Abbot's Passion (8 page)

The man stopped what he was doing and looked Gilbert up and down. ‘The jakes bucket’s out in the yard by the back door.’

‘Ah yes, the yard,’ I smiled awkwardly. ‘Perhaps somewhere a little less public? He is very young, and a member of a closed order, you understand, unused to the company of women.’ I nodded to the two young girls who were bustling around and giggling with the ladies of the group.

‘If he’s shy he can take the bucket into the cowshed.’

I beamed at the man. ‘A cowshed will do nicely. Bless you my son.’

I nodded to Gilbert who dashed off gratefully in the direction the landlord had indicated. Meanwhile I returned to the table to join my new friends.

‘Where did you say you were from, brother?’ John asked me as I sat down.

‘The abbey of Saint Edmund in Bury. Surely you’ve heard of it?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not from these parts. We’re from Leicester.’

I frowned. ‘I thought you said Lincoln?’

He looked surprised. ‘I did. That’s where they’re from. I’m the one from Leicester.’

I nodded. ‘I see.’

John drained his pot. ‘Well, if we are to make it to Ely in daylight...’

‘What? Oh, yes of course,’ I said quickly draining the rest of my ale too and reaching for my purse.

But John put his hand on top of mine. ‘It’s all right, brother. I told you. I’ll get these.’

‘That’s remarkably decent of you,’ I said to him sincerely. ‘Thank you very much.’

By now I was feeling pretty pleased with myself. Not only had I found a party of honest Christian folk to accompany us the remaining few miles to Ely but I had the prospect of good company to while away the time and not had to pay a penny for the privilege. What more proof was needed that the world is indeed a generous place? Next time Abbot Eustache says England isn’t a Christian country I will quote to him this simple act of Christian charity.

Outside I found Gilbert already waiting by the mules. ‘Well young Gilbert,’ I beamed at him. ‘Are you comfortable enough now to continue our journey? We are fortunate, are we not, to be able to complete the final leg in good company?’

‘Master...’

‘Come along,’ I said climbing onto Clytemnestra’s back. ‘We don’t want to keep our friends waiting.’

‘But master...’

I frowned at the boy. ‘What is it Gilbert? Do you need the jakes bucket again?’

‘No master.’

‘Then climb up or we shall leave you behind.’

I imagine anyone reading these lines will have already guessed what was about to occur. With hindsight I suppose it was obvious - so obvious that even Gilbert had an inkling. But I am embarrassed to say I didn’t. I like to put it down to the fact that I am a trusting soul, but trusting or gullible, as soon as we were out of sight of the inn one of the group - and to my horror it was one of the women - jumped down from her horse, leapt up behind me and put a knife to my throat. Now that we were in daylight and no longer inside the dark recesses of the hostelry I could see that this “lady” was no lady at all but a man. If I had any doubts on that score the bristles on “her” chin pressing into my neck as “she” held the knife to it gave the lie. From the corner of my eye I could see the other “lady” had done the same to Gilbert.

‘I’m sorry, master,’ Gilbert coughed as the hand tightened around his throat. ‘I saw them through a knot in the cowshed door. They drew up their skirts and...forgive me master...pissed against the wall like a man.’

‘Didn’t you think to warn me?’ I choked. ‘How many women do you know stand up to piss?’

‘I don’t know how women piss, master.’

‘Well not like that, you idiot!’

The other robbers were laughing at all this. Now their leader, John, casually walked his palfrey round to face me so that I could see him. I swallowed hard feeling the cold of the steel of the knife biting into my Adam’s apple.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ I told him. ‘I told you, we’ve no money. We are as I said, just two poor monks on a pilgrimage to Ely.’

‘Forgive me brother if I don’t believe you.’

At his nod the robber behind me sliced through the leather thong that secured the money bags to Clytemnestra’s rump and all four bags of silver, half of Samson’s fifteen marks, slid heavily to the ground with a disconcerting
clunk!
He then jumped off, lifted the bags high in the air and let out a triumphant whoop.

‘That’s it,’ I shouted. ‘That’s all of it. There is no more.’

But then Gilbert’s “lady” did the same and the four remaining bags clunked to the ground also accompanied by more whooping.

I turned angrily on the man John: ‘You, sir, are a cheat and a liar and I will see you hanged for this!’

‘Oh spare me your indignation brother,’ he said in a mock-wounded voice. ‘I’m only trying to earn an honest living.’

‘You call robbery on the king’s highway
honest?
’

‘I call it a day’s work. And hard work it is too. It’s not easy finding the right sort of customer for our sort of business.’

His men chortled appreciatively at their leader’s wit.

‘You won’t get away with this,’ I told him. ‘That landlord and his servants will remember you.’

‘They will remember two men and their wives in the company of a monk, nothing more. And he won’t want to draw too much attention to himself, not if those two “daughters” of his are to keep their jobs.’

My jaw dropped open. ‘You mean they were -? That place was a -?’ I gasped appalled. Abbot Eustache was right. This is indeed a godless country.

It was then that we heard the first whistle. It might have been the wind in the treetops except on this barren landscape there were no trees. The whistle was followed almost instantaneously by a cry of pain from one of the “wives” as he clasped his thigh. Blood spurted from the leg and he dropped the money bags he was holding. Then another arrow whistled into the calf of the other “wife” who had relieved Gilbert of his saddlebags making him drop them, too.

The robbers glanced frantically about them. ‘Where’s it coming from?’

‘I don’t know,’ said John raising himself up on his stirrups to peer around. I looked too but all I could see was miles of flat, featureless marsh. Then a third arrow smacked into his shoulder making him cry out in pain.

It was enough.

‘Let’s get out of here!’ one of the men shouted. He made a grab for one the bags of silver. But an arrow whistled into the ground an inch from his hand making him drop the bag and he abandoned it running instead for his horse.

All thoughts of the money now gone, the two injured robbers were quickly helped onto their horses and in confusion the four of them bucked, bolted and galloped their way as fast as their mounts could carry them as more arrows coming faster now flew past their retreating heads.

For a long moment Gilbert and I simply stared at each other in fear and wonderment. Where indeed was the attack coming from, and was it our turn next? Should we run too? The decision, as it turned out, was not ours for the taking.

‘Stand fast! Don’t make a move or it will be your last!’

I looked to where the voice seemed to be coming from but still I couldn’t see its owner. There was nothing, no movement, no object to be seen above a few miserable clumps of grass and straggly bushes. It was a completely flat, featureless plain. It was like a voice coming out of heaven.

But then slowly something did move. Down at ground level there was some sort of ditch that I hadn’t noticed before and from it emerged a face - or rather a leather mask with two holes for eyes. Whoever it was held a bow levelled at us. At first I thought he was our saviour but the hood made clear that he was just another robber - in all likelihood a rival to the first group.

I was so outraged at the thought that we should have to swap one band of thieves for another that I’m afraid lost all sense of propriety - and with it my fear. Foolhardy I may have been but I simply wasn’t having it. Not twice in one afternoon. I looked quickly about me. The road here was narrow, little wider than a track.

I could see that by turning Clytemnestra side-on I would be able to block it thus giving Gilbert a chance to escape even if it meant I was caught in the process. This is what I now did with a good kick of my boot into Clytemnestra’s flank causing her to make a quarter turn. As soon as she did this I shouted over my shoulder:

‘Gilbert run! Save yourself!’

He didn’t move.

‘Did you not hear me, boy? I said run!’

Still nothing.

‘Gilbert!’

‘I’m trying master!’

Behind me I could hear him struggling with the mule kicking for all he was worth at Agamemnon’s flanks but getting nowhere. The damn fool mule simply wouldn’t leave its mate. And now it was too late for the man was up out of his ditch with one hand on Clytemnestra’s halter.

‘Keep back!’ I said. ‘I warn you, I’m armed!’

I fumbled inside my robe for my knife but I was all fingers and thumbs and the man easily knocked it out of my hand. So instead I kicked out and managed to land a blow in the man’s chest making him stagger back.

‘
Oof!
’

‘Aha!’ I cried. ‘You see? You see? I have you now, you dog, you swine, you c-’

I stopped.

‘Wait a minute. I know you.’

The hood may have concealed his features but it couldn’t hide his limp. I pointed at him stupidly.

‘You’re the glove-seller. You’re Hamo.’

At the mention of his name the man seemed to shrivel. Then he started to shake uncontrollably. He pulled the hood off his head to reveal he was indeed the man half the county was looking for. With tears flowing down his cheeks, Fidele’s murderer slowly sank to his knees and wept like a baby.

While Hamo sat on the ground I tended the wound on his leg. It looked painful and from the way he was wincing at my touch I’m sure it was. The flesh of the shin was torn and there was a huge black and blue bruise where Fidele had whacked it with the iron bar. I cleaned the cut as best I could and bound the limb with strips of linen from my satchel.

‘I don’t think it’s broken or you wouldn’t be able to put any weight on it,’ I said. ‘It needs resting. I don’t suppose there’s any point telling you to keep off it for a few days?’

The look he gave me answered that one. By now his tears had dried into grimy streaks down his cheeks. He was filthy. He looked as though he had been out in the open all night, which he probably had been.

‘You’re one of them monks, ain’t ya? In the marketplace yesterday. I remember.’

‘Yes I was there. And I remember you too.’

‘I didn’t kill that monk,’ he said quickly.

‘No? In that case why did you run away? You’ve got a tongue in your head - quite a sharp one as I remember. Why didn’t you use it?’

‘And they would have believed me, wouldn’t they? His papal high-and-mightiness and that dozy reeve. They was stitching me up like a kipper. I had to get away.’

I carried on bandaging his leg, the question that had been plaguing me uppermost in my mind:

‘How exactly did you get away?’

He eyed me warily. ‘I had help.’

‘That much was obvious. Who from?’

‘That would be telling.’

‘Not by me.’

‘Mebbe not you.’ He looked pointedly at Gilbert who had been listening to every word.

I finished bandaging his leg. ‘Well that’s the best I can do under the circumstances. Are you hungry? I imagine you are.’

‘I bagged a hare yesterday,’ he said touching his longbow.

‘That won’t sustain you for long.’

I got up and went over to Clytemnestra’s saddlebag. Gilbert scurried after me.

‘Master, should we be feeding him?’

‘Why not? We’ve plenty.’

‘But he’s a murderer.’

‘Even murderers have to eat.’

He frowned. ‘Shouldn’t we simply arrest him and return him to the abbey?’

‘Just at the moment he’s my patient. When he’s no longer my patient maybe then I’ll think about arresting him. Anyway, I’m not convinced he is a murderer.’

Gilbert looked appalled. ‘How can you say that? You saw what he did to those robbers. He nearly murdered them too.’

‘And saved our necks in the process. What do you think those robbers would have done when they finished with us? Let us live to identify them? I think our lives are worth a little bread and cheese, don’t you?’

I took some out of the saddlebag along with a bottle of ale.

‘Stay here. I want to talk to him alone.’

‘But master!’

‘With you there he may not speak. I’ve a better chance on my own.’

I went back alone to Hamo and handed him the food which he consumed ravenously.

‘So,’ I said, ‘who was it helped you escape?’

He didn’t reply but took a long swig of ale from the leather bottle.

I sighed. ‘It was the apothecary, wasn’t it? Was it the apothecary?’