Abbot's Passion Page 6

  I thought back to the fight. It was a chaotic scene but as I remember it Fidele had just struck Hamo on the shin. At that moment they would have been facing each other. If Hamo then picked up the bar and attacked Fidele with it he would have done so facing him and therefore the bar would have been protruding mostly from the front of his chest. From my memory of seeing Fidele’s body lying on that cart I’m almost certain more of the bar was sticking out of his back suggesting the fatal blow came from behind which in turn meant Hamo could not have administered it. The trouble was I couldn’t be certain. No point asking Jocelin since he had his eyes closed most of the time and Jocellus was off summoning the reeve. What I needed was someone else who was there at the time, someone who regularly worked the market and might have seen what happened…

  I made my way to the newly-rebuilt almonry up against the abbey wall. If I were vain I might point out that it was rebuilt mostly with money from my medical practice, but since I’m a modest sort of chap I won’t mention it. I’m really quite pleased with my new almonry. It’s a much more substantial structure than the flimsy lean-to it replaced. I’m no longer almoner but I still take an interest. A queue of hopefuls was lined up along the road waiting for alms and Brother Richard, the new almoner’s assistant, was busy distributing leftover scraps from the abbey’s dinner table to the deserving poor. Among those clamouring for free handouts was a particularly pathetic, filthy and hooded cripple dressed in rags and bent double with age and infirmity.

  ‘What’s this, Mother Han, no eye-patch today? Are we witnessing a miracle? Has sight been restored to the sightless? Halleluiah and praise be!’

  Brother Richard stopped what he was doing and peered hard at the hooded hag before him.

  ‘You’ve been round once already today,’ he said angrily snatching back the half trencher he had just given her and shoved it into the hands of the little girl who was waiting next in line.

  Mother Han spat on the ground and let out a string of invectives at the hapless Richard before shambling out of the queue. I shambled after her.

  ‘I might have guessed it was you, Brother Stuck-up,’ she sniffed. ‘Haven’t you anything better to do than spy on decent folk trying to ward off the pangs of hunger for a few hours?’

  ‘You don’t look hungry to me, quite the opposite. And alms are for the needy. It was fortunate that I happened along to stop you stealing food from the mouths of innocent babes - like that little girl behind you.’ I noticed the same girl was keeping pace a few yards behind us now while picking at her trencher.

  ‘It was her I was doing it for,’ she said jabbing a backward thumb. ‘I can wheedle more out of you tight-fisted monks than she can.’

  ‘I don’t think Brother Richard would permit a waif like that to go hungry.’

  ‘Not today maybe. But she’ll need to eat again tomorrow. Will you be here to feed her?’

  ‘So it’s charity work you do now. Is this your latest vocation?’

  ‘More so than yours.’

  ‘Mine is a vocation from God.’

  ‘Who’s to say mine isn’t?’

  She stopped briefly by the plague-stone and peered inside. The plague-stone is a bowl-shaped vessel honed out of solid rock and sticking out of the abbey wall into which donations are placed for lepers and others in need. It is kept filled with vinegar as a barrier to disease. Mother Han dipped her hand into the liquid, scooped out the few coins that lay on the bottom and then licked the vinegar off her fingers.

  I wrinkled my nose in revulsion. ‘Aren’t you afraid of catching something?’

  ‘What I en’t got already en’t worth catching. Besides, I got you here to cure me, ain’t I?’ she cackled. Then she scowled again. ‘What do you want? It aren’t good being seen ’sociating with a monk. Gives an honest woman a bad name.’

  I sighed. ‘I was in the market today.’

  ‘I know. I seen ya.’

  ‘Then you also saw what happened.’

  ‘Saw some Frenchie monk spouting some nonsense.’

  ‘After that, I mean. The fight.’

  ‘Fights happen all the time in the market,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Not many end in murder.’

  She shook her head. ‘Didn’t see no murder.’

  ‘If you were there you must have seen it. The place was in uproar.’

  She stopped. ‘I’m a half-blind old widder-woman. What would I see?’ And to make the point she fished in a pocket for her eye-patch and replaced it over one eye.

  ‘You and I both know there’s nothing wrong with your eyes. They’re as good as mine.’

  ‘Pity then you can’t see what’s in front of yours.’

  ‘So you did see something. If you did then for goodness sake speak up. A man’s life may depend on it.’

  She shrugged. ‘What do I care? If he don’t hang for that he’ll hang for summat else. He’s a Londoner. Only one thing worse than a Frenchie and that’s a Londoner. Sounds like a good day’s work to me,’ she cackled.

  I turned and faced her. ‘Mother Han, did you see who killed Brother Fidele or not?’

  She pouted. ‘Your trouble, Brother Snooty, is you keep asking the wrong questions.’

  ‘Then tell me what questions I should be asking.’

  She sighed and stuck three grimy fingers in my face: ‘Who was there? Who took Hamo in? And who helped him escape?’

  ‘And the answers?’

  She sniffed. ‘Not saying.’

  ‘It’s your duty.’

  ‘Duty!’

  ‘I could have you whipped.’

  ‘You could try.’

  ‘Mother Han!’

  She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Ask your ’pothicky friend. He was there.’

  I stepped back, and not just because of the foulness of her breath. ‘You mean Joseph?’

  For the second time that day I was stunned to hear Joseph’s name being mentioned.

  ‘Aye, that one. The clever Jew.’ She grinned at my reaction. ‘Thought that would surprise ya. Ask him, He knows more than he tells you.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Hear no evil, see no evil, that’s my motto.’

  She left me still being followed by the little girl who had finished her half-trencher.

  ‘But I’ll tell you one thing for nought,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘That pole what kilt the French dwarf, it come from the side of one o’ them upturned stalls. And there’s two sides to every stall like there is to every tale - teeheehee!’

  Two sides to every stall? What did she mean by that? I couldn’t think for the minute, I was still too stunned by the mention of Joseph’s name. The bell was ringing in the abbey again calling us to prayer but I ignored it as I hurried back up the hill again to Joseph’s shop. I hardly noticed the stick lying across the entrance indicating that the shop was closed for business, and stepped smartly over it. Inside there was no sign of Joseph but his assistant, Chrétien, was weighing some powder on a set of scales as I blustered in.

  I have to admit that I have never liked this young man although I would be at a loss to explain exactly why. Really I suppose I should be grateful to him. Two years earlier when I was attacked in the forest by the evil Geoffrey de Saye, some mysterious rescuer had stepped in saved my life. My cloak had been pulled over my head so I never saw who my saviour was, but the unspoken implication was that it was Chrétien. Yet to look at the lad it was impossible to believe. Geoffrey de Saye was a knight, a warrior who had fought alongside both King Henry and King Richard and was as powerful a soldier as ever lived. Surely this slight youth would not have had the strength to defeat such a man? I suppose I was ashamed to think I might owe him my life so I never thanked him and he never admitted it. Maybe it was this that irritated me so much about him, as though saving my life was so incidental to him that it was hardly worth mentioning - plus the infuriatingly superior smile he always wore and indeed was wearing now.

  ‘Where is your master?’ I asked him curtly.
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br />   ‘Joseph is not here.’

  ‘I can see that. I asked you where he was. And please don’t call him “Joseph”. He’s your employer not your friend.’

  The smile merely broadened. ‘What should I call him?’

  ‘Master Joseph will do.’

  ‘He doesn’t like being called master.’

  ‘I don’t care what he likes or what you call him when I’m not here. When referring to him in my presence you will call him Master.’

  He shrugged. ‘As you wish.’

  I held my jaw that had started throbbing again. ‘When will he be back?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say.’

  ‘Couldn’t? Or won’t?’ I flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Never mind.’ I looked about me. ‘Has anybody else been here today?’

  ‘Other than customers?’

  ‘Yes, other than customers.’

  ‘Yourself?’

  I could see I was not going to get a sensible answer. I wanted to hear that Hamo had been here, rescued by Joseph and then spirited away which was what I suspected from my conversation with Mother Han. I was probably wasting my time asking. Joseph would have been careful to hide any evidence, and what he didn’t clear away himself I was sure Chrétien would have. But I needed to stamp my authority on this insolent servant.

  ‘I’m going to look around now. Please don’t try to stop me.’

  He smiled again. ‘I wouldn’t dream of trying, master.’

  I found nothing of course and left Joseph’s shop even more frustrated than when I entered. No clues, no signs of mess or blood from Hamo’s wounded shin, no evidence that he had been there. But at least I had the satisfaction of creating a mess for Chrétien to clear up. Serve him right for his impudence. The question was, though, why would Joseph rescue Hamo, assuming I was right and he had rescued him? There was nothing more than a tenuous connection between them. Both were market traders but that was all. I doubted whether Joseph had even heard of Hamo before today. The only reason that made sense was that Joseph didn’t think Hamo wasn’t the murderer either. Did that mean he knew who was? That was what Mother Han had been intimating. I dearly wanted to ask him and preferably before I went to Ely, but he was now missing too, damn his eyes, and Chrétien wasn’t telling me where.

  With all this chasing around I’d missed most of the day’s offices as well as my dinner and the next one was at nones. If I missed that as well tongues would begin to wag. I also had to start making preparations for my journey to Ely in the morning. But that final comment by Mother Han was weighing heavily on my mind. What did she mean about a stall having two sides? Of course a stall has two sides. And a top and a bottom. So what? What had it to do with Fidele’s murder? Maybe if I saw a stall Mother Han’s meaning would become clearer. Despite my anxiety to return to the abbey I turned left out of Heathenmans Street instead of right and went up into the marketplace for the second time that day.

  Samson was as good as his word. The square, so vibrant and full of life a few hours ago, was now deserted save for the reeve’s marshals who were posted at the four entrances and dotted at regular intervals around the perimeter. From the looks of it the market must have been cleared in a hurry. Many of the stalls were still on their pitches along with much of their wares.

  The site of the murder was on the diametrically opposite side of the square to where I was. I suppose I could have circled round the back and approached from the top end, but time was pressing and the most direct route was to cut across the square - assuming the marshals would let me in. I decided the easiest way would be to just march in brazenly as though I had every right to do so in the hope I wouldn’t be challenged. Unfortunately the guard nearest me had other ideas and stepped smartly in front of me as soon as I took my first step across the perimeter line.

  ‘The market’s closed, brother.’

  I gave him my most confident smile. ‘Yes I know, I just need to get to the market cross briefly. I shan’t be a moment.’ I tried to take another step forward but the man wouldn’t budge.

  ‘The market’s closed.’

  I retreated again. ‘I’ve not come to buy anything. You see my robes? I’m a monk. I just want to see something over there near where the murder occurred this morning, that’s all.’

  ‘The market’s closed.’

  ‘Do you know any other phrases?’ I put up my hand before he could say it again. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘It’s no good, brother. They won’t let you in.’

  I turned to see a man seated nearby on some sacking. With him was a young lad. I went over to them.

  ‘I been trying all morning,’ said the man. ‘Them over there’s my pies,’ he said pointing to a nearby barrow. ‘What’s left of ’em. What are you after?’

  ‘Nothing. Certainly not pies. I just need access for a few minutes.’

  ‘This is that French monk’s doing, ain’t it?’ he smirked. ‘Him what got his clerk killed.’

  I didn’t want to get into another discussion about Abbot Eustache. ‘Are you local?’ I asked him.

  He shook his head. ‘Scole. That’s the other side of Diss. Must be twenty mile or more. Rode all night to get here. And I got another market in Sudbury tomorrow. If we don’t get them pies back today there’ll be stale, that’s if there’s any left after the rats and them kids is finished. Ger-off you little buggers!’

  The man threw a stone at one tiny waif who had managed to dodge the stone and grab one of the pies before making off with it.

  ‘Lovely pies they is, too. Me and my lad spent all week baking - didn’t we, boy?’

  The lad, a thinner version of his father, gave me a cheery smile and a wave.

  ‘Have you spoken to the reeve?’ I said trying to be helpful. ‘He’s a reasonable sort of chap. I’m sure he’ll let you retrieve your property.’

  ‘Me and everyone else,’ the pie-man said indicating all the other traders trying to do the same thing. ‘Looks like we’s all goin’ be disappointed.’ He suddenly sat up straight. ‘Tell you what, I’ve just had an idea.’ He nodded towards the guard. ‘There’s only one of him and there’s three of us. Let’s all go together. You go that way, I’ll go this and the lad can take the middle. One of us is bound to get through.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ I said eyeing the guard’s vicious-looking lance.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said the man getting to his feet. ‘We can do it. On a count of three.’

  ‘No I -’

  ‘One -’

  ‘No wait!’

  ‘Two -‘

  ‘No really!’

  ‘Three!’

  Before I could object again he and his son started running hell for leather towards their barrow.

  ‘Oi you!’ yelled the guard and started after them not knowing which to tackle first.

  I hesitated for a moment longer, and then I started running too.

  Chapter Seven

  THE WRONG MURDER WEAPON

  ‘What on earth did you think you were doing? Look at the state of you! Your robe’s ripped, your lip’s cut and you’ve got mud in your hair.’

  I was standing in front of Samson’s desk again with him glaring up at me a look of thunder on his face. Abbot Eustache was also there with a smirk like an engorged hernia on his. Admittedly I was a little dishevelled.

  ‘I got into a slight tussle with one of the guards,’ I said trying discreetly to hold the two halves of my hood together. ‘The good news is he knocked my bad tooth out - look!’ I showed them both the gap where the rotten molar had been and flinching at my cut lip.

  ‘You’re lucky that was all you lost,’ said Samson. ‘That guard had orders to keep the market clear, especially the area around the murder site.’

  ‘Oh I don’t think it would have come to that. Fellow was quite amenable once he understood what I was after - and released me from the headlock.’

  Samson shook his head. ‘You knew the abbot-legate’s orders. The market was to remain closed.’

 
‘Yes, but only for tradesmen, surely, not to senior members of the abbey?’ I raised a quizzical eyebrow to Eustache.

  ‘Your irresponsible actions enabled one tradesman to get in, mon frère.’

  ‘You mean the pie-man?’ I said eagerly. ‘Did he manage to get his pies?’

  ‘He did not. They were impounded.’

  I turned to Samson. ‘Oh really, father!’

  ‘Never mind the pie-man,’ said Samson flapping a dismissive hand. ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘Looking for this.’

  I produced the thing I’d been secreting beneath my robe and laid it on the desk before them. They both stared at it.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s the rod Fidele used to whack Hamo on the shin. I found it under the remains of his stall.’

  Samson shrugged. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Well don’t you see? If it was still at the murder scene it can’t have been used to kill Fidele.’

  ‘Walter, Brother Fidele’s body is at this moment lying in the chapel of Saint Denis with a hole in his chest. Are you suggesting he isn’t?’

  ‘I’m suggesting this isn’t the weapon that killed him. But if Hamo was the murderer it would have to be. Ergo, he can’t be the murderer.’

  Samson and Eustache exchanged glances.

  ‘Explain.’

  I was happy to: ‘There are two metal rods like this one on a market stall that hold up the canopy roof. I didn’t realise that till I saw one today. They slot in, you see, one on the left side of the stall and one on the right. Quite clever really.’

  Samson twitched. ‘Get to the point.’

  ‘This is the rod from the right side of the stall, the one that Fidele used to whack Hamo on the shin - you’ll notice it’s bent where he hit him with it. The other rod, the one from the left side, is the one that ended up in Fidele’s chest.’

  Eustache frowned. ‘What does it matter which rod killed him? It is who killed him we are concerned with.’

  ‘It matters, father, because Hamo was never near the left side of the stall. I can vouch for that. He was all the time up at the market cross end, the right side of the stall. The only rod he had access to was this one. And since I found it under the rubble and it’s not sticking out of Fidele’s chest it follows that it couldn’t be the murder weapon. Therefore Hamo could not have been the killer.’