Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

At his feet was a mess of broken shards of pottery. At first that was all Peter could see, but then he realised that there were feet protruding into the alley, and he felt his heart sink further. He approached, making the Sign of the Cross as he squatted beside the body.

‘Who is it?’

Nob had followed the noise and now stood at his side, shaking his head.

‘I think it is that poor girl’s husband,’ Peter said.

‘Hamelin? Could be, I suppose. Christ Jesus, what a mess! He has been stabbed, hasn’t he?’

Peter hardly heard him. He was considering the man’s position. ‘He was dragged here and thrown on top of this pile of rubbish. Why should a man pick up another and throw him atop a midden? It would seem a strange way to treat a body.’

‘Hey, you looking for sense in a murderer? Come on, Brother. There’s no point in that. Look for sense in a tavern full of drunks more like!’

Peter glanced at him, and his expression made Nob silent in a moment. ‘This man has been murdered, Cook. Take those children away and see to them, and tell someone to advise the Abbot. And in the meantime, stop your idle chatter!’

‘I have heard much about you,’ Simon said. He avoided the eyes of Baldwin and Coroner Roger, but instead leaned forward, holding Rudolf’s gaze. ‘I think you paid Wally money for a sack at an inn in Tavistock, but you have broken no laws. The trouble is, you are fearful of being accused of his murder because he died soon after you saw him – especially since you took his sack from him.’

Rudolf could feel Anna’s fingers tighten about his own hand, but he didn’t look up at her. She was reminding him that they had the two secrets to preserve now: there was the boy as well. Rudolf ignored her. He was measuring Simon, staring deeply into his eyes and gauging whether or not he could truly trust him. ‘It is easy to arrest a foreigner and convict him of crimes he knows nothing about,’ he said at last.

‘It is as easy to accuse a man wrongly as it is to allow an evil man to go free,’ Simon countered. ‘All it takes is for the innocent to hide the truth, for the innocent to be accused and the guilty to walk free. What would you do, friend? See the innocent hang, or see the guilty caught and made to pay?’

‘Make the bastards pay!’

Simon grinned. ‘We have no wish to see the innocent suffer, but we are all King’s men. We have to try to catch the guilty. Would you help us?’

‘What is all this?’ Coroner Roger asked silkily. ‘I have heard what you’ve said, Bailiff, but I confess, I am confused. You talk of pewterers and money, but this man tells us he is a mere actor and entertainer. Which is true?’

Simon smiled, but maintained his eye contact with Rudolf. ‘Friend, we do not want the wrong man, but to catch the right one we need to know the truth. How could we persuade a man to tell us the truth?’

Rudolf gave a deep sigh, then motioned to his wife to fetch more wine. ‘I met the dead man in an alley in Tavistock,’ he began, and Simon knew he was hearing the truth. ‘He was jumping from a window in a big house with limed woodwork and a blue painted shield above the doorway. In his hand was a sack, filled with metal. I caught his accomplice, but he was a monk. In my surprise, he escaped. When I captured the other man, people saw us together, and I had my knife out. I made sure he couldn’t run away, but he persuaded me to take him to a tavern and let him explain. It seemed a reasonable idea at the time. This man Walwynus told me that the plate had been stolen from others, and that if it were left in the house from which they’d taken it, it would be sold to the thief’s profit. He and the monk thought it better that the metal should be ‘rescued’, and so they took it. That was when I came across them. Then he told me that I could have the metal if I wanted, and he named a price which seemed to me to be ridiculous. So! I bought it and gave him coin in exchange.

‘I went back up to the moors with the sack. Next morning, Walwynus caught up with me and asked me to return the pewter. I refused, for a bargain is a bargain, but he swore at me and said that he would pay me more than the pewter was worth if I would only give it back. I refused again, for I wanted it. That was when he drew his dagger and made ready to attack me. I pulled my own knife out, and when he lunged at me, I stabbed at his knife hand. I caught him, and his hand lost some fingers. He stopped fighting, and started weeping. I left him. The pewter is in the back of my wagon. If you want it, you can buy it back.’

Baldwin had sat staring a while, and now he blinked in astonishment. He shot a glance at Simon, who sat nodding knowingly. ‘This pewter… may we have a look at it?’

Simon said, ‘I doubt whether that is necessary, Baldwin. No innocent burgher has reported the theft as yet. Any man who had all this plate stolen would notice immediately – unless it was already concealed. Concealed because it was stolen! This is all from the Abbey – that’s the point. Maybe Walwynus thought he was stealing some pewter from a wealthy man’s house, but he didn’t realise that it was all originally taken from the church. And as soon as he learned that, he hurried here to persuade Rudolf to give it back. He failed, so he tried to take it by force, but Wally was undernourished and slow, while Rudolf here was quick and assured. So Rudolf won and Wally lost his fingers.’

‘It was out by the cross just west of here,’ Rudolf confirmed. ‘The westernmost of the three. He fell when I had struck his fingers from his hand, and he collapsed beside the stone cross. I saw him stand, his hand resting on the cross itself to help himself up. I felt sorry for him.’

‘He left his blood there,’ Simon said.

‘There were no fingers,’ Baldwin observed.

The Coroner muttered, ‘There are enough scavenging animals here to take them. Magpies, crows, buzzards…’

Simon nodded. ‘Why did you fear to speak to us, Rudolf?’

‘I had been seen drawing my knife against him in the town, and then again out by the rock. It seemed natural to me to think that I would be viewed as the man’s murderer when I heard that he had died.’

‘Who saw you out by the cross?’ Simon asked.

‘It was a monk. I don’t know his name, he was just a man standing there with the cowl and habit. Oh, and he carried a stick.’

‘So! I suppose you’d defend this man’s murderer as well, would you?’ Sir Tristram sneered.

Peter hadn’t heard him walk up behind him, and now he turned, his lips still moving as he spoke the words of the viaticum . He refused to rise to the bait, and continued through the office until he had completed the prayers, and only then did he stand and confront Sir Tristram. ‘Well? Are you so offended that I should serve another?’

‘You! You serve your own ends at all times, don’t you? Scotch-lover!’

Peter felt his scar pull as he smiled. ‘You never understood how our faith demands that we should protect and serve even our enemies, did you?’

‘The Bailiff told me that there was a monk here from Tynemouth. At the time it never occurred to me that it could be you ! I thought you were dead long ago.’

‘You would have preferred it. If you had swung this blow…’

‘I would not have missed your scrawny neck, monk.’

‘You have never forgiven me, have you? All I did was help a brother monk to save a man’s life.’

‘He was a Scots raider. You are lucky you weren’t found with him. If I’d found you, you’d have died.’

‘My woman found him,’ Peter said. He could remember her racing towards him, her braids flying in the wind, panic in her face. His friend and he had hurried to the man’s body. When he tried to turn his memory to her, he found himself seeing her broken body – although he had not seen it. She was buried while he lay near to death.