Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

He stopped and glanced up at the sky, which was darken-ing. ‘Perhaps I am just too old, Bailiff. I spent so many years trying to find peace where none existed, and then I received this, when the Scottish rebels came over the dale and attacked us in revenge for a raid that English reivers had launched on them. Where is the sense? Will the feuds never cease?’

‘I am sure they will,’ Simon said seriously. ‘Once the Scottish stop rebelling against the King’s rule, and we become one nation again as we should be, the border region must be pacified.’

‘Bailiff,’ Peter said, smiling now as he faced Simon. ‘You cannot pacify those men, only kill them. They won’t stop fighting until they are dead, or all their enemies are, and there is nothing more for them to steal.’

‘Then perhaps it is natural for Sir Tristram to want to fight them and protect his own,’ Simon said hesitantly.

‘Him? He is one of the worst of them,’ Peter said, and his voice was suddenly terribly cold, as though he had seen the ghosts of all his friends who had died on the Marches passing before him. ‘Few on either side of the border don’t know of Bloody Tristram.’ The old monk stopped and looked past Simon to the Abbey’s church tower. ‘He doesn’t only attack the Scottish, our Sir Tristram. He is like the shavaldours – happy to rob any man for profit. No one may cross his lands without being attacked.’

‘Are you sure?’ Simon asked doubtfully. ‘The King has sent him here as an Arrayer. Surely he wouldn’t send a man who was untrustworthy?’

Peter looked at him; there was deep sadness in his eye. ‘You think the King would object to a man like him? Sir Tristram gives King Edward all he wants: a constant fight to irritate the Scottish, and a boundless zeal for killing Scots and terrorising the whole of the March. Whenever the King wants men-at-arms or archers, he can go straight to Sir Tristram and find a ready source.’

‘Yet he needs to send Sir Tristram here to fetch them?’ Simon queried.

‘At times the King needs more men. When he plans to slaughter even more Scottish than usual, or when the Scottish decide to raid more deeply into England, like a sword thrust, instead of their usual short stabs at the border, like daggers, then he needs more men. But whatever happens, Sir Tristram will not lose by it.’

Simon could say nothing. The pain in Brother Peter’s face was all too evident, and the Bailiff wanted to distract him. ‘You have heard about the dead man on the moors?’

‘Poor Walwynus? Yes. Terrible to think of his being clubbed to death so far from friends, out on that bleak moorland. He lived out in the middle of the moors, didn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘In among the tin-miners, then. Do you think one of them could have killed him?’

‘It’s possible, although I can’t understand why.’

‘You know how it is. Feuds.’

Simon shot him a glance. The old monk was facing the ground now, but Simon was sure that he was watching him keenly from the corner of his eye.

‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘that will be for the Coroner to discover.’

‘Who is the Coroner?’

‘Sir Roger de Gidleigh,’ Simon said, adding, ‘He’s a very astute man. The killer should beware. If there is any sign of who was guilty, Sir Roger will find it.’

‘Well, shall I save you some trouble learning things, then, Bailiff?’ Peter muttered.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Wally, the dead man – he was one of the group that did this to me. My woman had saved his life only a short while before, nursing him. Then, when he was hale and hearty again, aye, and could ride, he and his friends found me. His companion, Martyn Armstrong, headed me off from my escape, and Wally came up. I think, perhaps, he was going to try to save me, but before he could, a third man caught me and did this with an axe.’

Simon winced. ‘You saw him swinging his axe at you? That must have been…’

‘No, I didn’t. He swung, but all I saw was a blur. And then I was down. But you know the worst, Bailiff? Aye, that was when I came to, and I was told that my girl was dead. Raped and murdered on the very same day. It was that which ruined me, more than this wound even, for in losing her, I lost my life.’

‘So you came down here.’

‘Aye, I came here, every day cursing Wally for leading his men to my woman and letting them rape her after her kindness to him. It was only last week that I learned he hadn’t. He had stayed with the men and tried to lead them around her house, but they met a party with Sir Tristram and got separated. By the time Wally met them again, she was dead. They tried to escape by coming south, and Wally dared not confront his companions, for he knew he needed them to survive, the coward, but once they were settled here, he killed Martyn for her murder. They were drunk and Wally couldn’t help but taunt him. When he accused Martyn, the mad Scot went for him, but Wally won the advantage.’

‘He was happy to live with the man out on the moors until then?’ Simon asked doubtfully. ‘Even though he thought the man had murdered the girl?’

‘By then the man Martyn was his only comrade in a terrifying world. Imagine if you were forced to flee to Scotland, Bailiff. Would you question a companion closely, if he was your sole contact with your old world? I think not.’

‘Perhaps. I hope I never suffer such an existence. What of the third man?’ Simon wondered. ‘Did he come here too? Or did he die on the way?’

Peter shrugged. ‘I care not. I hope he is dead and broiling in hell, but if I met him on the street, I would think it my duty to try to save his soul. I might even shake his hand. Repellent thought.’

Shortly afterwards the bell began to toll, and Peter sighed and gave his farewell, making his way to the church and the last service of the day.

Simon was strangely happy to see him go. He had never heard a bad word about Brother Peter; the Almoner was known among the townspeople to be a gentle, intelligent and mild-mannered man, but something about him today made Simon feel cautious. The monk had been interested to hear about the dead man, and if Simon was right and Peter had attempted to distract him, maybe drawing him away from the real killer and instead focusing his attention on the miners, that could indicate some form of complicity or guilt.

It was something that he should ask about, he decided. Turning, he was about to make his way back to the welcoming room and ask for a fresh pot of ale, when he caught sight of a figure standing at the top of the stairs leading to the guest rooms: Sir Tristram.

The knight was staring after the disappearing monk. As though feeling Simon’s eyes upon him, he glanced down, his face empty of any emotion. Without even acknowledging the Bailiff, he suddenly turned away, into the guest room, leaving Simon aware of a sense of grim foreboding.

Cissy pushed the last of her customers from the pie-shop and shut up the door, dropping the peg into place on the latch so it couldn’t be lifted, then shooting the bolt.

She was tired. After the coining the previous week, they hadn’t stopped. Sunday, supposedly the day of rest, had been hectic: Emma, Hamelin’s wife, who was always struggling to feed her children, while her man lived out on the moors for seven weeks in every eight trying to make enough money to keep them all, had burst into tears in the street, Joel in her arms and three of her brood hanging on her skirts, and Cissy had pulled her into the parlour, sitting her in one of Nob’s chairs and warming a little spiced wine for her. She had always kept the toys her own son had played with, and now they were a boon. She brought them down from the shelf in their box and the three children fell upon them with squeals of delight. When Nob poked his head about the door, Cissy glared at him until he shamefacedly disappeared, returning to the alehouse he had just left.