‘But what?’
‘Haven’t a clue. He never had any money, that was certain, not from his farming and his attempts to grow vegetables, and yet he always managed to scrape together some pennies for drinks whenever he came into town.’
The dog started to growl again, a low, menacing rumbling, and Hamelin threw a stone at it.
‘Husband, don’t you think you could find work in the town, rather than having to go up to work on the moors?’ Emma asked reluctantly. They had been through this many times before.
‘No,’ he said uncompromisingly. ‘If Hal and me can only find another source of tin, we’ll be laughing. It’s just this early period that’s hard. We’ll soon be on our feet again. Don’t you worry. And what else could I do here without money? That bastard Mark made it impossible for me to start a new business.’
The dog began again, and this time they could hear the steps outside. Soon there was a light tapping at their door.
Hamelin snatched up his knife. It was a good weapon with a foot-long blade, and he held it to the door as he went to it. ‘Who is it?’ he hissed.
‘Watchman. Is that Hamelin? Don’t open the door, there’s no need. I’ve been asked to tell you, the Abbot wants to see you first thing tomorrow. Go to the Court Gate when it opens. That’s all.’
Hamelin relaxed as he listened to the footsteps leaving. He thrust his knife back in its sheath and returned to his wife’s side.
She was frowning. ‘What could the Abbot want with you?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Who cares? Maybe I’ve infringed one of his Burgh laws, spending too much time in the town when I should be out on the moors working.’
‘Not our revered Abbot, surely!’ she chuckled, nestling into his shoulder.
‘So long as he doesn’t want to fine me.’
‘That would be that overblown bag of pus Joce Blakemoor, wouldn’t it? He’s in charge of fining miners.’
Hamelin grunted. ‘I heard that no one ever liked him. Not when he was growing up here, not when he grew to be an adult. Everyone was delighted when he went away to learn to be a merchant, and no one was pleased when he came back.’
‘How did he get to be elected Receiver if no one liked him?’
‘It’s one of those jobs. You buy it, and then get to cream off all the profits for your own pocket. He had money when he came back.’
‘It’s easy to make money when you have some.’
Hamelin turned to kiss her, then he gently laid her down on her back. ‘We’ll have money too, my love. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong for us now our little Joel is all right.’
Up in the dorter, the Abbot lowered his voice. When he was young, he would have been sorely tempted to stop outside and listen, and he only hoped that Reginald wouldn’t submit to the same temptation.
‘The matter of theft is repellent in a place like this, Baldwin. In a close-knit community like this, where the Brothers all sleep, eat and pray together, supposedly in one large family, the family of Christ, it is uniquely abhorrent to think that one of your companions is prepared to flout the laws of God and steal from his own Brothers. I do not wish to spread such a rumour. Especially, I should say, among the novices like Reginald. They talk so much, and they believe all they hear. Something like this – well! To think that a lad like Gerard is capable of stealing is, is… It is dreadful.’
Abbot Robert looked so upset that Baldwin wanted to open his heart to the man, to explain that he could easily understand the revulsion – he had himself been a Knight Templar, a warrior monk, and had taken the same three vows of poverty, chastity and obedience as the monks in this Abbey – but he knew he could not. That would mean confessing to his membership of the Order, which would inevitably colour Abbot Robert’s opinion of him, and might even lead to the Abbot insisting on his being evicted from the guest room. Hospitality was one thing: harbouring a man whom the Pope had branded a heretic was quite another. Whether the Abbot believed, as some few English prelates did, that the Templars could be guilty, was beside the point, as Baldwin knew. The main thing was, Abbot Robert would be exposing himself and his Abbey to danger.
‘I think I understand,’ Baldwin said kindly.
‘In that case, you will understand, too, that accusing a Brother of theft is an equally serious matter. Especially one who is so young.’
‘Yet one of your monks did accuse him,’ Baldwin said.
‘He is an older man, Sir Baldwin, neither a bigot, nor a fool, and when he came to me and told me that one of my novices could be responsible for the thefts, I could not ignore his words.’
‘Did he not seek to talk to the youth himself?’ It was more common, Baldwin knew, for those who suspected a comrade of an infraction of the rules to speak to that person and give them a chance to put matters right before setting the facts before someone of the Abbot’s stature.
‘I think he would have tried, but he didn’t feel that the novice Gerard took note.’
‘Who is this paragon of virtue?’
The Abbot licked his lips. ‘I shouldn’t tell you without letting him know first. It’s a matter of courtesy, you understand…’
‘Yes, naturally,’ Baldwin said, and he did not mind. Other issues were more crucial at present, such as what had happened to the acolyte. Yet there was another point, surely. He looked at the Abbot. ‘My Lord Abbot, this is hardly a matter for me. A youth has been accused of theft by someone, and has decided to run away. How can I help?’ Apostasy was considered a vile crime, and those who committed it were liable to be sought out and dragged back, but that was no reason for a secular official to become involved.
‘It’s that story of Milbrosa.’
‘Ah, I see. You want me to find the lad because otherwise people will say he has been carried away by the Prince of Darkness.’
‘Yes. I know it is ridiculous, but it is precisely that kind of rumour which could ruin us. I have dedicated my life to this Abbey, Sir Baldwin – all my adult life. I have converted a bankrupt institution into a tool for God. We give regular pensions to the poor of Tavistock and the lepers in the Maudlin, we provide comfort and safety for travellers, we work day and night for the protection of the souls of those living and the dead, and all this work depends upon money. It is no use telling me that money is irrelevant and despised by God, it is an asset like any other, and we depend upon our patrons for it. If a rumour should escape from within these walls that there was a second monk whose behaviour was so corrupt that his soul was taken away by the devil, how would that chime with the men who support us? Who would want to give us their money, if they felt that our behaviour was so foul that the devil looked upon us as his natural prey?’
Baldwin screwed up his face as he considered the task ahead. ‘You want me to concentrate on finding this lad, then?’
‘Yes, Sir Baldwin. I want you to find him, but I also want you to make sure that the murderer of the tin-miner is found as well, for while no man confesses to that crime, people’s tongues will wag. And if people gossip, which would they prefer to talk about, a chance encounter with an outlaw, or an evil monk who has a heart as black as his Benedictine habit, and who is the prey of the Evil One?’
Baldwin smiled, then reached down to Gerard’s bed and pulled the covering aside. ‘There’s nothing to see here,’ he said. He sat on the bed and looked about him, but while he sat there, he became aware that something was wrong. There was nowhere to hide anything. All the Brothers swore themselves to poverty, so there was nothing, not even a small casket, for private belongings.