‘I had thought that they would have crossed the border by now.’
‘Perhaps they have. The King is up in the north, I understand.’ The Abbot smiled humourlessly. ‘He wishes money for his bastard, Adam. The lad is to be blooded in Scotland, so we must all pay the King taxes so that he can afford to buy a horse and new armour for his whelp, I suppose.’
His tone was bitter. Simon knew that Abbot Robert resented having to send more of his hard-earned money to support the King in one of his campaigns.
‘Every time he calls on his Host he expects us to pay our fee,’ the Abbot continued. ‘This Abbey once had to support fifteen knights, but now we commute that service with scutage, we have to pay for sixteen. Not only that: his sister is to marry, and he wants a subsidy from me to help pay for her wedding! When the King decided to march against Thomas of Lancaster earlier this year, he demanded that I should act as his recruitment officer. Now a man has arrived telling me I must do so again, and find men for him at the same time as paying a fine because I, as an Abbot, tend not to maintain knights here in the cloister. Pah! He wanted me to provide him with money to hire mere mercenaries, knaves and churls who will fight for any man if the money is right, against every element of Christ’s teaching, and at the same time he demands my best, healthiest, strongest peasants to fill his army: no matter that he denudes my fields of the men I need during the harvest. My God! Save me from bellicose monarchs!’
Simon nodded understandingly, but he failed to see where this conversation was heading. Outside, the light had faded, and he wondered how much longer the Abbot was going to talk. For his part, the ride to Tavistock, the quick return to Lydford and back, followed by the trip to Wally’s body, had made his entire body ache; the Abbot’s good red wine hadn’t helped. Simon longed to sprawl back in his seat, to close his eyes and dream of his wife, but he wasn’t fooled by his host’s affable manner. Abbot Robert was Simon’s master, when all was said and done, and if he wished to talk on, Simon must listen. He felt his eyelids grow heavy.
‘Bailiff, you seem tired.’
‘No, my Lord. I am fine. You were talking about the King?’
‘Yes. He wants more men, but he also wants money. I have no recruiting officers, and finding one in whom I can place any trust…’
Simon’s heart sank. ‘Of course, my Lord Abbot. If you command me.’
‘No, I do not command you to take total responsibility, Simon,’ the Abbot said with a faint smile. ‘But I would ask that you assist the man sent to raise a force from the local men. I have no time for this nonsense, but if I don’t have someone there… well, you know how it is. I cannot lose all my men.’
‘This man is staying in the town?’
‘No, as soon as he got here this afternoon, I had him sent to join the other guests and fed. He is there now, I expect. If you could spend a little time with him, I should be most grateful.’
‘I shall help as best I may.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ the Abbot said, and toyed with his knife for a moment.
Simon thought he looked distrait. ‘Is there another matter, my Lord Abbot?’
‘There is one other little affair.’ The Abbot coughed. ‘This morning, a man sleeping in the guest room with you came to me and alleged that there had been a theft from his belongings. I am investigating his accusations myself.’
‘You do not wish me to help?’
‘I think not. Not yet. If I am right, the villain should soon come to me and confess. There is little point in setting you after him. No. If someone asks you about the matter, please tell people that the pewterer has not lost anything.’
‘My Lord?’
‘You will not be lying. I have myself reimbursed him,’ Abbot Robert said quietly. ‘I will not allow one felon to drag the name of this Abbey through the midden. Whoever is responsible, I shall soon know, but there is no reason to have it bruited abroad that the Abbey is a hotbed of thieves and rascals. However, that is not the same as this affair of the dead miner. Surely that is much more important. You have set matters in train, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Now, if you learn of any reason why someone should wish to have had Wally killed, you will of course let me know.’
‘Walwynus?’ It sounded peculiar to hear the Abbot using the diminutive. ‘Yes, certainly, my Lord Abbot. But I don’t know that I shall ever learn why he died. Probably it was a lone felon whom he met and who decided to kill him in case he had some money.’
‘Very likely. I fear that if I were personally to waste time on every stabbing or throttling that happened out in the wilds, I should never have time to go to church.’
It was a thought which resonated with Simon as he walked to the gate-house to seek out his bed. He spent much of his life trying to soothe angry miners and prevent bloodshed, but all too often others were found stabbed or bludgeoned to death. Wally wasn’t alone.
The night sky seemed huge, and in it Simon could see the stars, so clear and bright that he found his feet slowing as if of their own accord. Entranced by their beauty, he gazed up at them, sniffing the clean air. It was so calm, he felt his tiredness fading, and he leaned against a wall near the chapter-house, his arms folded. A dog was barking out in the town itself, the only sound he could hear. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed a dark shadow creeping along the wall of the monks’ cemetery to his left, and he heard a plaintive miaow.
It was then, as the cat sprang down, that he heard a short gasp. Looking around, he saw a slight figure in the dark robes of a Benedictine. A monk who had been startled, no doubt, he thought to himself. Monks were known to be gullible, innocent and superstitious at the best of times. It was one thing to believe in ghosts and spirits, like Simon himself, and quite another to fear a cat in the dark, he told himself with a distinct feeling of superiority. Odd, though. He’d have thought that all the monks would have been abed by now. It was rare for them to be up so late, for they all had to rise for the Mass at midnight, and not many men could survive, like the good Abbot, on only three hours of sleep each night. Most needed at least six.
He watched the monk hurry away, over the Great Court towards the Water Gate, and only when he heard a door quietly close did he carry on his way.
The gate-house was a large, two-storey building with good accommodation over the gateway itself. Here, in the large chamber, slept all the guests. As Simon knew, the low timber beds were comfortable, with ropes supporting the thick palliasses, and he was looking forward to climbing back between the blankets. It felt like too many hours since he had been raised by that blasted acolyte, with the news of Wally’s murder.
Only a few of the others, Simon noted with grateful relief, snored. Walking carefully and quietly between the beds and bodies, he went to the bed in which he had slept the night before, hoping that it might be empty, but even in the dim darkness, he could sense that someone else was there. At least this was the first time so far since the coining. On other occasions when he had come to visit the Abbot, he had been forced to share almost every night. However, there were no rumbling snores or grunts from his companion, and for that he was very grateful. As he untied his hose, pulled off his shoes, and doffed his shirt and undershirt, he sniggered to himself. He had wondered whether his sleeping partner might break wind during the night, but now he realised that if either of them were likely to, it would be Simon himself after so much rich food and wine.
With that reflection, he climbed under the blankets and lay with his arms behind his head. The other man in the bed grumbled a little in his sleep and rolled over, but Simon paid him no heed. He was wondering again about poor Wally. The dead man’s face and body sprang into his mind, and with a shiver of revulsion, he too turned over, as though he could so easily hide himself from the gaze of Wally’s ravaged eyes.