Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

“What case?” Antonio asked reservedly, eyes narrowed.

“He’s under arrest. He’s been accused of murdering Torre and the monk Peter.”

“What? I thought you were with the rabble roused by that damned friar!”

“Me? Who accuses me of this!” Pietro demanded.

Baldwin and Simon exchanged a glance. His surprise seemed unfeigned. The bailiff said, “You accused yourself when you decided to depart from the town in such haste.”

Antonio shook his head. “That was because of the mob. Didn’t you hear? They were incited to attack me by the friar. We didn’t want to remain where our lives might be in danger.”

“It had nothing to do with fear of being discovered to be the murderer?” Simon asked sarcastically.

“I know nothing of any murder,” Pietro stated. “I wanted to get away so that I could be with Avice, that’s all.”

“And I joined him willingly!”

Baldwin turned to see the girl being led on her mare by a sweating, grumbling watchman muttering, “She took us halfway to bloody Oakhampton.”

Kicking her feet free of the stirrups, Avice sprang down and ran to Pietro. “I love him, and I won’t marry the man my father has chosen. This is the man I will wed.”

Baldwin scratched his cheek and threw a glance at his friend. Simon was watching the couple doubtfully.

There was no denying the fact that the lad didn’t look like a crazed murderer, the sort to kill a monk because he thought him a rival. And then another thought struck the knight. “Avice, when did you agree to elope with this lad?”

And he knew her answer before she spoke.

Jordan and Elias Lybbe sat for the most part silently. The sun was creeping toward the horizon, and the stifling heat of midday in the cell was giving way to a damp chill. During the day the temperature had built steadily. The stone walls should have kept the little jail cool, but the wide, barred window allowed the hot air to smother the interior, and in the absence of any wind the two men sweltered, sweating profusely. The little water they had been given when they entered was long since finished, and both felt its lack.

“You should never have come back.”

Jordan’s tongue felt as if it was covered in rabbit fur, and swallowing was difficult. “It seemed right to come back and see you. I’d been away for so long, I just wanted to see the town where I was born one more time.” He knew his brother couldn’t understand the homesick aching in his bones. It had been unwise to return, as Elias said, but it was an urge which couldn’t be refused.

“There was no point,” Elias persisted miserably.

“It seems not.”

“I wonder what will happen to me?”

“You should be all right. They’ll soon catch the Venetians, and then you’ll be safe enough. Not like me: I’ll go to the gibbet.”

Elias brought his legs up and rested his head on his knees. He knew his brother was right. There could be no defense for a man once he was declared outlaw. “You shouldn’t have come back,” he repeated dully.

“At least I’ve seen my town again,” Jordan said softly. “I’ve lived too long abroad. The land is good, rich and fertile, and the people live well, but it’s not my home. I couldn’t die happy there. Here I can die content.”

“Did you never marry?”

“Yes. She caught a fever and died. We had no children.”

“That boy – he’s not your own?”

“No.” Jordan chewed his lip. He hoped Hankin was unharmed. “I took him on when he was newly orphaned. He was a comfort to me, and I was able to keep him alive, so we were well suited.”

Elias grew too hot, huddled as he was, and stretched his legs out before him, groaning with the aching in his joints. He needed water, but it wasn’t that which gave his voice its sharpness. “Was that to atone for what you did?”

“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, Elias, believe me,” Jordan said tiredly. It was hard to talk about the matter, it was so long ago. The bloody axe sprang once more to his mind, the woman’s mouth wide as if screaming as she lay by the side of her husband’s body, the girl sheltered behind her skirts. The memory made him close his eyes with a shudder. Although he hadn’t known it at the time, that event marked the end of his old life. And now it had returned to haunt him and end his whole existence.

“The gang killed them all, didn’t they?” Elias asked remorselessly.

“What could I have done against so many?” Jordan rested his head against the wall. He had always known his brother didn’t believe his protestations of innocence.

Elias looked away. A member of the gang had approved, confessed in exchange for his life, swearing he told the truth. There was no reason for him to accuse Jordan if he had nothing to do with it. “The bastards left an orphan, though, just like the one you picked up.”

“I remember.” Jordan gazed at the clear sky through the window. It was not something he could forget. The girl had been struck down, and with all the blood in the room, the men had assumed she was dead. It had been a huge relief to him when later he had seen her breast move, and he had taken her up and carried her away from that charnelhouse. It never occurred to him that he might be accused after saving her, but he had been, and he had to run for his life before he could be arrested. “I’m only glad that I was able to make sure she lived.”

Elias sighed and shifted. Stones on the ground dug into his thin buttocks. “Yes, but what about the lad?”

“Which lad?”

“The one you rescued – the one at your stall.”

“Hankin? He’ll have to make his own way, I suppose.” Jordan stared up at the sky once more, and had to blink away the tears, not only of self-pity but also futility. There was nothing more he could do to help the lad, he told himself. Hankin might be able to fend for himself… if the Abbot didn’t take everything that Jordan owned as an amercement he could give it to the boy.

“With nothing, there’s not much chance of him surviving.”

Jordan faced his brother. “If you do get out of this, Elias, promise me you’ll look after him.”

“Me!”

“Someone has to, and the poor lad has no one. He hardly even speaks English now, he’s been away so long. Swear to me, Elias – it’s the last thing I’ll ever ask you to do for me.”

“And it’s no small thing you want me to do – only to spend the rest of my life protecting a beardless boy!” Elias grumbled, but before long Jordan had the promise he needed, and he could relax and slump back against the wall once more.

It was little enough for him to leave behind, but at least he had the satisfaction that Hankin would be provided for. Elias was scruffy and lazy, and he had a capacity for whining which disgusted his older brother, but he was sound enough, and Jordan was sure he would be secretly delighted to have the company of the boy. Hankin had been a good friend. It would have been an intolerable weight on Jordan’s mind, going to the gallows knowing Hankin was deserted.

He looked out at the fresh, free world again, wondering what had happened to that other orphan, the little girl – whether she had survived the pain and terror of losing her parents so needlessly. It would ease his death if she had not suffered too much torment.

At the sound of harnesses and shouting, the Abbot left the refectory and hurried down to the Great Court. The men were all climbing from their horses with the steady and deliberate movements of the enormously tired.

“Sir Baldwin, you are all well? No one was hurt?”

“No, no one was harmed. And you need not fear for your harriers or berner. They are fine.”

“Sir Baldwin, they were far from my mind,” the Abbot chided him, but the knight saw his gaze moving past him to the wagging tails of the pack. “The girl?”