Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

It was that which made him turn his mind and abilities to other things. Such as the dead man, Walwynus. Still, Wally had enjoyed his last few hours. Peter had seen him in the town, somehow throwing his money about, although everyone had thought that he hadn’t more than a few pennies altogether. Ale, wine and women. That was always the way of miners when they had a bit of luck, and Wally had obviously found some cash from somewhere, because Peter had seen him indulging in the drinking, even if he hadn’t managed to find a woman to help him.

Peter entered the tavern and took his seat near the fireplace. A thin smoke rose from the logs on the hearth, and he sat behind it, waiting patiently, his head turned a little, which kept his wound to the wall.

‘Brother? You want wine or ale?’

‘Friend, I think I need a good pot of cider.’

The host left to fetch a jug and Peter watched as he went to one of the barrels and opened the tap. As soon as the greenish golden liquid was poured, he returned to Peter and passed the jug to him.

Sniffing it, Peter could discern the odour of sourness and sweetness that he found so addictive. He slurped as he drank, because of the failed muscles on the right side of his mouth, but when the publican made as though to move away, Peter held up his hand and pulled the pot from his mouth. ‘Do you remember Wally being in here on the coining?’

‘Yes, poor old git. Dead, i’n’t he? Some thieving bugger killed him up there.’

‘I saw him in here on that day, and he had plenty of pennies to throw about. Did he say where he got so much money?’

‘Di’n’t tell me anything. Might have told Sue, though,’ the host said. He glanced about the room, calling over a girl with a loosened tunic. She walked across to them, eyeing Peter doubtfully, her hands going to her tunic’s laces automatically, and Mine Host stopped her hurriedly. ‘No, the Brother here just wants to ask you a bunch of questions, Susan.’

She joined Peter, sitting at his side and gently pulling the jug towards her. ‘Well?’

‘Did you know Walwynus – the miner?’ he asked, allowing her to tilt the jug to her mouth.

She drank, nodded, and drank again. ‘Yes,’ she said at last. ‘He was often up here and trying it on. Always said he had plenty of cash, that he’d buy me for a night. Never did, of course. Bastard just wanted to bury his tarse and didn’t give a shit about paying. He used to stop me and the other girls in the roadway. Didn’t even wait to get us in here. We get fondled often enough in here while we’re serving, but it’s different out in the street. We could get in trouble with the Port Reeve if he thought we were doing business outside. Not that he’d mind usually. He likes us, the Port Reeve does. Nice man.’ She licked her mouth slowly, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. ‘He likes me. Do you like me, Brother?’

‘Very much, my daughter,’ he said. And in truth he did. He often considered that the failed people were those among whom he was better suited to live. This girl was pretty, with her oval face and striking dark hair. Her slanted brown eyes were strangely bright in the firelight, her lips tempting, her breasts were small and high, as he liked them, while beneath her thin tunic he could see that she had long, fine legs.

She leaned against him softly, so that he could feel her thin figure. ‘Would you like me, then?’

He felt the old stirring in his loins. It was many years since he had known a woman’s comfort. That was before he had entered the Priory at Tynemouth, before he had been butchered, before she had been killed. This girl was much like her.

‘Not now, Daughter,’ he said, but without conviction.

She grinned and sat up straight, her hands going to her long hair, teasing him now. ‘Then what do you want?’

‘You say Wally never had any money?’

‘That’s right. Only pennies until the coining. He had some then, last Thursday.’ She shook her head. ‘If I’d known, I’d have made him more welcome, but I just thought he was lying again. And then I saw him throwing money around like a merchant. Too late by then,’ she added regretfully.

Peter frowned to himself. When he had spoken to Wally on the morning of the coining, Wally had nothing on him, or so he had said. Yet after the coining he had money, if this girl was to be believed. So he had received it after seeing Peter, but before coming to this tavern. Perhaps during the coining itself.

‘Do you know where Wally got his money from?’ he asked.

‘He took one of the other girls, and told her he’d found a new source of tin. Somewhere out on the moors, I suppose.’

Peter nodded. He patted her thigh, feeling the tingling in his palm at the firm flesh. ‘Thank you, child. You have helped me. Now you must remember this. The Coroner will hold his inquest, and you must tell him what you have told me. It might be very important.’

‘All right, Brother. What now?’

He stared at her blankly, and then he gave a weak smile when he realised her meaning. She winked cheekily at him as he left the room, but for his part, all he felt was an all-encompassing despair.

Leaving the tavern, he stood outside breathing heavily. It would have been all too easy to accept her offer. She was a cheeky, bright, pretty little thing – just the sort of girl he had so often longed for and, every so often, the sort of girl whom he had bedded.

He was lonely, sad, and had that curious emptiness, almost a hunger for companionship, that afflicted him occasionally. It was a desire, almost a lust, for simple pleasures and the conversation of generous-hearted, ordinary people.

There was a man he knew who could help him. Looking up the way, he could see Nob and Cissy’s cookshop, and he turned up the lane towards it.

‘Hello, Nob,’ he said, but then he stopped with a slight frown on his face. ‘Ah, Gerard. What are you doing here?’

Hearing his voice, Gerard dropped his pie with a startled cry.

‘Master Bailiff, I understand the good Abbot has spoken to you already?’

Simon nodded. ‘Yes, Sir Tristram. He tells me you are to collect men for the Host?’

‘Quite so. There is a need for many fighting men now that the King has chosen to attack Scotland again and punish the Scots for their constant attacks over the borders and into English territory. They cannot get away with it.’

‘Oh. So we won’t see all our men die, like at Bannockburn.’

Sir Tristram’s face hardened a moment. His eyes were like chips of diamond, Simon thought. They reflected light in the same way that a cut stone will shine from its facets under a light. Hard and uncompromising, but that did not necessarily make him an unpleasant man. Simon decided he would give Sir Tristram the benefit of the doubt.

‘I think you should be careful who hears you making comments like that, Master Bailiff.’

He sat very neatly, a trim man with narrow shoulders and a slim waist. His robes were well fitted and richly embroidered, with plenty of fur at his neck and wrists. He had his belt on, with his sword, but at his right hip was a dagger with a magnificent enamelled pommel that looked expensive, like a gewgaw that was meant for show. That it was a working weapon was shown to Simon’s quick eye by the roughened leather of the grip. It had been worn smooth and dark in places, where the knight had gripped it, presumably in battle.

‘My friend, it was merely a pleasantry,’ Simon said.

‘Some comments like that could be thought dangerous. An uncharitable man might think they were seditious, even: tending to incite rebellion. Never a good idea.’

‘I would never seek to spread sedition,’ Simon protested. His chest felt constrained, as though he was already being shown the gibbet on which his body would hang. The charitable thoughts he had harboured burst into tiny flames and disappeared. This was one of those stuffy, self-important fools, he decided.