Leaving Simon’s faithful servant Hugh seated at the bedside of the wounded acolyte, Simon and Baldwin walked out through the Abbey’s gates and strode into the town once more.
‘Where do you want to go?’ Baldwin demanded.
‘There are some details we should learn,’ Simon said, and pushed open the door to Nob’s pie-shop.
It was empty apart from the cook and his wife.
‘Ah, um. Right, can we serve you gentlemen?’ Nob asked, trying to look innocent.
Simon ignored him, but spoke to Baldwin.
‘You remember when we came in here to look at sacks? I found a black tunic, and while I dropped it, unthinking, Nob came over and kicked it away from me angrily. At least, I thought he was angry at the time. We often kick out at whatever is near, don’t we? When Nob came to me, the nearest thing for him to kick at was the tunic. It flew into the corner. Where is it now, Nob?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t say. Must still be there, if that’s where I kicked it, Master.’
Simon nodded at his cheerful attitude. ‘Well, I think it’s already burned. Which is a shame, because your son will have to buy a new one. Benedictine habits are not cheap, are they? Apostasy is one thing, but to burn a tunic – that is like burning your boats, isn’t it? Oh, Mark is being held by the Abbot, I should tell you, and Gerard is back at the Abbey. Much that was confusing us is now known. All we want is your story.’
‘Their son?’ Baldwin wanted to hit himself for being so dense. ‘I begin to comprehend. Their son is…’
‘Reginald the novice,’ said Cissy.
Simon snapped his mouth shut. He had been going to say that Gerard was their boy, and he was glad that he had been saved from making a fool of himself.
Baldwin was frowning intently at her. ‘Reginald?’
Cissy sighed and pointed with her chin to the ale barrel. ‘Nob, we might as well have a drink while we explain.’
‘All right, my little cowslip,’ he muttered.
‘And less of your smatter!’ she called after him. ‘Yes, Master Bailiff. I don’t know how you guessed, but our son is Reginald.’
‘And he is?’ Baldwin enquired.
‘Gangly, clumsy, dark hair. Oh, he’s his father’s son all right,’ Cissy laughed. ‘Reg is a fool. He got to thinking that Gerard was stealing, so he determined to talk to him and persuade him against his life of crime. Only, when he caught hold of the boy, he missed his hold and knocked him down. Reg was appalled. He was trying to help the boy, and when Gerard went down with a loud thud, he thought he’d killed him.’
‘You should have seen his face!’ Nob said, returning with the drink and passing pots to their visitors.
‘Anyway, Gerard confessed to him, and begged to be forgiven, but asked what Reg would do, and Reg didn’t hesitate. He said he’d ask his mum. Me.’
Baldwin lifted his mazer and saluted her. ‘And you advised?’
‘That he should stay where he was. But he said he feared Mark might kill him. That was what the monk had threatened – that he’d kill Gerard if he didn’t do as Mark wanted, and the same if he ever spoke about what he’d done.’
‘Yet he told you?’
‘He was so lost, the poor child. He didn’t know who to speak to, who to trust. By the time he came to us with Reg, he was almost past caring. The only thing he craved was certainty. And so the other possibility we suggested was that he should join the Host.’
‘We gave him some of Reg’s old clothes to wear, and I personally shaved him bald. I reckoned that would make him hard to recognise,’ Nob said with some pride. ‘When he went to join the Host, I spoke up for him, and I had paid some others to help, so that was no trouble. We thought he’d be far away by now.’
Cissy’s face hardened. ‘He hasn’t got away, has he? You’re not cheating us into telling you what happened?’
‘No, Cissy,’ Simon said quietly, and told her about the lad in the infirmary and the death of Joce.
‘Poor Joce. I never much liked him, but I wouldn’t wish that sort of death on any man,’ Nob shuddered.
‘Save your sympathy, you old fool! It’s Gerard you should feel sorry for,’ Cissy said scathingly. ‘The poor young fellow’s near death, from what these gentlemen say.’
‘Our Reg won’t be looked on with great favour, not once the Abbot knows what he did,’ Nob said.
‘Oh!’ Cissy cried. There was a terrible lurch in her belly at the thought, although she couldn’t deny a certain hope that he might be thrown from the Abbey so that he could marry and settle, just as she had always wanted.
‘We can only pray that Gerard recovers fully,’ Simon said.
‘I need hardly say how pleased I am with your work, Simon,’ the Abbot said at breakfast the next morning. He had invited Simon, Baldwin and the Coroner to join him, and he sat eyeing Reginald dubiously as the novice tried to serve the Abbot and his guests with the same professional skill as Augerus. ‘You have discovered the secrets of so many with such skill, that even now I scarcely comprehend the full story.’
‘I am sure we should never have learned the full facts without his efforts,’ Baldwin said.
Simon glanced at Baldwin, who gazed back innocently. ‘I am glad you are pleased, my Lord Abbot. I try to serve you as best I may.’
‘You have always been a good servant.’
‘I am only sorry to have disappointed you so often this year, my Lord,’ Simon said with his head bowed.
‘What do you mean?’ The Abbot looked baffled.
‘Simon is convinced you are so miserable with his abject inability to serve you,’ Baldwin said, ‘that he thinks you wish to remove him from his position. Especially after the mistake of the hammer.’
‘What, you mean the coining hammer?’ the Abbot demanded, astonished.
Baldwin had thrown out the comment in the hope that he might tease the Abbot into an admission that he was going to move Simon, however the tone of surprise sounded so authentic, he glanced up into the Abbot’s face.
‘I believed that the coining hammer was the last straw, my Lord Abbot,’ Simon said. ‘What with the fiasco of Oakhampton’s tournaments, and the madness at Sticklepath.’
‘Them?’ The Abbot waved his hand in genial dismissal. ‘Nothing! They had no effect upon me. And you managed to find who was guilty, didn’t you?’
‘I suppose so,’ Simon said. There was a lightheadedness, as though he had drunk too much of the Abbot’s strong wine. Perhaps he had, he thought, but now the atmosphere of the Abbey had lost its menace. It felt calm, friendly and compassionate again.
He need not fear for his post, he need not fear for his money, for his wife’s sense of well-being, for her happiness. All was well. All would remain well. He reached forward and poured himself more wine, picking up his goblet with a feeling of renewal, as though he had sat on the edge of a precipice, the soil slipping away from him, doom awaiting him, and the Abbot had saved him, gripping his arms even as he toppled forth into the abyss.
‘No, Bailiff. I am very content with you,’ the Abbot continued amiably.
‘Then what was it you were saying to me after the coining, my Lord Abbot? You appeared to be concerned about my work.’
‘Not about your work, no. About the workload. I didn’t want to keep loading you with more duties, in case you couldn’t cope with them all, but you seem to have the shoulders of an ox when it comes to bearing responsibility.’
‘I can certainly help with more duties,’ Simon said quickly. He dared not refuse any job, not after his concerns of the last few days.
‘Good! I am pleased. As you know, I have been granted the position of Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth, and I need a good man to go down there and manage my affairs.’