Robert Champeaux greeted Margaret’s story with appalled astonishment. It seemed impossible that such an overt attack could have been perpetrated during his fair. As she finished reciting her tale, he found he had to close his mouth; it had fallen wide open in his dismay. “But… are you both all right? You were neither of you hurt?”
“No, no, Abbot,” Jeanne said gaily. “We were fine, it was only the two trail-bastons who were hurt – and their friends, I suppose, if only in their pride.”
“This is dreadful,” the Abbot insisted. “That men should dare to commit acts of such outlawry, and during the fair too – where were the watchmen?”
Margaret threw a quick glance at Jeanne. The widow was about to speak when Baldwin and Simon entered.
Simon greeted his wife with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes. She looked too cheerful for his purse to have been undamaged after her foray into the fair. Margaret interpreted the look and grinned broadly. “No, I spent less than you would have expected, husband, but only because of the attack.”
“Attack?” Baldwin asked sharply. “What happened?”
His face registered his shock as he heard their tale. Simon merely dropped into a seat and nodded. “I’ve seen Hugh in action before.”
“Is that all you can say?” Baldwin demanded. “This is terrible! What if Jeanne or Margaret had been hurt?”
Margaret heard the order of the names and glanced at her new friend. To her pleasure she saw that the widow too had noticed.
Simon shrugged. “When you’re raised as a farmer out in the wilds, you soon learn how to fight. Hugh was trained by protecting his sheep from wolves on four and two legs. If he ran, his father would beat him, so getting into a fight was at least a way of avoiding a thrashing. He learned how to fight well, and not to lose. I pity the man who tries to harm him while he’s got a weapon of any sort to hand.”
“And you are sure you’re both all right?” Baldwin asked the two women.
“Yes, we’re fine,” Jeanne said. Margaret knew there was no need for her to answer.
“You say this merchant sold you his goods at a low price?” Simon pressed relentlessly. “Does that mean you spent less, or that you bought so much more that you ended up losing all your money?”
“We spent little, especially when you see what we bought,” Margaret beamed.
“And you, Sir Baldwin,” Jeanne added, “will soon have a new tunic and cloak.”
“A new tunic and cloak?”
He looked so crestfallen that even the Abbot burst out with a guffaw. “Sir Baldwin, how could you refuse new clothing from two such kind patrons?”
“With difficulty.”
“I fear I will have little to do with it,” Margaret said. “Jeanne wishes to do all the work herself.”
Simon saw the quick look Jeanne gave his wife and correctly surmised that this was news to her, but he was also pleased to see that she appeared more than happy with the offer. “Yes, Sir Knight, if you will allow me, I would like to.”
“I would be honored, my lady,” he said self-consciously.
The Abbot was still considering the problem at the fair. “Where were the watchmen when these men committed this outrage? I will have to make sure that the men on duty are punished for allowing this.”
“Don’t be too hard on them,” Baldwin said as he sat near Jeanne. “How many hundreds of stalls are there here? You have people from all over the kingdom and over the sea visiting your town. Do not be surprised that there is a minor incident.”
“You are right, especially since there is a more serious matter to attend to. You found the head, Peter tells me,” the Abbot said slowly, “but it belonged to the man called Roger Torre.”
“Yes. The head was buried in Elias’ garden, but we still have no idea why Torre should have been killed. We have arrested the cook.”
“So you do think Elias was the killer?”
Baldwin shook his head. “I can’t believe he did it. He is too weak, and I don’t think he had time. What is more, he could not have committed this murder without getting blood on him. No, I find it hard to believe that Elias had anything to do with Torre’s death.” He explained that they felt Elias would be safer in the jail, and the Abbot nodded understandingly.
“That was a good idea. The mob here can be as unpredictable as the citizens of London. Anyway, there is something else you should know. A man has been attacked by someone in a Benedictine habit.”
“Surely the fellow’s brains are addled?” Simon protested when the Abbot had told them Ruby’s story. “Who could accuse a monk of something like that?”
“Sadly, all too many people could believe the worst even of Benedictines. There have been too many tales of men of God becoming outlaws recently, and there are plenty of examples of monks who have chosen to ignore their oaths of chastity and take women. Only a short time ago I heard about a brother who was found abed with a married woman. It’s something which always gets bruited abroad, when a monk goes to the bad, and people then look on all as being corrupt and venal.”
“Do you think one of your monks could have done this?” Baldwin asked, toying with his wine. “Or is it a counterfeit?”
“A few yards of cloth is all that’s needed to imitate a monk,” the Abbot pointed out.
Baldwin noted that he did not definitely deny that one of his monks could have committed the robbery. “You have many men in cloth here.”
The Abbot shot him a glance. “We are a good size,” he admitted. “Twelve monks including myself, and another thirty lay brothers and pensioners who also wear the cloth, but I doubt that any of them could have committed a felony like this.”
“No, of course not,” Baldwin said calmly, and the Abbot returned to musing about Elias.
“I’m pleased the cook is behind bars. You may not be convinced of his guilt, but why should someone else put the head in his yard?”
“My question is, why would Elias himself have put it there? Only a fool would bury it so near his own home.”
“He had no time before returning to the tavern,” the Abbot suggested.
“But he did afterward. Why not dig it up and take it to the midden, and throw it in? At least that way there’d be nothing to connect it to Elias.”
“Did you find a habit in his house?”
“No, my lord Abbot. But we weren’t looking for one.”
“If he had one, he would have hidden it,” the Abbot decided.
“I suppose so,” Baldwin agreed reflectively, “but what interests me is why he is shielding the man he drank with that night.”
The Abbot nodded absently, signing to his steward for more wine, and Peter appeared with a pewter jug on a tray. He poured wine for his master and guests, but then stood before Champeaux, staring at the ground, his hands clenching and unclenching at his side. “My son, is there something the matter?” the Abbot asked gently.
“Could I beg a moment of your time, my lord?”
“Friends, please excuse me.”
Baldwin watched with interest as the Abbot left the room with the monk, passing through the door behind his little dais, into his private chapel. The bailiff was less inquisitive than the knight, and walked over to chat to his wife.
It was some minutes before the monk reappeared, sniffing and wiping at his face. Behind him, Abbot Champeaux followed hesitantly. He went to his chair and sat, taking a deep draft of wine before staring contemplatively at the door through which the novice had left. “There are many things in this life which don’t make sense,” the Abbot observed.
Baldwin looked at him in surprise. Champeaux had lost his genial good humor. He looked sad and old. “Is something the matter?”
“There are times when my cross is heavy indeed.”
Baldwin nodded, and turned to talk to Jeanne, but every now and again he found his attention being drawn to the distracted Abbot, who gazed at the door and drummed his fingers on the table before him.
