Michael JECKS - The Devil's Acolyte

‘But I was here!’ The Steward looked indignant.

‘The groom said he could get no ale that day. We know he couldn’t go to Mark, but all monks would surely come and ask you for some, if he wasn’t about. Yet no one could find you either.’

‘It’s not true!’

‘Hamelin was killed in case he spoke later,’ Simon continued sternly. ‘You murdered him, leaving his wife a widow and his children orphaned. How could you do that?’

‘My Lord Abbot, what can I say?’

‘In God’s name, just tell me the truth!’ the Abbot stormed. ‘You have thrown away your honour and integrity and become no more than a felon! You captured an innocent boy and forced him to do your bidding, didn’t you? Why?’

‘I was scared!’

‘Scared of what?’

Augerus began weeping. He knew it was pathetic, but that was how he felt. Feeble and useless. For many years he had been a capable servant, but now all was lost, and all because of his fear of the man who had bullied him as a schoolboy.

‘Joce Blakemoor was at school with me, and he beat me. Broke my nose until it gushed. He came to me some time ago and said that he would cripple me if I didn’t help him. He needed money badly, and I didn’t dare argue. He said he’d make me look worse than Peter. I couldn’t stand up to him. He was always bigger than me.’

‘You could have told me,’ the Abbot said.

‘He swore he’d kill me if I said a word to anyone.’

Simon said, ‘You must have known he couldn’t murder you without suffering the consequences.’

‘What would the consequences matter to me? I’d be dead, wouldn’t I? You speak as if he’s a rational man! He’s not, he’s evil. He could be a novice demon. The devil’s own acolyte.’

‘You forced Gerard to steal.’

‘Only a little. I had to do something,’ Augerus wailed.

‘And harmed his soul as well as your own!’

‘Is there no one among my Brothers whom I can trust?’ Abbot Robert demanded.

‘You can trust me, Abbot! Please, don’t send me away. Joce’ll have me killed, and–’

Simon gave a low, scornful laugh. ‘You are sad and fearful now, Augerus, but you brutally murdered Wally, didn’t you? Why did you do that?’

‘You have said, to get back the pewter or the money for the Abbey,’ Augerus said, shaking his head as though sadly.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Simon said. ‘Baldwin and I have already heard that Wally diddled his associate out of a tiny part of his share in the proceeds of the crimes.’

‘A tiny part? It was a whole shilling!’ the Steward expostulated.

‘I think,’ Simon said with a faint smile, facing the Abbot, ‘that that is your answer. The first murder was for one shilling. The second was for less; it was purely to protect the murderer from the consequences of his first murder.’

‘No, my Lord Abbot! You can’t believe the strange stories told by this Bailiff!’ Augerus babbled. ‘Are you going to convict me on his word? Please, I beg, let me–’

‘You shall have to live out a penance,’ Abbot Robert said, ignoring his plea. ‘I shall consider it. In the meantime, you shall remain under guard. You can go to the church and begin to pray to God for His forgiveness. When your brother monks are called to the church, you will lie across the doorway so that all can step over you. You, Augerus, are contemptible!’

After eating the food Rudolf brought to him, Joce sat down and talked to the Swiss in a carefully genial manner, waiting for a suitable moment to mention the pewter. If he could, he wanted to learn in which wagon it had been stored, but somehow the foreigner didn’t understand English well enough. Every time Joce tried to direct the conversation back towards the town and tin, or pewter, Rudolf began to speak about the mountains in his homelands, or the freedom which the men of the Forest Cantons enjoyed. Every man free, none a slave.

All the while the carts sat so close. They had the look of being well-filled, their wheels sinking and creating ruts in the path, and Joce longed to go to them, to hurl their contents to the ground, to destroy, to torture or kill, but mainly to find that metal. He must find it! It was his guarantee of free passage and a new life.

As the light faded, and twilight quickly overtook the moors, he watched the travellers carefully. It seemed to him that the folk were avoiding him, other than Rudolf himself, and he sat a little too far from Joce for the Receiver to be able to grab him with any confidence of keeping hold as well as drawing his dagger. He was tempted to try to move closer, but somehow he felt that Rudolf would notice and could consider it to be a threat. In preference, Joce might reach to pull off a boot. A man without a boot, he reasoned, looked ungainly and unthreatening. He could lean forward once the boot was off, as though peering inside it, and then throw it at Rudolf, distracting the man, and while he was catching the boot, or pushing it away, Joce could draw his dagger and put it to Rudolf’s throat. That would give him a chance to demand the pewter, and then he could take a horse and ride off.

But he knew that it was madness. There were so many men here. Any one of them could stop him, could grab at him as he tried to mount a horse, or could wrest the pewter from him. He needed a better plan.

At the sound of horses, Joce saw two of Rudolf’s men stand and stare back the way he had come, west, towards Tavistock, but he kept calm and sat quietly, listening intently. There were only a few riders, that was obvious. The ground didn’t vibrate as it would with ten or more heavy mounts, and the rumble of hooves was dissonant, a broken noise, in which almost every hoof beat could be discerned. Two, maybe three horses, no more, he reasoned.

They took little time to reach the travellers.

‘Who is your leader?’ came a hoarse voice, and Joce felt his belly lurch. Sir Tristram? What was that duplicitous arse doing up here?

Rudolf stood. ‘You are looking for someone?’

‘A man on foot who came past here today, probably late,’ Sir Tristram said. He noticed Joce sitting – now that Rudolf had moved away, Joce was alone. ‘Who are you? Are you with these travellers?’

Joce rose to his feet and faced him. ‘I am the Receiver of Tavistock, Sir Tristram. You remember me?’

Sir Tristram was tempted to snatch his sword from its scabbard and sweep his head from shoulders. ‘Of course I remember you. Have you seen a man coming past here?’

Joce shook his head. ‘No, no one.’

‘That is odd, then isn’t it?’ Sir Tristram said. He spurred his horse forwards. ‘We have had an exciting day today. A young novice, Master Gerard, from the Abbey, was savagely attacked and lies close to death in the Abbey. Then we learned of a girl who was threatened by a man who tried to strangle her, and just now we found my Sergeant dead just a little way from Tavistock, his head taken clean off his shoulders. And the man who did it came this way, first on a horse, then on foot. We came across the horse further back that way. Yet you saw no one.’

‘He must have turned north or south.’

‘Did you know that Jack saw you at the argument we had in the town? He said he recognised you. Said you were the leader of the Armstrongs. He called you Joce the Red-Hand.’

‘He was dreaming,’ Joce laughed.

Coroner Roger smiled blandly, and then pointed to Joce. ‘Your sleeves are stained, man, as is your tunic near your dagger! You are the…’

Before he could finish his words, Joce had moved. He shot across the grass and grasped Anna about the waist, turning with her even as he drew his knife. Instantly he faced the men with the dagger at Anna’s throat. ‘If any one moves, she dies,’ he snarled.