‘“What is it?” the old Jew snapped, for he was only just returned from the coining at Ashburton, and his legs were tired.
‘“Master,” Milbrosa said hesitantly, “we are but poor monks from Tavistock, and we must beg for our food and drink. Have pity on us and give us some of your money.”
‘This man might have been a Jew, but he was no fool. “Poor monks? You have an abbey to live in, with great estates all over Devon, and more wealth than I could dream of. Look at my poor rude hut. I must live in that, and my only cup is a wooden one, whereas you drink from silver and pewter. Look at my bed, a palliasse of heather, while you sleep in good cots of timber with mattresses strung from ropes for your comfort. My fire is mean and smoky, while you live in warmth with roaring hearths and chimneys to draw away the fumes. For my living I must scrape and dig, while all you do is kneel and sit. Surely I should beg alms from you!”
‘Milbrosa didn’t want to dicker with him. He threw out his hands in appeal. “Master Tinner, we have nothing. Our buildings are God’s, our house is His, our beds are His. Our duty is to serve Him, and sometimes we needs must ask for more from the people whose souls we save and preserve, so that we do not die of cold and hunger.”
‘Now this Jew was a kindly man and, truth be told, he had plenty of money. His mule was heavy with a chest of it because his workings had been fruitful and he had sold, plenty of good tin at the coining. He was of a mind to help this young monk, but even as he bent his head to pull some coins from his purse, Milbrosa found himself looking again at the mule.
‘“Master Jew, your mule looks heavily laden. Are you off to the market?”
‘“Just back from the coining, aye. I had to buy provisions.”
‘Milbrosa turned back and saw the heavy coins filling the Jew’s purse. He looked at the mule and noticed the chest. It was enough. He picked up a rock from the ground at his feet while the Jew was peering into his purse, and suddenly Milbrosa slew him, striking with his rock until the Jew’s head was crushed like an egg trodden underfoot.
‘His friends had stood incapable of moving with the horror of it, but now, with the Jew’s brains spilled on the moor, they took Milbrosa by the arms and pulled him away, calling to him, fearing he had become mad, thinking he was so distraught by his crimes that he had lost his senses. Yet he hadn’t. Oh, no. The clever, evil fellow smiled at them and said, “Friends, release me! You don’t realise what you are doing. You see me here and think I am mad because I killed that Jew, but hear me out.
‘“That man lying dead is not worthy of your concern. Wasn’t he a Jew? Who need fear for a man such as him? He was not one of God’s chosen, for isn’t it known that all Jews renounced Christ and worship the devil? They are damned. How else could they have demanded that Our Lord be executed on the cross? Surely it is obvious that to kill a Jew is no more heinous than to squash a fly?”
‘The mad fools who were his friends were appeased. Although they knew that their companion had committed another grave sin, they permitted him to sway them with his words. And then, when some were yet wavering, he said this: “And it is fortunate for us that I have killed him, for look at the chest on his mule! It is heavily laden. It must be filled with money. Look at his purse, that too is massy with coins. We might take both and use them to retrieve our silver, and yet have enough to purchase more silver, to the greater glory of God, to place on the altar in our church. And if there is some spare, we can buy ourselves wine.”
‘That was enough for this greedy band. Eager hands tore at the mule and now Milbrosa took command. First he washed his hands of the Jew’s blood, and then he ordered that the body should be carried some little way to a mire and thrown in, and thus their crime would never be discovered. They loaded the Jew’s body on to the mule, and the patient creature carried its master to his grave. When the monks had hurled the Jew into the bog, the mule too was killed and pushed in, for Milbrosa had no taste for being accused of stealing it. At last they returned to their booty, and picking it up, made their way homewards, confident that no man would ever know of their crimes.
‘The travellers were content to sell back the silver, and Milbrosa and his confederates soon recovered the plates and had some shillings besides, so when they were once more in the abbey, they bought wine to celebrate.’
Almoner Peter’s eyes met Gerard’s and the acolyte felt his heart thunder. ‘Soon afterwards snow fell, and they were pleased that no one would be able to learn of their crimes. It covered the country with soft, clean powder and hid everything. To celebrate their success in concealing murder and theft, Milbrosa and his friends visited a low alehouse and drank some of the shillings which they had left over from their theft. In such a way can the weak fall prey to evil,’ he intoned.
A young fellow
