The Abbot's Gibbet (12 page)

The Abbot’s Gibbet

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He had intended to find a tavern to quench his thirst—he had no wish to see the bailiff or knight again immediately, but he had to pass by the horse-market. Here he idly whiled away some time watching the creatures being paraded round the ring before being put through their paces. It was always exciting to see the farm boys racing their mounts up and down the fields to demonstrate their speed and stamina. Turning to fetch himself a cool quart of ale, he found a small knot of watchmen standing behind him. He almost walked straight into them. Giving a gesture of annoyance, he motioned to them to get out of his way, but they stood their ground, and with a sense of distaste, he saw that it was the men from Denbury.

“Well?”

“Sir.” It was Long Jack. His dark eyes were filled with a reserved concern. “There’s been a robbery.”

“Well? Get the details and find the felon. God’s blood, do I have to do everything around here?” Then he froze as he noticed the man’s face. “What is it?”

“You’d better come with us, port-reeve.”

He followed behind. If it was bad enough to make Long Jack fearful, it must indeed be a dreadful act. He found himself holding back as the men forged a way through the crowd, unwilling to encounter whatever evidence they might force upon him. First a murder, now a robbery, and both had to happen in the year when
he
was in charge.

To his surprise he found he was being taken toward the butchers. The bull-baiting pen was empty now—

the wounded cattle were being slaughtered and new ones had not yet arrived. The men took him up the alley to Will Ruby’s stall. Here they stood back respectfully, leaving space for the port-reeve to enter, 96

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and after throwing them a suspicious glance, he sidled behind the trestle table and went to the sheltered space behind.

Ruby lay on a low palliasse, pale-faced, while his wife silently held a damp cloth to his temple. When they heard Holcroft approach, she leaped back, and her husband snatched up a club studded with nails from beside his makeshift bed. Seeing the port-reeve, he let it fall shamefacedly.

“What in God’s name is all this about?” Holcroft demanded, astonished. He had never seen the butcher behave like this before. It was out of character, even if he had been robbed.

“Sorry, David. It’s this attack, it’s made me a bit twitchy.”

“Who was it, did you recognize him?”

Ruby gave him an odd look. “No, I never saw him before.”

“What did he look like?”

“Didn’t the watch tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Port-reeve, it was a monk! A damned monk robbed me!”

- 8 A bbot Champeaux waved the men to seats. Peter nervously hovered at the

door, unsure whether to enter the

Abbot’s private chamber, and was delighted, though secretly fearful of committing a
faux
pas
in such company, when the Abbot beckoned him in and motioned him to a seat.

Simon walked in after his friend and was surprised to see him halt only a few steps inside. Then he saw why. The Abbot was sitting at his great chair at the head of his table while the servants busied themselves preparing bowls, towels and water for washing. At the Abbot’s side was Simon’s wife, and next to her was another woman. The bailiff had always thought his wife to be the most lovely woman he had ever seen: Margaret’s body was slender but strong, her face still free of wrinkles and unmarked by the grief that so often made features prematurely haggard, and her thick golden hair gleamed like a flame in the summer sunshine. But the woman next to her was beautiful in another way. As the Abbot introduced him to the lady, Baldwin stood fixed to the spot. He could see red-gold tresses 98

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protruding from her coif, which contrasted with her bright blue eyes. Her face was regular, if a little round; her nose was short and too small; her mouth looked overwide and the top lip was very full, giving her a stubborn appearance; her forehead was broad and high: but the knight considered the sum of her imperfections to be utter perfection.

“Jeanne? Surely that is not a local name?” he asked. She smiled, and he was secretly delighted to see how her cheeks dimpled. “No, sir. I was named in Bordeaux.”

“Are you staying in the Abbey?”

“The Abbot has given me a guestroom near the court gate. It is where I used to stay with my husband when we came to the fair.”

The Abbot interrupted. “You may know, Sir Baldwin, that as Abbot of Tavistock, I hold a baron’s rank. I have to maintain some knights to supply the host in time of war. Sir Ralph was one of these. It was nothing to arrange for a room to be available for his widow.”

“Widow?”

“Sir Ralph de Liddinstone sadly caught a fever earlier in the summer.”

Fever, Jeanne thought, hardly described the raging agony of his last days. She had never thought that so hardy a man could collapse with such speed. But she was grateful that he had.

Her husband had been a brute. She could admit it now. Ralph at first had met her ideals of a truly courteous knight, being kind and thoughtful, loving and gentle—but that had changed when she had been unable to bear his children. He blamed her for it, as if she was deliberately witholding his heir from him. Each time a friend of his had announced another child, The Abbot’s Gibbet

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Ralph had looked on her more blackly, until at last he had hit her.

That first time her shock had been so great she hadn’t really felt any pain, but from then on he had taken to drinking ever more heavily, sulking in his hall, and afterward, as if as a diversion from bedding her, he would punch or kick her, once taking a riding crop to her bare back.

No, Jeanne was grateful that God had taken him from her.

Baldwin saw the fleeting sadness in her eyes. “My lady, I apologize if I unthinkingly reminded you of—”

“It is nothing,” she said lightly, giving him a look that made his heart swell. “It is all over. And the Abbot here has been very kind.”

“My dear, I have done nothing. The Abbey has a duty to provide hospitality.”

“Abbot, you have let me stay in my home, you have loaned me your steward to make sure the house is well run during the harvest so we have food for the winter, and you have made me your friend. That is more than nothing.”

Baldwin nodded. Many abbots or priors would want a widow out so that their lands could be more efficiently controlled by a man. It confirmed the impression of kindness and generosity he had earlier formed of the Abbot. “So, er, are you here for the fair?”

“Yes. My husband and I used to come here every year for St. Rumon’s Fair, and the Abbot was good enough to ask me again, even though I am a widow now.”

Margaret saw with near disbelief that her friend Baldwin was more keen and interested in this woman than in all the others she had paraded in front of him over the last years. She gave a tiny sigh of frustration 100

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that all her work had been wasted, but then studied Jeanne carefully. Apparently he was attracted to this red-haired woman from Liddinstone: if she could make Baldwin happy, Margaret would do all in her power to make sure he won her.

Seeing Baldwin was awestruck, Margaret turned to her. “Jeanne, I have to make several purchases at the fair, and my husband and Baldwin are poor company, especially when they have the excuse of a murder to investigate. Would you mind joining me in search of cloth and plate?”

Jeanne threw a quick glance at the knight, who stood uncertainly. She could see that he was fumbling for words, and the sight of the knight’s shyness was a balm to her soul after years of being told she was worthless because she was barren. “I would be delighted.”

The Abbot was old now, older than many, but he had not missed the interest in Jeanne’s eyes as she surveyed Baldwin. It would be pleasant indeed, he felt, if St. Rumon’s Fair could unite a couple such as this. He usually ate with his monks in the refectory, and he would often invite visitors to join him there, but it would not be conducive to the monks’ concentration to have women in their midst, and it would be equally unthinkable for the Abbot to leave them in a separate room, so today he had decided to invite his guests to eat with him in his hall. Now he wondered whether this decision could lead to a fortunate outcome.

“So, Sir Baldwin, have you enjoyed any success?”

“Um? Oh, we have found out a little, but what we have uncovered appears only to add to the muddle. We think the murder happened around compline—the man we
think
was the victim was seen leaving the tavern The Abbot’s Gibbet

101

just after the bell tolled. But we still cannot confirm who the dead man was.”

“At least that diverts attention from us,” the Abbot said, nodding to Jeanne. “We were here with my Venetian guests as the compline bell rang.”

Jeanne asked, “Does no one recognize him?”

“Not with his head gone. He was a merchant as far as anyone knows, and you know the number of merchants who come here for the fair. Until we find his head, it’s hard to prove who he was.”

“Good God! So we may never know who the poor soul was,” sighed the Abbot.

“That is possible. Still, we have made some little progress,” Baldwin said, and told them about their talks with the alewife and cook.

“Does that not give you cause to arrest Elias?” the Abbot asked uncertainly. “If he left the tavern with the man, and the man was not seen alive again, surely that makes it all the more likely that it was him who did the murder.”

“The more I consider it, the more I think Elias is unlikely to be the killer. He can’t be so stupid! If he was to murder, why would he leave the body so close to his shop? If he wanted to hide the body, he would take it inside, surely, and conceal it more effectively. And if he did stab the man and cut off the head, he would have been covered in blood, but he returned to the tavern with no such stains or marks on him. Then again, if he did kill, where could he have hidden the head? The alewife said he returned quickly after leaving.”

“There are some things we could check,” Simon said thoughtfully. “We could search his house. If he had little time to hide the head, surely it would be in-102

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side. Perhaps we will find blood or something else incriminating.”

“That is a good idea,” Baldwin said. He looked at the Abbot. “Could you arrange for us to do that?”

“I shall speak to Holcroft and tell him to have a watchman join you,” he said. “For now, don’t look so fretful! You can only do your best; and it’s difficult to see how you could be expected to resolve a murder when you don’t even know who the dead man was.”

Margaret saw Baldwin smile politely, but she knew him too well to believe that it was genuine. The knight disliked puzzles. He always wanted to find the truth in any situation, and she was convinced that he was irritated by the paucity of facts upon which he could build a case. She saw him open his mouth, but before he could speak there was a knock at the door. A monk opened it and stood back to let the visitors enter. Peter was standing near the door, and when he looked up he saw the Venetians. Seeing them reminded him of the girl, and the memory brought the blood rushing to his face. He hardly heard the Abbot’s introductions.

“Ah, my friends, please meet Antonio da Cammino and his son Pietro, from Venice. They have been visiting the Bishop of Exeter, and came here to see the fair and discover whether they might be able to profit from it.”

As he went round the people in the room and introduced them all to the Italians, Margaret noticed that the youth made no attempt to display interest. He hardly bothered to meet the gaze of the men as he was introduced, and soon walked to the window, peering out with apparent petulance.

His father was plainly disconcerted at such rudeness, and threw a despairing glance at his son’s back. The Abbot’s Gibbet

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Margaret walked over to divert him. It would be inexcusable for the two to argue in the Abbot’s chamber.

“Sir, have you just arrived?”

“No, I have been here for a day already.” She was surprised that he spoke perfect English, with only the faintest trace of an accent. He saw her confusion, and his face lightened. “You are surprised to hear me speak your tongue so well? I was born in this country. My father was a merchant and lived here for long periods while I was young. I learned English before I learned my own language.”

“And you come back to England often? Are you on business now?”

It was hard to place his age, she thought. His looks were timeless, with an easy poise that was entirely foreign. His eyes wrinkled with a charming, and flattering, appreciation. “Yes, I am here to discuss matters with the good Abbot.”

“But you will have some time for diversions?” she asked. “To visit the fair and see the things on sale?”

“Oh, yes! I have already been to the fair to see what kind of goods are offered. It is more varied here than many other fairs, especially in Venice.” His eyes left her and went to his son, who stood with his back to the people in the room, one arm resting on the wall by the window.

“And you, Pietro?” she asked as he turned to face the others.

“Me,
signora
? You ask about diversions? There is nothing I want in this town, save one thing,” he said quietly. “But I am not allowed that.”

“If all you can do is carp and moan, leave us and seek your own amusement! Do not insult the Abbot’s hospitality,” his father said coldly.

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There was silence in the room as the two men eyed each other, the son pale, the older man with an angry gleam in his light gray eyes. The youth shook his head in a quick gesture of despair, and walked from the room.

The Abbot poured Antonio wine and waved him toward a seat, and the man gave an embarrassed shrug as he accepted it. “I must apologize for my son. I am sorry he was so ungracious, my lord Abbot.”

“The young are so often difficult to understand,”

Champeaux observed.

While the men chatted, Margaret sat in a corner with Jeanne. The men’s conversation revolved around the business of the fair, and she was uninterested. Matters of finance, such as how many visitors were likely to come over the three days of the fair, how many horses would be sold and whether the King’s own cloth procurers would deign to arrive, were of supreme unimportance to her. For Margaret, the only interest in the market lay in seeing all the goods on display, and buying something for her daughter back at Lydford.

“Were you married to Sir Ralph for long?” she asked tentatively.

“For five years, I think.”

“You must have found the moors a strange sight after Bordeaux.”

“I did, although there was a memory of it for me. I was orphaned when I was young, and my uncle took me to live with him in Bordeaux, but before that I had lived not far from Tiverton to the north, so seeing Devon again was to see the land where I should have been living if my parents had not died. The only hardship was living so far from a town, but I soon became used to it.”

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Margaret nodded. She could imagine that for a town-dweller the move to the wilds of Dartmoor would have been hard. “When I return to Lydford, you must come and visit us. It is hard for a widow when so few people live nearby. You will make new friends with those we know in Lydford.”

“That would be very kind of you,” Jeanne said, and her gaze fell upon Baldwin. When she glanced back at Margaret, her eyebrow was raised in a silent question, and Margaret had to stifle a giggle. She had no idea her plan was so transparent.

“Do you have any children?” she asked, and saw a shadow pass over her new friend’s face.

“No, none. It has been the regret of my life.”

“We only have the one. Our son died this year,”

Margaret said softly.

This was the first time she had felt able to leave her daughter behind since her son, Peter, had died. When he had gone, she had almost suffered a brain fever, especially since she had felt as if she had also lost her husband. Simon had always been a model husband, but he felt the lack of a son very acutely. When Peter had been born, Simon was delighted, seeing in his boy a future companion who would carry on his name, and perhaps begin a dynasty that could become a noble family. The shock when their son had died had been all the greater.

She glanced at him. Simon was listening to the conversation and adding his own comments. The men were talking about tin now, and she could see that the Abbot was pleased with what he heard from his bailiff. Simon, she knew, was respected among the miners because he had shown himself to be shrewd and fair, upholding the rights of the tinners whenever he could, but 106