‘Alas! I wish it were not so, but yes, I am afraid I do have my suspicions. And it is most unpleasant, Sir Baldwin, to have to conclude that. The companionship of the religious life is very close. Very important. If one of your companions betrays that, there is nothing else left.’
‘Do you find your suspicions leaning to any one man?’ Baldwin asked.
The abbot shook his head as though still debating with himself whether he should discuss so sensitive a matter with a man from outside the cloister. ‘I spoke to Bishop Walter at Exeter recently. He told me of the service you did him regarding Belstone’s convent.’ He looked up and met Baldwin’s gaze. ‘I would be grateful if you could keep all this to yourself, Sir Baldwin. Repeat it to no one.’
‘Even Simon? If I need to talk about my theories, I shall have to let him know all that I know myself.’
‘Then when that becomes necessary, you may tell him, but until then, please keep it secret that I suspect one of my own brothers. It is too grave a burden for the ears of the gossips in the town. I trust Simon entirely, but as soon as a secret is shared, it is no longer a secret.’
‘I confess I see no point in concealing matters. Is Simon aware of the stolen wine?’
‘Yes. And the dead man, of course, but I… I pray it might not be so. If there is a connection, Sir Baldwin, then the only possible conclusion is that not only is one of my brethren guilty of stealing from my undercroft, but also he is guilty of…’
‘Of murder. Yes. But surely there are other possibilities?’
‘I find it hard to believe that a man from outside the abbey could have broken into my stores and taken out a barrel-load of wine as well as escaping,’ the abbot said with some acerbity.
‘True. Yet there are always possibilities. I should prefer to be able to confide in Simon. I have utter faith in him.’
‘So do I, usually,’ the abbot said. He stared down at his table. ‘I told him to ignore the theft from my stores. I had only mentioned it in his presence in order to raise gossip and possibly bring the thief to his senses. I had thought that the guilty man might confess to me – but my hope has been dashed. What if the thief is the murderer?’ he muttered distractedly.
‘If there is no connection between the two crimes, there can be no harm in telling Simon, and if there is a connection, I will be able to find the man with more speed if I have Simon’s assistance.’
The abbot said nothing, but frowned, and Baldwin continued: ‘Surely others will already have heard about the wine? They will be thinking that there are parallels between this and the story of the Abbot’s Way.’
‘Yes, you may be right.’ The abbot stared hard at him. ‘But Simon, as you know, has a moorman’s concerns, a tin-miner’s superstition. I have one fear, and that is that his own partiality to ghosts and pixies could influence his investigation of the dead man. Does that make sense? If I ask him to concentrate only on the dead miner, he can enquire into that without being swayed by stories of the devil.’
‘I suppose that is sensible,’ Baldwin allowed cautiously. He too knew how superstitious Simon was.
‘As regards the matter of the wine, already one other of my monks has raised the name of a fellow with me, suggesting that he suspects him. You know Brother Peter, the almoner?’
‘Of course. The man with the terrible scar.’
‘That is he.’ Abbot Robert paused a moment before going on.
Sir Baldwin waited patiently. He thought the abbot looked very tired. No doubt it was partly the weight of carrying suspicion in his heart, suspicion that was aimed at one of his colleagues, but then Baldwin knew that the abbot had been elected to the abbacy in 1285, thirty-seven years ago. That was a long time for one man to run a complex administration. Baldwin had seen how strenuous the work was during his past, when he was a Knight Templar.
If the men with whom Baldwin had served had suffered because of the destruction of their Order, then Abbot Robert had suffered from the sheer length of his service. It was not a thought which had occurred to Baldwin before, but now as he looked at Robert Champeaux, he saw that the lines about his face were deeper, the laughter lines at his eyes less obvious, and the general impression he gained was one of exhaustion. Baldwin’s heart went out to him. If he could help the man, he would.
‘It is not only myself, you see,’ the abbot went on. ‘I know that one other monk has seen the same signs. He too suspects. And he has come to speak to me, and I have to decide what I should now do. And I have decided. I shall let you know the suspect’s identity so that you can look for evidence. If you find it, I shall call upon the fellow to confess to me, and then I can act as his confessor. But if he refuses… Why then, I must be sure that I am correct and that he is guilty.’
After this speech, Abbot Robert was silent again for a long time. He fiddled with his papers, stood and walked to the open window, staring out along the rows of apple trees and beyond before he could work up the courage to name one of his brethren.
‘I have to wonder how long this thieving has been going on for,’ he said eventually. ‘Perhaps all my guests in the last few years have had small items disappear while they were here under my roof, and all were too polite to mention it to me. How could someone believe that a felon could infest an abbey, after all? They must have blamed
