Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘I am glad to hear it,’ said the knight. ‘Come, shall we begin again? I am sorry if I sound harsh, but I have a lot of work to get through. There are so many vills down in this area, and as Arrayer I have to try to get to all of them. Tell me, are all the roads down this way as bad as the one on the way here?’

‘Which way did you come?’

‘From the north. I passed through Oakhampton, then came southwards. The men at Exeter strongly advised me to avoid the moors without a guide. There are mires there?’

‘Many.’ And I hope you fall into one, Simon added silently. ‘They move each year. You need a man who knows his way there, it’s true.’

‘But the roads! It took me twice as long as I had expected.’

Simon shrugged. ‘The weather has been inclement, and the roads aren’t paved. At least you took one of the better ones on the way here. It follows the river in the valley. That is much better than others, like the roads between Oakhampton and Crediton. They are considerably worse.’

‘My God!’ Sir Tristram muttered, then gave Simon a wan smile. ‘Well, at least I understand you are a good guide to much of the country about here. And the moors, of course.’

‘I know the moors well enough,’ Simon agreed, taking a goblet of wine from the Steward, who returned at this moment with a tray on which stood a heavy jug and two goblets. ‘But that won’t help you.’

‘There are men there, aren’t there? Strong, hardy fellows who dig and mine?’

‘Oh yes, hundreds. But you can’t have any of them. They are all exempt, by the King’s own command. While they mine his tin, they are secure.’

‘Ah. I see.’

‘But there are many others about here. Strong enough, I’d guess, for your Host.’

‘Good. Then perhaps we can begin today. I should like to see the good Abbot’s vills about this town with a view to winning the strongest and fittest men for the King’s service.’

‘How many do you need?’

‘As many as possible. You know how the Host is organised? I take twenty men and inspect and list them and put them under a vintenar ; for every hundred, there is a centenar in charge, usually a cavalry man of some sort. When they are collected, they will march off to the King’s army.’ He paused and stared down at his hands. ‘It will be a long, weary walk up to Scotland.’

‘I thought that the King recruited his men from nearer to the border?’

‘Yes, but the trouble is, there are so few. Since the famine and the murrains, the Scottish borders are denuded of men, and the ones remaining are scurvy-ridden and feeble. We need hale, competent fellows, like the farmers you have down here. It looks as though the famine didn’t affect people this far west and south.’

‘We lost many people,’ Simon said shortly, thinking of those dreadful times. ‘God forbid that we should have another famine of that ferocity.’

‘Very good. So, are you ready to leave now?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Simon said. ‘I shall ask for my horse to be prepared.’

‘Ask for mine as well, would you? I shall just fetch my bag.’

Simon nodded ungraciously as he walked from the room. Outside he stood and took a deep breath. Arrayers were generally corrupt as hell, in his opinion. Maybe this one wasn’t so bad as some, but after the knight’s harsh introduction, Simon had taken a dislike to the suave Sir Tristram, and the thought that the vills about Tavistock were to be told to produce their finest men for this Sir Knight to take them away to war suddenly struck Simon. As he marched to the stables, he found his lips twitching into a grin.

He had a suspicion that Sir Tristram was not going to find recruiting men to be very easy.

By the middle of the morning the earlier groups of men had left the shop and Ellis could close the shutters, pack his scissors and razors, strops and soaps into his little satchel, and head for the tavern for a quick ale before going over to the Abbey and seeing to the chins and pates of the monks there.

Although not vain, Abbot Robert hated having a beard. He often told Ellis that he disliked the roughness, but Ellis also knew that the Abbot was keen to make sure that he and his monks all dressed in a manner which reflected their serious duties. They should look sober and professional, not slovenly like the mendicants so often did. It wasn’t simply pride; Ellis knew that the Abbot thought it important that their pastoral flock should see in the monks men whom they could respect. Few felt, like Augerus, that they could flout his will about facial hair.

As far as Ellis was concerned, his job was merely to shave. He had taken up his profession because there would always be men with hair, beards, teeth and veins, and while there were, he could count on being paid to trim, shave, pull or slash.

An essential part of his business was the cheery patter that he had developed over the years. With some it was bantering conversation, often making mild jokes at his client’s expense, sometimes simply being crude, but after seeing Wally, both at the coining and on Friday, he still felt little urge to be amusing. It was enough that he should keep his scissors away from his clients’ ears, his razors from nicking their throats.

Sara must have been mad. She had flaunted herself at the miner, no doubt, and he had taken advantage. Ellis couldn’t in all fairness blame the man. When he had seen her with Wally, he had felt his rage growing within him like a canker, but now he was able to be more sanguine. And since Wally’s death, Sara had certainly been mortified. She had been wailing and weeping almost all the time. No surprise, Ellis thought, with Wally’s bastard inside her.

He grunted sadly. A loyal man to his family, he had paid a lot of money towards his niece and nephews’ upbringing. This would simply be another one for him to help feed.

Augerus waited until Simon and the Arrayer had both left the room, then he went in and collected the goblets and jugs, setting them on his tray and carrying them back to his little buttery. He rinsed one goblet, glanced over his shoulder, emptied the remains of the jug into it, and drank it off in a long draught before washing the goblet and jug, and drying them with a long piece of linen.

He had nothing to do at the moment, for Abbot Robert was gone. Whenever he could, he’d take his hounds out and see what he could catch with a few of the burgesses in the town. Canny devil, the Abbot, in Augerus’ mind. He knew how to get his neighbours and tenants talking: he’d take them out for a good race through his park and afterwards, over wine and ale, he’d ask them what they thought about many of the issues of the day. That way he’d be the first to hear of dissatisfaction before any of his officials, and often he’d soothe disgruntled townspeople before their complaints could grow into full-blown feuds. It also gave him an opportunity to catch out his Bailiffs.

Augerus had heard him once, talking to a Gather-Reeve, the rent collector. The poor fellow was bowing nervously in the presence of his master, trying to show the Abbot a confidence he didn’t feel.

Abbot Robert had stopped at his side and peered down at him. ‘Aha! Reeve, and how is your lady this fine morning?’

‘Oh, she is well, Master, well.’

‘And your… let me see, you have two sons, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Master. They are well, very well.’

‘I am sure they are. And you, you are well?’

‘Yes, my Lord. I am very well indeed,’ the poor fellow had answered effusively, visibly relaxing. If the Abbot was so kindly, it was hard to remain scared.

‘Really? And yet my rents from Werrington have not been collected yet. I thought it was because you were unwell.’