Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

“That was a good idea. The mob here can be as unpredictable as the citizens of London. Anyway, there is something else you should know. A man has been attacked by someone in a Benedictine habit.”

“Surely the fellow’s brains are addled?” Simon protested when the Abbot had told them Ruby’s story. “Who could accuse a monk of something like that?”

“Sadly, all too many people could believe the worst even of Benedictines. There have been too many tales of men of God becoming outlaws recently, and there are plenty of examples of monks who have chosen to ignore their oaths of chastity and take women. Only a short time ago I heard about a brother who was found abed with a married woman. It’s something which always gets bruited abroad, when a monk goes to the bad, and people then look on all as being corrupt and venal.”

“Do you think one of your monks could have done this?” Baldwin asked, toying with his wine. “Or is it a counterfeit?”

“A few yards of cloth is all that’s needed to imitate a monk,” the Abbot pointed out.

Baldwin noted that he did not definitely deny that one of his monks could have committed the robbery. “You have many men in cloth here.”

The Abbot shot him a glance. “We are a good size,” he admitted. “Twelve monks including myself, and another thirty lay brothers and pensioners who also wear the cloth, but I doubt that any of them could have committed a felony like this.”

“No, of course not,” Baldwin said calmly, and the Abbot returned to musing about Elias.

“I’m pleased the cook is behind bars. You may not be convinced of his guilt, but why should someone else put the head in his yard?”

“My question is, why would Elias himself have put it there? Only a fool would bury it so near his own home.”

“He had no time before returning to the tavern,” the Abbot suggested.

“But he did afterward. Why not dig it up and take it to the midden, and throw it in? At least that way there’d be nothing to connect it to Elias.”

“Did you find a habit in his house?”

“No, my lord Abbot. But we weren’t looking for one.”

“If he had one, he would have hidden it,” the Abbot decided.

“I suppose so,” Baldwin agreed reflectively, “but what interests me is why he is shielding the man he drank with that night.”

The Abbot nodded absently, signing to his steward for more wine, and Peter appeared with a pewter jug on a tray. He poured wine for his master and guests, but then stood before Champeaux, staring at the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “My son, is there something the matter?” the Abbot asked gently.

“Could I beg a moment of your time, my lord?”

“Friends, please excuse me.”

Baldwin watched with interest as the Abbot left the room with the monk, passing through the door behind his little dais, into his private chapel. The bailiff was less inquisitive than the knight, and walked over to chat to his wife.

It was some minutes before the monk reappeared, sniffing and wiping at his face. Behind him, Abbot Champeaux followed hesitantly. He went to his chair and sat, taking a deep draft of wine before staring contemplatively at the door through which the novice had left. “There are many things in this life which don’t make sense,” the Abbot observed.

Baldwin looked at him in surprise. Champeaux had lost his genial good humor. He looked sad and old. “Is something the matter?”

“There are times when my cross is heavy indeed.”

Baldwin nodded, and turned to talk to Jeanne, but every now and again he found his attention being drawn to the distracted Abbot, who gazed at the door and drummed his fingers on the table before him.

Hugo walked through the crowds peering about him as he sought the man again. Since Elias had been taken, he had wandered among the throng looking for the bearded man, but he had disappeared.

The friar was uncertain if he had done the right thing. Perhaps he should have trusted the tall knight and told him all he knew, but what if he was wrong? It was dangerous to trust to memory, especially after twenty-odd years, but how much more dangerous not to report it? Then there was the bearded Jordan: telling Baldwin must surely result in Lybbe’s death. Yet Hugo would have to inform Jordan that Elias had been arrested, in case he had not yet heard.

He pensively carried on down toward the square as he thought through his difficulties, and there he forgot his troubles in fascination at the plays and acrobatics displayed.

One of the hardest duties of a friar was finding new material for preaching. He, like the other members of the friars minor, believed that preaching dogmatically was pointless when the audience was largely uneducated. He was always on the lookout for material which would bring home moral points simply. It was with this in mind that his attention wandered over the people watching the miracle plays.

It was almost night when Marion Pole set her needlework aside and threw her husband an anxious glance. “Where could she have got to?”

Arthur put his pot down and shook his head. “She must have chosen to watch some of the entertainments. Perhaps she has gone to a tavern.”

“You don’t seem very concerned about your daughter. She’s only young.”

“But clever enough to escape danger.”

“You may think so, but I’m not convinced of it.”

“Marion, she will be fine. She doesn’t often get the chance to see a fair.”

“Husband, have you forgotten about her and that foreigner? What if she is holding a secret tryst with him even now?” Her face hardened. “You don’t think she intended that, do you – that she went out hoping to see that Venetian again?”

“Marion, Avice is in the company of Susan. That maid would tell you anything that happened if it was remotely indecorous.”

“But what if your daughter was to commit an indiscretion?” Marion asked, her face blank with horror.

“Woman, are you suggesting that Susan would allow her charge to have a tumble in a common alehouse? Or do you think Avice could couple in the street without her maid noticing? Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“But Arthur, what if she’s been attacked? You hear such dreadful things about fairs, especially large ones like this. What if…?”

“What if the sky should fall in or the sun forget to rise in the morning,” he snapped. “Don’t be stupid, woman – she told you she would be gone for some time. It’s not compline yet. If something was to happen to her, Susan would stop Avice being harmed, and if she failed, I have Henry watching them both.”

“Henry?”

“Yes. And if our groom saw anyone trying to threaten our daughter, he would die rather than see her come to any harm. You know him as well as I do. So,” his voice rose, “by God’s own blood, will you stop worrying and leave me in peace for a while? I have enough to think about with all the business I am conducting at this fair without your inane chatter!”

In his room, Antonio da Cammino paced angrily as the light faded outside and the monks entered to light the place. It was difficult to keep a calm exterior while these innocent fools went about their business, but he kept a tight rein on his tongue as the men slowly walked round with their candles and tapers, setting the waxen tubes down and lighting them. He even managed a smile of gratitude as they finished and left him alone.

Only then did he allow himself to consider his son again. The cretin had been behaving like a love-lorn squire from a courtly tale. Antonio walked to the window and stared out. He had meant what he’d said: he would not wait while his son indulged his whim for a girl. There were plenty of pretty maids at home; there was no need to seek one here in this godforsaken backwater.