Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

When he saw a flash of reddish brown, he stiffened. It was near the water’s edge, and he sat up to peer.

The Abbot noticed his concentration, and turned to see what had attracted his guest’s interest. “Ah, Sir Baldwin, you have a good eye,” he chuckled.

“It looks a good beast.”

“Yes. We are fortunate in having over forty deer in our park, though we do sometimes have difficulties.”

“What sort of difficulties?” Margaret asked.

The abbot smiled genially, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Sometimes they manage to escape from the park when we’re trying to catch them. I’ve been told off for chasing my venison on to the moors before now. We do try to make sure that our hounds catch the beasts before they can get out of the park, but every now and again one of them will succeed, and what then are we to do? It’s hard to keep the ditches and hedges maintained.”

Baldwin could not restrain a grin. That an abbot should dare to roam over the chase of Dartmoor to poach, and then happily confess it, was unique in his experience. “I should like to see your pack of hounds,” he said, and the Abbot nodded delightedly.

“It would be my pleasure. Perhaps I could tempt you to join me for a hunt as well?”

“I would have to accept so kind an offer.”

Simon patted his bag. “Would you like to go through the business of the stannary now?”

“Oh no, Simon. You’ve had a tiring journey to get here. Please, rest! We can talk about business later. I’ve been Abbot here for four and thirty years, and while Our Lord may decide not to let me carry on for another four and thirty, I hope that I’ve a few more years left in me! There’s time for us to discuss our work later.”

Baldwin leaned back in his seat. The Abbot was a good host, chatting with Simon and his wife and putting both at their ease. Baldwin had known many priestly men, but this one, Robert Champeaux, seemed to wear his power and authority lightly.

And he did have authority. Baldwin had spent some time enquiring about his host with Peter Clifford, the Dean of Crediton Church, and had found the time instructive. As Champeaux said, he had been Abbot for over thirty years. When he had taken on the post, the Abbey had been in debt, but now, after his careful administration, it was rumored to be one of the soundest institutions in the shire.

Abbot Robert had attracted money by improving the fairs and markets, taking business from Chagford and Lydford, and reinvesting the money to buy lucrative offices. He had been appointed controller of all the silver mines in Devon in 1318, and Baldwin understood he had recently extended his management of the mines in exchange for a sizeable loan to help with the war against Scotland. This year, 1319, he had become the warden of the Devon stannaries, and keeper of the port of Dartmouth, both highly profitable positions, yet he was content to sit and discuss the quality of cloths in the market with the wife of one of his bailiffs. That displayed a humility and generosity of spirit many other priests would do well to emulate.

There was a knock at the door and a young monk entered, bowing low. “My lord, the port-reeve would like to speak to you.”

“Please show him in. Ah, Holcroft, you have sent for the coroner, I hear?”

“Yes, sir. And I have attached the four neighbors and Will Ruby, the first finder.”

“The hue was raised, of course, so there is little more to be done. Where is the body?”

“I couldn’t leave it there, sir.” Normally a body would be left where it had been found until the coroner could view it. “It would be impossible with so many people around. “I’ve had it moved to the inn. There’s an outhouse there where the coroner can view it.”

“Good.”

Baldwin leaned forward. “What of the man’s relatives?”

“Until we find his head, there’s nothing we can do. We don’t know who he is, after all.”

Simon waved his goblet questioningly. “No one’s reported a missing man? A wife would recognize her husband’s body, after all. You’re sure he must be a foreigner?”

“Yes, sir, he must be from outside Tavistock. Nobody’s reported a man who’s disappeared.”

“That means nothing,” Baldwin said. “While the fair is on, people will be spending their time in the alehouses and taverns. How many women would be surprised if their husbands turned up late or not at all every night of the fair? This man might well be a resident of the town whose woman thinks he’s sleeping off a hangover in a tavern.”

“It’s not only that, Sir Baldwin,” said Holcroft. “The clothes look familiar to me, but I don’t remember where from. They’re not local; there’s no one I know in Tavistock who wears stuff like this.”

“This isn’t good,” the Abbot said. He stared wistfully out through the window toward his deer park. Simon guessed that the talk of bodies was distasteful to him – he would rather be discussing his hounds or hawks. “It will be my court that has to resolve all this, and I don’t want a whole group of men from the town penalized when they have done nothing.”

Baldwin nodded thoughtfully. The usual procedure was for the first finder and neighbors to be held against a surety, to guarantee that they would go to court. If no killer could be found, they would all be fined.

“I hear that Sir Baldwin and the bailiff have found many other killers,” Holcroft suggested tentatively.

“You want us to help you?” Simon asked, throwing Baldwin a glance. The knight shrugged.

“Sir, I can do nothing,” said Holcroft plaintively. “We rarely have murders in the port, and I’m only in this post for a year. I don’t know how to perform an inquest or anything.”

“That is down to the coroner,” Baldwin observed.

“Yes, sir, but the killer could be leagues from here before the coroner arrives.”

Robert Champeaux nodded pensively, looking from Simon to Baldwin. “You would be doing me a great service, gentlemen. Would it be possible for you to investigate this death? It should be the duty of the coroner, but this is my land, and the murder was within my court’s jurisdiction. In the interests of justice I feel justified in investigating it swiftly.”

Baldwin stood. “Come, master port-reeve, let us return to where the body was found.”

“One moment.” Champeaux walked to the door. He held a brief conversation with another monk before returning. “All should be noted down in case the coroner wants to see exactly what has been said or done. Take young Peter here. He can write down everything for the report.”

As the young man entered, Holcroft shook his head. He recognized the novice who had guided the Camminos to the tavern the night before. Things were bad enough already, he thought, without having an aggressive monk tagging along.

Holcroft led them through the Great Court of the Abbey and out through the court gate – a massive square block large enough to house a small chapel. From there they followed the street northward until they came to the alley.

Baldwin was pleased to try to help the Abbot, particularly since he was fascinated by the mystery of the missing head, but Simon felt a degree of irritation that they should so speedily have been involved in a murder hunt. He only hoped that their investigations could be concluded quickly. He had left Hugh to help Margaret settle into the room Abbot Champeaux had allocated for them. Baldwin did not bother to ask Edgar to remain. He would not leave his master in a strange town. When they were serving with the Knights Templar his place had been at his master’s side, and he took his responsibility seriously. When away from home, Edgar rarely let his master out of his sight.

The servant’s expression betrayed only boredom. Baldwin was sure that his keenness in coming to the fair was largely due to his wish to buy a bolt of good cloth for his woman. It was a comfort to Baldwin that his servant was focusing on Cristine at the inn. Beforehand Edgar had pursued an increasing number of women, and Baldwin had become concerned that his servant’s peccadillos could harm the respect which was so important to the knight’s position.