Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘No, Master.’

‘Or your children were.’

‘Um. No, Master.’

‘Or maybe even that your wife was ill.’

There was a disconsolate mumble.

‘Well, in God’s name get over there and do your job, man! You aren’t employed by me to sit about swapping tall stories and drinking ale all day!’

The memory of the man’s face as the Abbot rode off imperiously on his great mount would stay with Augerus for ever. He smiled as he worked, and when his jobs were done, he glanced out of the window at the shadows in the court. In an hour or two he would have to prepare the Abbot’s table so that he could entertain whoever was with him today, but until then Augerus was free. He walked out of the Abbot’s lodgings to the Great Court.

The salsarius , Brother Mark, who provided the salted beef and fish, also served the Abbey as medarius , holding the stocks of wine and ale. The Abbot himself had once drily commented that the arrangement made sense – the salsarius could, by serving ale as medarius , assuage the thirst that his salted meat provoked.

Seeing Augerus, Mark smiled broadly and waved him over.

‘Aha! The Lord Abbot’s Steward is in need of a little refreshment, is he?’ he chuckled richly, and led the way into his domain. ‘Try some of this,’ he said, turning the tap on a barrel and filling a little jug. ‘It only came in yesterday.’

‘It’s good.’ Augerus smiled, smacking his lips appreciatively, pulling a stool from beneath the table and sitting.

This was an irregular morning routine for both. They tried to meet up each day, but only occasionally could they manage it. Mark was always having to rush off to supervise the salting of slabs of beef and pork at this time of year, ordering younger monks and novices about as the slaughtermen did their work, and often Augerus was held up as the Abbot demanded more paper, or reeds, or inks.

The two were friends, each respecting the other’s value in the currency that really mattered in the monastery: information.

That was the hook which had formed their relationship early on, and although Augerus knew that Mark thought himself more religious, he also knew that Mark respected him as a source of prime information about the Abbot’s thinking. That mutual trust was important to both. That was why they were wont to drink together when they had a chance. The last time had been only a few days before the coining.

Ha! Augerus could vaguely recall their meandering route back to the Abbey after so much wine; they had drunk enough to sink a ship. In fact, it was a miracle that they had managed to find their way back. For Augerus’ part, he had collapsed straight onto his bed after a few more jugs of wine with Mark.

It was the odd thing about Mark. He had the ability to consume vast quantities of wine without any apparent ill-effects. Now Augerus, next morning, felt as if someone had battered his body with a club, and his insides were all in a turmoil. He couldn’t eat anything; when he looked at a cup of wine he threw up, and the only thing which began to stay down towards the end of the day was a little water. Mark, on the other hand, had drunk more than Augerus, yet only suffered a mild headache. There was no justice in the world, Augerus reckoned.

Mind, Mark had had more practice. His red features and swollen nose bore testament to his regular consumption, testing to make sure all was well with his wines. He took his job seriously.

Now he was fixing Augerus with a serious glance. ‘I don’t like the look of Gerard,’ he said abruptly. ‘He looks like a boy with troubles on his mind.’

There was no need to say more. Both men knew that the only troubles which mattered in the Abbey were the thefts of the Abbot’s wine and the disappearance of the pewterer’s plates.

‘I shouldn’t think he would dare to steal from guests,’ Augerus said.

Mark sniffed. ‘Talk of the devil.’ He waved a hand to attract the Steward’s attention.

Leaning forward to peer through the door, Augerus saw Gerard himself re-entering the court. The novice glanced about him, throwing an anxious look towards the Abbey church.

‘Did you see that?’ Mark said excitedly. ‘Did you? That lad is guilty, I’ll bet you a barrel of Gascon wine. Look at him! He’s definitely done something wrong. I have seen guilty novices before now, but never one who looked as depressed as him.’

‘I am more intrigued by the stories about the others.’

‘Which others?’

‘Come, Mark! You must have heard the tale about the travellers on the moor? There is a party of foreigners out there, apparently.’

‘Oh, yes. But even if they did kill that miner…’

‘Wally.’

‘… Walwynus, yes – even if they did murder him, what on earth could they have had to do with the theft from the Abbey’s guests?’

Augerus smiled at the comment. In a way, it perfectly summed up Mark’s view on the world. A murder out on the moors might as well have been committed in Scotland, for all the relevance it had to him. No, much more important was the embarrassment of thefts from those enjoying the Abbot’s hospitality. ‘You recall Milbrosa?’

‘That old nonsense? Who doesn’t remember it. But you can’t honestly believe that there’s any parallel?’

‘I don’t know,’ Augerus said. His attention had returned to the boy crossing the yard. ‘But the similarity seems curious, doesn’t it?’

‘Only superficially,’ Mark said definitely. ‘Nothing more than that. I don’t believe half of the story of the mad monks and the devil. No, I think that the good Abbot of Buckfast was correct when he said that the monks fell into a mire and drowned.’

‘Don’t you believe in the devil?’

‘Of course I do,’ said Mark and crossed himself. ‘But the devil doesn’t have a monopoly. Accidents do sometimes occur. And I think that’s what happened to the monk Milbrosa and his companions. They fell into a bog.’

‘After they had sold stolen church silver from the Abbey to the travellers.’

‘ If the legend is true. Anyway,’ Mark said, leaning back on his stool as Gerard disappeared into the cloisters, ‘I’d be surprised if that young fool could have found his way to the guest house without a guide, so surely he didn’t steal from the pewterer, guilty looks or no, I suppose. But I do wonder whether those travellers have something to do with the rosaries and plate which have gone missing. If someone in the Abbey were to steal, it would be easy to sell the stuff to the travellers, wouldn’t it?’ and he shot a look at Augerus.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’ Jeanne hissed after they had left the Coroner sprawled on a low bed in their solar.

‘My love, I had no idea what he was talking about. You saw that on my face,’ Baldwin protested. ‘In truth I have little desire to return to the moors.’

‘The moors are evil. The more I see of them, the less I like them.’ Jeanne was truly upset.

‘It is only land,’ her husband said gently. ‘And yet I admit this year has been oddly unsettling. What with the tournament, and then the vampires.’ He felt his ribs gingerly. The great wound, which had felt like his death blow, which he had received during the Oakhampton tournament, had almost healed. The black and purple bruising had faded to a violent yellowish discolouration.

‘We have seen so many deaths there this year,’ she said and shuddered.

Baldwin walked over to her and placed both arms about her body. Although she resisted momentarily, soon he was able to pull her to him, and rest his head upon hers while she nestled into his shoulder.

‘My love,’ he said tenderly, ‘don’t fear for me. I am not afraid of the moors.’