Susanna GREGORY - The Lost Abbot

Lullington laughed softly. ‘Wailing, not singing. The old fool cannot understand why he remains alive after parting with Oxforde’s prayer.’

At the mention of Kirwell and the parchment passed to him by a criminal on the gibbet, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place in Bartholomew’s mind. He spoke to Michael.

‘Robert was never abducted – he went missing of his own accord. To look for treasure.’

Robert regarded him coldly. ‘I did it for my Order. Running an abbey is expensive.’

‘It started when Kirwell decided to die and gave Oxforde’s prayer to Robert,’ Bartholomew explained to Michael. ‘The one he had promised never to show to another person. Except it was not a prayer, was it, Father Abbot?’

Robert smiled. ‘Kirwell was almost blind when he was Oxforde’s confessor, so he had never read what had been written.’

‘It was instructions,’ Bartholomew went on, ‘which told the reader how to find the money that Oxforde stole during his life of crime.’

‘Of course,’ breathed Michael. ‘That is why there has been a recent rumour that Oxforde gave it to the poor – to stop anyone else from looking. Not that they would have done after all this time, but nothing has been left to chance.’

Robert inclined his silver head. ‘It also made Oxforde’s cult more popular, thus increasing donations. We could not lose.’

‘So that is where you have been?’ asked Michael in distaste. ‘Not held prisoner by outlaws, but grubbing about for a burglar’s hoard?’

‘On Aurifabro’s land,’ elaborated Bartholomew. ‘While Spalling and the defensores kept him and his mercenaries distracted with spats.’

‘You went out with a spade in person ?’ asked Michael, regarding the Abbot askance. ‘Most senior churchmen delegate that sort of thing to minions.’

‘He does not trust anyone,’ said Bartholomew.

‘Too right!’ muttered Robert. ‘There is a fortune at stake.’

‘I would have helped you, Father Abbot,’ said Appletre reproachfully. ‘If I had, Gynewell would not have sent commissioners to make a nuisance of themselves.’

‘True,’ acknowledged Robert, although he said no more and his silence revealed far more than words: he did not trust his precentor, either.

‘So where is this fabled treasure?’ asked Michael, while Bartholomew stole an agitated glance towards the granary. Smoke was pouring from it now, and he fancied he could hear the crackle of the flames within. ‘Or has a month in the wilderness left you empty handed?’

‘Finding it has been more difficult than I anticipated.’ Robert turned back to Appletre. ‘You failed me this morning. You promised that Aurifabro would be killed or ousted, but he is still in residence, preventing me from conducting a proper search of his estates.’

‘Spalling’s people crumbled at the first hurdle,’ explained Appletre, rolling his eyes. ‘And Nonton’s idiots ran away. I was on my way to fetch the real defensores when I saw you had run into the bedesfolk, at which point it seemed more prudent to let the matter go. You must have thought so, too, or you would not have ordered everyone home.’

A billow of white sailed past the window. ‘The granary,’ said Bartholomew urgently. ‘You will have no abbey to rule if you do not put out the fire.’

‘I shall rebuild on a much grander scale once I have Oxforde’s hoard,’ said Robert. ‘And my munificence and vision will be remembered for centuries to come.’

‘And your monks?’ asked Bartholomew archly. ‘They cannot be rebuilt with money.’

Robert did not deign to reply. He glanced at the table. ‘Are those my seals and gold?’

‘Michael says he found them in Lullington’s quarters,’ replied Appletre. ‘Is it true?’

It was the knight who answered. ‘Robert could hardly take them with him, and he is not such a fool as to leave them where Yvo and his devious nephew might have got hold of them. So he gave them to me to mind.’

‘You will not profit from poisoning your wife, Lullington,’ warned Michael. He sounded as despairing as Bartholomew felt. ‘I have already written to the Bishop about it.’

It was satisfying to see the smugness fade from the knight’s face.

‘What?’ demanded Robert, shocked. ‘You did away with her?’

‘She started asking me awkward questions about your disappearance,’ replied Lullington. ‘And she was tenacious – she would have found the truth. She was supposed to die quickly, but the potion was defective, and when I saw her corpse…’

‘There was nothing wrong with the poison.’ Bartholomew made no attempt to conceal his contempt. ‘It was your ineptitude that sentenced her to a lingering death.’

‘Damn!’ cried Robert. ‘This could ruin everything! The Bishop will come for an explanation and–’

‘And you will inform him that there is no truth in Michael’s accusation,’ the knight flashed back. ‘Or I shall tell him exactly what has been going on here.’

Suddenly, Lullington’s face contorted in agony, after which he pitched forward and lay still. Appletre was behind him, holding a dagger.

‘So much for not being violent,’ muttered Michael.

‘You believed that, did you?’ asked Appletre mildly. He turned to his Abbot, who was scowling as he toed the bleeding body away from his rugs. ‘We shall tell the Bishop that Lullington killed himself in a fit of remorse.’

Michael released a sharp bark of mocking laughter. ‘Do you really imagine that Gynewell will see nothing suspicious in the deaths of Lullington, his wife, Welbyrn, Reginald, Joan, Spalling and us? He will tear your abbey to pieces looking for the culprits.’

‘Joan?’ asked Robert sharply. ‘And Welbyrn? When did this happen?’

‘I will explain later,’ said Appletre quickly. ‘After we have–’

‘He killed them both,’ interrupted Bartholomew. ‘Welbyrn was murdered in cold blood because he was loyal to you: he was the only one who insisted you were still alive–’

‘You know why we encouraged people to think you dead, Father Abbot,’ said Appletre. ‘To see who would take advantage of the situation and thus show themselves to be your enemies. And it worked: Yvo and Ramseye are the two who must be watched.’

‘What happened to Welbyrn?’ asked Robert flatly.

‘He committed suicide,’ replied Appletre briskly. ‘Like his father. He had become very unpredictable, so it was for the best.’

‘Appletre murdered him,’ countered Bartholomew. ‘And Joan.’

‘Ignore him, Father Abbot,’ said Appletre irritably. ‘He is trying to create a rift between us with his lying accusations. Well, it will not work.’

Robert said nothing, and Bartholomew felt the stirrings of hope. The Abbot would see he had recruited a dangerous accomplice, and would have second thoughts about what he had set in motion. But any spark of optimism died when Robert addressed his precentor.

‘If Gynewell does descend on us, I am sure we can devise a tale that will satisfy him. And if not … well, I have never liked him. It is time we had a new Bishop.’

There was nothing Bartholomew and Michael could do as they were bundled into a corner and told to stand with their hands on their heads, Bartholomew struggling to keep the knife hidden as he did so. The Abbot became businesslike. He snapped his fingers, and several more defensores appeared. He ordered them to toss Lullington’s body in the granary.

‘Then we can say that he started the fire as a way to end his own life,’ he explained. ‘But first, don these scholars’ clothes and make a show of leaving town. Keep your hoods up, so no one can see your faces. When they fail to arrive home, we shall blame their deaths on robbers.’