Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘Each Brother makes his own.’

‘When?’

‘We rise very early, as you know, and go straight to church. When Matins is done, most will come to the cloister to read and study, and later they return to the dorter to change their shoes, and then they will also make their beds. There is not much to do, after all. Only shake out the blankets and straighten them.’

Baldwin nodded. Each bed had its own blanket smoothed down over the palliasse, some more smoothly than others. Although they were not made of horse hair, the coverings were certainly thick and rough-looking, hardly the material to provide a man with a good night’s sleep.

‘Reginald, did you see Gerard today?’ he asked.

Although tall and firmly built, more like a young squire than a monk, Reginald suffered from an explosion of acne. Baldwin could recall the mountain of Sicily as he passed by on board ship, the glowing summit belching fumes, and somehow it looked less unpleasant than the eruption on Reginald’s face.

The boy must have read something in his gaze, for he dropped his eyes as though in shame. ‘I can’t remember. I’ve been busy.’

‘What of yesterday? Did you speak to him then?’

‘I might have done. It’s hard to bring it to mind.’

‘Did he look upset?’

Reginald couldn’t say anything immediately. The memory of the dull-sounding thud as Gerard’s skull hit the corner of the bed would never leave his dreams. He should confess his sins to the Abbot or another confessor, but he couldn’t. It was too dangerous now.

At last he mumbled, ‘He seemed a bit upset about something, I reckon. Maybe that was it. He had something troubling him.’

‘So you do recall seeing him,’ Baldwin noted. His attention was moving about the room, covering first the wall, then the screens, and last the floor and ceiling. There was nothing to indicate that anything had been amiss. ‘He was a tidy fellow?’

The Abbot nodded. ‘It is baffling. He was a neat young man, well-mannered and quiet, the perfect acolyte.’

‘Why did you ever suspect that–’

The Abbot stopped him with a raised hand, then ordered Reginald from the room. With the relief bursting in his breast, Reg took up his broom and bolted, shutting the door behind him as quietly as his urgency would allow. Staring at the door, he thought he might be able to catch what the two men were saying, but his conscience wouldn’t allow him to eavesdrop. Instead, he left his broom and walked down the stairs to the chapel, and entered. Kneeling before the altar, he covered his face with his hands and suddenly, before he could stop himself, his entire body began to shake from sobbing.

He was still in there, weeping, when Peter walked in later. The Almoner stood quietly watching, then walked to his side.

‘It wasn’t only you, boy,’ he said. ‘I helped you do it, and Gerard will find himself in a better place. If either of us should carry the guilt, it is I, not you. So calm yourself. Let me carry the crime on my own soul.’

A step outside made one of the dogs growl softly, and Emma was startled awake in a moment. She silently sat up and motioned to the dog to be silent before he could wake her children or husband, but she knew it was already too late when she felt Hamelin stirring at her side.

She stroked his cheek, liking the roughness of his stubble. Her love towards her man and her children was never stronger than when she saw them at night, sleeping. Even a mature man like Hamelin had a childlike quality when he was asleep. Now his face twitched slightly, just like young Joel when he was dreaming. Emma smiled and cupped her open hand about his jaw, peering more closely in the dim, unlit room. The only illumination came from the few logs which had been left to glow undamped at the middle of the fire. In the summer, the fire would be put out overnight for safety, but at this time of year, with the cooler weather, she kept the room warm if she could, and now that they had the money, she was determined that the family wouldn’t suffer from cold. A friend of hers had woken the last winter to find her boy-child frozen stiff and dead at her side, and it had unbalanced her mind. Emma wouldn’t have that happen to one of her own.

She looked about her at the children lying with them on the bed. Joel was cuddled up with a tangle of legs and arms, and Emma couldn’t see who it was, but it was no matter. Both were breathing easily, and that was all that counted.

‘Can’t sleep?’

His low voice made her jump, unsettling Joel, who whimpered and snuffled in his sleep, but then she chuckled softly. ‘Not easily, no. Do you think we could afford a larger palliasse?’

Rather than talk among their children, they rose from the bed and moved to the fireside. Emma had made a mat of pieces of material, and they sat on it, wrapping Hamelin’s great woollen cloak about them. Hamelin prodded the embers into flame and added more logs, before staring into it.

‘Where did Wally get all that money?’ Emma asked after some while.

‘I just don’t know. Nowhere he should have. I got the feeling that he was keen to get rid of it. He was pleased to have found an excuse, I think, like it was stained with another man’s blood or something.’

She shivered at the thought. ‘You don’t think it’s cursed?’

Hamelin was silent for a while. ‘You know, I felt today as though Wally and Joel were somehow connected. Like it seemed unfair that Joel should die so young, so perhaps God had taken Wally instead, like there was some sort of balance of fairness. Wally had lived long enough, so he died. Especially since he’d been involved in something he shouldn’t have.’

‘But what?’

‘Haven’t a clue. He never had any money, that was certain, not from his farming and his attempts to grow vegetables, and yet he always managed to scrape together some pennies for drinks whenever he came into town.’

The dog started to growl again, a low, menacing rumbling, and Hamelin threw a stone at it.

‘Husband, don’t you think you could find work in the town, rather than having to go up to work on the moors?’ Emma asked reluctantly. They had been through this many times before.

‘No,’ he said uncompromisingly. ‘If Hal and me can only find another source of tin, we’ll be laughing. It’s just this early period that’s hard. We’ll soon be on our feet again. Don’t you worry. And what else could I do here without money? That bastard Mark made it impossible for me to start a new business.’

The dog began again, and this time they could hear the steps outside. Soon there was a light tapping at their door.

Hamelin snatched up his knife. It was a good weapon with a foot-long blade, and he held it to the door as he went to it. ‘Who is it?’ he hissed.

‘Watchman. Is that Hamelin? Don’t open the door, there’s no need. I’ve been asked to tell you, the Abbot wants to see you first thing tomorrow. Go to the Court Gate when it opens. That’s all.’

Hamelin relaxed as he listened to the footsteps leaving. He thrust his knife back in its sheath and returned to his wife’s side.

She was frowning. ‘What could the Abbot want with you?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Who cares? Maybe I’ve infringed one of his Burgh laws, spending too much time in the town when I should be out on the moors working.’

‘Not our revered Abbot, surely!’ she chuckled, nestling into his shoulder.

‘So long as he doesn’t want to fine me.’

‘That would be that overblown bag of pus Joce Blakemoor, wouldn’t it? He’s in charge of fining miners.’

Hamelin grunted. ‘I heard that no one ever liked him. Not when he was growing up here, not when he grew to be an adult. Everyone was delighted when he went away to learn to be a merchant, and no one was pleased when he came back.’