Pip Vaughan-Hughes - Relics

I looked around me, horrified that I had dropped my guard so recklessly, but it seemed no one had noticed. I was just another customer warming himself before he ordered food and drink. And after all, I was just that, in part at least. Looking neither left nor right, I marched to the bar and put down my florin.

Your pleasure?' asked the innkeeper. He was a tall, thickset man with a round face and a nose broken so badly in the past that it sprawled to one side, the tip pointing towards his left ear. But despite looking somewhat demonic he had friendly eyes, and I decided I could probably trust him. But not quite yet. I ordered a mug of ale, and gulped off half of it the moment it appeared before me. It was cool from the cellar, light and fragrant. I had not had strong beer since that night at the Crozier, and this was nothing like that rich elixir. Instead it reminded me of a moorland stream and the taste water has after running over oak roots and moss. I finished the mug and called for another.

And another. I asked for food, and a pewter dish of roast meat was brought, with a hunk of bread to soak up the bloody gravy. By this time I was starting to relax; indeed, the food and drink – especially the drink – was giving me little choice in the matter. The fire that the sight of the rutting couple had roused in my blood was flaring, and I began to look around the room. I had no idea, of course, whom it was I was searching for. The place was full. There were many men whom I took to be sailors by their dress, and others were plainly merchants, wealthy ones at that. There were many foreign voices in the general hubbub, holding forth in tongues I did not know, some of them outlandish to my ears. And there were dark faces, sallow faces, pointed black beards and white-blond hair. Women lounged here and there. I assumed they were whores from their bright clothes and brazen laughter, and the way they wrapped themselves around their chosen men. But some of them were young and sweet-looking, and the thought that I was nothing more than an ordinary man made me pause and turn back to my beer. 'Concupiscence,' I thought, rolling the fleshy word on my tongue. How wonderful the religious life was for providing men with rich words to describe things they would never experience. Well, I reflected, I was free to put actions to those words now, but I was unlikely to live that long. Finding survival still upwards in my mind, I decided that time was wasting. I caught the innkeeper's eye and motioned him over.

'Another beer, my boy?' he asked. It occurred to me that he probably did not serve many young peasant lads who spent silver coin, but was treating me as well as any other customer. It was then that I decided to put my trust in him, although I was not overly furnished with choices in the matter.

'In a minute, yes, please,' I said. 'In the meantime I am looking for a friend of mine. Do you perhaps know Monsieur Jean de Sol?'

If the man was surprised, he did not show it, although I thought I saw a new alertness in his eyes, and that ruined nose suddenly seemed more hawk-like than comical.

'Perhaps,' he agreed, and turned to serve another patron. Now that I had played my hand, I was terrified. What now? I supposed I would have to wait and see. I was grateful when the man brought me another beer, but his silence and sharp gaze unsettled me still more.

The next few minutes were agony. I drank quickly, although tension made my stomach, full for once, feel as if someone were squeezing it in a huge fist. I felt sick. At last the beer was gone, and I signed to the man that I wished to settle up. He cocked his head at me in surprise and was about to say something, but then with a shrug he took up my florin, grabbed a pair of large iron shears from beneath the bar and snipped the coin into quarters, three of which he handed back to me. As I turned away I felt his eyes on my back. I glanced around, but I was as unnoticed as before, and I made my way through the tables towards the door. I was almost there when a tall man stepped in front of me, barring the way. He placed a large hand lightly on my chest.

You have some business with Jean de Sol, I think.' It was a statement, not a question. The voice was low and distinctly foreign.

I almost denied everything and was bracing myself to spring away from the stranger when I saw that his sunburned face, though serious, was not menacing. A few faces were turned towards us now. In any case I was all too aware that the man's hand must be feeling the reliquary through my tunic. I swallowed. 'Indeed,' I said hoarsely.

At once the man smiled. It was a good smile. 'This way,' he said, and without waiting, stalked off through the spilt drink and outstretched legs. I followed him to a door I had not noticed, in the shadows to the side of the fireplace. Behind the door was a staircase, which led to a long, narrow corridor flanked with many doors that seemed to run the full length of the building. The man selected the second door on the left, knocked once and muttered something through the keyhole. It opened, and I was waved inside with a gently mocking flourish.

The room was larger than I expected. Most of it was taken up by an enormous bed with carved pillars and heavy drapes of some once-rich cloth that had seen better days and a great many moths. A cluster of candles burned on a high stand in one corner. By the shuttered window was a low table, and a man sat there, his back to the door. He seemed to be writing in a ledger. Another man, the one who had let us in, stood by the bed. I saw that a short-sword hung at his belt and his hand rested on the hilt, although he was smiling. He too gestured, in that mock-courtly way, towards the figure at the table. Not knowing what else to do, I stepped into the room, made my best bow towards the seated man and cleared my throat. The lock clicked behind me.

'Monsieur de Sol, I bring you greetings from Adric of St Mary's abbey. I am called Petroc of Auneford, and I have…'

The seated man turned and stood up. I saw that he was dressed in the French fashion, and that the cloth was expensive. A dagger hung from his crimson leather belt. He had long black hair and a sharply pointed black beard, and his eyes were quick and bright. His two colleagues were laughing quietly. I straightened, blushing wildly. What was I doing wrong? What was the right way to sell a stolen relic, in God's name? But the Frenchman saw my confusion and gestured to his chair.

'Sit, please. We are not polite, I think. My apologies.' His accent was heavy, but his manners were as good as any Englishman, I thought, sitting down carefully and feeling like a plump mouse in a room full of cats. The three foreigners sat on the bed facing me. They seemed to be appraising me carefully, and I thought even more strongly of cats.

'Monsieur de Sol,' I began again. 'Brother Adric of St Mary's abbey at Buckfast advised me to seek you out. I need to find passage to the Continent, and I have the means to pay my way.' Perched on the low stool and facing my inscrutable hosts I felt like a schoolboy under examination. I was certain I sounded like a scared child.

I ploughed on. 'Brother Adric thought that you might be interested in acquiring something in my possession.' There was no reaction from my three examiners. 'It came to me by accident, but I have no way to return it to its rightful owner… I mean, I am its owner.' This was horrible. 'My good sirs, I do not want this thing! I pray that you do.' Silence. 'Please, you must help me. I have carried the hand of St Euphemia with me all the way from Balecester. A man was killed for it, but I was not the murderer. There is a man who is hunting for both of us, me and the hand. He killed the verger and then my dearest friend Will, but I was blamed, and now Sir Hugh will kill me and take the hand.' Whatever had loosened my tongue, it was not in my control. 'I walked here from Buckfast, through wood and briar, and death has followed in my footsteps. Adric is my friend. He said you would help me. If you will not help me, take the cursed relic and let me go to my death with a clean conscience.'