“Really?” said Tanner, looking surprised. “I didn’t tell him it was that urgent, it was just to let you know where we were.”
Obviously impatient with the long story, John Black interrupted and quickly ran through the journey up from Crediton and the scene they had seen that morning. “It was awful, Stephen. There was bodies all over the place, and they’d even burned two of them in their wagons.”
“Why, though?” said Simon pensively, making the other; look at him in surprise. “Why burn the bodies?”
Tanner shrugged. “Often happens, bailiff. They burn to torture, to find out whether there’s more money or not, they burn to get rid of evidence. And they burn for fun – they sometimes enjoy it.”
“It seems to fit in with the killing of the abbot, anyway,” said Black. “And Brewer.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said Simon, morosely hugging his knees as he sat and stared at the flames. The others looked over at him, surprised at his curt denial of their assumption.
Black recovered first. “What do you mean? Of course it does, senseless killing and robbery, and done by men that enjoy burning their hostages. It’s exactly the same.”
“No, it’s not! One man murdered in his house, another taken hostage and burned to death, then travellers attacked on the road? There’s nothing similar between them!”
“I agree. Brewer was killed by someone else, even if the abbot was killed by these outlaws.” It was Hugh, sitting with his cloak around his shoulders and gazing at the ground in front of him.
“What do you mean, Hugh,” said Simon quietly, making his servant look up. He had a suspicious frown on his face, as if he doubted that his opinion was being honestly sought, and his eyes flitted over Simon’s face as if looking for confirmation that his thoughts were really wanted. At last, seeming happy with Simon’s expression of concentration, he continued, talking directly to him and ignoring the others.
“Well, the farmer was dead already, before the fire, you reckoned. The abbot and the travellers, they weren’t. They were all killed like they were being tortured. These outlaws kill, but they do it once they have taken everything they can, don’t they?”
“But the abbot was still worth money, he was worth a ransom,” said Simon musingly. “Why kill him? Why burn him? What were they doing, torturing him to find out which saddlebag his money was in? And surely the outlaws would have killed all the monks together, not just taken the abbot. Like you say, Brewer was killed before the fire started, if he was killed at all. That’s why all of the killings seem different to me.”
“No, with Brewer they just wanted his money. When they got it, they left. The abbot was taken as a hostage because they wanted what he had in his saddle, but then maybe they were scared off, maybe someone came along when they had burned the abbot and they had to leave in a hurry,” said Tanner dismissively.
Simon looked back at Hugh. “Well? What do you think?”
“I think that a small party of these outlaws saw the abbot and took his money. Taking a monk? It must have seemed like an easy target! What doesn’t make sense to me is Brewer being killed by the same band. But maybe they found his money, then killed him, and fired the house to hide what they’d done.”
“It’s possible,” agreed Simon grudgingly. “Although they have not been too careful about hiding their traces since then. But the abbot – why kill him like that?”
“Like I said, they were seen by someone and had to get away,” said Tanner.
“Had to get away?” said Hugh, his eyebrows rising in disbelief as he turned to the constable. “If it was two men, surely they’d have taken the abbot with them, not just killed him. They can’t have been rushed if they had time to burn him to death. And if someone did see them, whoever it was would’ve raised the hue and cry, wouldn’t they? I mean, if I saw a body burning in the middle of the woods, I’d”ve run home quick and got help.“
“But maybe they never saw the outlaws or the body burning,” said Black, frowning.
Hugh paused to stare at him sullenly, but when he spoke again his voice was high and strained. “And I suppose the abbot was quiet? He was being burned at the stake, and he was quiet? Even if they never saw him they must’ve heard him.”
Black rose with a faintly patronising smile on his face. “Well, I don’t know why they left him either, but I do know one thing. The men we’re chasing now are the same ones who killed the abbot and probably Brewer as well. Nothing else makes sense. And we’re going to catch them tomorrow, so I’m going to get some sleep now.”
As Black walked over to his packs, Tanner glanced at the bailiff, who sat, still staring at his servant. It mattered little to Tanner who was responsible for the death of the farmer, his main worry was for the people who could be hurt in the future. Marauding trail bastons could wreak havoc in an area like this, where there were many forests for them to hide in and hundreds of small hamlets for them to attack with relative impunity. During his warfaring days he had seen enough of the companies that devastated the land, robbing, burning and thieving, murdering the peasants and stopping all traffic. His sole desire was to see them caught or killed. The bailiff seemed more concerned about the others, about the abbot and Brewer. Tanner was not; they were past help, in his view. He could understand the bailiff’s feelings, though. He was too young to have seen the harm outlaws could bring. Sighing, the constable rose, gave them a good night and left them. There was nothing more for him to do here tonight.
“So, Hugh, you think someone else was responsible for the farmer’s death as well, do you?” asked Simon when he had gone.
Hugh nodded, his face bleak. “Yes, I reckon the abbot was killed by this lot, but Brewer wasn’t. And you know the bugger about it all? I’ve got no more idea than you why they did it.”
“It doesn’t matter, Hugh” said Simon softly but deliberately. “Whoever it was, I will find out. I will find who was responsible and why. Too many have died – it’s time to avenge them – all of them.”
Chapter Seventeen
They awoke stiff and aching in a clear and bright morning. Simon felt awful. He had hardly slept at all; every time he found himself slipping into sleep, his brain started to tease once more at the question of who was responsible for the murder of the abbot.
He wanted to accept the simple faith of his companions, that the same men had killed Brewer, then de Penne, then had robbed and killed the travellers; but he could not believe it. It seemed too obvious, somehow – too easy, – and, like Hugh, he could not believe that the men who had taken so much from the travellers would have killed the abbot – he was too valuable. And he was confused that only the abbot had been taken. Surely the men who had killed the merchants would have taken all of the monks, not just the abbot?
The bailiff stood and rubbed his buttocks and thighs, grimacing at the bustle of the others all around as they quickly packed and started to get their horses ready. He felt cold and damp, tired and miserable. His back and his legs hurt, he had a bruise on one side where a stone had dug into his ribs, and he felt no closer to a definite answer about who was responsible for the killing of the abbot.
He crouched by the fire, trying to absorb some warmth from the ashes, but they were cold and gave him no comfort, so it was with a wry grin that he thought about his warm house, his bed and Margaret’s body, thinking, God! What am I doing out here!
“Bailiff!”
Turning, he saw Black striding towards him. The hunter grinned when he came close, seeing Simon’s evident ill-humour. “All the men are ready.” He paused. “We can leave when you’re feeling well enough,” he added drily, a grin lifting the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you, Master Black,” said Simon insincerely, but he rose and walked with him to the horses. Hugh had saddled both and packed, and now stood at their bridles, scowling his usual welcome as they approached. Taking the reins, Simon mounted slowly, wincing at the aches from the previous day’s ride, then they wheeled and followed Black down the slight rise, heading back to their trail.