Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the sky. It was deep grey, as Dartmoor mornings so often were, and he could see tiny orange sparks gleaming as they shot upwards from the fire, glowing for a moment before they expired. He sighed and put his arms behind his head. It was nasty, the thought that he was going north to war, but as Cissy had said, there was bound to be a way of earning a living once the battles were done. He grinned to himself. The trouble was, the only way he knew of earning a living was by thieving. And that wasn’t a good idea once he was out of the Abbey. He could try to claim benefit of clergy , but that was no guarantee of safety.

There was always the possibility that he might become a decent man-at-arms or archer. Some lord might decide to retain him, and he could then give up his life of petty crime and become a professional man. Fighting always had a chivalrous aspect. The women loved men-at-arms, so it was said. Even lowly archers got their wenches, and that was an appealing idea. After the enforced celibacy of the Abbey, a warm, fleshy woman cradled in the crook of his arm was a very attractive concept indeed.

Certainly better than the short life he could expect if he had remained in the Abbey. Reginald had made that clear. He had said that the other acolytes knew Gerard was stealing their things, and that if he didn’t stop, they were going to break his head. In fact, even if he did, Reginald said, they might decide to punish him anyway. Gerard’s selfishness had made all their lives more difficult by taking away those little trinkets they valued most. They wanted him to suffer for his greed.

It had been little use trying to explain how it hadn’t been his idea to rob them. The time when he could have confessed was long past. Nor could he accuse another monk, for all would simply assume he was passing the blame to others to protect himself. Peter and Reginald believed Gerard, but who else would?

A man rolled over, broke wind loudly, and Gerard turned his face away. There was another crackle of twigs, and he gave a faint ‘tut’ of annoyance. Someone must be tiptoeing around – but why? Perhaps they were searching for something to steal. Well, Gerard thought, they can take the whole of my bag, if they want. There’s nothing of value at all in there.

He felt his belly with a tentative hand. His bladder was so full, he felt about ready to piss himself. He rose, stepping carefully over the bodies of the still-sleeping men, and in past a short line of bushes. There he recognised voices, and turning back, he saw the three men questioning Sir Tristram. A brief panic overtook him, and he thrust himself through the branches and into a small clearing.

Crouched over, he stared at the men, feeling certain that they were here to catch him. He mustn’t be found! His heart was thudding painfully, and he had a hollow feeling in his throat. His attention was so strongly focused on the group that he didn’t notice the snap of another twig until it was too late.

And then he felt the ice-cold touch of a sharp blade at his throat.

‘Wake up, monk! We have business to attend to!’ Joce hissed.

The three men left Sir Tristram still fuming. As they untethered their horses, Simon glanced back and saw the knight pick up his mazer and hurl it at a tree.

Baldwin saw it too, and murmured drily, ‘I think we have seriously discommoded the good Sir Tristram.’

Soon four men on sturdy ponies had joined them, and the small party set off. They pulled their mounts’ heads back towards Tavistock, and Coroner Roger glanced from one to the other. ‘Well? What do you think? For my money, I somehow doubt he’s the killer.’

Simon nodded. ‘I agree. I think we have to look for another man.’

‘But whom?’ Baldwin said.

Simon was thinking furiously. ‘Surely the disappearance of the acolyte, the murder of Walwynus, and the thefts from the Abbey must all be linked. And probably the death of Hamelin as well.’

‘The body of the acolyte has not been found,’ Baldwin said. ‘And yet the Abbot and I discovered bloodstains near his bed.’

Simon felt almost dizzy with the thoughts that whirled in his mind. He pulled his horse to a halt. ‘This Gerard would surely have been found by now if he had been killed. Wally and Hamelin weren’t concealed, were they? There is no reason to suppose that Gerard would be either. He may simply have fled the place.’

‘Because he felt himself to be under threat,’ Baldwin supposed.

‘A novice who ran away would find himself caught again in no time,’ the Coroner said.

Simon gave a groan. ‘I am a cretin. The Arrayer’s hiring! I saw him, and I didn’t recognise him!’

‘Eh?’ the Coroner asked, but Simon had already turned his horse and was spurring it back towards the camp. He rode through the midst of the men, halting before Sir Tristram. ‘Sir, there was a recruit with no hair under his cap. You remember him?’

Sir Tristram gave a curt nod. ‘Large, gangling lad. Clumsy, but capable. What of him?’

‘You took him on?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Here somewhere with the rest. Why?’

‘I think he could be a renegade,’ Simon said, but would say no more. Sir Tristram jerked his head at a man, sending him strolling casually through the recruits. Soon he came back with a thin blanket in his hands, a scowl on his face. ‘He must have scarpered when he saw you lot get here.’

‘God’s Cods!’ Simon swore. ‘Sir Tristram – this man is an apostate. The Abbot demands his return.’

Baldwin put his hand on Simon’s arm. ‘There’s no need to search for him here. Sir Tristram can find him, and we’ll be able to talk to him later. For now, let us try to see what might have caused the murderer of Walwynus to execute Hamelin as well.’

‘I will find him, you can assure the Abbot of that,’ Sir Tristram said.

‘I suppose you are right,’ Simon said unwillingly. He felt instinctively that it would be better to remain here with the Arrayer’s men, searching for Gerard, but Baldwin was probably right. The lad could have gone in any direction. There was little to be gained by the three joining in the search. Sir Tristram had enough men at his disposal.

There were other people to see. ‘Who do you want to speak to?’

‘Joce first, but then somebody who knew Hamelin and Walwynus. I keep remembering what the Swiss said, that the pewter was sold to him by Walwynus in an alehouse. I see no reason to doubt Rudolf’s word, and we know that later Walwynus was to spend a lot of money on women and wine, so that part of the story tallies.’

‘We know Walwynus collected the stolen goods from the Abbey?’ Coroner Roger said.

‘Yes, and yet we do not know who passed him the sack from the window, as Peter saw. Someone inside the Abbey stole the stuff and passed it to Walwynus, and the miner hid it. Then, once he had a great enough stock, he sold it. Was it Gerard who entered the Abbot’s lodging to let the sack down to Wally?’

Simon nodded. ‘Gerard took the stuff and passed it to Wally – but why should Wally be there in the first place?’

‘Surely he must have.’ Coroner Roger said.

‘It would be easy enough to pass them through a window or over a wall as Peter said,’ Simon speculated. ‘If hurled over a wall, the metal would have been dented, and the noise should have brought guards running. The things must have been passed out quietly.’

The Coroner grunted. ‘So what? Does it matter?’

Simon said nothing, but when they arrived at the bridge and had clattered over its rough timbers, he led the way past the Water Gate and up around the Abbey. While the Coroner grumbled about guesswork, Simon carefully surveyed the perimeter of the main court, which was enclosed by the great wall. The northern, western and eastern walls were all high, and castellated, with no windows through which to pass stolen goods. With all the folk who wandered about and guards at night, Simon was sure no one would throw things over the wall or dangle them from a rope. There was too much risk of discovery. Only one wall was possible, the last they reached. From the road they could look over the low orchard wall at the final barrier.