Abbot's Passion Page 19

  ‘He started hopping around on the other leg.’

  Hoots of laughter at this. Oh dear. I hadn’t meant it to be funny. I was trying to make the point that Hamo was too preoccupied with his own injury to do anything else - like murder Fidele. But Sir Henry didn’t look impressed.

  ‘I meant, what did the prisoner do in reply?’

  ‘Nothing that I saw. But in any case by now all was chaos with stalls being overturned, people running about. Fortunately Reeve Alwyn arrived with his men to calm things down. But then there was a scream and Brother Fidele’s body was discovered with the iron bar through his chest.’

  ‘Did you see how it got there?’

  ‘No sir.’

  ‘Or who did it?’

  ‘No. But it couldn’t have been Hamo.’

  Eustache made a cry of protest at that and leaned forward to say something. But Sir Henry put out a hand to delay him.

  ‘Why could it not have been the prisoner?’

  This was my chance to put up a strong defence and I grabbed it with both hands. I went through the whole rigmarole about left and right iron rods, which way the body had been lying in the handcart, how far the bar had protruded from the body. I thought I made the case well. Sir Henry listened to it all in silence.

  ‘You seem very keen to exonerate the prisoner of the murder, Brother Walter,’ Sir Henry said when I’d finished.

  ‘Only because I don’t believe he did it.’

  ‘Based on your own theories and analysis?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘You are, in fact, something of an amateur investigator I believe?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly.’ I could feel my cheeks flush. Where was this going?

  ‘But the woman who first discovered the body,’ he glanced at his notes. ‘Alice Nevus. You’ve spoken to her since the murder?’

  The question took me completely by surprise. How on earth did he know about that? Another glance at Abbot Eustache’s smug face gave the answer to that. There was no point denying it.

  ‘I went to see her, yes, along with two of my brother monks. I wanted to see if she could shed any light on the identity of the murderer.’

  ‘And could she?’

  ‘That surely is a question only she could answer.’

  ‘And I would ask it,’ agreed the coroner, ‘but she seems to have gone missing.’

  I could feel my jaw dropping as I repeated the word. ‘Missing?’

  ‘Yes. Sheriff Peter’s men went to her hovel this morning but found it empty. Vacated rather suddenly, according to neighbours, immediately following your visit.’

  A nod from Sir Peter confirmed it.

  I glanced down at Jocelin and Jocellus who were staring back at me.

  ‘Well it can’t be anything we said to her.’

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  I felt my face growing hotter. ‘Nothing - other than ask a few questions. We were there barely a moment. We said nothing to her. Nothing at all.’

  ‘And yet she disappeared immediately afterwards. Very well,’ said the coroner. ‘You may stand down.’

  ‘But -’ I began.

  ‘I said that will do, brother. Thank you.’

  I started to leave the dais feeling utterly confused. I couldn’t for the life of me think why Alice should have disappeared so suddenly like that. We were with her for literally a few minutes. It was baffling.

  ‘Oh, one last thing,’ Sir Henry said before I finally left the dais. ‘When the prisoner was seeking sanctuary in the abbey church, did he make confession to the murder in your hearing?’

  The question completely wrong-footed me. The truth is I had never been entirely certain. It had been another confusing moment. Did he confess to the murder or not? I didn’t want to lie to a court.

  ‘Well?’ prompted Sir Henry.

  ‘I’m, er, not sure.’

  He nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  I returned to my place wondering what I had done. I looked questioningly at Jocelin.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I th-think we j-just lost it.’

  ‘Well,’ smiled the coroner seeking to make a joke of his own to lighten proceedings, ‘it seems all the ladies of Bury have taken a dislike to my court. First Margaret Cove and now Alice Nevus. I wonder what I’ve done to upset them?’

  A smattering of appreciative laughter at this. It did have the effect of relaxing the tension somewhat, but only for a moment for it was then that Jocellus chose to make his own unique contribution to the proceedings. In my bewildered state I didn’t notice him rise to his feet, but the coroner certainly did.

  ‘Yes?’ he said to him.

  ‘Brother Jocellus de Brooke, your honour.’

  The coroner consulted his notes. ‘I have you on my list. Wait till you’re called, please brother.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand, your honour. I wish to confess.’

  Jocelin and I each grabbed an arm and tried to pull him down, but he would not budge.

  ‘Confess? Confess to what?’

  ‘To the murder of Brother Fidele.’

  Chapter Twenty-four

  THE WAGER OF BATTLE

  Like a windmill when the wind suddenly drops or the water drains from the millrace, everything came to a juddering stop. For a long moment nobody moved or said anything but every eye was on Jocellus. The coroner addressed him directly:

  ‘Repeat what you just said.’

  ‘I did it,’ Jocellus said with a slight tremor in his voice. ‘I murdered Brother Fidele.’

  ‘You realise what you are saying?’ said Sir Henry gravely. ‘A confession is a very serious matter. Once made it cannot be unmade. So I will ask you one last time: do you wish to retract your statement?’

  ‘No your honour.’

  ‘Very well.’

  The coroner leaned across and had a brief word with Sheriff Peter who summoned two armed guards. They pushed their way through the crowd and each took one of Jocellus’s arms before marching him swiftly away. Hamo, too, was led off looking bemused by the sudden turn of events. Sir Henry then gathered up his papers and having had one last exchange of words with the lawyer disappeared through the cellarer’s gate followed in quick succession by Samson, the lawyer and the abbot-legate.

  As soon as they’d gone the places erupted. The usher, for once looking slightly confused himself, thrust down his staff:

  ‘Court adjourned!’

  Jocelin looked at me bewildered. ‘W-w-w-w-w-w?’ he stammered.

  ‘Quite,’ I agreed.

  Samson abandoned his self-imposed segregation and ordered Jocelin and me to his study immediately.

  ‘Did either of you two know about this?’

  Jocelin and I exchanged awkward glances.

  Samson threw his arms up. ‘Mary, Jesus and Joseph!’

  ‘We didn’t think he meant it,’ I protested. ‘We thought he was joking.’

  ‘Joking? How do you joke about something like this?’

  ‘Well perhaps joking’s the wrong word, but I don’t think either of us took him seriously.’

  Jocelin nodded his head in agreement still too tongue-tied to do more.

  ‘When did he tell you he was going to do this?’

  I grimaced. ‘Yesterday.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’

  ‘How could we? You’ve been completely inaccessible since you got back from London.’

  ‘I am never that inaccessible. There are such things as servants.’

  ‘As I say,’ I squirmed, ‘we thought we’d talked him out of it.’

  ‘Well it seems you were wrong.’ Samson pouted tapping irritable fingers on his desk. ‘Why’s he done it? What’s he up to?’

  ‘He’s not been himself recently,’ I said. ‘Not since the arrival of Father Eustache, in fact. It’s been a particularly difficult time for him with the market being closed and what have you. I think he just wants to get back to normality.’

  ‘And this is
his way of achieving it, is it?’

  ‘I think he feels responsible for what’s happening to Hamo. In fact I don’t think it, I know he does. He believes we’ve caused it and he wants to make restitution.’

  ‘N-n-no g-greater l-love hath any man th-than to l-lay down his l-life for another,’ stammered Jocelin finding half his voice again.

  ‘Lay down his life, my arse!’ growled Samson. ‘I’ll tell you why he’s doing it: Benefit of Clergy. But if he thinks he’ll get away with saying a few Hail Maries and that’ll be an end to it he’s miscalculated. This murder remains a civil matter. The church has no jurisdiction.’

  I was a little shocked by Samson’s cynical suggestion. Benefit of Clergy was what any member of the church accused of a crime can claim in order to be dealt with by the ecclesiastical rather than the civil courts. Since the church no longer executes people even for murder it is a way of avoiding the death penalty in exchange for a lesser punishment, although usually something a little more severe than a Hail Mary.

  ‘I think that’s a little harsh, father,’ I said.

  ‘Wh-what will happen to Jocellus if he c-cannot claim B-b-b-b -?’ asked Jocelin.

  ‘What do you think?’ said Samson cutting him short. ‘He’ll hang in Hamo’s place, that’s what. But don’t worry, he won’t hang for the murder, the coroner’s wise to such tricks. He’ll still hang but it’ll be for sheer impertinence.’

  ‘Jocellus simply believes Hamo is innocent,’ I said reasonably. ‘In fact we all do - me, Jocelin and Jocellus.’

  Jocelin vigorously nodded his agreement.

  ‘Oh well, if you three think so there’s no point continuing with the inquest, is there? May as well pack up now.’

  ‘What do you think the coroner will actually do?’ I asked.

  ‘If it was me I’d flog Jocellus, hang Hamo and be done with the whole sorry farrago.’

  ‘No you wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘You know as well as we do that even without Jocellus there is enough of a question mark over this matter to warrant a proper trial before a jury.’

  ‘Then the cellarer is even more of a fool because Sir Henry was on the verge of doing exactly that. But not now, not after that confession. By his intervention Jocellus has probably achieved the very opposite of what he intended.’

  There was a light knock on the door.

  ‘Yes?’ barked Samson irritably.

  A servant timidly put his head round the door: ‘Sir Henry’s compliments, father abbot. The inquest is about to resume.’

  By the time we got back to Palace Yard emotions had calmed a little although there was still an air of nervous expectancy among the spectators. Jocelin managed to secure our places again so I took the opportunity while we waited for the panel to reassemble to look at the little man whose corpse was still lying in front of the dais, the only person who hadn’t reacted to Jocellus’s declaration.

  Since I’d last seen him Fidele had been lying in the good Suffolk earth. According to Jocelin a body subject to an inquest isn’t supposed to be interred until the coroner has had a chance to examine it. But since there is no knowing when that will be and even in this cool April air a body left in the open soon starts to deteriorate, it was thought best to place him in a temporary shallow grave and then dig him up again when the coroner arrived. It had been a good decision. Despite a liberal sprinkling of rosewater he’d already started to stink. It amused me to think that maybe that was Fidele’s comment on the events surrounding him. If he could speak how much more would he say? Would he be able to tell us who killed him? I’ve heard it said that a murder victim will bleed in the presence of his killer. Perhaps we should put the theory to the test, place him in a room and have both Hamo and Jocellus approach separately and see who extracts the most blood. But I doubted after all this time that there was any blood left in the body to bleed out. On the other hand a lack of blood might confirm once and for all that neither Jocellus nor Hamo was the murderer but someone else entirely. It was an interesting thought.

  ‘Alors, cher frère. Que pense-tu, je me demande?’

  I turned with a jolt to see Abbot Eustache standing there. In my reverie I hadn’t heard him creep up. Unfortunately I wasn’t quick enough to hide my distaste for the man before he saw it, not that it bothered him.

  ‘I’m sorry, father, but it’s been many years since I was in Languedoc. I’ve forgotten most of my French.’

  ‘I was just wondering what you were thinking, brother. That poor Fidele deserves retribution, perhaps?’

  ‘Is that what we are giving him?’

  ‘Oh, I think so, don’t you? If a little late in the day. Personally, I would have liked the matter resolved weeks ago.’

  ‘By hanging Hamo?’

  He shrugged. ‘It was always going to happen, mon ami. God knows the glove seller is the murderer. The cellarer or anyone else can try to delay matters but in the end God’s will be done. It just takes you English a little longer to see it.’

  ‘Perhaps we prefer to take a little longer, father, to get it right. Our justice is like our weather - cold and persistent.’

  ‘I am from the north of France, mon ami. Our weather is not so very different.’

  ‘Indeed. You must be missing your home, father abbot.’

  He smiled. ‘Do not worry, cher frère. Once this business today is concluded I will be on my way. I have achieved what I came here to do - which you may remember was simply to keep God’s ordinances. Despite what you may think that has only ever been my purpose.’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  ‘How can you doubt it? Has not everything that has happened since my arrival been proof of his displeasure? I think after today you will find that things will settle down. After all,’ he glanced up at the cloud-strewn sky, ‘even in England the sun comes out occasionally.’

  The abbot-legate went back to his seat on the dais looking pretty smug. Samson and the coroner were also returning to their places. I tried to read their mood but it was impossible. Both were looking sour. The sheriff marched in followed by a contingent of guards who accompanied the hapless Hamo still in his chains. No sign of Jocellus. Doubtless he was languishing in the town gaol awaiting the outcome of the inquest before being dealt with. It looked as though Samson was right. The coroner had not been fooled by his confession. The inquest would proceed as before. It was all very depressing. There was, however, one bright spot on the horizon: I was surprised and delighted to see Prior Robert seated alongside Jocelin on the spectators’ benches when I returned.

  ‘For moral support,’ smiled Robert in answer to my unspoken question.

  ‘How are you feeling, brother prior?’

  ‘Better than him,’ he said nodding to Fidele’s corpse. ‘Though not for much longer, I think.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I chortled. ‘You’ve years ahead of you yet.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said the prior pulling a face. ‘It’s a bad sign indeed when one’s own physician lies to one.’

  ‘H-how do you think they look?’ Jocelin asked squinting short-sightedly at the dais.

  ‘You tell me,’ I sighed. ‘I’ve given up on scrutiny.’

  ‘Sir Henry gives n-nothing away. The abbot looks - well, I don’t know. I can’t quite see the abbot-legate’s f-features, but from the way he’s sitting I’d say he was quietly confident.’

  I nodded. ‘Worryingly so. Do you think he knows something we don’t?’

  Sir Henry rapped his knuckles on the table-top to bring the court to order. The crowd instantly hushed.

  ‘Bearing in mind the unusual events of this morning,’ Sir Henry began, ‘I do not propose to delay the proceedings of this court any longer than I have to. All the witnesses who will do so have come forward have given their evidence.’

  ‘I h-haven’t given mine,’ murmured Jocelin.

  ‘Quiet!’ barked the usher.

  ‘I wish now to hear from just one other person,’ Sir Henry concluded. ‘Call Sheriff Mealton.’

  F
rom the prompt way the sheriff stood up it was obvious he had already been primed for this. In another break from procedure, he didn’t bother to sit on the witness chair but remained standing where he was to take the oath. I also noticed while he did so that there were more guards on duty than earlier. Were they anticipating trouble?

  Sir Henry began his interrogation: ‘You are Peter de Mealton, high sheriff of the county of Suffolk?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘The accused man claimed sanctuary in the church of Saint Edmund the Martyr, I believe?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Was the claim lawful?’

  ‘It was not. It was annulled by irregularities.’

  ‘And these irregularities were the reason you arrested him?’

  ‘They were.’

  Sir Henry nodded. ‘Thank you Sir Peter. You may sit down.’

  Was that it? Were there to be no more questions than that? I was outraged. I could feel the crowd beginning to press forward behind me. They clearly didn’t like the way things were going either. The coroner rapped on the table again to gain order. He then took the unprecedented step to address the assembly directly.

  ‘You may think that the issue here is that the sheriff took the accused man into custody unlawfully. It is not. The issue revolves around the legal definition of sanctuary. Sanctuary is sought by those accused of committing a crime, but it is only granted to those who acknowledge their guilt. That is why it is necessary for the accused to offer confession. The seeking of sanctuary is thus in itself an admission of guilt. The accused man confessed to no fewer than three of the monks of Saint Edmund. From his own mouth he condemns himself. In the light of that and the fact that no other suspect has been produced I therefore have no option but to find the accused guilty as charged.’

  ‘No!’ came a woman’s voice from the benches - Cathrin, no doubt.

  But Sir Henry was deaf to all protests.

  ‘Have the prisoner stand,’ he said.

  Hamo’s guards brought him roughly to his feet. He was looking shocked and bewildered seemingly unable to take in what was happening to him.

  Sir Henry addressed him directly: ‘Hamo of Bow son of Arnold of Aldgate, you are found guilty of wilful murder of Fidele de Fly. By the power vested in me as coroner in the county of Suffolk I therefore sentence you to -’