Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘What do you think he meant by that?’

‘Peter had been his accomplice, of course.’

‘What then?’

‘Wally said that he had nothing now. A part of the profit had gone to his colleagues and his own share had gone as a gift to Hamelin. He said he didn’t want to profit from something which could hurt the Abbey.’

‘Did he say anything more?’

‘Only that he supposed it was the cut which had led to people finding out. He was quite phiosophical about it. He said that he had taken four-sevenths of the money for the pewter instead of the agreed half. I rather think he considered it was a judgement on himself for cheating an associate.’

‘It doesn’t make much sense,’ Baldwin said.

‘No,’ Simon said. ‘You were there, you took a stick from Hamelin’s store to show that he had committed the murder, because you wanted him silenced after all the embarrassment about your not paying him back the money you owed him.’

‘This is ludicrous, Bailiff! Why should I kill Wally?’

‘Simple. He had stolen from the Abbey, and you knew about it. There could be nothing more intolerable to you than the thought that someone would harm the reputation of the place. The Abbey is now your sanctuary, isn’t it? Often those who take on the cloth later in life are more protective of their Order than those who wore the habit from an early age. How did you find out about Wally?’

‘It was Peter. I saw him many times, walking about the place. One night I couldn’t sleep, and I saw him at the Abbot’s lodging, staring down into the garden.’ Mark shrugged. There was little point in concealing his knowledge. ‘I have never much cared for Peter. He seems to think his looks mean he should be treated with favour compared with the rest of us. So, I went and looked myself, and saw that Wally was there, leaving the garden with a small sack in his hand. I thought Peter must have given him something. Then, when I heard about the pewter being taken, I was struck with horror at his crime, and I was determined to show his guilt. I went to see Wally, it is true, but I didn’t have a weapon of any sort. I told him he had to bring back the pewter or I would tell the Abbot what I knew, and he went. That is all.’

‘You didn’t wait for him?’ Baldwin interrupted.

‘There was no point. He said it wasn’t there with him. I left him to fetch it. I intended bringing it back to the Abbey and giving it to the Abbot. The thief would surely never dare to commit his thieving again once he knew that his thefts had been solved, but I was prepared to give him some time.’

‘Why were you prepared to give him time?’ Simon demanded.

‘He had been in a fight. His eye was closed, and there was no need for instant action. I was content that he would comply. That was enough for me.’

‘But the pewter didn’t reappear,’ Simon said.

‘No,’ Mark said sadly. ‘Wally died, and the metal was not found. I thought that was a judgement on him by God, and I was content to leave the matter in His hands.’

‘What of Hamelin?’

‘I know nothing about his death.’

‘Even though you hated him?’ Baldwin pressed him.

‘I didn’t hate him, as you put it. He was an embarrassment, a reminder of the sinful life I once led, but that was all.’

Art looked out from the cart’s back as it rattled and thumped over the moors.

‘Are you all right, boy?’ Rudolf asked.

‘Yes, Master.’

‘Don’t call me that, boy. We’re all freemen here. None of us is owned by a master. That was what we Swiss fought for at Morgarten. Now you are with us, you are safe.’

Art heard his words, but they were so momentous that he found it hard to believe Rudolf. ‘I can work my way, sir.’

He saw the flash of teeth, but there was no answer. Art was partly terrified of this calm, tanned foreigner, but he was also filled with admiration. The man seemed so confident and assured. So too was Joce, Art thought, but Joce was cruel, often for the sake of it, while this Rudolf with his funny accent and voice had shown no desire to beat him yet.

The man who had caught him brought him straight to this Rudolf, who questioned him carefully, but plainly decided that there was no harm in him, and passed Art to his woman, who undressed him and gave him a fresh, clean, overlarge tunic and gown while his own clothes were taken away and beaten in the waters of a stream. While the clothes were being dealt with, a youth gave him a big wooden bowl filled with large pieces of meat in a rich, peppery gravy. Art devoured it with gusto, running his fingers around the bowl to collect the last vestiges.

Then the Bailiff and the others arrived. Art cowered in terror, thinking that they had come to take him back, for all knew how powerful Joce was, but Anna had passed him in among the women with their children, pushing him down until he squatted, invisible, in their midst.

It was a miracle that he had not been found, but then he could hear most of the conversation, and it was plain that they weren’t after him as he feared, but instead were still trying to learn what had happened when Wally died. It almost made him want to cry out in relief.

He was safe, he thought. Joce would find another young servant boy to abuse and beat, and Art would take up his new life as a sailor. Soon, very soon, he must make his fortune. All sailors did, he understood. As he was considering the advantages of this, he heard a muttered curse from Rudolf, and looking back the way they had come, he saw the distant figure of a man walking quickly towards them.

For some reason a feeling of awe and hatred welled up in his breast, although he had no idea at this distance whom this walking man might be. There was just something, in his gait, or the set of his head, or simply the aggressive stance in which he stalked forwards, as though he was attacking the roadway in order to subjugate it, that gave his identity away.

‘Sweet Jesu!’ Art whimpered.

He could see it all now. Joce had refused to accept his going. Joce wanted him back, would drag him, screaming, to the house, and once in there, Art knew that all the pain and indignities he had suffered before would be as nothing. For running away, he would be forced to endure the cruellest tortures his master could conceive.

Art gave an inarticulate cry and drew back into the security of the cart.

Rudolf glanced at him in surprise, then jerked his head. ‘Your master?’

‘Yes!’ It was little more than a whisper. Art’s eyes were fixed upon the steadily approaching figure.

‘You are safe with us,’ Rudolf said calmly.

‘He will kill me!’

‘No.’

Joce was in earshot now, and he bellowed at the top of his voice, ‘Hold! Stop those carts!’

Rudolf, hearing his command, muttered in German to Welf, ‘The bastard thinks he can order us around like English peasants!’

‘I said stop the carts! I must speak to you!’

To Joce’s relief the cavalcade drew to a halt, the men and women separating and the men forming a line at the rear of their column.

He was bone tired now. The horse had collapsed near Sharpitor, and he had been forced to make his way on foot after that. At least he’d been in luck so far. He wondered whether Jack the Sergeant had been the last of a line of men searching for him, because after killing him, he had seen no more evidence of a man-hunt on his trail. Perhaps he had escaped after all, he thought. Certainly this stranger with the thick accent seemed to pose no danger. If anything, he looked a bit stupid.

‘You are welcome, sir,’ Rudolf called, emphasising his accent. It was always useful to be able to deny comprehension when necessary, he found. ‘How may we serve you?’