The Devil's Acolyte

was a shock, but to see old Wally lying here was depressing. This was the man with whom he had so often enjoyed a drink, the pal with whom he had swapped jokes and stories around the fireside. Later on, Wally had become his partner in crime, the accomplice with whom he had robbed the abbey’s guests.

The loss of a partner was always sad, he thought to himself. Even if the thieving bastard had tried to gull him, taking a larger share of the proceeds than he should. And there was the wine, too. It was hard to forgive him that. Pinching the good abbot’s wine was a sick joke. Even now, Augerus wasn’t sure how he’d managed it. Somehow he must have used Gerard. Jesu! But the lad was a marvel! So slim he could even wriggle through the metal bars at the abbot’s own undercroft, with a bit of squirming. And then he had the brains to take whatever he had been told, even when he must have been terrified of being discovered.

The acolyte was a natural, although, of course, he had needed to be broken in carefully. That Ned talked about breaking in horses gently, but he had no idea. Taking a dumb brute like a horse in hand was one thing; a boy was quite another. Augerus had been looking for a lad like him for an age.

It hadn’t been easy to start with. The boy had been tough to persuade. In fact, the first thing Augerus had wheedled him into doing was to take a little rosary of Augerus’ own, which he had loaned Brother Mark, with the promise that it would make Mark laugh. And it did, for Augerus played a little with Mark, making a wager that he had lost it. When Mark couldn’t find it, Augerus made up a story about how Mark had dropped it from his habit, and Augerus had seen it fall and picked it up again. Easy. It allayed Mark’s concerns when Augerus refused to allow him to honour the wager, thereby convincing the salsarius that all was well, while at the same time demonstrating to Gerard that taking things could be fun.

Next it had been a loaf of bread. That wasn’t so difficult. There were plenty of them, and one thing that could be guaranteed about acolytes was that they were always hungry. Too much food, it was thought, made a lad drowsy and ruined his concentration. It had been easy to tell Gerard that the baker had bet no one would dare to take one of his loaves, and that no one could break in through the bars over his windows. As soon as Gerard heard that, he had willingly agreed to prove him wrong.

Then, Augerus said, the baker refused to believe that one had gone. He told the steward that he was lying, and what could Augerus do? Obviously he must prove it beyond a doubt. So Gerard must, for a joke, steal three more loaves: one for himself, one for Augerus, and one for the baker. That would convince him. And if the baker still doubted, why, Gerard could climb in there right before his eyes!

Gerard had thought this a great lark. He laughed delightedly when Augerus explained the cunning plan. Gerard climbed up through the window again, with Augerus, and passed the loaves to him through the bars; afterwards, he had squeezed himself out again. Chuckling quietly, he scampered back to Augerus’ chamber, giggling to himself at the thought of the baker’s face when he saw the three loaves gone.

Except when they got back to Augerus’ room, the steward ate a half loaf and persuaded Gerard to eat another. The acolyte balked at first, but then his hunger got the better of him and he set to. And as he finished his meal, Augerus told him the truth.

‘I think we’d better keep this secret between us, boy.’

‘Between us and the baker, you mean.’

‘No, between us alone. I wouldn’t want to see you thrown out of the abbey, or dumped on the Scilly Isles, far from anyone and with only pirates in your congregation.’

The poor dolt had stared at him as if he was mad. ‘Why should that happen to me? I’ve done nothing wrong!’

‘You have stolen bread from the mouths of beggars.’

‘But you told me to! It’s for a joke!’

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? But I forgot to let the baker in on the joke, I am afraid, so you see, you are a thief. And that will mean you’ll be punished.’

That was the difficult moment. Augerus had done this before, and he knew that as the bait was snapped up, the fish could slip off the hook and run off. Some had done so before. They had stood up to him and stared him down, threatening to go straight to the abbot and denounce him. To his credit, Gerard tried that, but when he did, Augerus merely laughed.

‘Fine, my cocky. You tell him anything you like. And I shall tell him that I caught you stealing from the baker. And that I caught you stealing my rosary from Brother Mark, but that I concealed your crime because I thought I could help you come to a state of grace. We’ll see whom it is the abbot trusts most. An acolyte, or his favoured steward.’

After that it had been easy. For a share of the rewards, the boy had stolen any little trinkets he was told to. His nimble fingers and sharp wits meant that there was a steady stream of goods arriving at Augerus’ door. And as soon as they arrived, they were parcelled up and pushed out through the little window that gave onto the orchard, where Wally would collect it and convey it to Joce. Never too much, only small items, and only ever just after a large service with many people, so that it would be impossible to guess who might have been the thief. That was the way