Michael JECKS - The Abbot's Gibbet

Edgar shrugged. “Those who are innocent will surely be able to prove it.”

His master grunted dismissively. “Like our Order did, you mean? Since when has innocence been a matter of justice? If you look right for the part a jury will assume you were responsible – you know that as well as I do.”

“You mean Pietro?” asked his servant with a frown.

“I don’t know who I mean – I haven’t seen proof of anybody’s guilt,” Baldwin muttered irascibly. He was about to continue when the bell sounded for Mass. “How can they think clearly here when the damn bells toll every few minutes?”

Edgar smiled to himself, and was about to speak when he caught sight of the startled expression passing over his master’s face. “Sir, what is it?”

“Gracious God, I thank You!” Baldwin cried, and rising quickly, he turned to Edgar. “Find Simon and bring him here immediately. Go!”

Edgar set off at a smart pace to the Abbot’s lodging where Simon and his wife had their chamber. Before long he was back. “He’s just dressing.”

To his surprise, Baldwin chuckled to himself and rubbed his hands together. “Excellent! And soon this whole matter will be behind us.”

True to his word, Simon appeared within a few minutes, his hair tousled, and his expression one of comical annoyance at the early summons. Simon liked to stay in his bed later than Baldwin. “What’s the matter?” he yawned.

“I have a clue, no more than that, but from that clue I think I can form a new solution to our problem.”

“And what exactly is that clue?” Simon demanded eagerly as they toiled up the hill toward the jail.

“It will wait, my friend. For now we must get to the truth of another matter.”

They had arrived at the Abbot’s clink, and Baldwin spoke quickly to the watchman at the door. The man glanced behind him. “He’s with the friar right now, Sir Baldwin – do you want me to interrupt them?”

Baldwin considered, and shook his head. “No. It would be offensive if he is making his confession. We shall wait.”

It was not long before the friar came out, and Simon was struck by his thoughtful attitude. He scarcely glanced at the two waiting men. The guard leaned through the doorway. “Lybbe? Come out here, mate – someone wants to talk.”

The merchant appeared in the doorway, blinking and scratching in the cool of the early morning, and gratefully left the jail to stand in the sun.

Baldwin eyed him with sympathy. “Jordan, I know you have no desire to assist us in finding the killer, for it can hardly help you, but I would ask for your help to stop someone dying unnecessarily.”

Jordan Lybbe cared not a fig for the fate of anyone else. His own life was soon to end, and that was a hard enough fact to come to terms with. “Why should I help you?” he asked listlessly.

The knight could see his resentment. It was there in his eyes, glittering with jealous malice as he stared at a man who was not under sentence of instant death as soon as he was denounced. “Lybbe, I cannot save you, but another man might be wrongly convicted unless I have your help.”

“Another man? What about me?”

“Do you deny your crimes with the trail-bastons?” Simon asked, and Lybbe looked at him coldly.

“I was never with that band.”

“Then why did you flee the country?”

“What would you do if you were accused like that? I heard that an approver had accused me – what else could I do but run? Who would take my word when a man had sworn on his oath that I was guilty?”

Baldwin’s eyes narrowed. “Do you swear that you are innocent?”

“Of course I do. Do I look like a murderer?”

The knight eyed him dubiously. Anyone, he knew, was capable of murder, given the motive. If he had to pick a suspicious-looking man, someone like Lybbe, with his strong build, thick beard and intense features, would rate highly.

Lybbe gave a bitter grin. “So even you doubt me. I have no hope of a fair trial or justice – why should I help you?”

“For information I would gladly perform any service you asked of me.”

“Make sure my brother is freed and that my boy is protected by him, and I’ll think about helping you.”

“You have my word on it as a knight. I will speak to the Abbot and demand the freedom of Elias from the jail today, and I swear that I will personally take Elias to your boy and see the lad is safe.”

Lybbe raised an eyebrow at the conviction in Baldwin’s voice. There was a degree of integrity there that surprised the merchant. He considered a moment. “Very well: ask.”

“You told us when we questioned you that you left the inn after some time. Can you recall anything that would tell us precisely when?”

Simon glanced at his friend, and was about to open his mouth to speak, but he was silenced by the Keeper’s raised hand.

“It was a little after the bell for compline was rung.”

“I thought that was what you had said. You also mentioned robberies in Bayonne. Do you remember much about them?”

Lybbe shrugged. “There were several. Men were knocked out and had their purses stolen. The last man to be robbed died; he was stabbed when he tried to defend himself, or at least, that’s what everyone thought.”

“Did you not hear any hints as to who might have been responsible?”

“Well, after the Venetians rode off, it was plain enough.”

“Yes, but do you recall hearing anything before that? Was there no suspicion about who might have been committing these crimes before the Camminos disappeared?”

“There was one man… he swore he’d been struck by a monk. But no one believed him. I mean, it was rubbish – and anyway, when the Venetians disappeared, that showed he was wrong.”

Baldwin shot a glance at Simon. “See?”

“No,” Simon admitted frankly. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“Simon, we’ve already heard that a man was hit on the head and robbed by a monk. The same happened in Bayonne, and the Venetians were there as well.”

“So we’re right back where we started, then. It was Antonio and his son who robbed, both there and here.”

“A monk,” Lybbe said, staring at Baldwin. “I saw a monk as we left the tavern, walking down to the Abbey.”

“Away from the alley?” Baldwin pressed urgently.

“Yes. And I saw him again when you had arrested Elias. I saw him pass the jail, going up toward the fair.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No, he was going away from me both times I saw him.”

“You’re sure about that? It was the same man?”

“Yes. It was dark both times, but he was quite distinctive. And he carried a cudgel.”

When Lybbe had been returned to the cell, Baldwin turned to Simon and punched his fist into his palm with a chuckle of glee. “Oh, Simon, Simon. This is wonderful, really wonderful. We have here a known and convicted outlaw, a killer, and at the Abbey, awaiting their trial, are two more men, both of whom are assumed guilty. And one thing links them all: the fact that they ran away. If it wasn’t for that, they might be given a fair trial, and then their innocence might be established, but no! They tried to escape justice as the people know it, so they must be guilty.”

“So who is guilty?” Simon asked as they began to walk toward the Abbey. “Did Lybbe kill Torre, and Pietro by coincidence decide to rob some fair-goers?”

“Simon, I dislike coincidences.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that I believe one man was responsible for the robberies and for the murders. Perhaps all these incidents are interconnected.”

“I don’t see how they could be. Pietro has been seen in the monk’s garb, so he must be the robber, surely. Do you mean he was the murderer as well?”