‘Bailiff, come with me. Peter, please arrange for this mess to be cleared. At once!’
‘Yes, my Lord Abbot.’
The abbot swept from the room, his habit rustling the leaves and twigs along the floor. Simon and Hugh hurried after him.
‘So, Bailiff. The coining is proceeding apace, I trust?’
‘It was when you called me.’
‘My apologies for dragging you away,’ the abbot said drily. ‘I am sure you would have wished to remain to observe such a thrilling sight.’
Simon said nothing. It was very rare for him to hear the abbot sounding so… so petulant.
His master stopped and looked about him, then he motioned to Hugh to leave them and crooked a finger to beckon Simon to his side. They were alone in the space before his lodgings, and no one could overhear the abbot’s words. ‘Bailiff, I apologise for asking you here. It is important that you tell no one outside the abbey what you saw in there. You understand me?’
‘Of course. But why?’
The abbot gave a dry, humourless chuckle, ‘Sometimes when one wishes to spread gossip it is necessary to have the right person overhear it. No!’ he said hurriedly, noticing Simon’s offended expression. ‘Not you, Simon. There was another man there in the undercroft who may choose to repeat what we said.’
‘I see.’ Simon assumed that Abbot Robert expected either his steward or Brother Peter to chat about the discovery to other brothers, and noted the fact He would not confide in either, he decided. ‘What now? Do you wish me to seek the thief?’
‘No, no,’ the abbot said hurriedly. ‘There is no need. This is abbey business, and outside your sphere. Surely the guilty party is a monk who sought wine for himself.’
‘And took an entire barrel?’
‘It would not have been easy. No matter. The knowledge that I have shown you, the well-known and feared enquirer after the truth, a man known for his integrity, will drive the thief to panic and confession.’
‘So you wish me to do nothing? You merely hope that the monk who did this will tell you of his own accord?’ Simon queried.
The abbot gave him an odd, measuring look. ‘My friend, I know you have many other pressing responsibilities. I wouldn’t want to load more work on you.’
‘My Lord Abbot, I can easily—’
‘Bailiff, this is an abbey matter, not something for you to worry about. Please give the matter no more thought.’
Oddly, when the abbot left him a short while later, Simon for the first time since he had met the abbot, was left with the impression that the man’s words were less than entirely honest.
Brother Mark could easily have been a tavern-keeper if he hadn’t joined the monastery. He was a cheerful, rotund man, with the ruddy complexion, multiple chins and expansive belly that so often seemed to go with the position of salsarius, the monk responsible for the preserved fish and flesh. His rumbling bass voice could often be heard as he went about his business in his dark, cool undercroft; singing hymns sometimes, but more commonly, when he thought that no one could hear, or when his ebullient nature got the better of him, he sank to saucy little songs that shouldn’t have been heard outside the lowest alehouse.
When, looking up, he saw the bailiff, he picked up his long leather hose to coil it and called out a cheery greeting. ‘Godspeed, my friend. And how are you this perfect morning?’
‘I am well, I thank you,’ Simon returned, but it was hard to speak with his teeth clenched.
Mark glanced after the abbot. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s a good man, even if he can be a little acerbic at times. We’ve all caught the lash of his tongue on occasion.’
‘It’s not that. I just…’ Simon wished that Baldwin or his wife were here. It was impossible to talk to a monk. As the abbot himself had said, the brothers were incorrigible gossips.
‘Come into my chamber, Bailiff. I have some wine that will ease your soul. Come!’
Simon followed him to a pleasant room near the Water Gate which was filled with the odours of his trade: spices and smoked, curing meats.
‘A good location, eh? Views all over the court from here, so I can keep my eyes on whoever may come into the abbey, and if they look dangerous – why phit! I can be out of the Water Gate like a scalded cat! Hah! We got one last week, too. Some damned mange-ridden beast that kept getting into the garden and shitting in the beds. It’s ruined the carrots. We have had the seedlings springing up all over, instead of in our usual careful rows, because this cat kept digging and scattering all our seed. Always looked for the softest soil where the choicest crops had been placed. Anyway, we caught it last week, trapped it in a box, and then tipped boiling water over it as we let it go. You should have seen the thing run!’
Simon sat at the monk’s bidding and took a cup of wine from him. ‘Thanks.’
‘My pleasure.’ Mark already had a massive goblet filled, and Simon noticed his hand shaking as he picked it up. Mark enjoyed his drinks too much, he thought.
Simon said, ‘I much prefer dogs. They are at least loyal. You know where you stand with a dog.’
‘Absolutely. Cats can be useful for removing vermin, but most of the time people don’t make them pay their way. They just leave the beasts to roam, and feed them with choice cuts of meat. Madness. All it means is, the blasted things come to my garden and ruin it.’
He sat nearby, on a stool that gave him an uninterrupted view of the great gate. ‘No matter. I would
