Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘Very!’ Baldwin twisted in his saddle to take it all in. Some hills were surmounted by great hunks of stone, while others were smooth, shallow ripples in the grass and heather. Here and there a stream cut through a hillside, casting a sharper shadow like a gash in the grass, but mostly it was all soft-looking undulations.

They stopped at the side of a stream, freeing the horses to drink their fill and crop the grass while the two men idled on the banks, and then remounted and rode on unhurriedly. The weather remained clear, and Baldwin could feel his trepidation falling away: as he had believed, it was superstitious in the extreme to blame the land itself for the evil actions of the men who trod upon it.

He hoped his attitude would not change again.

They followed well-trodden tracks for some more miles, but then Sir Roger began searching about, peering at the horizon.

‘What is it?’

‘Miners. There should be some near here. Aha! Over there!’

The Coroner pointed and Baldwin saw in the distance a thin plume of smoke rising. They rode towards it and found themselves in a small miners’ camp. Having asked for directions, they were soon on their way again, and this time they reached a larger camp where a well-built miner pointed over to a hill. ‘See where that stream is? You’ll find poor old Wally there. But don’t go straight. Head up that hillside west of here, then go south until you come to the cross. Then turn east again. Not until you reach the cross, though. The mire’s deadly down there.’

Hearing his words, both agreed that his advice was sound. Soon the two were walking their horses up a hill. The cross was not difficult to see – a tall, somewhat rough-hewn shape. There they turned east and crossed a pleasant ford.

‘If it’s true that he was beaten to death, surely another miner was responsible,’ Roger grumbled. ‘Those bastards are always quarrelling. And they’ve got so many potential weapons to hand.’

‘Quite so,’ Baldwin said.

‘Except you don’t mean it. What’s on your mind?’

‘I trust the judgement of my Lord Abbot. He would only call us both out if there was good cause. Otherwise he would surely only ask for you to be here.’

‘You mean he doesn’t trust my judgement?’

Baldwin smiled innocently. ‘I mean he probably has more than one concern. He knows how busy you are, Coroner. If there were another matter, he would hardly dare take up more of your time than he need, would he?’

‘Oh. You do mean he doesn’t trust my judgement!’

‘The little devil,’ Augerus said. ‘If he couldn’t be bothered to come and help me, the least he could have done was let me know.’

It was early afternoon, and the two were seated in the salsarius’ room amidst the odours of gently curing hams and sausages, and the sharp tang of sea and fresh wind from the open steeping barrels in which the salt fish had soaked yesterday. It could take many hours for the salt to be washed out, and Mark had other duties, so he tended to leave the fish to soak for as long as possible, sliding the slippery fillets into a wooden trough to wash off most of the salt, then dropping them into the barrels of fresh water as early as possible on the Tuesday, ready for cooking today, Wednesday, the fast day. The barrels were still full of the fishy water, waiting to be emptied.

‘Novices are not as respectful as they once were,’ Mark said.

‘I had thought Gerard wasn’t so bad,’ Augerus said. ‘He is the best-behaved acolyte I have had dealings with for many a year. Quiet, unassuming, quick to learn. He has been candle-bearer for months now, and never late for the Mass, always well-mannered. But this proves he’s just the same as the others. No doubt he thinks he can get away with sloping off back to his bed. He was kind enough to leave it for Nocturns, but as soon as Matins were finished, off he went.’

‘Maybe he was told to help another Brother and didn’t realise the time,’ Mark said charitably. He wasn’t really very interested, and he could afford to be generous: Gerard wasn’t his acolyte.

‘Well, he’s not turned up for me,’ Augerus said irritably. He had caught Mark’s tone and felt miffed: whenever Mark had a problem with his own charges, Augerus always listened to his complaints. ‘He was supposed to be in my undercroft to help me check the stores. I can’t do it on my own.’

Mark sipped at his wine and cast a glance at his friend. Augerus sounded quite het up; it seemed as though there was something else on his mind. ‘Don’t worry. Maybe you’ll find him waiting for you when you get back to the undercroft.’

‘I should hope he arrives before that – I’ve sent a servant to fetch him from his bed.’

Mark peered through his doorway. ‘Did you send him ?’ he asked, pointing.

As Augerus joined Mark in the doorway, the tall figure of Reginald hurried across the court to them.

‘Where is that boy?’ Augerus grated. ‘If he’s pretending to be ill…’

Mark threw him another look. Augerus was always so calm and unflappable, but now there was a tone of real anxiety in his voice. It was most unlike him. Mark almost wanted to reach out and pat his shoulder.

‘Brother Augerus, Brother Mark, he’s not there.’

Mark gazed at the lad with patient good-humour. ‘Did you check in the reredorter ?’

‘I did, Master, and he isn’t there either. I checked the calefactory , the dorter , the refectory, the church… I don’t know where else to look.’

‘Are you sure he wasn’t in his bed?’ Augerus demanded.

‘No, he wasn’t there, sir. I did look there for him.’

Mark touched Augerus’ shoulder. ‘He probably went out to the orchard and sat on a bench and fell asleep, or perhaps he went to the stable and dozed off in there. The Good Lord knows how often I have done that, although I couldn’t count the number of times myself.’

‘I must tell the Abbot he is missing!’

‘There is no point – not yet. Wait awhile. He will turn up. You know what boys are.’

‘But what if the poor fellow has fallen under the mill-wheel, or into the well?’

‘If so, there is little you can do to help him now. Leave it until noon. I’m sure he’ll reappear with a hangover, and you can give him a thrashing. He’ll wish he’d never seen a barrel of ale or wine!’

Augerus turned to him and smiled, but there was in his face such a terrible sickly fear that Mark was hard put to return it.

The land was a natural bowl, Baldwin thought as they approached. It was a great depression surrounded by low hills. One miner trailed after them on a pony; ostensibly, as he said, because he was heading into Tavistock himself, but more likely, Baldwin considered, in order to see what the two travellers were doing here.

He was a swarthy fellow dressed in cheap fustian and leather, with grizzled hair, a thin wispy beard, and sharp eyes.

‘That there,’ he said, pointing a grimy finger at a great rounded mass directly ahead of them, ‘that’s Mount Misery, that is. Lots of men have died around the foot of it.’

‘Why is that?’ Baldwin asked. ‘The mire?’

They were following the side of a stream, but now they left it and climbed an incline. The hill to their right was a mass of tumbled rock, the ground to their left a grassy plain with small silvery gleams where water lay or ran.

‘The mire’s further north,’ the miner said, shooting him a look. He stared ahead and said nothing more for some minutes, then, as they breasted a small rise, he squinted ahead. Pointing again, he called, ‘Do you see that cross?’

Baldwin ambled his horse to the man’s side. A short way from their path was a small mass of tumbled rocks, with what looked like a well-made cross standing propped in the middle. ‘What is it?’