Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Nob said thoughtfully, ‘but something changed on the day of the coining.’

Simon peered at him. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘He came in here partway through the day, bought a pie, but he was very quiet. Not himself. Swore about Joce for some reason, but wouldn’t explain why. Then he ran out as soon as he saw some young monk.’

‘A novice?’ Baldwin asked.

‘That’s right,’ Nob said more slowly.

‘Do you know his name?’

‘Oh, er, he was just a lad, you know. The red-haired one.’

Simon shot Baldwin a look. ‘Gerard has red hair.’

‘So now we have a connection between Wally and Gerard, and between Wally and Joce,’ Baldwin said. ‘And we know that they robbed Joce. I’d think that was a good enough motive for him to murder Wally, if he learned Wally was involved.’

‘ If – yes.’ Simon was frowning. ‘But why should Wally go and steal that pewter from Joce?’

‘Because as this estimable cook has told us, Joce and Wally fell out. Wally came here and took back all the pewter at a time when he knew the Receiver would be held up at the coining.’

‘Why should they fall out?’ Simon wondered. ‘That’s what I want to know.’ Something was nagging at his mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

‘Well, we’d best track down Joce, then,’ said Coroner Roger impatiently. ‘He’s the man who needs to answer questions now.’

‘In a moment,’ Simon said. He was studying Nob with a certain intensity. ‘What of Hamelin? You told us he had come into some money, which he brought here for his wife. Do you still believe he sold an old debt? It sounds odd, if Wally knew he couldn’t recover that debt.’

‘You need to ask Emma about that.’

‘Where is she?’

‘At Hamelin’s place.’

Joce pushed Gerard along in front of him, the knife in his hand pricking the lad whenever he slowed. He shoved him through brambles and gorse, on and on, until Joce felt sure that they were safe from immediate discovery.

They were up the hill which led to the moors. From here, Joce could look back and see the smoke rising from the fires of Tavistock, and the Abbey itself. The road along the eastern riverbank was hidden by the lie of the hillside, but that was little concern, he thought, panting after the exertion.

Gerard’s hands were bound with Joce’s belt, and Joce had firm hold of it. Now he jerked on it viciously, and kicked Gerard’s shin, knocking the boy to the ground.

‘Don’t kill me!’

Gerard sobbed, petrified with fear. It felt as though he had escaped one danger only to fall into a still worse one. When he had felt that awful knife at his throat, he had thought that he was going to die. It struck him as ironic that, having escaped the clutches of Reginald and the Abbot, he should have fallen among cut-throats and felons who wanted to kill him for the little money he had in his scrip. And then he had been startled as he recognised the voice: Joce !

He knew Joce, of course. Everyone did. The Receiver was recognised by everyone in the town because he was so powerful. He was responsible for all the money paid in tolls and fines, for justice and the smooth running of Tavistock. No one could live in the area without knowing Joce.

But Gerard knew more about him, because Gerard knew Art, his servant. Art regularly cursed his master. All masters would beat their staff on occasion, of course, but according to Art, Joce took a profound pleasure in beating his charge that went beyond all the bounds of propriety. And even in the Abbey, there were whispers about the recent heated argument between Joce and his neighbour over the midden heap.

If he were free of Joce, he could have giggled to recall that. The pile which had so incensed Joce had in fact been carefully put there by Wally and himself, making a decent pile of rubbish on which Gerard could climb to gain entry. Once he was inside, he went downstairs and let Wally in as well, and then the two searched out the pewter which had been stolen.

When Wally had seen Joce standing in the market for the coining, he had realised that the man’s house would be empty. And that led to his idea that he and Gerard could break in and steal back the pewter. They could share the profits, he said, although Gerard had refused his allotted portion. He had pointed out that he had no need of money. His reward was to ensure that the man who had ultimately led him to a life of felony would not benefit by it.

Wally had gone to Nob’s place and seized a sack, and then the two were inside. As soon as they found the locked cupboard, they forced it open and filled the sack with pewter. Then they heard the sound of a door. Fearing discovery, they swiftly shut the cupboard and bolted, and all but brained that foreigner out in the alley. Still, it had been good in a way. Wally had sold the stuff easily enough. Apparently the foreigner was looking for tin to mix with lead to make his own pewter, but he was soon persuaded to take the metal he was offered. He was not so scrupulous as to turn down an offer like that.

Scrambling to his feet as Joce lashed out again with his boot, Gerard gasped, ‘No, don’t hurt me, please!’

‘Where is it, you bastard?’ Joce grabbed Gerard’s shoulder, pulling him towards the knife.

‘I don’t know what you…’

‘Oh, you think I won’t dare to hurt a man of the cloth?’ Joce asked mildly, and then he slashed once, a long cut with the sharp blade.

There was no pain. That was the first thought in Gerard’s mind as he saw the blade, now bloody, dancing in front of his face. There was only a curious sense of disembodiment, as though he was watching actors on a cart. He felt as though there was a slap at his cheek, that was all, and then there was a warmth that spread from his cheekbone down his neck to his shoulder. The knife flashed again, red, as though it was itself angry now, and Gerard felt his nose break, then a dragging as the blade snagged on bone.

‘Stop! Stop!’ he cried, but Joce could scarcely hear him. His fist came again, this time thudding into Gerard’s shoulder, and the boy wept with the certainty that he was about to die. ‘Mother Mary! Sweet Jesus!’

‘Where is it?’ Joce demanded, his breath rasping in his throat. ‘I’ll kill you, you little toad, for trying to steal from me. Where is it ? No one else could have got into my house. Where have you put all my pewter? What have you done with it?’

Gerard felt rather than saw the knife flash towards him, and in his terror, he fell before it could hit him. ‘It’s with the Swiss! Don’t hurt me again! Wally did it! He sold it to the Swiss on the moor.’

Joce stood over him, confused. He was so filled with rage against this thief who could steal all his carefully hoarded pewter that he felt he could burst, but at the same time he was overwhelmed at the thought of all the money which could be lost. He kicked Gerard once in the flank, then the leg, then the shoulder, short, brutal kicks meted out with an unrestrained fury.

‘Cheat me, would you? You little shit, I’ll kill you!’ he hissed.

He raised the knife to stab a last time, but as he did so, he heard a voice bellowing, ‘Hold, felon! Murder, murder, murder !’

There was a man on a horse, and he was cantering towards Joce. The great hooves looked enormous, and, struck with a fear for his own safety, Joce darted away, running for the safety of some trees nearby.

‘Sweet Jesus!’ were the last words Gerard heard as he slipped into the welcoming darkness.

They arrived at the grotty little chamber that comprised Emma’s home and stood outside. Baldwin eyed it grimly, the Coroner with reluctance, thinking about the fleas inside. It was Simon who finally marched up to the door and pushed it open on its cheap leather hinges.