Devil's Acre (15 page)

‘
Now, no more of your tricks at least until you get back to York. If you end up in the stocks again you’ll have to stay. I’ve no more money.’

He shrugged.
‘I’ll try, brotherliness.’

‘
Hm, I wonder.’ I tentatively approached Brother Wifrey again. ‘Forgive me brother, I was just wondering: is there any possibility of some work you might give this man to do? He doesn’t ask for payment, just food in return for an honest day’s labour. He’s strong and willing to turn his hand to anything. It would be a charity if you could find him an occupation that will keep him out of trouble for a day or two - stop him preying upon the good folk of Acre. A benefit to all, in a manner of speaking.’

Wifrey stopped what he
was doing, wiped his hands and looked at Tom doubtfully. ‘Can he speak English?’ He leaned towards him and yelled into his face like he was deaf: ‘Eng-lish - yes?’

Tomelinus
silently nodded.

Wifrey
stood up again, one hand rubbing his chin. ‘I don’t know. Can he dig?’

I nodded enthusiastically.
‘Like a ferret - why?’

‘
The latrines. They’re frozen solid. Since this cold weather there’s been nothing to flush the kitchens and I have to use boys to carry buckets. If he clears it I will feed him.’

‘Oh, Tom’s the man for that job
,’ I assured him. ‘He’ll clear your drains in a trice. Yes indeed. He’ll get started right away. Won’t you Tom? Thank you, brother, you won’t regret this.’ I patted Tomelinus on the shoulder and we started to leave.

‘He is connected, of course.’

I stopped. ‘Connected, brother?’

‘
To the church. It is our rule. You’ve no idea how many wish to work here. We have to set conditions or we should be overwhelmed. So long as he’s connected to the church he can have the work.’

I grinned.
‘Of course he’s connected to the church. Why wouldn’t he be?’

‘Then he won’t have any difficulty proving it.’

‘Proving it, brother? How, erm, exactly will he do that...?’

‘You must read a passage from the Bible,’ I told Tomelinus when we were alone again. ‘In Latin.’

‘Just to dig shit?’

‘The idea, you see, is that only churchmen can read Latin. That’s the test that you’re connected.’

‘To dig shit?’

‘I do wish you’d stop saying that.’

Tomelinus shook his head. ‘I’m sorry brother but I cannay read Latin - or any other tongue for that matter, pirrip-tip-tip.’

‘That’s all right. I have a plan. I will point to a passage in the Bible and you
pretend
to read it. That way Brother Wifrey will think you can read and that should be enough to convince him. It is vital you get it right or they won’t employ you, so listen carefully. These are the words you must repeat - they are from Psalm fifty-one. Learn them by heart and say them back when I prompt you. Now, repeat after me...’

I said each short phrase slowly and carefully and had him repeat it several times until I was satisfied he had committed it to memory before going on to the next. He was adept. I was impressed. When we were ready we went quickly to find Brother Wifrey before he had a chance to forget them again.

As the three of us filed into the priory church I don’t know who was the more nervous, Tom or me. He stood at the lectern and I pointed to each phrase in turn. To my relief he repeated it word perfect:

‘
Miserere mei Deus secundum magnam misericordiam tuam et secundum multitudinem miserationum tuarum dele iniquitatem meam
.’

‘There,’ I said to Wifrey when he’d finished. ‘Are you satisfied?’

Wifrey nodded. ‘Clear diction, strong voice, nicely spoken.’

‘There you are Tom,’ I beamed at him. ‘
Nicely spoken. You’ve passed.’

‘
Just a little more and that should do.’

‘What?’

Wifrey looked at me. ‘What he did was fine but I’d like to hear some more, please.’

‘Oh but surely he’s proved himself. You
said so yourself. He read eloquently.’

‘Brother, I’ve been deceived before. You won’t believe it but some people actually try to learn passages by rote in order to trick me into thinking they can read when they cannot. I’m sure that’s not the case here. But just to be certain, have him read a few more lines. In his own time.’

I turned in dismay to Tomelinus and shrugged. We’d failed. Time to own up and take the consequences.

But then Tomelinus
cleared his throat:

‘
Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea et a peccato meo munda me. Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco et peccatum meum contra me est simper
...’

My jaw dropped open.

‘…
Tibi soli peccavi et malum coram te feci ut iustificeris in sermonibus tuis et vincas cum iudicaris
...’

‘All right,’ nodded Wifrey. ‘I’m convinced.
’ He stood up. ‘Come to the kitchen door later and I will give you your orders,’ and off he marched back to the kitchens.

‘...
Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum
-’

‘Er, thank you Tomelinus, you can stop now. And perhaps you’d like to tell me where you learned to read like that?’

He shrugged. ‘I told thee, brotherliness, I cannay read, pip-pip.’

‘Then how...?’

‘I learned it as you did - by repeating it often in oratory.’

‘In
oratory
? You mean you were...?’

‘A monk like yourself, brotherliness?’ he
grinned. ‘Not quite like you. I was but a poor fellow-soldier of Jesus Christ, pip-tirrip-tip.’

‘A Templar. You were a Templar? Well, why didn’t you say?’
I said, exasperated. That explained all the travelling, all the tales of far off lands. Of course! He’d been in the Holy Land.

‘We are bound by our oath not to speak of our past lives, brother.
It was a violent life - we were knights as well as monks. But I had to give that up just as I have had to give up so many things.’

I shook my head. ‘Tomelinus, you are a constant source of wonder to me.’

He looked at me seriously. ‘You are a good man, Walter of Ixworth. I am forced by my affliction to live as I do. But you saw past it and for that I will be forever in your debt. If there is ever anything I can do for you, tip-tip...?’

‘Just clean the sewer
s and stay out of trouble. That will be thanks enough.’

Chapter
17

THE REVENANT

I
left Tomelinus to begin his new career of honest, if malodorous, labour and returned to the prior’s study where I found Samson pacing the floor. He stopped when I walked in.

‘Walter, where have you been?’

I was a little taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. ‘Doing my duty, father.’

‘Your duty is to be here at my side
, not wandering off on your own. You’ve been missing half the day.’

‘
I’m sorry. I’ve been tending to the sick and needy - as is my calling.’

‘
What sick? What needy?’             

‘Tomelinus.’

He had to think for a moment. ‘You mean that scoundrel we met on the road? What’s he doing here?’ He flapped his hand: ‘Never mind. Don’t go disappearing like that again. I need you to be ready.’

I looked at him with exasperation. ‘Ready for what? We’ve been here two days and so far I’ve done nothing. I thought I might
have been asked to see the earl but you went off without me. I may as well use my skills for others’ benefit.’

‘The earl has doctors of his own. He doesn’t need you.’

‘Then why am I here?’

For a moment
I thought I might finally get an answer to that question. He opened his mouth to speak - but changed his mind.

‘Just do as I ask.’

Well, that was quite a different Samson from the one earlier when he was filling his belly with mussels. I wondered what could have happened to upset him, and I didn’t think it was indigestion.

I saw no more of the abbot or the prior that night. They supped alone in the prior’s solar while I was left to join the priory monks in the church for compline, the last office of the day. But early the next morning three of them appeared at my door in a state of barely suppressed panic:

‘
It is the dead priest, brother.’

‘
Ralf?’ I yawned scratching my fuzzy pate. ‘What about him?’

‘
Sacrilège
,’ whispered the second monk.

‘
La profane
,’ breathed the third, and they both nodded earnestly.

It was too early in the morning for guessing games, especially in a foreign tongue. I turned to the first monk who at least seemed to speak a half decent version of English
. ‘What are they talking about, brother?’

He looked at me hesitantly. ‘We thought
at first it was you. You tried to desecrate the grave once before.’

I
grimaced. ‘That isn’t quite what I was doing.’

‘You have not been back to the grave since?’

‘No - well briefly, to speak to Jane. Look, what’s this about?’

The three of them went into a huddle and jabbered rapidly between themselves.
Eventually the English monk emerged:

‘The grave, brother.
It is empty.’

‘What?’

‘The body is gone.’

‘
Oui
,’ said the second monk. ‘Emp-ty.’

I looked from one face to the other.
They looked terrified. ‘But that’s impossible.’

‘
Not impossible,
mon frère
. It is
le revenant
. He has risen,’ and then all three shuddered and crossed themselves.

Revenant. I knew the word, of course. Literally “The Returning One” - returning, that is, from the dead. I
’d heard of such creatures but never actually seen one. They were the subject of childhood nightmares and tales told on dark winter nights by my old nurse who having thus aroused my terror to the point of insanity would end with the exhortation: “Now go to sleep.” But they were fantasy, surely. Such creatures didn’t really exist - did they? Clearly my trio of interlocutors thought so. Worse, they seemed to think I was somehow responsible. They stared at me expectantly. Reluctantly I pulled on my cloak and stepped out of the room.

‘Show me.’

I could hear the moaning even before we got to the cemetery, like
a creature in torment. A number of priory monks were huddled together at the entrance like a herd of terrified deer that didn’t know which way to run for safety. When they saw me they came over in a rush.

‘Yes, thank you brothers, there’s no need to push.’

I tried to resist the pressure of bodies but with a dozen terrified monks shoving me I had little choice but to go with the flow. Ralf’s grave was right at the edge of the cemetery and at this unearthly hour it was still shrouded in mist. Even from a distance I could see that it had been disturbed. We stopped a few feet from the grave. The animal-like noises certainly seemed to be coming from the grave and sent a cold shiver up my spine.

Revenant they said.
Was I really about to come face to face with a semi-decomposed Ralf? I squinted in the gloom but could see nothing. I could feel the pressure again building behind me. Then one of the monks gave me one final shove propelling me forward. I spun round to protest: ‘Please brothers!’ But their eyes were not on me. From the terrified look on their faces I knew that something dreadful was occurring behind me. I turned slowly to see...something...rise up from the grave. Whatever it was it reached up silhouetted against the sky and then dropped back down again. A gasp went up from the monks some of whom prostrated themselves and cried out to a merciful God.

But then came another
sound, more familiarly human:

‘What in the name of all that is holy?’

It was Samson. Never have I been to relieved to see his pink crown and white beard.

‘Walter
!’ he snarled at me. ‘You again?’

‘Not me this time father
,’ I protested and pointed towards the grave.

The
inhuman wails were coming louder than ever now. With a growl Samson marched right up to it as though it contained nothing more terrifying than a child’s toy. I gasped with admiration at his boldness. It was Daniel entering the lion’s den - except that Daniel knew exactly what he was confronting while Samson did not. He stood at the edge of the grave for a moment peering in. Then without warning he leapt in.

Instinctively I put
out my hand to stop him, but too late - he’d already disappeared inside. I should have jumped up too but to my shame I was too petrified to move. We all waited with baited breath for Samson’s screams of agony. When none came I did manage to summon enough courage to creep forward and tentatively peer into the grave myself. What did I really expect to find there? Samson wrestling in the bottom with a monster? Ralf’s semi-decomposed corpse returned to life, its flesh falling off and dripping maggots? None of these. If the corpse of Father Ralf had indeed risen up it had long since departed. What I saw instead was an empty hollow, and grubbing around at the bottom was the bent figure of Jane.

‘Gone,’ she moaned. ‘No rest. The poor man has no rest.’

‘Father?’ I whispered.

He
put up a warning hand to me. ‘Jane,’ he was saying gently, ‘what are you doing? Come away now. You do no good here.’ He placed a tentative hand on her arm but that just seemed to act like a trigger. She shrugged him off violently.

‘
You! You did this to him! You denied him peace and now he is condemned to walk the earth for ever!’

‘Jane, you don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Don’t I?’ She looked up. ‘Ask him!’ she said stabbing a finger at me. ‘He knows,’ and she started pelting Samson with clumps of earth so that he had to step back and defend himself.

She leapt out the grave
and looked round at the terrified faces of the monks. Then she raised her hand high in the air like a priest giving a blessing - except this was anything but a blessing:

‘I curse you, Samson of Tottington, as you cursed my Ralf. May the Devil and all his slaves carry you off to
Hades!’

Having uttered her oath, she glared round at the rest of us and darted off down the slope towards the river before anyone could stop her.

For a moment no-one moved or made a sound. But then one monk let out a gasp of despair and others began rolling on the ground jerking and contorting their bodies as though they were being stabbed by red-hot forks. I was astonished. It was like a scene from the Last Judgement.

By now the prior had arrived.
‘Maynus!’ Samson barked at him. ‘Get your men away from here!’

Samson himself seemed
too bewildered to do anything more than stare after Jane. Still crouching on the ground I too looked in the direction she had gone but I didn’t think there was much point in trying to follow her. She would either keep going until she reached Thetford or more likely she would come back when she was hungry. Dreadful as her curse was, its truth was undeniable for it was what I had been trying to tell Samson since leaving the Sisters of Saint George. At the point of death the Devil literally sits upon a man’s chest and if we fail him then he cannot have peace. We had failed Ralf. That was Jane’s indictment.

And now all the old doubts were returning once again: Why had Samson withheld these essentials when such a simple act could have saved all this anguish? What was the cause of the quarrel between Ralf
and him? Did the abbot really have some hand in Ralf’s death? And add to these two even more urgent questions: The grave was manifestly empty so Ralf must have gone somewhere.

But
where? And to do what?

*

I rejoined Samson and Maynus in the prior’s study to find the abbot pacing again
. He was furious.

‘
That woman! I knew we shouldn’t have brought her. I blame you for this entirely, Walter.’

My jaw fell open. ‘
Me? ’

‘
Yes you. If you hadn’t been so obsessed with seeing the body the thought would never have entered her head.’

‘If you had permitted me to examine
him, father, I wouldn’t have needed to be obsessed.’

‘Please, my brothers,’ frowned Maynus
gently from a corner of the room. ‘Recriminations are not going to help.’

Samson ignored him.
‘And now I, Samson of Tottington, Abbot of Edmundsbury, protector of the most holy shrine of the king-martyr, am accused of precipitating this...
calumny
!’

‘You don’t believe
in Revenants, father?’ I asked him.

‘Do you?’

‘The point is,’ I said parrying the question, ‘the body is missing. If Jane didn’t dig him up then what else could it be?’

Samson
snorted with contempt. ‘Ridiculous!’

I could understand
his reluctance to accept the possibility that Ralf had joined the undead. After all, it is said that one of the main reasons these creatures return from the dead is in order to seek revenge on those who tormented them in life. If Samson really was responsible for Ralf’s death then he would be the one the Revenant sought. If I were him I wouldn’t want to believe it either.

‘There was a case,’ said Maynus
quietly from his corner, ‘in the county of Hereford, I think. A creature like this who wandered the streets at night calling out the names of villagers.’

‘What nonsense,’ said Samson.

‘Yes, I’ve heard of this,’ I said. ‘Those whose names the monster called became sick and died.’

‘And their solution?’
sneered Samson. ‘Presumably they had one. Or is this living corpse still wandering the streets of Hereford?’

‘The matter was resolved by the Bishop of Hereford
. Bishop Foliot - a former monk of Cluny, by the way,’ Maynus smiled. ‘He had the body dug up and the head cut off, holy water was sprinkled on the grave and the body reburied.’

‘Barbaric!’

T
he prior continued undeterred: ‘There was another instance, this time in the county of Northumberland. The monster is said to have roamed the streets of the town breathing plague.’