There was a cry from the stable, and they ran over to the entrance. Inside they found the merchant bending over a squirming figure. “The bastard tied up my groom!” Arthur bawled indignantly.
The knight bent over Henry and cut the cords binding his arms and feet. Edgar helped him to his feet and with his help Henry was taken to his palliasse and laid down on it gently. The knight stood at his side.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Baldwin asked.
“I was clobbered, sir,” Henry said painfully. “Someone belted me from behind.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“No, sir. All I know is, I was out here seeing to the horses, and next thing I had a headache and was trussed like a capon.”
“You didn’t see which way they went?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you hear anything? Screams or shouting?”
“Do you mean,” Arthur said, drawing himself straight with indignation, “do you mean to suggest that my daughter might have willingly eloped with this Venetian jackanapes?”
“It is possible,” said Baldwin, raising a hand to cut short the angry expostulation that Pole’s daughter would never connive at such a betrayal of her parents’ wishes. “At this moment we don’t even know for sure that Pietro da Cammino is involved. We shall leave you now, and go to the Abbey to question him.”
“He won’t be at the Abbey – I tell you he’s run off!”
“In that case, when we have made sure he is not at the Abbey, we will organize a search for him – and her.”
“There is one more thing, Sir Baldwin. If the Abbot doesn’t believe this, tell him that his guest, that bastard Pietro, has been impersonating a monk.”
“What?”
“My man saw him last night. He was dressed like a Benedictine, wandering round the town. My daughter met him, and he wooed her under the protection of holy garb.”
“God’s blood!” Simon breathed. “Was he the thief?”
21
Simon and Baldwin sent Edgar to get their horses saddled and bridled, and ran across the court to the Abbot’s lodging. A monk told them he was in his private chapel, and they had to wait, chafing at the delay, while another monk went in and asked the Abbot to see them.
“My friends – do you have news from the girl?”
Simon told of the missing girl, and the Abbot froze. “But… the Venetians have gone.”
“When?” Baldwin asked quickly.
“After the rabble came to the gate. Both Pietro and their servant were terrified by the appearance of so many ruffians calling for their blood. Someone had roused them against bankers. Pietro insisted that they should leave. His father was unwilling at first, not wanting to lose his deal with me, but I refused it, and he agreed to leave then.”
“It would appear that Pietro had an ulterior motive. The crowd at the gate gave him his excuse, and he took his chance.”
“Sir Baldwin, you must find them.”
“We shall try, sir. But where they could have gone is a matter of guesswork. We will need to hunt them down carefully.”
“I shall come to the yard with you. It’s impossible for me to join you on the Feast Day of the Abbey’s saint, but at least I can make sure you are sent off with as many men as possible.”
So saying, Abbot Robert led the way out of the room. A monk was outside in the Prayle, and the Abbot called him over, telling him to prepare men to join the hunt. He scurried off and the Abbot and the others continued on their way.
Edgar stood waiting with the horses, and Baldwin took the reins from his servant. “The trouble is, we have no idea where they might have gone. Do you have a hunter used to tracking animals?”
“I do, but he’s not here, he’s out working.”
Simon said, “Surely they’ll make straight for the coast? Plymouth would be best for them.”
“Perhaps,” Baldwin mused. “But the port there is very small. The chances of finding a ship before we catch up with them are remote, unless they have a ship waiting.”
“Did they leave in a great hurry?” Simon asked the Abbot. “What about their clothes and belongings – are all gone?”
“I don’t know, I… You,” he called to a lay brother. The man ambled over, a spade on his shoulder like a weapon. “Go to the guest-master and find out whether the Venetians left anything behind. Quickly, brother!”
The man dropped his shovel and hesitated, wondering whether to pick it up. Catching sight of the Abbot’s face, he let it lie and ran off. The Abbot sighed. “Only a few hours ago all was normal. It was merely a hectic Feast Day for St. Rumon, and now I have lost a novice to a murder, a pair of guests are to be hunted like venison, and…”
“My lord Abbot!”
Champeaux glanced at Baldwin with surprise. “Eh?”
“Hunted! Your hounds!”
He stared for moment, then groaned and slapped his forehead. “I must be the greatest fool alive!” and dashed off toward the River Gate. A few moments later he returned with a man, narrow-faced, and with a sallow complexion. Bright blue eyes glittered under dark brows. “This is my berner, the master of my scent hounds.”
“Berner, you have harrier hounds?”
“We have – twenty couple.”
“Could they chase men?”
He chuckled. “They could chase an ant from its smell.”
There was a commotion from the guests’ quarters, and when they turned to see the cause, they saw the lay brother coming toward them at a run. “Abbot, the servant is still here!”
Seeing the berner shrug and start to make his way back to his beloved hounds, Baldwin called to him, “Master berner, bring ten couples here immediately, and a horse for yourself. We shall be hunting men.”
Simon turned to the monk. “Where is he?”
“In the guestroom.”
“Good. Come on, Baldwin.”
Guests could be placed in various parts of the Abbey depending upon their rank and importance. Those of lowly position would stay in the communal accommodation above the Great Gate itself, while the most important would stay in the Abbot’s own private rooms alongside his hall. For others, when this was already being used, there was the main guest block overlooking the river, and it was in this building that the Venetians had been placed. Simon walked up the stairs to the first floor, and only when he arrived at the door did it occur to him that the man inside might be desperate and dangerous. He was uncommonly glad to hear the steady steps of Baldwin and his man behind him as he reached for his sword and tested the hilt in his hand. He glanced at the knight, then opened the door in a rush and burst in, drawing his sword as he went. He fetched up against a wall, holding the weapon before him.
“The sword is unnecessary, Simon,” he heard Baldwin murmur as the knight walked in.
In the far corner of what was a broad and long room, he saw the servant Luke folding clothes and stowing them into a light cloth bag, suitable for dangling from a saddle. The man stared in astonishment, eyeing Simon as if doubting his sanity.
“You are the servant of Antonio and Pietro da Cammino?” Baldwin asked, walking quietly toward the man. He nodded, which was a relief to the knight, who had feared that he might not speak English. “What is your name?”
