Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘Sir, I don’t know if this is important, but I feel I should tell you…’

The Coroner was panting a little, and rather than unnecessarily expend more breath, he motioned with his finger for Nob to continue.

‘Sir, my wife knows this dead man’s wife well, and she told my woman the other day that Hamelin had been given a purse of gold by the miner who’s died.’

‘You mean Wally?’ Simon asked. ‘Wally gave him money? Why?’

‘Ah, that I don’t know, but I do know that Hamelin said Wally had bought a loan from him – a debt owed by a monk. The monk wasn’t in Holy Orders when he borrowed the money, but when he lost it all, he joined the monastery, so Hamelin couldn’t get his cash back. That’s why the poor soul was working out on the moors. He was desperate to make a bit of money.’

‘But the debt would be worthless,’ Baldwin said. ‘Why would this Walwynus give good money for a debt he couldn’t recover?’

‘Must have been mad,’ Coroner Roger said, moving into the alley.

‘And shortly afterwards Wally dies,’ Simon mused. ‘It’s almost as though the money was evil and Wally wanted to get rid of it. But why should he?’

‘Know that and we’ll know the full story,’ Baldwin said as he set off after the Coroner.

Peter was standing at the body’s side. With him were the nearest neighbours, all called to have their names noted so that they could be amerced for this infringement of the King’s Peace. None looked happy, but that was no surprise. In Simon’s experience, people rarely liked having to part with their money.

While the Coroner took charge of the men gathered, Simon addressed Peter. ‘I have just been talking to Sir Tristram. He says he knew you in the north – that you were attacked by Walwynus when you got that wound. Is that true?’

Peter tilted his chin defiantly. ‘Yes. Sir Tristram was a marauder, as I told you. He raided from the English side to the Scottish, while Wally came down the other way.’

‘Was it Wally himself who gave you that wound?’ Baldwin said.

‘No, one of his companions. But the pain was the same. He rode me down when I was with a friend. They killed my friend outright, and then his companion attacked me. Then some of them went to my home and raped and murdered my girl.’

Baldwin’s eyebrows shot up. He knew that many priests and monks failed in their vows, but to hear a Brother mention it so frankly and almost in passing, was oddly shocking to him. It would have been less so had Peter said that he himself had murdered. Baldwin had taken all the three vows very seriously, and the hardest to adhere to, without a doubt, was that of chastity.

‘What girl was this?’ Simon asked.

‘Her name was Agnes. It was a lonely country up there, Bailiff. I was young, and she was beautiful. It was common enough for monks to seek… companionship. We found Walwynus when Sir Tristram’s men had all but killed him, and saved him, carrying him to my home where Agnes nursed him back to health. He repaid us, so I thought, by raping her while I lay near to death.’

‘He sounds the sort of man whom you could hate for ever,’ Baldwin observed quietly. ‘I suppose that your story explains some of the wounds we found on his body, though. Did you kill him?’

‘Me? No – why should I? Would it bring back my Agnes? No. Would it take away this scar? No. Would it give me back my teeth? No. What, then, could it achieve? I had forgiven Walwynus, Sir Baldwin.’

‘You knew he was here?’

‘Yes. But he always avoided me. It was not until the coining a week ago that he somehow gathered together the courage to speak to me. I was out there in the square, and he walked to me and said he was sorry. That he had felt the guilt ever since. And I told him I forgave him, so far as it was in my power. Aye, and in any case, he denied harming my Agnes. He said he thought that his companions killed her. Martyn or the other.’

Baldwin nodded. ‘Did he say who this third man was? This man who attacked you so viciously?’

‘No,’ Peter said with a shrug. ‘What good would it have done me to know his name?’

‘You did not ask?’

‘I had no interest. After forgiving Wally, and seeing his delight, that was enough for me,’ Peter said with transparent honesty. ‘I felt as though his joy washed away my own pain. Aye, and the years of distress.’

He hesitated a moment as he thought of Joce, and the allegation that Joce was himself the third man, but chose to say nothing. God had given him some peace, and he reflected that the accusation was unsubstantiated. Too many men were convicted because of rumour. No, Peter would confront Joce personally if he could. If not, perhaps then he might repeat what Nob had told him, although by then others would probably already have heard.

‘You are telling me that you forgave the man who caused that to be done to you even after you had saved his life before?’ Simon said disbelievingly.

‘I am a man of God, Bailiff,’ Peter said imperturbably. ‘What would you have me do? Grab a sword and sweep off his head? Jesus told us to love, not hate. He told us to turn the other cheek, didn’t He? Well, I was prepared to try it. I told him I forgave him, and he burst into tears at first, but then his face shone and I confess, I felt a little like God myself, as though He had acted through me. Holy Mother, it was good. When I left him, he was happy and content.’

There was a clearness in his voice that brooked no argument. Simon was still doubtful, but Baldwin nodded understandingly. ‘I believe you, Brother. Apart from anything else, it would be an unconscionable amount of time to sit back and wait for an opportunity to kill him.’

‘If you knew him,’ Simon said, ‘did you know that man with whom he arrived down here? The man whom he later killed?’

‘Aye. He was one of the party which killed my friend and tried to murder me too. An evil man. His name was Martyn Armstrong, or Martyn the Scot. It was the third man who actually swung the axe that did this,’ he added, touching his scar.

‘You must have hated Wally.’

‘I did at one time, but it is hard to stay hating a man for ever. I had no part in killing him, if that is what you mean.’

‘You were seen up on the moors on the day Walwynus died,’ Simon stated. ‘Why?’

‘I had to go and visit one of the Abbot’s shepherds who has hurt himself, taking him some money to help him through his illness.’

‘Did you come across Walwynus?’

‘Yes. I spoke to him on the way. He was hungover. I got the impression that he had drunk a great deal the night before, after I told him I forgave him.’

‘You were seen with him.’

‘Aye, well I walked with him a way, as soon as I saw how bad he was. He could easily have fallen off the trail and into a bog, he was that far gone. I stayed with him until he was home as an act of charity.’

‘You went with him to his home? What was he doing back here, then?’ Simon burst out.

‘I have no idea. His cottage is on the route to Buckfast, so it wasn’t out of my way.’

‘And then?’

‘I carried on to find the shepherd who was deserving of my Lord Abbot’s kindness. An orphan.’

Simon sucked at his teeth. ‘And Walwynus was fine when you left him?’

‘Yes. I swear it. Although…’ His face was suddenly troubled, a crease marking his brow.

Simon said sharply, ‘Yes?’

‘It is likely nothing, but while we were talking, he denied having raped or hurt Agnes. He confessed to being part of the raiding party which attacked me, but said that he wouldn’t lead the men to my hovel, because he wouldn’t have allowed anyone to harm Agnes, not after she’d nursed him back to life.’

‘And that worried you?’