Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

The sack of pewter was still bound to Simon’s saddle. The Swiss had appeared almost relieved to be shot of it, saying with a grimace that he had got nothing but bad luck since he had acquired it. Although he had paid good money for it, he was prepared to allow Simon to take it back to the Abbey if the Bailiff would swear to ask the Abbot to reimburse him, either by replacing it all with fresh tin, or if not, by giving him back the money he had spent with Wally to buy it. The Swiss party would head for Tavistock as soon as they might to claim their recompense.

Simon felt giddy with the heat. Perspiration was dripping from him, his hair was glued to his forehead, and his armpits were rank. He licked his dry lips, which were gritty from the dust kicked up by his horse’s hooves. Where the sweat was gathering on his forearm, he noticed a grey-black smear of dirt, and it revolted him. Then he wondered where it could have come from. Thoughtfully he touched the sack. It left a black mark on his finger, like coal dust.

‘Curious.’

It was a relief when Baldwin offered to take the pewter to the Abbot’s lodgings. For Simon it meant at least a few moments of peace. It was only when Baldwin had gone that Simon suddenly thought that the knight could have been taking it to the Abbot to curry favour. He rejected that idea almost instantly as being dishonourable and certainly unfair on Baldwin, and yet it was insidiously attractive, coming so soon after his suspicions. Baldwin still appeared edgy in his presence.

The bath was in the barber’s room near to the infirmary, close by the brewery. Water was boiled in the brewery fire, and taken by bucket to the great barrel that was the bath, a strong vessel cooped with strong copper bands. Simon called there for Ellis, and the barber soon appeared from a door that led to the brewery itself, wiping his mouth shamefacedly.

‘Ah, my Lord Bailiff! You wish for another shave?’

‘Yes, but first I need a bath. Have the thing filled.’

Simon felt considerably improved after soaking his body and washing away the filth of the moors. He sponged himself clean with water that was filled with fresh herbs, rubbing himself down with soap and rinsing it off with fresh, rose-scented water. He was almost finished when Baldwin arrived, his dark face drawn into a scowl.

Once Simon’s hair was washed, he felt greatly refreshed. Sitting on Ellis’s stool while the barber draped almost-scalding towels over his features, he felt renewed, and a curious sense of fatalism enveloped him.

This fear, this nervousness about Baldwin was ridiculous. If there was some suggestion from the Abbot that Simon was not to be trusted, that he was too incompetent to keep his job, that was not Baldwin’s fault. In fact, if Simon was fair, it was the Abbot’s alone. Baldwin was probably fidgety because he knew that Simon was to lose his position, and feared how the Puttock family would survive without the income that his post as Bailiff brought him. Perhaps that was all it was, Simon thought: Baldwin was consumed with compassion and sympathy for his old friend.

Anyway, Simon was no fool. He would soon find a new job even if the Abbot decided to dispense with him. There were always other masters. And if that didn’t work out, Simon should be able to live on the proceeds of his farming. Other men managed to, and he had a good property in Sandford still, the place to which he had brought his wife when they married. She had always adored it, with the far-off views of Dartmoor and the rolling hills surrounding it. They had been very happy there. It would be closer to Baldwin, too, and easier to see him and Jeanne more often. The life of a free yeoman farmer was not so bad. Good food was plentiful, if the harvest was kind, while there should always be ale and wine to be drunk. Yes, Simon reckoned he could live happily as a farmer. It would be different, there would be economies that he and Meg would have to make, but they would survive. And what else mattered, than that he and Meg should be able to live together in peace? Meg was a farmer’s daughter. She would be pleased to return to a farming life.

Although she was content where they lived now as well, he reminded himself, and it might not be easy to persuade her to move home once more. Still, when she saw it was necessary, she would no doubt agree.

Then his buoyant attitude underwent a change. He felt a cold emptiness in his belly at the thought of having to admit to his failure. It was no use telling himself that such things happened, that his position in life was owed entirely to the whim of the Abbot, that he had no more control over the direction of his life than a chicken in a yard: it was his duty to provide for his wife and family. Without achieving a stable, financially sound future for them all, his life was a failure. He knew that Meg would support him, of course, but that didn’t help. There would be hurt in her eyes when he told her that without his money as Bailiff, they would have to leave their home at Lydford, that they must be more frugal in future. That he might not be able to afford the dowry he had intended for their daughter.

Baldwin had climbed into the bath, and he lay back with his eyes closed while all this passed through Simon’s mind. There was silence in the room as the barber thumbed back Simon’s skin and brought the shining blade of his razor down around Simon’s cheek, along the line of his jaw, then under his chin and down to his neck. When he had relathered Simon’s face and repeated his operations, Baldwin spoke.

‘Simon, are you all right? You look anxious.’

Baldwin’s gentle voice broke in on his thoughts. He opened an eye as Ellis held the blade away. ‘Just tired, I think.’

‘Good. I am glad.’ Baldwin nodded, but he couldn’t help telling himself that his friend had appeared to be tired ever since he had arrived in Tavistock with the Coroner. ‘What do you think about the mystery of the dead miner?’

‘Someone met him and killed him. There appears to be nothing else to learn.’

‘Simon, please, forgive me for asking, but are you quite well?’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

Baldwin gazed at him with exasperation. ‘Because you look away from me when I talk to you as though the sight of me pains you, you snap at me or don’t respond at all, you walk away from me as soon as we arrive anywhere, you go and question people as though trying to exclude me from your enquiries, and you sit drumming your fingers there as though you are waiting to have a tooth pulled!’

His last words made Simon give a dry smile. They reminded him of his own feelings about Baldwin.

Seeing that Ellis had finished Simon’s shave, Baldwin motioned the barber to leave the room. Nothing loath, Ellis left by the door and returned to the brewery. ‘Please, Simon, my friend, you would tell me if I had offended you?’

‘Of course. I would trust you with anything. Would you trust me the same?’

‘Me?’ Baldwin said with surprise.

‘You went to the Abbot and told me nothing about the meeting. Is it that you don’t trust me any more?’

Baldwin gave a low grunt. ‘Now I believe I understand. The Abbot asked me to keep this from you.’

‘Why should he do that?’ Simon asked sarcastically. He thought he knew the answer.

‘The Abbot didn’t want to spread the tale about the town. You have heard of Milbrosa?’

‘It’s an old story. The maids of Tavistock use it to scare their children,’ Simon said scathingly.

‘Some say that there are too many similarities between that tale and the things which are happening here now.’

Simon squinted at him. Baldwin was staring contemplatively at the doorway. The room opened westwards, and the sun was already quite low, shining directly in and lighting Baldwin with a warm, orange glow. It made him look tired, emphasising the deep lines of pain and anguish that Simon had all but forgotten, and reminding him that this man had suffered more in his life than he would be able to appreciate. Baldwin had not told Simon everything about his time as a Templar, but Simon knew enough about the way that the Order had been destroyed to know that almost all its members had been tortured and then slaughtered on the pyres. Baldwin had escaped because he had been travelling on the day that the arrests were made, but evading the physical punishments seemed only to have created feelings of guilt in him.