Kenelm followed until he saw where Owen was going. He stopped immediately. Nothing could make him venture into the cemetery at night. It held the accusing presence of Brother Nicholas.
Watching the other boy pick his way nimbly between the gravestones, Kenelm lost his nerve and turned tail. He ran all the way back to the dormitory but it was no refuge. New horrors assaulted him. Sleep of any kind was impossible.
Owen, meanwhile, was filled with a strange confidence. When he reached the mound of fresh earth, he gazed down at it without any sign of fear. Even in death, Brother Nicholas was still his friend. The only way to reach him now was by means of prayer, and Owen knelt on the damp grass with his palms together. His prayer was long and fervent. He was convinced that Brother Nicholas heard every word. When he opened his eyes and clambered to his feet again, he was smiling. He had talked at night to his friend as he had done so many times before. It was thrilling. Waving a farewell, he turned to scamper away but someone was waiting for him, a stout figure in a monastic cowl, barely visible in the darkness. Pale moonlight gave him a ghostly air.
Owen was unperturbed. He went hopefully towards the man.
‘Brother Nicholas?’ he asked.
Occupying a chamber near the base of the keep, Gervase Bret retired early to bed and fell swiftly asleep. Even the heavy murmur of voices from the hall did not disturb him. It took the fist and voice of Canon Hubert to pluck him from his dreams.
‘Gervase!’ called Hubert. ‘Wake up, Gervase!’
‘What?’ muttered the other, opening an eye. ‘Who’s there?’
‘Canon Hubert!’
‘Here at the castle?’
‘I must speak to you!’
‘One moment.’
Forcing himself awake, Gervase got out of bed and crossed to unbolt the door. Brother Hubert was supporting himself against the wall with one hand. He was covered in sweat and panting stertorously. Gervase beckoned him in and shut the door behind them. When he opened the window, the first rays of sun were streaking across the sky. They enabled him to see his visitor’s face.
‘Canon Hubert, are you all right?’
‘I’ve been running.’
‘I can see that. Sit down. Get your breath back.’
‘Thank you, Gervase.’
Gulping in air, Hubert lowered himself precariously on to a small stool and put a palm across his heart. A man who rarely moved at more than a stately waddle had broken into an undignified sprint. Gervase knew that only an emergency could have made him do that. He waited until his caller had a semblance of control over his breathing.
‘What is the matter?’ he asked.
‘Another disaster has befallen the abbey.’
‘Murder?’
‘We are not sure, Gervase. We pray that is not the case.’
‘So what happened?’
‘One of the novices was abducted in the night.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘No other explanation fits the facts,’ said Hubert, wiping an arm across his brow. ‘The boy’s name is Owen. His absence was noted at Matins and a search instituted. He is nowhere to be found in the abbey.’
‘Calm down,’ advised Gervase. ‘You may yet be mistaken. The boy may be playing a prank and hiding from you.’
‘Owen never plays pranks. Brother Paul, the Master of the Novices, tells me he is the most obedient of them all. Besides, where would he hide? They have looked everywhere.’
‘They looked everywhere for Brother Nicholas, if you remember, and he was concealed among them all the time. But you say he was abducted. Assuming that this Owen did leave the abbey, could he not have gone of his own accord?’
‘No, Gervase.’
‘Why not?’
‘To start with, he would not have been able to get out. All the doors are locked at night. Only the porter could have let him leave. And we are talking about a dedicated young boy here. He thrives on monastic life. Owen had no reason to go and every reason to stay.’ His jowls wobbled with consternation. ‘But there is much more disturbing intelligence, Gervase. He may not be the first.’
‘The first what?’
‘Victim. Two other novices disappeared in the past.’
‘Under what circumstances?’
‘Similar ones, from what I can gather. There at night but gone the next morning. Again, with no just cause to flee the abbey.
Everyone is convinced that all three boys were kidnapped.’
‘Why?’
‘I dare not even contemplate that.’
‘But didn’t you tell me that all the doors were locked?’
‘They are, Gervase. By the porter.’
‘Then how did someone get in to abduct them?’
‘How did someone get in to murder Brother Nicholas?’ said Hubert, shifting dangerously on the stool. ‘Abbot Serlo believes the crimes may be connected and I am bound to agree. That’s why I took to my heels to rouse you. I hope that you do not mind.’
‘Of course not, Canon Hubert. You did the right thing.’
‘I thought to speak first to the lord Ralph but I hesitated to knock at the door of a married man. It seemed improper. I could hardly be invited into his chamber as I have been here.’
‘Nevertheless, Ralph must be woken,’ said Gervase. ‘Have no fear. I’ll take the office upon me. Stay here and recover while I am about it.’
‘Do you think we are right?’
‘About what?’
‘A link between the murder and the abductions?’
‘There is only one way to find out. What I do know is that you’ve told me more than enough to get me out of bed. When he’s stopped cursing me for waking him, Ralph will say the same.
Hold fast.’
Still in his night attire, Gervase ran swiftly out on bare feet.
Abbot Serlo, Bishop Wulfstan and Brother Frewine stood in a line and stared balefully down at the ground like three ancient owls with only one mouse between them. They were outside the church, lost in thought, weighed down with a new grief, drawn together by suffering. Serlo’s pain was keenest. He was in loco parentis and one of his beloved children had been snatched away.
The Precentor felt numb. Owen was the last boy he would have wanted to lose and he feared that the novice’s trusting nature might have been his downfall. Older and wiser than either of them, the bishop tried to put fear aside so that he could think more clearly. Child abductions were not unique events in his long life. He did not dwell on how most usually ended.
The return of Canon Hubert brought all three of them out of their reveries. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had been given full details by their colleague but they wanted to hear them afresh.
After greetings had been exchanged, they let the abbot give his account. The evidence from Kenelm was what intrigued Ralph.
‘He followed Owen to the cemetery?’ he said.
‘So he told us, my lord,’ replied Serlo.
‘Whatever was the boy doing there?’
‘Only he would know that.’
‘Most lads of that age would not go near such a place in the dead of night. Especially on their own. Well, this Kenelm was too frightened to stay, it seems. I can understand that. Owen must be very brave.’
‘Hardly,’ said Frewine. ‘I have never met such a timid creature.’
‘Timid?’
‘Shy, modest and reticent.’
‘Yet he walks among the gravestones in the dark. An unusual boy, this Owen, clearly.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Hubert tells us that all the abbey doors are locked at night.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Serlo. ‘But the porter is always at the gate.’
‘Who holds the keys to the other doors?’
‘He does.’
‘Are there no duplicates?’
‘I have one to the rear entrance but rarely use it.’
‘Is it kept somewhere safe, Abbot Serlo?’
‘Extremely safe. It has never gone missing.’
‘And it is still where it should be?’
‘Yes, my lord. I checked.’
‘In that case, we are faced with only one conclusion. Someone had a means of getting into the abbey at night. He let himself in, seized the boy, then left by the same door.’