Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

The Abbot stared up through the window toward the west. The sky was purple and golden above the hill, an impossible mixture of colors, and once again he thanked God that his predecessors had chosen to have the Abbey’s precincts facing westward instead of east. He knew it was because of the flow of the river and the lie of the land, all logical, sensible reasons, and all unutterably mundane, but they gave him this magnificent view of the setting sun, and for that he was enormously grateful.

Robert Champeaux had much to be grateful for. He had a good, thriving Abbey, excellent farmland, a prosperous borough, and the conviction that he would be viewed as a patron of the Abbey after his death, which was an honor he had struggled to achieve all his life as Abbot.

The Abbot had always wanted to leave his mark on the Abbey. To him it was a sacred enterprise, one which required all his efforts. The Abbey was a crucial part of the fight against evil, an essential fort in the spiritual conflict, and he intended leaving it in so strong a position that it would last for a thousand years. That was his legacy to Tavistock: a religious institution that would rival the best and strongest in Christendom. If he could have his way, he would like to be remembered on the same basis as one of the founders of the Abbey.

That was why Holcroft’s words had unsettled him. It was inconceivable that a monk could attack and rob a man, but Champeaux had evidence from a reliable witness, and as the arbiter of justice in the town, he couldn’t ignore what he’d been told. He knew of Will Ruby; the butcher was known as a decent man by all who passed his shop. It would be different if the allegation had been made by a feckless individual like Elias, but when a man like Ruby spoke, only a fool would ignore his words. If Ruby said that a monk had robbed him, unpalatable though that news might be, the townspeople would think it was true, and that could be enough to cause a riot.

Champeaux stood and wandered over to the window, frowning. He must tell the bailiff and his friend, no matter how potentially dangerous the information could be. If they were to come across the story later, they would be justified in being suspicious about his motives for concealing such important evidence. It was distasteful, but necessary.

His decision made, he returned to his desk and sat. His musings were interrupted by a monk tapping at his door. It opened to reveal Margaret and Jeanne.

Margaret had left Hugh to transport their purchases to their chamber next to the Abbot’s hall. The servant had said nothing, merely turned and shuffled off with his load like a long-suffering donkey, but Margaret refused to be influenced by his mood. Jeanne had made some good recommendations, and between them, the two women had overloaded Hugh with materials bought at great discount from the curious trader.

The Abbot was at first baffled by their torrent of chatter. “Ladies, please, one at a time,” he protested as they burst out with the story of their adventure.

Jeanne dropped into a seat as Margaret explained what had happened to them. Now she had a chance to collect herself, Jeanne found her humor falling away like a cloak. She had an irrational loathing for the stallholder: irrational because he had been protecting himself and his goods, and it was the right and duty of any man to protect himself and his property. Yet something about him as he had stood in that vengeful pose had fired a hatred within her, as if it had stirred an ancient memory.

Robert Champeaux greeted Margaret’s story with appalled astonishment. It seemed impossible that such an overt attack could have been perpetrated during his fair. As she finished reciting her tale, he found he had to close his mouth; it had fallen wide open in his dismay. “But… are you both all right? You were neither of you hurt?”

“No, no, Abbot,” Jeanne said gaily. “We were fine, it was only the two trail-bastons who were hurt – and their friends, I suppose, if only in their pride.”

“This is dreadful,” the Abbot insisted. “That men should dare to commit acts of such outlawry, and during the fair too – where were the watchmen?”

Margaret threw a quick glance at Jeanne. The widow was about to speak when Baldwin and Simon entered.

Simon greeted his wife with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes. She looked too cheerful for his purse to have been undamaged after her foray into the fair. Margaret interpreted the look and grinned broadly. “No, I spent less than you would have expected, husband, but only because of the attack.”

“Attack?” Baldwin asked sharply. “What happened?”

His face registered his shock as he heard their tale. Simon merely dropped into a seat and nodded. “I’ve seen Hugh in action before.”

“Is that all you can say?” Baldwin demanded. “This is terrible! What if Jeanne or Margaret had been hurt?”

Margaret heard the order of the names and glanced at her new friend. To her pleasure she saw that the widow too had noticed.

Simon shrugged. “When you’re raised as a farmer out in the wilds, you soon learn how to fight. Hugh was trained by protecting his sheep from wolves on four and two legs. If he ran, his father would beat him, so getting into a fight was at least a way of avoiding a thrashing. He learned how to fight well, and not to lose. I pity the man who tries to harm him while he’s got a weapon of any sort to hand.”

“And you are sure you’re both all right?” Baldwin asked the two women.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Jeanne said. Margaret knew there was no need for her to answer.

“You say this merchant sold you his goods at a low price?” Simon pressed relentlessly. “Does that mean you spent less, or that you bought so much more that you ended up losing all your money?”

“We spent little, especially when you see what we bought,” Margaret beamed.

“And you, Sir Baldwin,” Jeanne added, “will soon have a new tunic and cloak.”

“A new tunic and cloak?”

He looked so crestfallen that even the Abbot burst out with a guffaw. “Sir Baldwin, how could you refuse new clothing from two such kind patrons?”

“With difficulty.”

“I fear I will have little to do with it,” Margaret said. “Jeanne wishes to do all the work herself.”

Simon saw the quick look Jeanne gave his wife and correctly surmised that this was news to her, but he was also pleased to see that she appeared more than happy with the offer. “Yes, Sir Knight, if you will allow me, I would like to.”

“I would be honored, my lady,” he said self-consciously.

The Abbot was still considering the problem at the fair. “Where were the watchmen when these men committed this outrage? I will have to make sure that the men on duty are punished for allowing this.”

“Don’t be too hard on them,” Baldwin said as he sat near Jeanne. “How many hundreds of stalls are there here? You have people from all over the kingdom and over the sea visiting your town. Do not be surprised that there is a minor incident.”

“You are right, especially since there is a more serious matter to attend to. You found the head, Peter tells me,” the Abbot said slowly, “but it belonged to the man called Roger Torre.”

“Yes. The head was buried in Elias’ garden, but we still have no idea why Torre should have been killed. We have arrested the cook.”

“So you do think Elias was the killer?”

Baldwin shook his head. “I can’t believe he did it. He is too weak, and I don’t think he had time. What is more, he could not have committed this murder without getting blood on him. No, I find it hard to believe that Elias had anything to do with Torre’s death.” He explained that they felt Elias would be safer in the jail, and the Abbot nodded understandingly.