Michael Jecks - No Law in the Land

Mark was revolted. ‘So he wanted to share the money? That was all?’

‘Yes. For so much coin, most men will forget their morals. He was happy to see all those folk die in exchange for his share. I killed the only guard, and he helped me to carry the money out of the camp. Then …’ He paused. ‘Then I helped him take it away and hide it, and I went back to see that there was no alarm. Easy.’

‘And the dogs?’ Roger had been silent for so long, Osbert seemed surprised to hear him.

‘What of the dogs? I didn’t want them raising the alarm.’

‘It seemed unnecessary to kill them. Just like the murder of the children.’

Osbert looked at him blankly. ‘They were only dogs.’

Roger nodded. ‘Brother, you remain if you must, but I cannot share the same room as this dunghill rat. He makes me want to puke.’

Mark wanted to speak, but found he couldn’t. His mouth was too dry. There was no mistaking the revulsion in Roger’s eyes as he turned and left the church, and Mark felt much the same. Anselm had very likely done as Osbert had said. The poor fellow had entered the Church when he was young, and it would be no surprise that a man, even a monk, would be willing to commit a crime for such wealth. Split two ways, his share of a hundred pounds would be two years’ income for even a well-paid man. It was a staggering sum for one used to no possessions whatever.

‘There is one thing, of course,’ Osbert said in a sly tone. ‘Now I’ve nothing. But the man who’d help me escape from here could share in the money with me. A full fifty pounds, maybe more, would be his share. Just think of that.’

Mark did think, but not of the money. Instead he was remembering Anselm, the cheerful, joking, ironic monk who had lightened the atmosphere of the abbey so often. It was hard to believe that he was actually dead. Somehow Mark had hoped that he had survived the attack when his body hadn’t been found with Pietro’s. That this man had killed him, after he had perverted him from his brothers, was repugnant.

‘Fifty pounds.’

Osbert looked up. ‘It’s a lot of money. It was enough to tempt your brother.’

‘My brother? But you killed Anselm, didn’t you?’

‘He wanted to run away from me. He was dangerous to me as well as to himself. All I did was hasten his end by a very little while. And he didn’t suffer. I killed him quickly.’

‘So you might do that to me, too.’

‘I’ll swear here and now, as I believe in Jesus and in God, that I will not kill you or hurt you if you help me escape.’

Mark thought hard, and his gaze went from Osbert to the door open behind him. The money was vast. A man could live like a lord on fifty pounds.

In his scrip was the little enamelled green crucifix that Pietro had worn. He drew it out now, and studied it. It was so pretty, he thought it should never have been worn by a monk. Clearly the brothers in foreign abbeys took their vows of poverty less seriously than did the English.

‘Where did you get that?’ Osbert said sharply.

‘I found it under a bush near the glade where you killed all the travellers.’

‘It was taken by Anselm. I threw it away. I didn’t want him stealing from the others.’

Mark frowned. ‘He took it? But you said that he was gone with the money when you returned.’

‘Aye. And then I went back to-’

‘So how did he take this from Pietro? If Pietro was asleep, having a man take his crucifix would waken him.’

‘Perhaps he knocked him on the head to take it? I don’t know. But he had the crucifix later and I took it from him.’

‘No. He wouldn’t have stolen from Pietro. He would have been fearful in case he woke the man. It would only have been taken when Pietro was dead.’

‘So?’

‘If you had taken it, you wouldn’t have thrown this away. It’s gold and enamel. Surely it’s worth a lot of money. You killed Pietro and then stole this for yourself, didn’t you? And Anselm saw you and took it away.’

‘He snatched it from me! I didn’t know the fool would come back. I’d made him go so that he’d be safe. I was trying to look after him, but he came back. Some sort of guilt or something. He wanted to see what he had caused to happen. And he saw me there with the others. I saw him too, the prick! All I was going to do was tell him to go back to where he was safe, but the fool wouldn’t. He told me I was cursed if I tried to take the crucifix from a dead monk. Damn his soul for a fool! I hit him when he threw it away, though.’

‘He was right,’ Mark said quietly. ‘Perhaps the crucifix itself is cursed.’

‘You think a lump of metal can be cursed, Brother? Then throw it away yourself. Come, though, you didn’t answer me. Will you help me? Half the money will be yours if you do.’

‘How would you get it?’

‘If you will help me, we can get it easily. Those fools won’t think to guard it well. They’ll take it back to Tavistock, I expect. In the middle of the night, you help me out of here, and we’ll find them, and then it’s just a little tap on their heads and we’ll have the chest without needing to kill anyone. It’ll make no difference to anyone, Brother. If you help me, you’ll have half and I’ll escape earlier, that’s all.’

‘You won’t escape from here.’

‘You think so? I’ll be out in a few days. This little vill won’t want to spend time holding me here for no money or purpose. No, I’ll soon be out, and when I am, the money would be useful. What do you say?’

‘I will leave this crucifix. I have no more use for it, I think,’ Mark said softly. He stepped forward and very carefully placed it on the altar cloth not far from Osbert. ‘It can stay here.’

Baldwin was bitter, but there was no point in growing angry. The law was the law, and while inside a church a man was answerable to the ecclesiastical courts, not the king’s. It would be dangerous to try to prise Osbert from the sanctuary cloth where he sat now.

‘I will not have him dragged away, and that is final,’ the priest was saying, wagging a finger under Sir Richard’s nose.

The coroner appeared to swell with anger, and if Simon and Baldwin had not been there to prevent him, he might have pushed past the priest to haul Osbert out.

Mark stood at Father James’s side. ‘The good father is quite right, Sir Richard. There is nothing to be done for some days, as you know. Unless this man commits some new crime in the church, he must be allowed to remain here, safe and well.’

‘What sort of crime?’ Sir Richard asked hopefully.

‘Stealing the cross or some plate,’ Father James said acerbically. ‘And only a fool would do such a thing.’

Mark nodded. He was feeling shaky, but he looked at Sir Baldwin, hoping he would understand. Mark had grown to respect the knight. ‘Oh! I left Brother Anselm’s crucifix on the altar. Father, would you go and fetch it for me? I feel unwell.’

‘Yes, my son. Of course.’

Baldwin was watching him closely as the priest strode off into the church again. ‘Brother? Are you well? You look quite pale.’

‘I am well, I think. But I hope-’

There came a cry from inside the church. ‘Brother? Are you sure you placed it here? I can see no sign of it.’

Baldwin’s expression hardened. ‘Simon, I think that the sanctuary-seeker may have stolen a small crucifix. Sir Richard? If he has stolen something from the Church, that means he is not eligible for the Church’s protection, does it not?’

‘I will fetch him out!’ Simon said, and was about to move when a hand took his arm.

‘No, Father, please. Don’t.’ Edith had been at the gate, and had heard much of the conversation. Now she hurried across the grass and gripped his elbow.