Hill of Bones (16 page)

‘He must still be within the precinct,’ fumed Prior Robert. ‘Seek him out, wherever he might be hiding. There are others involved in this; they must also be rooted out and punished!’

Inevitably, the King’s House was included in this frantic search, though as it was royal property, not within the jurisdiction of the prior or bishop, the ecclesiastical faction had to tread carefully.

The cellarer, Brother Gilbert, was deputed to tackle this task and though he tried to browbeat Selwyn, everyone knew that the steward was a royal servant, not beholden to the Abbey in any way. However, he could hardly refuse them entry without arousing grave suspicion, but did so grudgingly, saying that he would have to send word of the intrusion to Gloucester, where the King was currently quartered. He followed Gilbert, his assistant, Maurice, and William the bailiff everywhere in the house, muttering his protests. When they went upstairs to peer into the upper chambers, Selwyn at first refused to produce the key to the royal bedroom.

‘That would be too much, Brother Gilbert!’ he complained. ‘He is your sovereign lord as much as he is mine. Would you dare to do this if you were in Westminster or Windsor?’

The cellarer looked uneasy, but was adamant. ‘What is there to hide, steward? Let us just glance within from here. That can hardly amount to treason!’

Having calculated the risks, Selwyn made a great show of reluctantly producing the key from his pouch.

‘This is the only room with a lock, with good reason!’ he growled, and pushed open the door, but stood with his body half in the entrance. ‘See, it is as bare as a widow’s pantry!’

Gilbert glared around the room. ‘What’s in those large chests?’

‘Nothing, until the King’s chamberlains arrive with his robes. Send your man here to look, if nothing less will satisfy you!’

The steward grabbed Maurice, a weedy young man with a long nose, and pushed him into the room.

‘May God grant that the King never learns that you defiled his bedchamber!’

The cellarer’s monk scurried across the room and with quick movements raised the lids of each chest and banged them down almost instantly. ‘Empty, Brother Gilbert!’ he squeaked.

‘Check the bed, now that you’re there,’ snapped Gilbert defiantly.

As he hurried back to the door, Maurice made a couple of panic-stricken prods into the mattress. ‘No one hiding there, brother!’ he panted, as he pushed his way out of the room and the imagined wrath of the irascible monarch.

Gilbert scowled at Selwyn, then led his fellow searchers back down the stairs, stamping his feet to mark his irritation.

‘If you see hide or hair of that damned fellow, you will let me know at once – or face the consequences!’ he blustered as he went out into the abbey yard once again.

Selwyn spent a few minutes needlessly brushing the kitchen floor, to make sure that the cellarer did not make a surprise return visit. Then he went back up to the King’s chamber and stood by the bed.

‘Are you still alive, Eldred?’ he asked in a low voice. He was answered by a muffled cry of distress and going to the back of the plinth that supported the mattress, gave it a hefty tug to pull it away from the wall. It was really an inverted wooden box, open at the end against the wall. From the gap, a dishevelled figure crawled out crabwise and lay gasping on the floor.

‘Another few minutes and I would have suffocated,’ he croaked. ‘Thank God I’m thin, for the space was the same height as my body. I could hardly breathe!’

Selwyn helped him up and dusted the dirt and cobwebs from his habit. ‘You’d not have breathed very well with a rope around your neck, either,’ he said unsympathetically. ‘Come down and have some food and drink. We’ll have to decide what to do with you next.’

When Eldred was reminded of the plan to smuggle him out of the city to a hiding place several miles away, he refused to countenance the idea.

‘I cannot leave my wife so far away,’ he protested, to the exasperation of his two friends. ‘How will she survive without me being nearby?’

‘What good can you do here, skulking in some cellar, afraid to show your face to any man?’ demanded Riocas.

‘And where will you find such a cellar, eh?’ snapped Selwyn, annoyed that Eldred was proving so difficult after all the effort and risks that he and the cat-catcher had taken. ‘No way can you be hidden here in the King’s House, for the other steward will be returning in a day or two. Also I would not put it past the prior or sheriff to make another search in their desperation to find you.’

They argued the matter for several minutes, then the lay brother came up with another suggestion, which the other two received with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

‘I could seek sanctuary in one of the churches,’ proposed Eldred. ‘That would give me more than a month of immunity from arrest. Surely evidence of my innocence will be forthcoming long before then!’

Riocas, whose fondness for the Church and all its attributes was sadly lacking, was scathing about the idea. ‘And if it doesn’t, you’ll be dragged out at the end and will have gained nothing.’

‘I could claim “benefit of clergy”,’ replied Eldred, stubbornly. ‘I am able to recite “the neck verse” well enough.’

This was a device whereby men, including lay brothers, could avoid being tried in the secular courts by showing that they could read and were therefore in holy orders. The ability to recite a short excerpt of the Twenty-first Psalm was accepted as a convenient test of literacy, even though it was often learned parrot-fashion by illiterates. This had saved many a man from being hanged and was therefore cynically known as ‘the neck verse’.

‘In the circumstances, I doubt the bishop’s court would resist handing you over to the Commissioners of Assize for sentence,’ retorted Riocas. ‘So you’d still end up dancing on the end of a rope.’

Selwyn’s brow was furrowed in thought. ‘It would be a terrible gamble, for if the real villains were not found in that time, you would be doomed.’

Eldred was still obdurate about his intention, but Selwyn had not finished. ‘If you are really intent about seeking sanctuary, why seek a church in the city? You are already on consecrated ground – an abbey, no less.’

Riocas was doubtful. ‘Is the King’s House included in that? You were quick enough to claim its immunity when they came here searching.’

‘If he steps outside, then he is safe, for every inch of a church’s domain constitutes sanctuary. There is no need to be within the building itself, prostrate in the chancel, clutching the altar-cloth!’ Selwyn added sarcastically.

The cat-catcher refused to abandon his objections. ‘If that be so, then the proctor’s cell is also included in sanctuary!’

‘In strict canon law, perhaps it is!’ retorted the steward. ‘But I’m damned sure that the bishop and rest of his crew would take little notice of that, unless someone took a year to go to Rome to protest to the Pope!’

The agitated lay brother became impatient with this bickering.

‘I will creep out tonight and seek sanctuary in one of the city churches. St Michael Within is the nearest. I have met Father Eustace, its parish priest, he seems a compassionate man. I will prevail upon him to offer me the protection of his church.’

Selwyn and Riocas tried to dissuade Eldred of this dangerous venture, but he was firmly set on the plan. A devout man, he was of the opinion that the ages-old traditions of the Church would be proof against any machinations of the abbey prior and his Chapter. Eventually, they came to a compromise.

‘I also have some slight acquaintance with Father Eustace,’ said Selwyn. ‘Before you expose yourself in the city streets to try to reach his church, I will speak with him and make sure that he is willing to offer you sanctuary. You are in the employ of his bishop, for one thing, and he may be reluctant to cross Savaric Fitzgeldewine.’

When Eldred reluctantly agreed, the royal steward set off across the small city to St Michael’s. He found the parish priest huddled in a corner of the nave, hearing a whispered confession from a fat matron, down on her knees before him. Selwyn stayed a respectful distance away, out of earshot and when the woman had struggled to her feet after receiving a trivial penance and a benediction, he approached the priest and asked if he might discuss something with him.

Eustace was a short, slightly fat man with a round red face under his tonsured ginger hair. A glowing nose suggested a fondness for the wineskin, but he had an amiable nature that went well with his broad country accent indicating his Dorset origins.

‘If you’ve come to confess, my son, I hope it’s more interesting than that poor widow who’s just left!’ he said with an impish grin. ‘She comes thrice each week to waste my time with trivialities, just to have someone to talk to!’

When Selwyn indicated that this was something much more serious, Eustace invited him into the sacristy, a tiny room off the chancel where vestments and service books were kept.

Pulling out a couple of stools, the priest then produced a pottery flask of red Anjou wine and two pewter cups. When they were settled over a drink each, Selwyn broached his problem.

‘I trust this will enjoy the sanctity of the confessional, as much as your dealings with the widow just now,’ he began. ‘For I might be revealing my own complicity in aiding an alleged criminal, though it concerns an unjust accusation.’

The cheerful vicar immediately became serious, but assured the steward that his lips would be sealed. Selwyn set out all the facts and ended by asking if it would compromise Eustace with Bishop Savaric if Eldred sought sanctuary in his church.

The parish priest looked crestfallen, saying that it was an impossible request. ‘But not because of the bishop’s undoubted anger at my agreement – though in fact that is not required when someone seeks sanctuary, as it is an ancient and compassionate act provided by God Almighty, not within the gift of some insignificant priest, be he vicar, bishop or even Pope.’

‘Why cannot it be granted in this case, then?’ asked Selwyn, secretly relieved that Eldred’s scheme had been defeated before it had even begun.

‘Because the Church withholds the privilege of sanctuary from those accused of sacrilege – and the theft of holy vessels would certainly be considered as such.’

‘But he is innocent of that crime! We just need some time to find the true culprits.’

Eustace shook his head. ‘I fear it is the nature of the
allegation
that matters, not the eventual truth.’ He paused to take a mouthful of his wine. ‘Even if he was granted sanctuary, he would have to confess his guilt to the coroner before his forty days’ grace was up, otherwise he would not be able to abjure the realm.’

This meant leaving England, dressed in sackcloth and carrying a rough cross, by going to a port nominated by the coroner where he had to take the first available ship out of the country.

Eustace shook his head sadly. ‘There are several reasons why this will not work, my son. If your friend entered here under the impression that he was safe, it would be a false hope, as because of the sacrilege issue, the sheriff would be entitled to immediately drag him out and behead him in the street outside!’

When they had finished their wine, the priest reassured Selwyn that their conversation would remain confidential, leaving him with the impression that Eustace was not too fond of the arrogant, overbearing Bishop Savaric.

Selwyn returned to the King’s House and gave the priest’s verdict to Eldred, who accepted it more philosophically that the steward expected.

‘So be it. Then I am fated to share Solsbury Hill with outlaws, ghosts and other fiends,’ he said, crossing himself as he saw the sacrist and prior do twenty times a day.

‘You’ll not be there long,’ said Riocas heartily, trying to reassure their friend that he would be safe from the reputed demons that inhabited the hill. ‘Now we need to decide how we are to go about getting you there.’

The escape had to be made in two stages, as the city gates were locked at dusk. The sheriff was obsessional about keeping out the bands of outlaws who roamed the countryside, pillaging villages and small towns. Not long before, he had hanged one of the gate-keepers who had accepted a bribe to let in a thief after midnight. So Eldred’s exit from the city had to be made in daylight, but to get such a well-known face out of the abbey compound needed darkness.

An hour before midnight, when the priests and monks were still asleep before being called for matins, Selwyn and Eldred slipped out of the King’s House and, keeping to the wall of the precinct, went behind the bath-house opposite and then past the back of the infirmary beyond it. The night was dark, with heavy clouds obscuring a crescent moon as they slunk along the wall. Where the lay cemetery gave way to the monks’ burial ground there was no night porter to challenge anyone entering or leaving. Moments later, they were walking along the nearby High Street to reach Twichen Lane, where Riocas had his shop. Though nominally there was a curfew after dark, there were still a few people about, mostly drunks. Prompted by Selwyn, Eldred feigned a slight stagger whenever anyone came within a few yards, until they reached the doorway in the alley that housed the home and business premises of their friend.

The cat-catcher was waiting for them and soon they were in his cramped room, which smelled strongly of the animal skins that were curing out in the yard behind. Over ale and bread, they discussed the second phase of the escape to be mounted early next morning.

‘I’ll take my cart out of town, as I often do, looking for cony skins in the villages around. People are happy to sell them to me at four for a half-penny.’

The gaunt giant seemed to be enjoying this escapade, but come the dawn, Eldred was less than happy at being hidden under a stinking heap of part-tanned cowhides in the small cart that was pulled by Riocas’ donkey. As well as trading in small furs, he had a sideline carrying hides for tanners, who often needed to send some skins to other tanneries in the area for further processing. The porter at the North Gate knew him well and waved him through without any question, other than a bawdy remark about the smell that wafted from his cart.