Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

Once inside the fair, the women naturally gravitated together, and Simon moved to his friend’s side. Baldwin ignored his leer and wink, and the elbow jerked into his side, maintaining what he hoped was a dignified silence.

Simon grinned wickedly, enjoying his friend’s discomfort. “Have you had any more thoughts on Elias?”

“I am afraid not. Until he realizes his own danger, there’s little we can do to force him to reveal the other man’s identity.”

“Your mind has been on other things, I know,” Simon smirked, “but one thing did occur to me. Elias is weakly in build, while Torre was barrel-chested and powerful. The clothes put on Torre fitted him, but they wouldn’t have fitted Elias. The man with Elias must have been the same in shape as Torre.”

“Yes, but how many hundreds here have a similar build?” Baldwin eyed the latest counter at which the women had paused. It held expensive gloves, and he felt a glow of sadistic pleasure as Margaret excitedly discussed them with the stallholder. “Why has Elias remained silent? That is what puzzles me. Do you think the man with him was the murderer?”

“Perhaps. From the descriptions, he might have been similar in size to Torre, and the clothes bear that out, if indeed he swapped clothes with the corpse. Also, if it was he who killed and decapitated Torre, it would explain how Elias could have reappeared in the tavern without a mark of blood on him.”

“But what sort of hold could the man have over Elias that would persuade the cook to keep silent when his life is at risk?” Catching a glance from Jeanne, Baldwin felt a burst of irritation. He needed time to figure out the best manner to court this lady, yet he was forced to concentrate on catching a murderer. For a moment he felt an unreasonable loathing for Elias. It was the latter and his damned silence which was causing him this problem. If it weren’t for him, Baldwin would be able to join the women and perhaps buy a present for Jeanne. “And what possible motive could the man have?” Baldwin continued. “He was new to the area, only a traveller, or so the alewife implied. He was certainly no local man, for she did not recognize him.”

“A personal slight, an accident – who knows? Maybe we should go to the tavern again and ask there; maybe meet up with Holcroft and see if a night in the clink has loosened friend Elias’ tongue.”

“Oh, I suppose so,” Baldwin grumbled. “If that pathetic damned cook would only speak, we could stop wasting our time. Why didn’t he just tell us what happened?”

They walked over to the women. Jeanne instantly turned to Baldwin questioningly. He shrugged apologetically as Simon explained, then added, “I think Simon is right – we should go and check on this.”

To his surprise, she nodded understandingly. “Of course you must.” He looked so chagrined at going, she wanted to give him a hug, like a mother cuddling a recalcitrant child. She gave him an encouraging smile instead. “It would be boring for you to trail after us anyway, going from stand to stand looking at clothes and boots. No, you both go, and we’ll see you later.”

Jeanne was no fool, she had seen the expression on Simon’s face as they were talking, and knew how shy the knight was. The bailiff had been ribbing him unmercifully, that she was sure of, so as they turned to leave, she called them back. “One moment, Simon – surely when your wife has so much to buy you wouldn’t leave her with only a little change? Your purse is full, and hers is almost empty – won’t you give her your money?”

Simon stared open-mouthed. “My money? But…” As Jeanne held her hand out he retreated, walking into the grinning Edgar, who quickly caught the bailiff’s arm and led him back. Under Jeanne’s firm gaze, he felt he had no choice but to untie his purse-strings and remove all the coins. “Don’t spend it all on sweetmeats,” he said gruffly, and jerked his arm free. “Come on, Baldwin. Let’s leave these beautiful thieves behind and seek a good, honest murderer.”

They left Hugh with the women, looking mutinous at the thought of the goods he would have to carry again, and walked away with Edgar, heading through the main gate and down to the market-place. Here Baldwin strode up to the cell’s window and peered in. He saw the cook huddled uncomfortably in the corner, wrapped in his thin and threadbare blanket, shivering.

Passing the market area, they had to push past the crowds which had already collected to watch the jugglers and acrobats. Minstrels were tuning their instruments, one woman singing in a high, nasal voice. Then, at the far end, they saw the friar.

Hugo was standing on a barrel to preach. “God teaches us that there is a fair price for everything, and it should be enough to allow a man a profit. But He teaches that if a man makes too much profit, that man is actively pursuing avarice, and that is a sin. That’s why our laws prevent you from hiring more staff than you need, or anything else that might give you an advantage over others in your trade. It is why you mustn’t overpraise your work to the detriment of that of other people.

“It is why usury is such a unique sin, for usury adds nothing to man’s well-being. Bankers add only to the misery of the world, because they lend money and charge interest on that money. What does that benefit mankind? If you are a cordwainer, you help us by making us shoes so that we can walk far without hurting our feet; if you are a cooper, you allow us to store our food and drink so that we don’t starve during the winter; if you are a weaver, you make cloth for us to clothe ourselves; if you are a farmer, you provide us with food that we might eat. But what do bankers do? They make nothing, provide nothing, add nothing to the good of men.”

Baldwin muttered, “He’d best be careful. We don’t want the rabble roused.”

“He knows what he’s doing – he’ll be on to why avarice is so bad soon. I’ve heard this kind of lecture before,” said Simon. “Come on, let’s get to the tavern.”

They passed on, and so missed the end of Hugo’s sermon. Later, Baldwin would come to regret that.

Inside the tavern there was a pleasant odor from a pottage cooking in a huge three-legged pot over the fire. The bailiff snuffed the air appreciatively. If he had not eaten before leaving the Abbey he would have demanded a bowl of the thick broth. As it was, he asked the serving girl to fetch ale for him and Edgar. Baldwin was not thirsty.

There was quite a crowd, with traders and buyers sitting and haggling over their deals, families taking their ease while their children ran about between the legs of farmers, merchants and tinners. Baldwin could see a group of watchmen in a corner, and he studied them with interest. One appeared to have hurt his arm, for it was held close to his body in a sling. Another was looking extremely pale and shaken.

“Simon, do you see those men?” Baldwin hissed.

The bailiff grunted. “What of them?”

“Margaret and Jeanne told us last night of the attack on the cloth merchant, don’t you remember? One man was left unconscious, another with his arm badly wrenched.”

“You think they’re the ones?”

“They look like them, don’t they? What are watchmen doing threatening traders in the fair?”

“If it is them, perhaps they had a good reason to… I don’t know, maybe they were collecting unpaid tolls.”

Baldwin gave an exasperated grunt. “Remember what Jeanne and Margaret said? Those men made no mention of tolls – they said they wanted to teach the stallholder English or some such nonsense. Anyway, it would be the port-reeve’s beadle who would go to collect money, not the watch. No, those men have been up to something.”

Agatha appeared with a jug and two large pots. She set them on the table, but before she could leave, Simon said, “Agatha, have you heard that we have arrested Elias?”