Hill of Bones (15 page)

Eldred ate and drank the simple fare that Gytha had brought. Then, though it was still early, he settled down on the hay in preference to the hard bed, more hopeful now that his faithful wife was seeking some aid for him.

When Gytha left her husband, she went straight to the King’s House to seek Eldred’s friend, Selwyn Vassel.

Gytha was a determined woman who loved her husband, and she was grimly set upon rescuing him from the unjust predicament in which he now found himself. She marched across the abbey yard beside the high wall that separated it from the bishop’s palace, which occupied the south-western corner of the precinct. This barrier turned sharply left to reach the abbey’s outer curtain wall. The King had built his house against this, almost opposite the West Front of the cathedral.

At the front of the house was a wide flight of steps leading up to the main door, used only by the King himself or his invited guests. Gytha used a small door for servants and tradesmen on the further side. This led into a scullery and storeroom, beyond which was a large kitchen, where Selwyn was usually to be found. As the house was presently unoccupied by any of the nobility, none of the other servants was present, his fellow steward being away visiting his parents in Cheddar.

Selwyn was a tall, erect man of forty years, with powerful shoulders and dark hair cropped short. He had a handsome and kindly face and as soon as Gytha entered, he jumped from his stool by the fire and sat her down opposite, giving her a pot of small ale to match his own. She hastily poured out her story and beseeched Selwyn to help his friend, swearing that he was innocent of the baseless accusation.

‘But they’ll hang him, I know!’ she wailed. ‘They have no idea who did this awful thing, but they need a scapegoat to satisfy the bishop.’

Selwyn did his best to soothe her agitation and promised to do all he could to help. Eventually he rose and went to the door.

‘You bide here, Gytha. I’m off to talk to people around the abbey and see what the latest news might be.’

He vanished, leaving the goodwife sitting anxiously by the small fire that burned in the hearth. When he returned half an hour later his face bore a grave expression, which further increased Gytha’s concern.

‘Virtually all the monks and servants have been searching the precinct, looking for the stolen vessels,’ he said. ‘This must be the only place they have not visited, as it is the King’s property.’

‘They found nothing? Have they been to our home?’

Selwyn nodded. ‘Yes, I spoke to one of the proctor’s bailiffs. Your dwelling was one of the first places they searched.’

‘It would take them no more than a minute to discover there was nothing in our part of that humble room,’ she said bitterly. ‘So what happens now?’

‘Eldred will be interrogated by the prior and other members of the Chapter this evening. Then if he does not confess and tell them where the treasure is hidden, he will be sent before the consistory court tomorrow.’ Selwyn sighed. ‘I know that Bishop Savaric is returning in the morning. I fear it will go badly with poor Eldred when he is hauled before him.’

Gytha sobbed quietly. ‘If they hand him over to the sheriff and his gang of ruffians, it will be the end of him. Maybe they will torture him to get him reveal where he put the stolen vessels – but how can he tell them what he does not know?’

The tall steward paced up and down the kitchen, where clean cooking pots and ladles awaited the next batch of guests.

‘We must get him out of the abbey and hide him until the real culprits are found. You go home now, Gytha, and stay quietly until I come to you with news. It is best if you know nothing of this; then you cannot be accused of being involved.’

She nodded mutely, trusting this good friend even with her husband’s life. As she went to the door to leave, she had one further question.

‘Can you do this alone, Selwyn? Can you not find help?’

He nodded. ‘Eldred has another good friend. I will ask Riocas to share this task.’

It was getting dusk when they eventually came for him. The two proctor’s men grabbed him by the elbows and hauled him off to the Chapter House, a semi-circular building attached to the back of the monks’ dormitory, near the south transept. This was where the abbey’s hierarchy met daily to settle their business, but this evening, only five of them were there when the guards hustled Eldred inside to stand before them. The half-circle of benches was empty and the interrogators sat on chairs on the low dais at the front, near the lectern from which a chapter of the Rule of St Benedict was read before each meeting, a ritual that gave the place its name.

Prior Robert, from his seat in the centre, began the proceedings.

‘You wretched man, tell us where you have hidden those sacred vessels!’ he demanded. Tonight, there was no trace of his usual oily benevolence, and he glowered at Eldred with a face like thunder. ‘We have searched everywhere, but there is no sign of them.’

‘You must have taken them out of the abbey, into the city,’ rasped Brother Gilbert, the cellarer. ‘Tell us what you did with them, if you want any chance of saving your neck!’

Two of the others also had their turn at haranguing the luckless lay brother, threatening him with every penalty from excommunication to flaying alive. One was Brother Thomas, the treasurer, the other the precentor, Brother Seymour, who was responsible for organising the cathedral services.

The only one of the five who did not castigate Eldred was Hubert of Frome, under whose supervision the lay brother worked. The sacrist looked sadly at him, either from sorrow at the man’s present plight or disillusionment at his presumed treachery. Though usually a miserable, carping fellow, Hubert now seemed inclined to defend his lowly assistant.

Eldred had done all he could to protest his innocence, but he could hardly get a word in between the harsh accusations pouring from the senior monks. Only when their vituperations eased off from lack of breath, did the sacrist manage to speak on Eldred’s behalf.

‘Brothers, I fail to see what evidence we have of this man’s guilt,’ he offered tentatively. ‘As he pointed out, he has a key, so why should he break the lock?’

‘For the very reason that you are making the suggestion, Hubert,’ ranted the cellarer. ‘It is a device to mislead us. I too have a key, but if I were to pillage the aumbry, I would also break it open to deflect suspicion.’

‘That is a very illogical argument, Brother Gilbert,’ answered Hubert, stubbornly. ‘Eldred has not left the abbey since the theft and he has had no chance to secrete the stolen items, as he was arrested straight away.’

‘You too are lacking in logic,’ snapped the prior. ‘How do we know when the treasures were stolen? He could have taken them during the night and only claimed to have discovered their disappearance today.’

‘That would have given him plenty of opportunity to hide them away,’ agreed the precentor, a stout, blustering
émigré
from Brittany.

The bad-tempered dispute went on for a time, again with no chance for Eldred to protest his innocence. Eventually, Prior Robert tired of their attempt to bully a confession from him and brought the meeting to a close.

‘The bishop returns tomorrow and he will be appalled to hear of this loss. I will ask him to hold an immediate session of the Consistory Court to try this miserable wretch. Eldred, you have until the morning to confess your great sin and to tell us what you have done with those priceless relics. Bailiffs, take him back to his cell!’

Riocas of Dinan was a Breton who had lived in Bath for many years, since he had been chased out of his home town over the Channel for seducing the daughter of the harbour master.

He had a shop-house and a stall in the street market selling cheap fur linings and trimmings, mainly coney, squirrel, otter and cat. In fact, he was known locally as ‘Riocas the Cat-Catcher’, as this was how he obtained much of his stock.

Selwyn found him in one his usual evening haunts, the Black Ox alehouse in Fish Lane, an alley off High Street. They met there once or twice a week to grumble and put the world to rights over quarts of thin ale. Tonight, Riocas was sitting on a plank seat below a small window in the crowded taproom, staring out at the twilight. Selwyn dropped down alongside him and signalled a slatternly girl to bring him a pot of ale.

‘We have a problem, friend,’ he began without any preamble, then went on to tell the cat-catcher about Eldred’s predicament and Gytha’s plea for help. He paused as the serving wench, who looked about ten years old, banged an empty pewter pot on the window sill and filled it from a large earthenware jug, before topping up Riocas’ half-empty quart. When she had moved away, Selwyn explained that they needed to get Eldred out of the abbey that very night.

‘Unless we do, the next time we see him might well be from the foot of the gallows!’ he concluded in sombre tones.

His companion nodded gravely. ‘We can’t let the poor little devil swing, I agree,’ he grunted. Though Eldred was indeed rather small, he was almost a dwarf compared to these two men. Selwyn was tall, but Riocas was enough of a giant for the mothers of Bath to use him to frighten their misbehaving children. Not only was he huge in height and girth, but his massive head and spade-like hands seemed straight from some ancient forest legend. His face was a rocky crag, with heavy eyebrow ridges, a bulbous nose and a lantern jaw like the prow of a ship.

Selwyn resumed his story after a long swig from his tankard.

‘We must get him out before the morning, because that bastard of a prior is intent on finding a culprit – any culprit – so that he can appease the bishop when he returns tomorrow.’

‘I suppose he’s in that fleapit that the proctors use, next to the stables?’ growled Riocas. ‘That’s no problem – a pig with the palsy could break into that – but where could we take him?’

‘It will have to be out of the city. Bath is too small to hide him for long. We’ll have to keep him hidden until the real thief is discovered.’

Riocas ran sausage-like fingers through the wiry black stubble that passed for his hair. ‘Out in the country then! Somewhere that most folk keep clear of, but near enough for us to get food to him.’

Their commitment to a friend in need was assumed without question and Selwyn responded with a suggestion.

‘What about Solsbury Hill? Not too far away for us – and all these daft tales of haunting and evil spirits will help keep folk from snooping around there.’

They discussed details for the space of two more quarts and agreed to meet at the King’s House as soon as they heard the abbey bell for matins, soon after midnight. When he left the alehouse, Selwyn called on Gytha and told her what they had planned.

‘I’ll hide him in the King’s House for the rest of the night; we could never get him out of the city until morning, when the gates are opened. They’ll come here to seek him straight away as soon as they discover he’s gone, but just play dumb. You know nothing, right?’

Leaving the wife worried but hopeful, the steward went back to his kitchen, thankful that his fellow servant, the bottler, was away. With the house empty and no guests expected for several weeks, he was free to find a hiding place for Eldred. The cellar, with its stores of food and wine, were obvious targets for a search and, deciding that boldness was the best solution, he went upstairs to the four bedchambers and chose the largest, the one reserved for King John himself. A thick mattress stuffed with lambswool lay on a wooden plinth and two large clothes chests stood opposite. A chair and a table were the only other furniture, set near the empty fireplace. As steward, Selwyn knew every inch of the house and decided that here was the best place for concealing his unfortunate friend.

Soon after the abbey bell rang out its midnight summons to matins, the first holy office of the day, Riocas slipped into the house, moving very quietly for a man of such bulk. After a quick consultation, he and Selwyn went out into the abbey yard and sidled along the back of the stables, taking care not to awaken any of the grooms and cleaners, young boys who slept on the hay with the horses. Rounding the far end, they went to the last door, that of the proctor’s cell, where Riocas examined the securing bar in the dim starlight.

‘Not even a lock on it!’ he whispered, as he carefully lifted the stout piece of oak from its iron brackets. It was never contemplated that any outsider would wish to rescue the usual run of prisoners, mostly drunks and petty thieves.

Selwyn vanished inside and almost immediately reappeared with a dishevelled Eldred, who seemed quite composed, considering the tribulations of the day. The cat-catcher quietly replaced the bar and they slid back behind the row of stables and made their way back along the palace wall to the King’s House.

Once in the kitchen, Selwyn sat Eldred by the fire and gave him a wooden bowl of potage, which he filled from an iron pot hanging from a trivet hanging over the glowing logs.

‘Get this down you, boy, compliments of King John!’ he said, as he added a hunk of coarse bread. ‘He doesn’t know it, but I doubt he’d begrudge you.’

He got the same for Riocas and himself, and the three conspirators sat on stools around the fire to discuss how they would manage Eldred’s escape.

‘They’re bound to come here looking for you in the morning, but I think I can keep you safe. Then later in the day, we’ll get you out of the city and up to Solsbury Hill.’

Eldred shivered, but not from the cold. ‘They say it’s haunted and is the lair of demons!’ he muttered. ‘How can I survive up there?’

‘Better than you’d survive the gallows-tree with a hemp rope around your neck!’ retorted Riocas bluntly.

At dawn, there was a rumpus in the abbey yard, started by William, the proctor’s bailiff when he found his prisoner flown. Then a succession of abbey seniors arrived, and soon the prior himself added to the fury. His normally ingratiating manner had vanished and he was livid with anger at having his prize scapegoat spirited away only hours before he intended parading him before Bishop Savaric as the perpetrator of the dastardly theft.

Once again, all the abbey brothers and servants were mobilised to search for the sacrist’s assistant. The gatekeepers on the two abbey gates into the city were interrogated and all swore that no one resembling Eldred had passed through their portals.