‘Yes. This is it.’
‘Oh, thank Christ for …’
Simon winced. Rob had been raised in Dartmouth, and his language was designed more for the tavern than an abbey. ‘Try to becareful with your words, Rob. The monks in here expect respect. If you use language like that, you could be thrown into theirgaol and left there for a week. I won’t pay to get you out if you are guilty of embarrassing a monk.’
‘God’s teeth.’
‘That’s enough!’
There was a lay brother at the gate who volunteered to take Rob and the horses to the stable. Simon was happy to pass overthe reins, taking his pair of bags from the saddle before he bade the beast farewell. It was not his own, but one of thoserounseys which the abbey purchased and kept for the use of its workers. When Simon left tomorrow to see his wife, he hopedto be able to borrow another horse and packhorse for the journey. For now, though, there was more urgent business, if Stephenof Chard was to be believed.
Rob was somewhat pathetic, staring at Simon like a boy bidding farewell to his father before going to sea. Simon waved himoff irritably, then turned on his heel and made his way across the main court to a door which had been pointed out to him. A novice opened it for him, beckoning him to enter.
Over the years Simon had come here many times to meet his abbot, but those encounters had always been held in the abbot’sown house overlooking the gardens and the river. Many were the pleasant meals and drinks Simon had enjoyed there while supposedlybriefing the abbot on matters pertaining to troubles on the moors, or more recently the affairs of Dartmouth. However, thelast few meetings they had had were more sombre. It was clear to Simon that the abbot had known he was dying. The death waslong and slow, but the good man endured it with equanimity. He was glad to be leaving the world, Simon was convinced. Abbot Robert had done all he could to serve God and the abbey, and he knew he deserved his final rest.
‘Bailiff. Good. Come in here.’ It was John de Courtenay, the son of Baron Hugh de Courtenay. He was standing in a narrow passage,and he opened a door as Simon approached, motioning him inside. Seeing the novice, he jerked his head. ‘You! Fetch us wine,and be quick!’
The room had clearly been used for some while as a working area. It was not large, but there were two tables set up inside,with a series of rolls of parchment set out on them. A few were weighted flat with stones, and it looked as though John de Courtenay had been studying them. He walked in behind Simon and stared down at the nearest parchment with distaste, beforeremoving some of the stones and allowing the skin to roll itself up again gently as he seated himself on a stool beside it.
Between the tables stood a large brazier half filled with glowing coals. Simon walked to it and held his hands to it whilehe wondered why he had been called here to see the baron’s son. It was only after a short period that he suddenly felt a sinking sensation in his bowels.
There were many in the abbey whom Simon would have been delighted to see take over: the cellarer was a kindly, well-intentionedman; the sacristan was astute, worldly wise and effective; even the salsarius was more than capable — but this man was thevery last whom Simon would wish to see in charge of the place.
John was no fool, it was true, but that only added to Simon’s concern now as he turned and warmed his backside. Once, whilehe was discussing fathers and sons with his friend Sir Baldwin, the knight had observed that it was a general rule that ifa strong-willed man sired a son, the son would be as feckless as his father was brilliant. Not always, of course, but therewere many examples of weakly sons who followed potent parents. At the time, Simon recalled, they had been alluding to theking himself. No man would have thought that so jealous, foolish and incompetent a man could have followed Edward I.
No, he didn’t think that this John de Courtenay was a fool, but that did not make Simon feel any better. When Simon was aboy, his father had been steward to the de Courtenays, and Simon had grown to know John moderately well. Where his fatherwas cautious and aware of the machinations necessary to protect his estates and treasure in the confusing modern world ofpolitics, John was devious to a fault, determined, frivolous, vain and a spendthrift. It was no surprise that Hugh had supportedhis eldest son in his ambition to go into the church rather than take over the vast family estates. God forbid that he shouldever grab the reins of power of the abbey.
‘Where is that wine?’ de Courtenay grumbled. He was a powerfully built man, with a square face and thinning fair hair about his tonsure. That he kept himself moderately fit was entirely due to his passion for hunting, which was not actuallypermitted, although he didn’t allow that to stop him. Recently, though, his belly had started to grow, and Simon noticed thatsince he had last seen him his posture had changed. Whereas before he had always stood dignified and erect, now he was beginningto bend his back to support his growing paunch, and he sat with his neck thrust forward in a vain attempt to conceal the growingpouch of flesh beneath his chin.
Simon waited silently. He was anxious. Whatever had occasioned his recall to Tavistock, he felt sure it would not be to hisbenefit.
At last the novice returned with a thin, old monk who entered, nodded kindly to Simon, and then glowered at his brother. ‘Perhapsyou forget, John, that you should not command the novices to fetch and carry for you? You may do that if you ever win theabbot’s seat, but until then you should leave the boys alone. And if you want wine, come and ask me to provide it for you. Since we are lucky enough to have a guest in our midst, I suppose this once it will be all right.’
‘We have matters to discuss here, Reginald,’ de Courtenay said sharply. ‘You may leave us.’
‘Oho!’ Reginald said, and passed Simon a jug of wine, winking as he did so. He handed a second to de Courtenay, who took itsuspiciously. Then the old monk gave them both goblets, and Simon tasted his wine with pleasure. An excellent vintage, strongand fruity; meanwhile de Courtenay peered into his own goblet with an expression of doubt.
As soon as they were alone again, de Courtenay shook his head. ‘I am sorry about that old fool. The churl has little in his head any more. I am sure the vindictive old brute watered this wine. It’s like piss!’
Simon hurriedly agreed, pulling a face, before de Courtenay could think of taking a taste of his own jug. ‘Why did you askme to come here?’
De Courtenay looked at him for a long period without speaking. Then he set his goblet on the table beside him and leaned forward,his elbows on his knees. Motioning towards another stool, he waited until Simon was seated.
‘Since poor Abbot Robert has gone to a happier place, it will be up to the brothers here to elect a new abbot. There mustbe a vote early in the new year. Now when that happens, naturally I shall be selected. There is no one else who can lead ourlittle community. And yet there are one or two misguided fellows here who might seek to prevent my taking my proper placein the abbey. They could try to put another in my stead, if you can believe it!’
Simon could very easily believe it. ‘That has nothing to do with me, though.’
‘Not directly, no. But I remember you from when we were lads. You always followed your father, and he was a good, loyal servant. How is he?’
‘Dead these last nine years,’ Simon said shortly.
‘Amazing. Still, you’d want to continue in his footsteps, wouldn’t you?’
‘How exactly do you expect me to do that?’ Simon asked warily.
‘There is one brother here who could be a threat to me … the fool Busse. Robert Busse. He is not a serious contender,of course. I mean, I’m the son of a baron, and he?’ He gave a dismissive shrug and wave of his hand. ‘No. No one in theirright mind would vote for him. And yet he’s a crafty old devil. Perhaps he might threaten some, or bribe others. You never can be sure with that devious old … anyway, I wantsomeone to keep an eye on him.’