He turned back to the miner. ‘Have you seen any monks or novices up here recently? Or just travellers generally who look out of place?’
Hal scowled up at him. ‘There was one fellow earlier during the inquest. I saw him, running as if the devil and all his hounds were after him. Straight up along the Abbot’s Way, past us and on eastwards.’
‘Who was it?’
‘I’ve seen him before.’ Hal stuck out his jaw and scratched at his chin. ‘Lad called Art, who works as servant to Joce Blakemoor, the receiver.’
Baldwin’s eyes followed his pointing finger. ‘What lies that way?’
‘Go far enough and you’ll get to Buckfast.’
‘Is there anything between us here and the town?’
‘Only the travellers. Don’t think there’s anything else.’ Baldwin smiled. ‘One last thing. These travellers. Where would we find them?’
Chapter Twenty
Joce stalked across his hall still bellowing for his servant, but Art was nowhere to be seen. Feeling thwarted, Joce stormed through to the buttery and drew off a quart of wine himself before carrying it back to the hall, where he sat down before his fire. The embers were smouldering pleasantly, and he threw some sticks onto it and sat back to wait until the flames should begin to lick upwards.
It was good that he had managed to see off that cretinous fool of an arrayer. It would be better still if Sir Tristram failed to win the King’s approval for his contract and had to pay for the food for all those peasants out of his own pocket. Not that Joce cared much now. He had enjoyed the altercation while it lasted, had done his duty as he saw it. He drank and sullenly gazed at the fire.
This had been a bad week, he thought. First there was the problem with the girl, then the neighbour, and finally the death of Walwynus. That was a problem, too.
With that thought, his eyes went to the cupboard. He hadn’t looked at it since that night when Sara had come here, he thought. When she arrived he had been counting all the pieces. Next week he would ride off to Exeter with it all and sell it. That would settle his debts and turn him a handsome profit.
It was as he rose and was about to walk to the cupboard, that he heard the rapping on his door. In two minds whether to answer it or leave it, Joce stood a moment, but then swore and strode out to the front of his house.
‘Thank God you’re here! I came as soon as I heard…’
‘Calm down, you fool! Jesus! What are you doing up here? You useless piece of donkey shit, what have you got between your ears – cloth?’
‘Let me in. It’s not me who’s going to be hanged, is it?’
Joce grabbed a handful of the man’s habit, hauled him inside and kicked the door shut. He thrust hard, and the man was forced against the wall, then up, with Joce’s hands beneath his chin. He held his face close. ‘Are you threatening me, Brother?’
‘Let me down!’
‘Why, Brother Augerus,’ Joce said, leaning closer so that he could see the naked terror in the steward’s eyes, ‘how nice of you to drop in. Would you like some warmed wine? Or mulled ale? Or would you prefer me to throw you into my fire and leave you there to burn?’
‘Joce, let’s talk, all right? I came here as soon as I heard.’
‘Heard what?’
‘That the boy has bolted! Gerard, the acolyte we used to steal for us, he’s gone! Ran off last night, from the sound of it.’
‘So what?’
‘What will he live on, Joce?’ Augerus allowed a little sarcasm to enter his voice. ‘We monks are sworn to poverty, aren’t we? What if he takes money or plate from someone else to pay for his escape?’
Joce wavered, drew his head back and eyed Augerus. ‘What are you saying?’
‘He’ll be caught. He will have to steal to live, won’t he? And he’ll get caught. Felons always do. And when he is, he’s bound to tell them everything, isn’t he? He’s committed apostasy already, so there’s nothing to lose by telling the truth.’
‘Shit!’ Joce licked his lips. ‘I’ll clear it all tomorrow. It’s earlier than I intended, but I’ll have to. Once it’s all in Exeter, sold, no one can appeal us.’
‘Good. Be quick, then. All that plate came from the abbot’s coffers or the church. Christ Jesus! If they find it on you, you realise you’ll hang?’
‘Get out, you craven cur. Leave it to me as usual. I’ll get it sorted.’
Augerus nodded and slipped through the doorway like a wood-louse scuttling under a stone.
Joce locked the door and marched back to his hall. The cupboard was at the wall opposite, behind his table, and he went straight to it, fumbling with his keys. Then he pulled the doors open.
He was so astonished to find it bare that, although his mouth dropped open, he didn’t have the wherewithal to swear.
The camp was set out in the bend of a little stream, one of those few whose course had not yet been changed. So many were being diverted to feed the miners’ works, it sometimes seemed as though there was nowhere which was left alone. There were times, when he rode over the moors, when Simon felt as if the place was being systematically raped rather than farmed.
Here there were plentiful signs of mining. Small pits had been dug all along the plain before him, the smooth surface of the grass ruined, like a beautiful woman’s face scarred by the pox. These were the results of prospecting. All miners were constantly searching for a new lode because either the existing workings were soon to be exhausted, or they already were. No miner could afford to be complacent.
This place had been worked extensively. There were what looked like thousands of pits, some of which had grown to
