Devil's Acre (14 page)

‘Oh yes? And what conclusion did you come to?’

‘The good doctor does not approve.’

‘Really?
Why not? I should think it will be quite an adventure for the lad. A trip across the Channel. The chance to prove himself. Surely every young man’s dream.’

I looked at him aghast.
‘Not you as well. Father, the boy is child. Sending him to do a man’s work is...barbaric.’

He snorted. ‘Try telling that to Lord William.
’

‘In all seriousness, father, I think you might have a word. He wouldn’t listen to me but he might to the Abbot of Saint Edmund’s.’

‘I doubt it. You’ve seen what he’s like. Not the sort of man to take advice.’ Samson gorged on another mussel making a disgusting slurping noise, the juice running down into his beard. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing with these mussels.’

I looked
from him to Maynus. There seemed no reasoning with either of them. If I couldn’t persuade these two I had no chance with Lord William. If that was what the Lady Adela had in mind when she approached me she clearly overestimated my powers.

We started to walk slowly back up the hill towards the north gate of the town.

‘Your trouble, Walter, is that you think the whole world is in thrall to Holy Mother Church. Not so, I’m afraid. The world is far more earthbound. Look at Becket.’ He glanced sideways at me. ‘You won’t remember the trouble over the Archbishop of York, I suppose?’

‘Becket was
Canterbury,’ I said petulantly, ‘not York.’

‘I’m talking about
Geoffrey Plantagenet, the present Archbishop of York. A little before your time, perhaps. Maynus knows the story. It was when King Richard was in the Holy Land. In his absence the country was governed by the then lord chancellor, William Longchamp - an ugly little ape of a man.’

‘Charit
y,
père abbé
,’ said Maynus. ‘He could not help his looks.’

Samson
shook his head. ‘Anyway, Archbishop Geoffrey wanted to govern the country in Richard’s absence, but Chancellor Longchamp had other ideas and even tried to prevent him from entering the kingdom.’

‘So what happened to him?
’ I asked. ‘The archbishop I mean, not the ape.’

‘At first he sought refuge with the monks of
Dover priory. But Longchamp’s guards soon discovered him there and dragged him by his ankles to the castle.’

I guffawed. ‘Did they really?’

‘Yes, I thought you’d like that. I would remind you the Archbishop of York is the second highest churchman in the land and this one was half-brother to the king. Yet here he was being bumped along the streets of Dover with his tonsured head banging on the cobbles.’

‘That’s terrible.’ I clamped my hand over my mouth.

Samson tutted. ‘I tell you this story, Walter, not to amuse you but to illustrate the point that men like Lord William and Chancellor Longchamp are no respecters of church authority be they priests, archbishops, monks or abbots. If they set their lance at a target they hit it. Here, have a mussel.’

‘I told you father, I don’t like them.’

‘Have one anyway. It’ll wipe that smirk from your face.’

*

‘Dom
Walter!’

‘
Oh, what now? Can’t a man be left in peace?’

‘You were giggling again
. It disturbs the others.’

‘I was not giggling I was smirking.
Smirking is a silent activity that disturbs nobody.’

‘It disturbed Brother Cedric.’

‘Cedric is an imbecile. He picks his nose and chews the contents.’

‘Nevertheless, if it persists I’m afraid I may have to take your writing material
away.’

‘Take away my writing? No, you can’t do that.
Gilbert, I forbid it! Only by writing it down can I hope to find the answer.’

‘The answer to what?’

‘To who the boy was, of course.’

‘What boy?’

‘The boy in the castle.’

‘Master, you speak in riddles.’

‘Ha-hah! Now you’ve said something sensible at last. A riddle - yes, that’s exactly what it is. I’m trying to solve a riddle.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say? I like riddles. Let me see:

My stem is erect when I stand in a bed.

My skin is as smooth but with hair down below me.

I swell up in youth but shrivel when dead.

And many’s the maid
has wept to have known me
- what am I?’

‘An idiot.’

‘An onion. The answer’s an onion. It’s obvious.’

‘Very well, you’re an onion.’

‘Riddles are clever things. They lead one along blind alleyways. The skill is to peel away the layers one by one in order to get to the true meaning underneath - just like the onion.  Master, if I agree to let you keep your writing, will you promise to be a little quieter about it? Will you do that for me? Hm? Will you?’

He’s right. Blind alleys - that is indeed what riddles are. They create false paths that frustrate and confuse. They have too many twists and turns, too many dead ends. No sooner do you find a promising route through the labyrinth than you discover it leads nowhere and you have to retrace your steps. But this time I am determined to get over every obstacle round every twist and turn to find the exit if it is the last thing I do. No more blind alleys. The truth - yes. Step by step I will get there. By God I will!

Chapter
16

TOMELINUS AGAIN

I
have now to break the thread of my narrative for a moment in order to describe an incident that occurred that is not unrelated to the story in hand but whose relevance will only become clear later.

As I have already mentioned, the town of
Acre is crammed inside its high bank and ditch that envelope the town on three sides with the castle occupying the fourth. The massive twin gates at either ends of the street are the only access in and out of the town - all well and good in times of war when the townsfolk can run inside with their animals and hide behind their portcullises and murder holes until the danger is past. But there had been no civil strife in Norfolk for three decades,
Deo gratias
, and with peace came prosperity and the desire to grow. By the time I am writing about the town had begun to spill out of the north gate and to spread along the road leading to the priory. It was on this road that the town pillory stood.

Now, most town stocks are like the ones we have in Bury: ankle bracelets secured to a stake in the ground by iron chains - an arrangement which at least has the humanity of permitting the malefactor to sit through his, or occasionally her, ordeal. Punishment consists mostly of having to suffer public disgrace and the vilification of neighbours. And if the occasional missile gets hurled - well, it is for the miscreant to remain alert and take what evasive action he
or she can in order to avoid injury.

The machine in
Acre was not of this sort. Here the felon was obliged to stand manacled by the wrists to an upright pillar - a position which, as well as being uncomfortable, offered little opportunity of defence from a well-aimed projectile. That morning on our way to the castle this evil contraption had been mercifully empty, and I wouldn’t have taken much notice of the afternoon’s occupant either - except...

‘Pirrrip-tip-tip.
..’

I slowed my step. Samson and Maynus were a few yards in front of me locked in discussion and I allowed them
to get further ahead before looking to my left. There I was greeted by a sorry sight indeed: a bedraggled, bloodied mess barely recognizable as a man was hugging the post like a wrestler about the throw his opponent. The shape and size of this miserable wretch I thought I recognized:

‘Tomelinus?’

A single bloodied eyeball blinked at me. ‘Good day, brotherliness, pip-pip.’

I went closer and saw that he had a nasty gash above his left eye
that was oozing blood and trickling down his nose. He was also filthy and missing a couple of teeth.

‘What on earth has happened to you?
’ I said to him, shocked. ‘What are you doing here? You were supposed to be on your way to York.’

‘I will be, brotherliness, just as soon as I am free of these encumbrances.’ He flexed his wrists ineffectually inside the manacle and squirmed with the pain.

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Don’t rightly know. Sommit hit me on th
’head. I were knocked out.’

From the collection of debris lying about I could see that it must have been
most of the morning while I was in the castle being entertained by the clan Warenne. Broken eggshells, rotting vegetation, an old shoe, and a single large cabbage that must have been the main cause of his injury for it lay directly beneath that cut. Luckily for him it was wintertime or there might have been more in the way of food matter coming his way.

‘Let me see that cut,’ I said stooping to look.

‘Ouch! Pirrip! Tip!
Fuck!
- sorry brotherliness.’

The wound was bloody but not deep. It looked worse than it was.

I tutted. ‘What did you do you to deserve this? Never mind, I can guess. You can’t stay here. One more brickbat and you won’t have to worry anymore about Yorkshire. What will free you?’

‘Payment of my fine.’

‘Do you have it?’

Silly question. I looked about me. There was a brutish-looking ruffian leaning against a nearby post and paring his nails with the point of a knife. Next to him was a stockpile of missiles - ammunition for anyone who fancied a little sport at Tom’s expense. I went up to the man.

‘Good day my good fellow,’ I said in my sternest voice. ‘I am Master Walter de Ixworth from the abbey in Bury. I know this man.’ I flung a casual wrist at Tom. ‘What’s he here for?’

The man paused his manicure long enough to glance at me
and look away again. ‘He was caught cheating.’

‘Cheating - how?’

‘Ask him yourself.’

It was cold, I was still not in the best of humours
after my morning in the castle and I was in no mood to play games.

‘Don’t bandy words with me, my man, I’m not one of the priory monks.
I am with the abbot. Tell me what this man has done if you please.’

The brute stopped what he was doing and looked me up and down. ‘He claimed he had a box that was made of wood taken from the One True Cross - that’s the cross Our Lord was crucified on.’

‘Yes yes, I know what it is. Did he have such a box?’

‘He did.’

‘Well?’

‘He said that because the wood came from the True Cross no fire could touch it. Our Lord would not permit it. And he would show it to anyone who had the price of a meal.’

‘Yes, that sounds like him,’ I said glancing disconsolately at Tomelinus. I turned back to the man. ‘So? How did that propel him to you?’

‘He built a fire and placed the box on it.’

‘And did it burn?’

‘No. It leapt from the flames.’

‘Well then. A miracle.’

‘It also croaked.’

‘Croaked?’

‘It contained a frog.’

I stared at Tomelinus who shrugged back at me.

Sighing,
I reached inside my belt pouch. ‘Will a penny release him?’

The man
indicated the pile of missiles by his feet. ‘Brother, I can earn that in an hour.’

I looked again at Tomelinus. He looked dreadful. In all conscience I couldn’t leave him. I turned back to the man. ‘Will three hours’ worth do it?’

He took my three pennies and released Tomelinus. As he did so the nones bell sounded from the church tower.

‘Just in time,’ the man
grinned. ‘He was due out now anyway.’

It was freezing. Tomelinus was shivering. I took off my cloak and wrapped it round him.

‘Where’s your own cloak? You had a fine leather one.’

‘Stolen.’

‘By that ruffian I don’t doubt. What about your jade-stone?’

He winked and grinned at me. ‘No, not that. That’s hidden where no man’s fingers would explore.’ He pointed to his codpiece. ‘My jade is my security. I can always get another coat.’

‘Not if you continue to trick people with frogs in boxes, you won’t.’

I wiped some more blood from his cut. He yelped in pain.

‘I’m sorry. This wound needs bandaging or it will
infect. I could really do with having you in my laboratorium.’

He started to faint but I caught him. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘When we supped together, brotherliness.’

‘That was two days ago!’ I shook my head. ‘Come, we will go to the priory kitchens. At least there it will be warm.’

Monastic kitchens are always busy places having
, as they do, to provide food for so many mouths twice a day. With all four hearths lit, Acre’s kitchen was also extremely noisy and extremely hot. Men were preparing everything from gutting fish to baking bread. There was an air of ordered panic about the place. Understandably the brother-in-charge was not best pleased to have two uninvited guests cluttering up his workplace. But it was also obvious that Tomelinus was a genuine case.

‘We will not disturb you, brother,’ I said to the man.
‘If you will permit, we will sit quietly in a corner while I tend his injuries. Just a little warmth is all we crave. And if you could provide him with a little food by way of alms...?’

The monk reluctantly found some scraps and a little warm
milk which Tomelinus scoffed down in an instant.

‘Thank you, brother. Brother...?’

‘Wifrey,’ said the monk wiping his hands on a cloth tied to his belt.

An Englishman
, I thought. How refreshingly unusual. ‘God bless you for your charity, Brother Wifrey.’

The man grunted and went back to what he had been doing. I found a bowl, some water and a little vinegar.

‘This may sting a little,’ I said dipping the corner of the rag into the vinegar. ‘Brace yourself against my arm if you wish.’

‘Brother, I’ve had toes drop off from the frost-bite
in Italy, wounds sewed up by Irish fishermen and a broken arm set by a Turkish eunuch. I’m sure I can withstand a little vineg-aooow! Pirrip-pip-tirrrrl-yahoooh 
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!
’

Wifrey swung round angrily and started to say something but was distracted by some boys sniggering on a bench by the fire. He clapped his hands together to shoo them out.

‘Forgive my friend, brother,’ I said quickly before he could do the same to us. ‘He means no harm. It is an affliction. We will be gone soon. Er, have you a strip of clean linen perchance - for the wound?’ I gave him my most endearing smile.

Wifrey
pressed his lips together and went off to a cupboard.

‘Why do you do that?’ I said quietly to Tomelinus. ‘Curse and make these strange
noises. You see how it alarms people.’

He thought for a moment.
‘Hast thou never had an itch that needed scratching, brother?’

‘Yes, but I don’t scratch in company
if I think it will offend.’

‘
But sometimes the torment is too great and thee cannot help theeself. It is the same with the itch I hold in my head. I have to let it out or burst from the holding.’

‘
But if it means never being able to settle anywhere should you not try to desist?’

‘
I try brother. All I know is it cannot be cured, pirrip-tip.’

‘It’s a devil then
, prodding you?’

‘Some have said as much.’

Brother Wifrey returned with an old linen towel. It wasn’t really suitable for the job but it would have to do. He looked at me hard.

‘You’re the one
, aren’t you?’

‘
The one, brother?’

‘W
ho dug up the grave of that priest.’

Tomelinus
looked up with interest.

‘
They said you like a man bewitched,’ said Wifrey.

‘
I fear the tale has been embellished in the telling.’ I held the towel up. ‘Thank you for this, brother.’

Wifrey grunted and returned to his task
of eviscerating a chicken carcass. I could feel feeling Tomelinus’s one good eye burning into me.

‘Thee managed to deposit th
ee silent guest then?’ he said quietly.

‘
Father Ralf is in the priory cemetery, yes,’ I said tearing the towel into strips.

‘And yon battleaxe from hell’s dungeon?’

‘Jane’s still here too.’ I started winding a strip of bandage around his head and jaw.

‘What did
yon butcher mean just now about digging him up again?’

‘A misunderstanding
, that’s all. Now hold still while I do this.’

‘But
it was something you felt you had to do?’

‘
Something like that.’

‘Like an itch you had to scratch
, pip-pip?’

I finished tying the knot under his chin.
Not my finest work but it would have to do. ‘I do hope it’s not too tight, Tom. I’d hate to throttle you and put you out of my misery.’

He
did look ridiculous with a great swathe of bandages wrapped around his head and one bloodied half-shut eye.