He was in his chamber, feeling the somnolence that came from a well-filled belly and a seat positioned comfortably close to the fire, while in his mind he contemplated the days tocome. There was the promise of good hunting. Since the abbot had been warned to keep his hounds away from the king’s deer,he had enforced a strict code of abstinence among his brethren, but not even a forceful nature such as old Abbot Champeaux’scould effectively command obedience while he was confined to his own bedchamber. While he had been laid up with this lastillness, his face grey-green in the thin light from his window, shaking like a man with the ague, it was clear that he couldnot enforce his rules.
Some had been fearful, and had thought that the abbot might recover at any time. They had drawn up terrifying pictures ofhim in their minds, a grim-faced old man leaning on a heavy staff as he always had, with great white eyebrows that scowledso a man might be frozen from thirty paces. Many a newly tonsured brother had cause to dread his chastisement; they had allexperienced the rough edge of his tongue when they had fallen short of his high expectation. The abbot was a strong-willedman, and punished any transgression that might affect his monastery with ruthless determination.
John de Courtenay had held no such terror of Abbot Robert. The man was, when all was said and done, only a monk; while he, John de Courtenay, was the son of Baron Hugh of Okehampton and Tiverton. Yes, he owed the abbot his obedience and respect,but that was all.
And with any fortune, the election for the next abbot would be uncontested. Who could hope to stand in the path of the sonof Baron Hugh de Courtenay?
Evesham Abbey
And in the guest room of the great abbey devoted to St Ecgwine, the man who slept on the floor as far from the door as possibleturned over and was still, listening raptly to the heavy breathing and snoring of the others in the room. He closed his eyes,his breast rising and falling gently, but even as he teetered on the brink of sleep his fist remained clenched firmly aboutthe dagger’s hilt.
There were too many men who wanted him dead for him to dare to give himself up entirely to the sleep he so desperately craved.
It was the problem he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t any longer. The abbot here knew his secret and wouldn’t betrayhim, but unless he was prepared to take the tonsure he could not stay. And he was not going to become a celibate.
There was only one place in the country where he could be safe. Perhaps he ought to go there …
To Exeter.
Chapter One
Thursday before St Edmund’s Day in the eighteenth year of the reign of King Edward II2
Exeter City
Some months after John de Courtenay and Robert le Mareschal contemplated deaths which must affect them dramatically, the formerglad to hear of one demise and the latter actively pursuing another, a man whom both knew was himself contemplating murder.
Standing in the gloom of the alleyway, close by the Fissand Gate to the cathedral close in Exeter, he smiled to himself withouthumour as he watched his quarry. Leaning against the dark walls, he was just a blur in the twilight. There was no torch orbrazier here to touch his hooded face with flickering beams. Positioned in the angle of a projection in the wall, even hisoutline was concealed.
When the object of his attention moved farther away and joined the crowds in the main street, he pushed himself away fromhis place of concealment and followed on his long legs, his thick woollen cloak snapping at his shins.
Over the years Robinet of Newington, known as Newt by his friends, had covered many leagues with that determined lope, his narrowfeatures squinting into the middle distance as he strode over the old greenways. The smaller paths of this area, the greatroads that led over downs, the pilgrim routes over to Canterbury — he had seen them all. His cloak showed the effects of ahundred rainstorms and had faded in the sun; his boots were made of good Cordovan leather, but their paint was scratched andworn away from great use, and although when new they had been identical, neither designed for left nor right, over time theyhad moulded themselves to fit his feet. Once he would have bought new ones sooner. Once, aye, he could have replaced all hisclothing twice a year at the expense of his master.
Reaching the top of the street, he peered round the corner. The crowds were thinning now as the sun sank in the west and thecold of the November evening persuaded all those with a room to go to it and huddle by the fire.
Newington pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders and gazed after the man. If Newt knew him at all, he should be enteringthe stables. Yes, even as Newt gazed frowningly, he saw the man dart in.
After so much time there was a desire to hurry after him and shove his knife into the faithless bastard’s throat, but Newtwas too wily a man to do so, he told himself. Others would have impetuously followed their enemy, but Newt knew he was craftier. He hadn’t survived so many years in the royal household by being unaware of the dangers of precipitate action. No, he waited,running through all the tasks his quarry would have to see to. It was possible, of course, that he was returning to collecthis horse to ride from the city and continue on his urgent round — but Newt knew in his heart that it was deeply unlikely. When night fell it was hazardous to travel. He knew that. James of Wanetynch wasno fool, whatever else he was, and he also knew it made no sense to travel in the dark.
Of course he did. Robinet had taught the godless whoreson everything he knew.
Monday, Vigil of St Edmund’s Day3
Dartmouth
When the summons came, Simon Puttock, bailiff and representative of the Keeper of the Port of Dartmouth, was first aware onlyof a huge relief.
The port was a pleasant little town stuck out on the western shore of the River Dart, with a large natural haven for shipping. Simon could not complain about his position there, or the goodwill of his abbot, who had installed him here as a proof ofhis trust, but nonetheless Simon had not enjoyed his time here. He had left his moors behind, the lands where he had beenhappiest in his life, and, worse, he had been forced to leave his family too. Now, if he was being called back to Tavistock,at least he would have a chance to see them again. It had been too long.
When Abbot Robert had given him this job, that kind-hearted gentleman had been attempting to reward Simon’s years of loyalservice to the abbey. Since the famine years, Simon had been working on Dartmoor as one of the stannary bailiffs responsiblefor protecting the king’s tin-mining ventures and trying to negotiate between the landowners and the miners, never an easy task. At the time he had thought that he would never have another position, so he had brought hiswife and young family to Lydford, where they had made their home, and he had never asked more than to be left to his job.
But he had been too successful at the work for his own good, and the abbot had sought to reward him, and ensure the successof his new investments in Dartmouth, by giving him this post. It was intended as recognition of Simon’s efforts, but it feltlike a punishment.
He eyed the man who had brought the summons, trying to contain the thrill of relief that was washing through him. This fellowwas no ordinary messenger: he had the look about him of a man who felt himself superior to the recipient. He was a full threeinches taller than Simon, and he had an arrogant air about him. Clearly one of the newer men who was less enamoured than hisolder colleagues with Abbot Robert and had allied himself with one of the monks who wanted to take over the abbot’s responsibilities. There were enough of them, God Himself knew.