evidence,’ said Jocellus. ‘She won’t tell any more than she told us.’

  ‘That’ll be up to the coroner to decide. When he arrives.’

  The words were no sooner out of my mouth than we saw Gilbert hurrying down the hill towards us. He looked harassed and flustered.

  ‘Abbot Samson is back, master,’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘Heaven be thanked for that,’ I said.

  ‘But he’s not alone. He met up with the coroner on the London road. They arrived together.’

  Part Four

  THE TRIALS

  Chapter Twenty-two

  NO GREATER LOVE

  It is so often the case in life that even the most carefully laid plans are overtaken by events. I sometimes think this is God laughing at us pathetic humans and our puny preoccupations. We think we are eagles souring high above the treetops when in fact we are woodlice grubbing about on the forest floor. Every now and then our heavenly father flicks his little finger and the sturdiest of oaks comes crashing down to block our path. So it was in this case. The coroner arriving early like that stopped our investigation in its track. I had hoped to interview more people who were present in the marketplace that Sunday morning but Alice Nevus was to be the only one, and she taught us nothing we didn’t already know, except possibly that the murderer is even more ruthless than we thought. Now there is no more time. The abbot and the coroner are ensconced in Samson’s study and when they emerge it will be to try poor Hamo, find him guilty and hang him - done in less than a day. Hamo’s execution will be just one more minor annotation in the coroner’s notebook to be forgotten before supper.

  The last murder trial held at the abbey had been two years earlier when Isaac Moy was accused of murdering Matthew the fuller’s son. That was a lamentable case and still fills me with anguish whenever I think about it. Not only was the accused man entirely blameless of the crime but the real murderer had gotten away with it merely because of his rank and family connections. In that instance the abbot had been the one to sit in the judge’s chair, but that was because it had been a religious matter subject to ecclesiastical law. No such religious overtones pertained this time, this was a straight-forward murder case over which Samson had no jurisdiction. Too bad for Hamo, for whatever else I might have said about our abbot I trusted in his integrity. His judgement may not be that of Solomon but it would certainly be that of Samson: impartial and honourable. I only wished I could have said the same about the coroner, but so far Sir Henry de’Ath was an unknown quantity to me. I didn’t even know what he looked like and had to ask Gilbert to describe him to me:

  ‘Old - very old,’ he frowned. ‘And bald. Like an egg.’

  ‘How old? Think, Gilbert, for it may be important. With age comes inflexibility. The elderly get pain in their joints and cramps in their bellies that colours their judgement. As old as Abbot Samson, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh no,’ he snorted. ‘Not that old. About your age I’d say.’

  ‘Child,’ I glared at him, ‘I’ll have you know this year at Lammas I will be celebrating my thirty-seventh birthday.’

  He looked at me in amazement. ‘Will you really, master?’

  I pouted. ‘What about his clothes?’

  ‘Sober - like a judge.’ He gave a rueful smile.

  ‘Colourful?’

  ‘If mud is colourful.’

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about him that may indicate his temperament? Is he modest? Bejewelled? Did he ride an expensive mount?’

  The boy thought. ‘One thing did strike me: he was being followed by a servant.’

  ‘What’s striking about that? He’s bound to need a servant.’

  ‘A poor man, bare-headed, walking ahead of the coroner and carrying his rolls and ink-pen before him.’

  Oh dear. I’d heard about this. According to Jocelin, when the first corone
rs were commissioned their servants were made to walk before them as a mark of their office. The practice was quickly abandoned as being impractical. But if Sir Henry retained the habit it said a lot about the man. Sir Henry de’Ath sounded dour, colourless and conservative, not at all the sort of man we would want to hear our case. I could only pray that when he comes to giving his judgement on Hamo he will have a fair balance of humours. I wondered if I had time to throw his birth chart before the hearing.

  We were a sombre little trio that sat down to supper in the refectory that night. Samson wasn’t at his usual place at high table, nor was the abbot-legate - both busy entertaining the coroner in the abbot’s private apartments with Eustache no doubt pouring out his venom. The trouble was we’d never had a coroner’s court in the abbey before and didn’t really know what to expect. As ever Jocelin had done the research:

  ‘Did you know the word actually c-comes from the Latin? Custos placitorum coronas, meaning “keeper of the crown’s p-pleas”.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Jocellus. ‘How exactly does that help Hamo?’

  ‘It d-doesn’t,’ Jocelin blushed. ‘I j-just th-thought it was interesting, that’s all.’

  ‘I think what Jocellus is asking,’ I said placatory, ‘is what is likely to happen tomorrow at the trial?’

  ‘S-strictly speaking it isn’t a trial,’ said Jocelin. ‘It’s an inquest. B-but just like a trial the coroner can c-call witnesses and examine evidence. What he can’t do is p-pass sentence. O-or at least, not normally. Only in exceptional cases can he do that.’

  ‘What sort of exceptional cases?’ said Jocellus.

  ‘If a man is c-caught in the act of committing the crime. Or if he confesses. Or if he r-runs away. It c-could be argued that Hamo did all th-three.’

  Jocellus frowned. ‘What about his sanctuary? Does that not count for anything anymore?’

  ‘Unfortunately n-no. Hamo broke the rules - or r-rather, we broke them f-for him.’

  ‘Then I was right. It’s our fault he’s in the predicament he’s in.’