Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘It is not only myself, you see,’ the Abbot went on. ‘I know that one other monk has seen the same signs. He too suspects. And he has come to speak to me, and I have to decide what I should now do. And I have decided. I shall let you know the suspect’s identity so that you can look for evidence. If you find it, I shall call upon the fellow to confess to me, and then I can act as his confessor. But if he refuses… Why then, I must be sure that I am correct and that he is guilty.’

After this speech, Abbot Robert was silent again for a long time. He fiddled with his papers, stood and walked to the open window, staring out along the rows of apple trees and beyond before he could work up the courage to name one of his brethren.

‘I have to wonder how long this thieving has been going on for,’ he said eventually. ‘Perhaps all my guests in the last few years have had small items disappear while they were here under my roof, and all were too polite to mention it to me. How could someone believe that a felon could infest an Abbey, after all? They must have blamed themselves for mislaying their property, perhaps thinking that they left it behind in the last inn where they passed a night, or that a light-fingered servant took it. But I believe that it was the same thief who stole my wine. He has grown bolder and feels secure enough to confront me personally!’

‘What do you fear, Abbot?’

‘Me? I fear many things, Sir Knight: the devil himself, bogs on the moors, a clumsy horse, and most of all my own over-confidence and stupidity! But more than all of these, I fear accusing a young man unjustly and later realising that I have blighted his life without reason.’

‘I trust God wouldn’t lead you astray,’ Baldwin said fervently, but then his expression sharpened. ‘A youngster? You mean…’

‘I am advised to watch a young novice. An acolyte named Gerard.’

Almoner Peter had finished his duties early and was heading for the calefactory with the intention of finding a pint of wine and following that with a short snooze, if possible. He felt as though he deserved it.

But then he saw the arrival of the Coroner and the knight from Furnshill, and loitered shamelessly as he watched them unloading their packhorse and taking their belongings up to the rooms which had been allocated to them. A short while later he saw Augerus running over and hurrying up the stairs himself, then he reappeared with the knight and the two men walked quickly over to the Abbot’s lodging.

The Coroner’s face was familiar enough, aye, to fellows in Western Devonshire where he tended to ply his trade, so for Peter, his presence must mean that Wally’s body on the moor was to receive its inquest at last. That was a matter of interest to Peter – as was the identity of this second man who was of such importance that the Abbot would ask him to visit before even thinking of seeing the Coroner.

It was not fear for himself that motivated him, but concern for the Abbey itself. If stories should spread about the wine, perhaps about other things which had been taken from the Abbey, that could only harm the great monastery’s reputation, even the reputation of the Abbot himself. The Abbot must already be worried, to have asked this man to visit him, for having seen the urgency displayed by the messenger and Baldwin in responding to the Abbot, Peter doubted that it was merely a social call.

He watched a little longer and saw the Bailiff striding in through the gate and entering the guest rooms. Good, he thought: so the Bailiff and the Coroner were to talk about the body, presumably, while the Abbot was to talk to the stranger knight about… what? If the good Abbot wished to discuss Walwynus’ murder he’d surely ask the Coroner and the Bailiff to join them, wouldn’t he?

Aye, but it was odd. The Abbot was not the sort of man to demand that visitors should dance attendance on him as soon as they reached Tavistock after a strenuous journey, and the man’s appearance told of a long ride and stiff joints.

Coming to a decision, Peter changed his mind and the direction of his steps. Instead of the calefactory , he walked to the brewery and out to the racks of barrels behind. He filled a jug and took a cup, blowing into it to remove the dust and a spider. Peering into the Great Court once more, he decided that he might as well go to his own room; he could see what was happening from there. He was sitting at his rough plank table, when he saw Sir Baldwin walking slowly and pensively out of the Abbot’s lodging, crossing the yard to the Great Gate, and thence up the stairs to the guest rooms.

Leaving his cup in his room, Peter wandered outside. When he glanced about him, he saw grooms at their work with the visitors’ horses. There was no fraternity closer, Peter always considered, than the brotherhood of horse-lovers, and among the grooms here, Ned the Horse was well-named.

He was there now, and Peter walked over to him, intending to learn all he could, but before he could do so, Brother Augerus strode up to the Ostler, a look of determination upon his features.

Peter just had time to retreat to an alcove, where he leaned against a wall and overheard the entire conversation.

Augerus spoke as though holding back his irritation. That was quite fascinating in its own right, Peter thought, for it meant that not only had the Abbot not taken him into his confidence, he had also sent Augie away on some menial task, presumably because the canny old bugger knew that Augie would listen at his door if he wasn’t sent off.

‘Ned – that’s a good-looking mount. Whose is it?’

‘This’n? B’longs that C’roner.’

‘Oh, so the good Coroner from Exeter has arrived at last? That is good news. He will be able to tell us who killed the miner.’

‘Reck’n us know. Can’t bugger wi’ the devil.’

‘You know what the Abbot says about rumours of that kind. It’s nonsense to think that the devil has had a hand in the death of Walwynus. It was someone else up on the moors.’

His only response was a grunt.

‘What about that other horse? Whose is that?’

But Ned appeared to have taken Augerus’s snapped comment as an insult. Ned himself was a professional, and although he was not the social equal of Augerus, whose post as Steward to the Abbot gave him an elevated status, Ned was easily the best horseman in the town, and knew it.

‘Man with your master now,’ he said, after some thought spent gently brushing the horse. A large scab of dried mud took his attention and he ignored the furious Augerus.

‘Come now, man. I know his name is Sir Baldwin de Furnshill, for that is the name the messenger gave the Abbot. I was merely wondering what he was here for. Do you think he’s here to help the Coroner?’

‘P’raps. Dunno.’

‘He arrived here with Sir Roger, didn’t he?’

‘Reck’n.’

‘Ned, what do you know about him?’ Augerus demanded. In his exasperation his voice had risen, and now Peter could imagine the long, steady stare that the horseman gave him over the back of the great mount.

‘None of my bus’ness. Ask Abbot.’

Augerus spun on his heel and stormed away, passing Peter with a face as twisted as that of a man who has bitten into a blackberry, only to find that it was a sloe. The Almoner chuckled to himself, his hand up at his mouth and touching his old wound like a man reaching for a talisman. Once Augerus had disappeared, he sniffed, eased his shoulders, and walked around the wall.

‘Hello, Ned.’

‘Almoner.’

‘That looks a fine animal.’

‘ ’Tis that.’

‘Has the Abbot bought it? It’s another of his own, is it?’

‘No. Guests.’