The Devil's Acolyte (2002) (37 page)

‘What do you do?’ Baldwin asked.

‘We have been attending fairs. We sing and dance to amuse. Many men call us to their halls for entertainments,’ Rudolf lied. It was untrue, but the sort of thing that these men would
believe.

He could kick himself. If only they had ditched the rest of their things. Welf had only returned a short while ago, and the pony he had brought was scarcely able to carry half the load which
they had on the cart, so they might as well have carried on the day before. By now they could be lost in the streets of Ashburton, far from an enquiry. Instead here they were, being questioned by
three grim-faced officials.

Not least of his troubles was the youngster hidden away. The boy could prove to be more than a mere embarrassment.

‘There are few halls about here,’ Simon observed.

‘
Ja
, but we are tired. We have sung our way across France and now England. We were about to travel to York, but then we heard of the King raising his army, and we thought we would
be more comfortable away from a war.’

‘Many would go with the armies,’ Simon said. ‘There is good money in entertaining men-at-arms.’

Rudolf smiled. ‘There is better money in a lord’s hall, and the food is better. Also the company.’

Baldwin gave a short nod of understanding. He motioned towards the women. ‘And a King’s Host is not the place for women – except those of a certain kind.’

‘
Ja
! I would not place my wife and children in danger.’

Eyeing him, Baldwin doubted whether this Swiss was actually worried. There was a hardness and competence about him, like that of a trained fighter. ‘We are trying to learn about a
man’s murder.’

Rudolf appeared uninterested. ‘What has this to do with me?’

‘We wished to hear whether you had seen this man,’ Baldwin said, and described Walwynus, explaining about his final journey and the discovery of his body. Watching the Swiss closely,
he was sure that Rudolf knew of Walwynus. His eyes had been fixed on Baldwin with a curiously intense concentration, but as soon as he realised that Baldwin was observing him closely, his gaze
began to wander, first to Simon and the Coroner, then to the men walking about his camp, as though there was nothing in this to hold his attention.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I do not know of this man. I have seen so many miners here. They seem to be everywhere, and they leave the land like this.’ He encompassed the ruined
plain with a hand. ‘You say he was here before last Thursday. We were here then, but many men came past here.’

‘There was a coining at Tavistock. All the miners would have gone,’ Simon said.

‘Are you sure you didn’t see this man?’ Baldwin pressed him. ‘He carried a leather satchel with him.’

‘I saw several men, but no one who was alone,’ Rudolf said.

The woman approached with a large loaf broken into pieces on a tray and a large metal pot of soup fresh from the fire. Placing bowls near the men, she passed bread to them, and one of the
children brought a jug of good wine. The woman poured and gave each of them a cup, listening to the men as she did so.

When she reached Simon, he looked up to thank her, and saw that her attention was not on him. She was carefully absorbing the conversation between Baldwin and Rudolf, as though making sure
Rudolf didn’t slip up. She reminded him of a woman he had once seen at a court, listening to her man tell his story at a trial of felony. Later Simon had learned that she and her lover had
concocted a story between them, rehearsing it together, to give each other alibis. The jury didn’t believe them and the man had been hanged.

That sudden insight made Simon wary. He glanced over at the other men in the camp, and was relieved to see that they didn’t appear to be ready to launch themselves at the three, but he
couldn’t shake off the sense of impending danger. Shifting slightly on his rock, which had suddenly grown uncomfortable, he repositioned his sword, moving the scabbard so that he could grasp
the hilt more easily.

She saw his movement, and for a moment he saw naked fear in her eyes. It was fleeting, but he hadn’t missed it, and although he smiled up at her and questioningly held out his cup to be
refilled, he saw that he hadn’t eased her anxiety. Her eyes went back to Baldwin with a kind of nervous exhilaration, as though fearful of what she might hear.

The Swiss picked up his cup of wine and took a good drink, glancing at Anna as he did so. She was all but petrified, and he smiled at her reassuringly, pleased to see that she appeared to be
soothed by his easy confidence.

Baldwin stared up at the hills. ‘You know, I never visited the Forest Cantons. I hear that they are beautiful.’

Simon added, ‘And I have heard that the metalwork is excellent.’

Rudolf felt his stomach lurch. Behind him he heard a slithering noise, and he turned to scowl at Henry. His son shamefacedly allowed the bow to uncock, setting it aside. Turning back to face
Simon, Rudolf stared at him coolly. ‘What of it?’

‘Nothing. I was only passing a comment. You have many pewterers in your country?’

‘Some.’ Rudolf was watching his face closely, wondering whether this was the face of a man who sought to destroy him, or whether he was a man who could be trusted. It was so hard to
gauge. Some men who looked honourable were devious, lying fools who would kill you just to see how long you took to die, and would cut your fingers off because it was easier than pulling rings from
them.

The shorter knight he didn’t like the look of. That man had dark features and black eyes like gleaming flint. The second knight had a face which had seen much misery, with lines of pain
etched deeply into his forehead and at the side of his mouth. He and the Bailiff both looked like men who could be trusted, he thought.

Simon knew Baldwin was staring at him, but he refused to return the look. His eyes were fixed upon the Swiss, while his ears strained to pick up any signs of nervousness from the woman. ‘I
heard you were a pewterer yourself.’

Rudolf lifted a hand and glanced over his shoulder, but the bows were unstrung. There was no need to worry about the hotter-headed fellows. He kept his hand in the air, beckoning his wife, and
she walked to him and took it, grasping it firmly, like a drowning woman grabbing at a spar. ‘And what else have you heard of me, Master Bailiff?’

As soon as Peter had heard that dismal cry, the terrible anguished shriek of the widow, he felt his heart dissolve and a huge emptiness open up inside him.

‘Woman, who is dead? Who is it?’ he cried as he ran to her.

He was not the first to arrive at her side. Before him was a decrepit watchman, who stood helplessly wringing his hands. Peter grabbed her hands and kept them still, trying to impose his stolid
calmness upon her. He stared into her maddened eyes and spoke soothingly. ‘Come now, woman. You know me, don’t you – hey? You know who I am. I’m Peter the Almoner. Now
what’s all this about a murder? Who’s dead? Where is he?’

‘Help us! He’s in the alley! He only came home last night, and now he’s dead! In the alley, outside our door!’

Men were gathering about her, fingering their weapons, wondering whether they should be chasing after a murderer, and if so, whom they should seek. Peter shoved his way through them all,
hurrying back along the alley from which she had come.

It was a noisome little place. Not much more than a couple of yards wide at the entrance, but with extended buildings reaching out overhead, some all but touching, and shutting out the sun so
effectively that he felt as though he was swimming through an almost impenetrable murk.

He knew which was Emma and Hamelin’s house. If he didn’t, he soon would have, from the sounds of wailing children.

It was a tatty building, with the plaster falling from the walls and the lathes exposed. In the winter there would be terrible draughts whistling through, Peter thought absently. It said little
for the couple that they hadn’t done the same as so many other peasants, and made a thick, sticky paste from the glutinous earth that lay all around to patch the wall to shut out the winds.
But Hamelin was a miner, he remembered, so he probably rarely had time, while his wife was permanently exhausted from raising and feeding her brood.

Some of them were outside now, and as Peter approached, one young lad turned his head to him. With a shock of horror, Peter realised that the darkness about the fellow’s face was not the
darkness of the alley, but was blood, great red streaks down both cheeks. His hands and fingers were covered in it, and he had transferred the blood to his face as he wailed.

At his feet was a mess of broken shards of pottery. At first that was all Peter could see, but then he realised that there were feet protruding into the alley, and he felt his heart sink
further. He approached, making the Sign of the Cross as he squatted beside the body.

‘Who is it?’

Nob had followed the noise and now stood at his side, shaking his head.

‘I think it is that poor girl’s husband,’ Peter said.

‘Hamelin? Could be, I suppose. Christ Jesus, what a mess! He has been stabbed, hasn’t he?’

Peter hardly heard him. He was considering the man’s position. ‘He was dragged here and thrown on top of this pile of rubbish. Why should a man pick up another and throw him atop a
midden? It would seem a strange way to treat a body.’

‘Hey, you looking for sense in a murderer? Come on, Brother. There’s no point in that. Look for sense in a tavern full of drunks more like!’

Peter glanced at him, and his expression made Nob silent in a moment. ‘This man has been murdered, Cook. Take those children away and see to them, and tell someone to advise the Abbot. And
in the meantime, stop your idle chatter!’

‘I have heard much about you,’ Simon said. He avoided the eyes of Baldwin and Coroner Roger, but instead leaned forward, holding Rudolf’s gaze. ‘I think
you paid Wally money for a sack at an inn in Tavistock, but you have broken no laws. The trouble is, you are fearful of being accused of his murder because he died soon after you saw him –
especially since you took his sack from him.’

Rudolf could feel Anna’s fingers tighten about his own hand, but he didn’t look up at her. She was reminding him that they had the two secrets to preserve now: there was the boy as
well. Rudolf ignored her. He was measuring Simon, staring deeply into his eyes and gauging whether or not he could truly trust him. ‘It is easy to arrest a foreigner and convict him of crimes
he knows nothing about,’ he said at last.

‘It is as easy to accuse a man wrongly as it is to allow an evil man to go free,’ Simon countered. ‘All it takes is for the innocent to hide the truth, for the innocent to be
accused and the guilty to walk free. What would you do, friend? See the innocent hang, or see the guilty caught and made to pay?’

‘Make the bastards pay!’

Simon grinned. ‘We have no wish to see the innocent suffer, but we are all King’s men. We have to try to catch the guilty. Would you help us?’

‘What is all this?’ Coroner Roger asked silkily. ‘I have heard what you’ve said, Bailiff, but I confess, I am confused. You talk of pewterers and money, but this man
tells us he is a mere actor and entertainer. Which is true?’

Simon smiled, but maintained his eye contact with Rudolf. ‘Friend, we do not want the wrong man, but to catch the right one we need to know the truth. How could we persuade a man to tell
us the truth?’

Rudolf gave a deep sigh, then motioned to his wife to fetch more wine. ‘I met the dead man in an alley in Tavistock,’ he began, and Simon knew he was hearing the truth. ‘He was
jumping from a window in a big house with limed woodwork and a blue painted shield above the doorway. In his hand was a sack, filled with metal. I caught his accomplice, but he was a monk. In my
surprise, he escaped. When I captured the other man, people saw us together, and I had my knife out. I made sure he couldn’t run away, but he persuaded me to take him to a tavern and let him
explain. It seemed a reasonable idea at the time. This man Walwynus told me that the plate had been stolen from others, and that if it were left in the house from which they’d taken it, it
would be sold to the thief’s profit. He and the monk thought it better that the metal should be ‘rescued’, and so they took it. That was when I came across them. Then he told me
that I could have the metal if I wanted, and he named a price which seemed to me to be ridiculous. So! I bought it and gave him coin in exchange.

‘I went back up to the moors with the sack. Next morning, Walwynus caught up with me and asked me to return the pewter. I refused, for a bargain is a bargain, but he swore at me and said
that he would pay me more than the pewter was worth if I would only give it back. I refused again, for I wanted it. That was when he drew his dagger and made ready to attack me. I pulled my own
knife out, and when he lunged at me, I stabbed at his knife hand. I caught him, and his hand lost some fingers. He stopped fighting, and started weeping. I left him. The pewter is in the back of my
wagon. If you want it, you can buy it back.’

Baldwin had sat staring a while, and now he blinked in astonishment. He shot a glance at Simon, who sat nodding knowingly. ‘This pewter . . . may we have a look at it?’

Simon said, ‘I doubt whether that is necessary, Baldwin. No innocent burgher has reported the theft as yet. Any man who had all this plate stolen would notice immediately – unless it
was already concealed. Concealed because it was stolen! This is all from the Abbey – that’s the point. Maybe Walwynus thought he was stealing some pewter from a wealthy man’s
house, but he didn’t realise that it was all originally taken from the church. And as soon as he learned that, he hurried here to persuade Rudolf to give it back. He failed, so he tried to
take it by force, but Wally was undernourished and slow, while Rudolf here was quick and assured. So Rudolf won and Wally lost his fingers.’

‘It was out by the cross just west of here,’ Rudolf confirmed. ‘The westernmost of the three. He fell when I had struck his fingers from his hand, and he collapsed beside the
stone cross. I saw him stand, his hand resting on the cross itself to help himself up. I felt sorry for him.’