Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘I am not in the mood for social visits.’

‘Then I will go alone, Ralph.’

‘Do so.’

‘I feel that it’s important.’

‘Wait,’ said his friend as Gervase was about to move off. ‘Forgive my choler. Our royal reeve made my blood boil with his impudence.

You are right, Gervase. This matter must be pursued. Besides, a ride will help to clear my pounding head. Instead of contemplating murder, as I am doing now, I will be more usefully employed trying to solve one.’

‘Try to forget Nigel the Reeve.’

‘I will, Gervase, and I’m sorry to be so churlish.’

‘Turn your thoughts elsewhere.’

Ralph grinned. ‘I will. To the lady Emma. She was an angel. I could have sat there and looked at her all day.’

‘That was her husband’s intention. Let us go.’

Abbot Serlo opened the neck of the pouch and tipped its contents on to the table in his lodging. Even though he knew what to expect, Brother Frewine was duly surprised. The hoard was far bigger than he had imagined. The abbot reached down to pick up a handful of coins.

‘New-minted here in Gloucester.’

‘How much is there, Father Abbot?’

‘The amount is immaterial,’ said the other, dropping the coins back on to the pile. ‘The fact of its existence is shocking enough.

Is this what you hoped to find when you searched Brother Nicholas’s cell?’

‘I hoped to find nothing at all.’

‘But you sensed that you might. I am grateful to you, Brother Frewine. Your instinct was more reliable than my own. I was foolish enough to think that I had established complete discipline in the abbey and that all the monks were wholly committed to our common purpose. Obviously,’ he said, his voice heavy with sadness, ‘I was mistaken. Brother Nicholas rebelled against my leadership.’

‘It may look that way, Father Abbot.’

‘No other conclusion can be drawn. A hoard of coins was found hidden in his cell. Private possessions are strictly forbidden by the rules of the Order.’ He pointed at the table in disgust. ‘What use is money to a Benedictine monk? How could it be spent?’

‘On the abbey, perhaps,’ said the Precentor tentatively. ‘Who knows? Could not Brother Nicholas have been saving it up in order to present it to us?’ He saw the disbelief on the other’s face. ‘No, probably not. I just hate to assume the worst about our dear departed brother, especially when his funeral is shortly to take place.’

‘You are a kind man, Brother Frewine,’ said the abbot, ‘and always search for the goodness in human beings. But the evidence is too overwhelming. Brother Nicholas betrayed his vows. Though we will mourn his death, we must also ask one of the questions it leaves behind him.’

‘What is that, Father Abbot?’

‘Where on earth did this money come from?’

‘I think that we can both hazard a guess at the answer.’

‘The rents?’

‘How else? Brother Nicholas must have been overcharging our tenants, entering the correct payments in the accounts and keeping the difference for himself.’

Serlo shook his head. ‘Look at the coins.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They are fresh from the mint. Which of our tenants has shiny new coins in his pocket? They usually pay us in old and battered coinage with hands made filthy by work on the land. And there is another thing,’ he said wearily. ‘Tenants are quick to complain.

If they felt that Brother Nicholas was putting up their rent unfairly, they would be banging on our gates in protest.’

‘All this is true.’

‘Put the money back in the pouch. It offends my sight.’

‘Yes, Father Abbot,’ said Frewine, gathering it up. ‘You will have to report this to the sheriff.’

‘Not until after the funeral. That takes precedence.’

‘What of the royal commissioners?’

‘Who?’

‘Those colleagues of Canon Hubert. They have shown a keen interest in the murder and are making enquiries on their own.

Should they not be told about this distressing evidence?’

Abbot Serlo frowned. ‘I will need to think about that.’

‘Did you know that Brother Nicholas was murdered?’ asked Gervase.

‘Yes.’

‘How?’

‘The sheriff’s officers told me when they came to question me.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘The same as I will tell you. I had nothing to do with his death.’

‘You were the last person to see him alive.’

‘So I am told.’

‘It is natural that enquiries should start here.’

‘Why?’ said the man resentfully. ‘There is no proof that I was the last person he met that day. Others must have seen him after me. The killer certainly did. Why bother me?’

‘Because we need your help, Osgot.’

‘I have work to do.’

‘So do we,’ snapped Ralph.

Osgot was taken aback to hear himself addressed in his own language by a Norman lord. Ralph Delchard had been silent until now, letting Gervase put all the questions to the truculent Saxon.

His answers had been reluctant. Osgot was a tall, stringy man in his thirties, worn out by toil but sustained by an innate pride.

Needing to repair some fencing on the land he rented from the abbey, he was peeved at the interruption. Arms folded, he eyed both of them sullenly.

‘When did Brother Nicholas leave you that day?’ said Gervase.

‘Ask the sheriff.’

‘We are asking you, ’ declared Ralph. ‘When was it?’

A silent battle of wills was resolved when Ralph took a menacing step towards him. Osgot’s reply was grudging.

‘Towards evening, my lord.’

‘Did he head back to the abbey?’

‘Probably.’

‘Did he?’

‘I expect so.’

‘Let me ask you for the last time,’ cautioned Ralph. ‘Did he?’

‘No,’ said Osgot. ‘He rode south.’

‘You remember that now, do you?’

‘I watched him go,’ said Osgot, pointing to the road. ‘That way.’

Gervase was puzzled. ‘Away from the abbey? Where could he have been going? This was the last holding he was due to visit that day. Why ride off in the wrong direction?’

Osgot gave a shrug, his face still a mask of indifference.

‘You didn’t like him, did you?’ said Gervase.

‘None of us did.’

‘Why not?’

‘He collected rents.’

‘Any other reason?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Very much, Osgot.’

‘He’s gone. I’m glad. That’s all I have to say.’

‘Glad that a monk was cruelly murdered?’ pressed Ralph.

‘Glad that he won’t come here again.’

‘Someone else will.’

‘I don’t care. I pay my rent.’

‘But you’d rather not pay it to Brother Nicholas, is that it?’

‘You say that none of you liked him,’ resumed Gervase. ‘What was the cause of his unpopularity? Was he harsh? Bullying? Sly?’

‘Not really.’

‘Did he ever try to charge you too much rent?’

‘No, never.’

‘So why this general dislike?’

There was a long pause, ended by Ralph’s snort of impatience.

‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘Something about him,’ admitted Osgot. ‘I can’t say what it was. But it made us all feel uneasy. Brother Nicholas was strange.’

‘In what way?’

But the man had elaborated all he could. Though they searched for more detail, Osgot had none to give. It was clear that he spent as little time as possible with the rent collector and was glad to see him ride away each time. Ralph and Gervase thanked him for his help and mounted their horses again. They were about to leave when a young boy came bounding into the field, flaxen hair shining in the sun and trailing in the breeze. Osgot’s son had the vitality and innocence which he himself must have possessed at one time. As the boy called out to him, Osgot threw a worried look up at his visitors. In that moment, they learned exactly why he despised Brother Nicholas so much. Osgot had seen the monk as a threat to his son’s innocence.