The Abbot's Gibbet (39 page)

“I saw little of the violence myself. Every so often I would come across a farm which had been devastated, or meet people flying from the trail-bastons, but that was all until I was myself taken.”

“You were caught by them?” the Abbot asked with surprise. “They dared capture a friar?”

“Oh, I don’t think all of them were in favor of it. Some wanted to let me go immediately, others wanted to ransom me. There was quite a debate. But after three days they did release me—once I had given them absolution. They refused to let me go until I had done that much.”

“It was meaningless if it was forced,” the Abbot muttered.

“True, my lord, but I hope that some of the men will 354

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have performed the little penances I gave them. It would be a terrible thing to see so many souls destroyed,” Hugo said piously. “I was set free not far from Tiverton, a little to the north of the town, and the trail-bastons continued on their way. It was there I first met Jordan Lybbe.”

“First met him?” the Abbot interrupted. “He was not with the outlaws?”

“No, my lord. I never saw him with them. When I was left by the men, I was lucky enough to meet a priest, and he took me to stay with him at his house. Lybbe was there. He was apprenticed to a merchant, and was travelling back from a fair, but his horse had become lame, and the priest had agreed to let him stable his animal to rest.

“I will say this. Lybbe was a well-spoken, kindly man. He was not so religious as I would have liked, but he gave me to believe that he understood justice and morality. He was no felon.

“We were both there some days later when we saw smoke from a nearby farm. Lybbe offered to go and see if he could help. He left me alone in the house—

the priest had gone to visit the town—and hurried off. When he came back, it was with a young girl in his arms.” The friar stopped and motioned to the bearded merchant. “Come, you tell your own story.”

Lybbe shrugged. “There’s little enough to tell. As friar Hugo says, I thought there had been an accident, maybe a barn had caught light; I went to help put out the flames. Instead, when I got there I found men capering about with pots of ale and wine. The trailbastons had attacked the place and fired the stores while they drank themselves stupid. I could do nothing against so many, but gradually the men settled as the The Abbot’s Gibbet

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drink fuddled their brains. Maybe I should have fetched help to capture them, but I didn’t know the area and couldn’t tell which direction to go to find enough men, so I waited and watched.

“When the men were well into their cups, I went in. Inside the house there was . . .”

Lybbe’s face was suddenly blank, and Baldwin was struck by his demeanor. If Lybbe had broken down and wept, Baldwin would have disbelieved it as an act, for this was a strong-willed man. His quick stillness was infinitely more convincing. That the scene had horrified him was clear from his careful words and unemotional speech.

“There was a family. The man lay on his back. His head had been cloven almost in two. Beside him was his wife. She had not died instantly—the men had put her to their own use before cutting her throat.” Lybbe could see the scene in his mind’s eye as he spoke. The woman with her face turned to her husband in death, mouth wide in a silent scream as if pleading with him to end her torment. “At her side was a girl, only a youngster, and all over blood. She had been struck, but when I looked, I thought I saw her breathe. It seemed impossible that she should have survived, but when I felt her, she was warm. I picked her up, but not before I saw Luke. He was there, drinking, a bloody axe in his hand. He saw me, but I think he was so fuddled with ale he didn’t realize I was not of his band. There were too many others around for me to risk fighting him, so I walked out and took the girl back to the friar.

“That is almost all my story. While I treated the child as best I could, the friar roused the men of the place, and soon a goodly number was gathered. They chased after, and captured quite a large number of the 356

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trail-bastons. Then, the next morning, I went to pray in the church, and I found one of them. It was Luke.”

“I was with him,” Hugo explained. “I knew Luke from when the band had caught me, and seeing him there astonished me. He claimed sanctuary.”

“I wanted to take him outside and give him to the locals,” Lybbe growled. “I grabbed him, and hauled him from the altar, and would have taken Luke outside, but friar Hugo wouldn’t let me. He insisted that the sanctuary must be honored. It was all I could do not to kill him there and then.”

“It would have been an evil act,” the Abbot said.

“Brother Hugo was quite right.”

“You and brother Hugo didn’t see the family butchered like oxen in their own house.”

Hugo continued, “Lybbe gave his evidence in front of witnesses, and soon after we both carried on with our journeys. There was a guard set on the church to stop Luke escaping, and the coroner had been called, so there seemed little for us to do. I heard later that Luke had approved in exchange for his life, and I must confess I was pleased to think that one man would have an opportunity of saving his soul. I thought he would be able to create a new life for himself abroad.”

“Yes, only he lied,” Lybbe said gruffly. “He said
I
was one of his band; said I had killed the woman; said only his intervention had saved the girl’s life. I stopped in Tiverton for a night and while I was there I heard that I was being hunted. When I learned what he had said, I realized my danger. The friar knew I had not been with the trail-bastons, but I had no idea where he had gone. I could have gone back and told the truth, but what would have been my chances against a man who swore on his life? I was no local man, I was a for-The Abbot’s Gibbet 357

eigner to Tiverton. The priest was no use, he had been away. The only man who could vouch for my innocence was the friar, and he had gone. I thought I must escape home.

“I headed south as quickly as I could, but pursuit was only a few hours behind. I had never hidden the fact that I came from Tavistock. It was lucky that instead of going directly to my own place, I went to my brother’s. Elias gave me a meal and went out to fetch ale, and it was while he was out that he was told I was sought. He returned, and we made a plan to escape. My only hope was to abjure the realm, so I went to the coast. I found a ship, and within days I was in Gascony. I’ve lived there ever since.”

Baldwin glanced at Hugo. “Friar, was there any chance that Lybbe could have fooled you and been associated with the trail-bastons? Could he not have been sent on ahead to spy out the land before they attacked?”

“No, Sir Baldwin. I was with the band for several days, and met all their men. They were not trained soldiers, they didn’t have men to scout ahead, they were just uneducated peasants. Lybbe was not with them. Then again, when I met him at the priest’s house, he had opportunities to rob the place when he was there alone, yet he didn’t. I have absolutely no doubt he is innocent.”

“Then why do you think Luke accused him?” the Abbot asked.

“Because Lybbe wanted to attack him at the altar; I have no doubt that Luke accused Lybbe in revenge. Perhaps Luke had been planning on escaping from the church and was only forced to remain when Lybbe arrived. That would mean Lybbe was the cause of his having to approve and abjure the realm. Some men 358

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would consider that sufficient cause to exact a vicious revenge.”

“And it would explain why Luke would be scared once he recognized Lybbe in the tavern,” Baldwin observed. “It must have been a terrible shock to him to see Lybbe there after so many years.”

“But I didn’t recognize him, sir,” Lybbe asserted.

“No, but you were distracted by seeing the others, weren’t you? Tell me, though, did you see Luke while you were in Bayonne?”

“I never noticed him—the Camminos didn’t have him with them when they went around the town. Certainly when they were out buying goods he wasn’t with them. I would have recognized him for sure.”

“I wonder whether he recognized you there, or whether it was only when he came here, and saw you on your home territory that he realized who you were. Abroad he might hardly have given you a second glance, but here, hearing you speak English, he must have realized that you had escaped his vengeance.”

“It’s clear enough what happened, though,” Simon said. “Luke saw Lybbe in the tavern, recognized him, and immediately persuaded the Camminos to leave.”

“He pointed at me, sir,” said the friar. “I had preached at them earlier that day, and Antonio had no wish to be accosted for a second time.”

“And then he left the tavern with his master and son. I expect his mind was spinning with the risk he was running, but back at the Abbey he had a thought. He still had his habit from Bayonne. He could throw it on, hurry back to the tavern, and wait for Lybbe. It was pure misfortune that he happened to come across Torre instead.

“He had not meant to kill Peter, but the monk saw The Abbot’s Gibbet

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him in town. I have no doubt that Peter accosted him, and rather than be exposed as the murderer of Torre and the robber of Ruby and others, he was willing to kill again.”

Baldwin agreed. “But he had to escape from the town before he could be discovered. That was when he had the idea of duplicating the scene of Bayonne. He came across the friar giving a sermon against usury, and saw his opportunity. He mentioned to some of the men that there was a usurer staying with the Abbot. A few were already drunk, and it only took his subtle murmurings to rouse them. Luke was content that his master would be only too eager to escape from the town once he heard there was another mob baying for his blood.”

“But he didn’t go with them,” the Abbot pointed out.

“No,” said Simon, “and that shows a certain shrewdness on his part. How would it be if we had chased after the Camminos and then discovered a black Benedictine habit in Pietro’s bags? We would have brought them all back to Tavistock, and Luke might have been uncovered. But this way, he could try to run off while the two were being interrogated, and then he would have to be unlucky to be caught. That was what he planned: to get away while we were trying to persuade Antonio and Pietro to confess their guilt.”

“Yet Antonio and Pietro were . . .” The Abbot paused thoughtfully.

“We don’t know they were guilty of anything,”

Baldwin said pointedly. “I think we all accept that the thief in Bayonne was Luke, and if that is so, we also have to assume that Antonio and Pietro only fled from Bayonne because of the mob. Likewise they left Tavistock in such a hurry because of the angry crowd here, in front of the Abbey gates.”

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“I shall have to speak to them,” the Abbot said.

“Now we know of Luke, as you say, it all becomes clearer. There is one last thing, though, Lybbe: Torre’s head. Why did you cut it off?”

Lybbe met his gaze steadfastly. “My lord Abbot, I guessed as soon as I saw the body, as soon as Elias said it looked like me, that someone had planned to kill me. In the tavern I had recognized the Camminos, but I couldn’t see why they should want to hurt me. Bayonne was a long way away. But the man with them had been familiar, and seeing Torre’s body, wondering who could want me dead, I suddenly realized who it was.

“But I couldn’t go to the watch. How could I, when I knew I might immediately be arrested for the crimes he had accused me of? I could say nothing. And if it was spread around the town that it was Torre who lay there dead, Luke might try to hunt me again. I thought that cutting his head off might leave Luke surprised, for he would have no idea who could want to do that.”

“
Surprised!
I should think he would be more than merely surprised to hear someone had stolen a corpse’s head,” the Abbot said heavily.

“I know, my lord. It was a horrible thing to do, but I had to try to prevent Luke from realizing he had got the wrong man. All the time he thought he had killed me, I was safe and had time to plan how to bring him to justice.”

“And there was another aspect which struck you, wasn’t there,” Baldwin said quietly. “I had wondered why the head was buried in Elias’ yard. At first I thought you just didn’t know where else to conceal it, but that wasn’t it, was it? You thought the best way to show Luke was guilty was to somehow plant the head The Abbot’s Gibbet

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on him, didn’t you? That was why you left it where you could get to it easily.”

Lybbe shot him a glance, but his eyes dropped. “It was bad enough cutting his head off, let alone burying it. I just did it on the spur of the moment, I hardly thought about the consequences. Yes, I had intended to make sure it was left on Luke somehow. I wondered whether I could waylay him, and leave it on him where he and it would be discovered, or maybe plant it among his goods so that it could be found. Anything, so that people would realize he was the killer. But then it was found, before I could do anything at all.”

“It is hard to know whether you behaved well or badly. The intention was to show who was the murderer, which was justifiable, even if the method was deplorable,” Champeaux said. “I would hesitate to condemn your act, when you had been so intolerably treated, but to desecrate a dead body that way was appalling.”

Simon was interested by another factor. “Why didn’t you simply tell us the truth once you were arrested? I can’t see what you had to lose when you were already in jail.”

“I hadn’t any need to at first, because you hadn’t discovered I was suspected of being an outlaw, so I held my tongue,” Lybbe said. “And afterward, what was the point? Would you have believed a felon?”

“It’s true,” the friar said. “I had first thought Luke was familiar when I saw him in the tavern, but at the time I didn’t realize where I knew him from—I have no memory for faces. When Torre was killed, I had no inkling that Luke might be involved. And again, even when I knew who he was, I was disinclined to assume his guilt. Why should I? A man had been killed, but I 362

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