Hugo was silent a moment. His doubts had disappeared since talking to Lybbe again. Now he knew only a consuming anger that a man could so blatantly forswear himself. Hugo felt betrayed. He had saved a life, and yet his example had been ignored – worse, his example had been immediately perverted by a lie.
“There is something I must tell you about Jordan Lybbe.”
The Abbot was alone in his study when they arrived. “Sir Baldwin, Simon, you are welcome. May I offer you a little wine?”
“Thank you, Abbot. Do you mind if we interview the two men now?” Baldwin asked. “And could we have young Peter’s notes with us here as well?” The Abbot nodded and rang a small bell. While they waited, Baldwin murmured something to Edgar. The servant nodded and left the room. In a few minutes Antonio and Pietro were with them. A monk brought Baldwin the novice’s file of papers.
Hugh waited by the door with Holcroft to prevent escape. The Camminos stood, their hands manacled, while the Abbot studied them. He had not spoken to them or seen them since their return the day before.
Pietro looked as if he had hardly slept. His pale face contrasted strongly with his black hair to make him appear almost feverish. His father looked thoroughly broken, a dirt-streaked tatterdemalion. The suave merchant had been replaced by a man who might have been a peasant.
The Abbot sat on his great chair, Simon on his left, and Baldwin sat squinting at Peter’s notes on his right. Champeaux surveyed the two regretfully. “So, gentlemen, you have been accused of astonishing crimes while making use of my hospitality. What do you have to say in defense?”
“Trying to help my son marry the woman he chose is hardly an astonishing crime,” Antonio protested.
“Taking a maiden without her parents’ consent is a serious crime,” Simon said. “Trying to make her your son’s wife through deceit hardly improves matters.”
“What deceit, bailiff? This was a matter of love, not…”
“You and your son have tried to make out you are a prosperous merchant. You used that status to gain the Abbot’s trust, and your son to win over the heart of a merchant’s daughter – but where is this fabulous wealth? Where are your ships? Where is the money and the estates you said you owned in Venice? It was all a sham.”
“I am from an ancient family in Venice and…”
“And you have nothing to show for it now. You could be no more than wandering thieves as far as we know – no better than common outlaws. Your claims to fortune, to mobility, to power – where is the proof of them?”
Antonio stared. “Why do you say this? Abbot, I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I am innocent! Who dares to suggest I am a liar?”
“We have been told of your escapade in Bayonne,” said Simon, running a hand through hair still awry and needing combing. “How you left so suddenly, how you took to your heels when the townspeople tried to arrest you. In fact,” he turned to the Abbot, and he and Baldwin exchanged a glance, “could we send Holcroft to go through their belongings and make sure that there are no stolen goods in their bags?”
Champeaux nodded. “Holcroft, go and check.”
“Get their servant to help you, port-reeve,” Baldwin added. “He will know what should be there, and what shouldn’t.”
Simon carried on sternly as the door thumped shut. “You’ve been using the Abbot’s hospitality to weasel your way into his trust, and I daresay you’ve used your position with him to gain credit with traders in the fair as well.”
“That is a mad suggestion! To think that I and my son could be so slandered, especially after being hunted with hounds like a deer for no reason! I am staggered!”
“We accuse your son of nothing – yet,” Baldwin observed.
Antonio seemed to notice him for the first time and now gave him a pleading look. “What is all this about? What is our crime? Is it wrong to run away from a mob baying for your blood? We have stolen nothing, harmed no one, done…”
“Do you deny inventing money and lands in order to con the Abbot out of his fleece?” Simon shot back, and the Venetian blinked.
“Of course I do! It’s rubbish!”
Baldwin looked up from the papers, interested by the tone of outrage. “Then why do you travel on broken- down nags? Where are your palfreys, if you are so rich? No banker or merchant would ride on such demeaning stock.”
“Perhaps not by choice, Sir Baldwin, but we don’t always have much choice. When one is waylaid and robbed, one has to buy the best horse-flesh one can. Is it a crime to be a victim?”
“And what of your friendship with Bishop Stapledon of Exeter?” asked Champeaux.
“What of it?”
“I wrote to him, and I have heard that he hardly knows you.”
“The Bishop denies knowing us?”
Antonio’s eyes grew round, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. The expression was so convincing that the Abbot had to glance at Baldwin to gauge his feelings.
The knight was nodding as if it were no surprise.
“Abbot,” Antonio pleaded. “Tell me what I am supposed to have done. Of what am I accused? Of trying to arrange a business deal with you? Of running from a mob determined to lynch me? What am I guilty of?”
Simon scratched his cheek. “There were many robberies while you were in Bayonne. You were in the tavern on the night Torre was murdered. Some have said you saw Lybbe and recognized him from Bayonne. They say you knew that if he spoke of what you had been up to there…”
“I wasn’t up to anything!”
“… you could be uncovered as a fraud and a thief, dressed up in expensive clothes. So you left before he could see you, and waited in an alley until he passed, then stabbed him. Thinking it was a job well done, you hurried back to be with the Abbot.”
“Me! I never killed Torre – why should I?”
“He looked the same as Lybbe, didn’t he, from behind? Especially in the dark. Their figures were very similar.”
“Why should I kill him? And why cut off his head?” he demanded disbelievingly.
“Oh, we know all about that,” Simon said dismissively. “Lybbe saw the body and realized you had done it thinking it was him. He took the head. But he only damaged a dead body; it was you who actually killed the man.”
“No! I had nothing to do with it – nothing! We saw him in the tavern, yes, but that was all. I’m no murderer.”
“And all so that you could rob the Abbey,” Simon continued.
“No, I swear…”
Baldwin turned from his ashen face to that of the son. “What of you, boy? Did you know about all this?”
“Me? All I know is that I wanted to marry Avice. I still do, I love her.”
“You were seen the night before Peter died, wearing a monk’s habit.”
The young man took a deep breath. “It is true, and I apologize, Abbot. I will undertake any penance, but I never…”
“What? Carried out robberies as you had done in Bayonne?” Baldwin said sharply.
“No. I have never robbed or stolen.”
“Then why the monkish garb?” asked Simon.
“How was I to meet Avice? Her father sent servants with her to prevent me from seeing her. I only used a habit as a disguise so that I could meet her. I returned it when I got back.”
“It was a serious crime, nonetheless,” said the Abbot sternly.
“You have my apology, my lord Abbot, but I did no harm.”
“Have you heard about the robberies?” Baldwin probed.
“What robberies?”
“When you were in Bayonne, there were rumors of a man in monk’s habit who was attacking people. His last victim died. We know a man in monk’s habit has been knocking men down here as well and stealing their purses.”
