Devil's Acre (18 page)

Chapter
20

STAND-OFF AT THE PRIORY YARD

‘Close
the gates! Quickly! Close the -!’

Too late. My pursuers were in before the old porter could get the bar across. But once inside the hallowed precinct they hesitated. A monk who happened to be crossing the yard at that moment dropped the pail he was carrying and ran off - to fetch help, I hoped. Meanwhile the crowd edged towards me
just as I edged away from them. They looked as if at any moment they could break and rush me. Images of Archbishop Geoffrey being dragged over the cobbles flashed uncomfortably through my mind.

But then - God
and all His saints be praised - Maynus appeared at the door of the porch.

‘What is the meaning of this invasion?’ he demanded. ‘This is God’s holy ground. How dare you desecrate it!’

‘We’ve come for the monster!’ yelled a voice.

‘What monster?’
frowned Maynus. ‘There is no monster here.’

‘The fat monk said there is!’

Right on cue, the fat monk came puffing through the gate. ‘
Non non non, ce n’est pas juste, ce n’est pas juste!
’ he was shouting and slapping heads as he came.

‘
Emile!
’ Maynus barked at him.
‘Que sait-tu de cela?’

‘Ce n’est rien, mon père.
Un malentendu, c’est tout.’

‘Non, ce n’est pas tout. Dis-moi que s’est-il passé?’

The crowd watched as the two Frenchmen jabbered at each other, Maynus’s face growing blacker and blacker by the second. When Brother Emile had finished his explanation the prior turned back to the crowd again:

‘My friends
, I understand your concerns, but this is a matter for the church. Please, I ask you - return to your homes.’

‘We’re not leaving without the creature!’ said an anonymous voice
to loud cheering from the rest.

‘I cannot give you what I do not have.’

‘Then give us the Benedictines!’

‘
Aye, the Benedictines. They brought the monster!’

I felt every eye on me.
Maynus shook his head. ‘They brought the body of a priest to be interred in the priory cemetery. There is no monster.’

‘Then show
us the body!’

It was the
former drunk again.

‘They can’t because he’s not there. I seen the grave. It’s empty.’

‘The monster has risen,’ came another voice.

A
murmur went around the crowd. For a moment neither side moved. But it would not last.

‘Come on!’ yelled a voice and they
started to rush us.

But then
, heaven be thanked, the Angelus bell started to ring loudly and there emerged from the cloister porch a procession of monks hands clasped together in an attitude of prayer and chanting the
Kyrie
: “God have mercy; Christ have mercy; God have mercy,” over and over. At its head was a wonderful sight: the abbot looking resplendent in his white cope and mitre and carrying his abbatial crook before him. The monks formed themselves in a semi-circle around Maynus and me like a protective shell. The crowd hesitated and for a moment no-one seemed to know what to do. There was an uneasy silence which was finally broken by a woman’s shrill voice:

‘Murderer!’

We all turned. Jane, her hair blowing in the wind and looking wilder than ever after her night in the fields, was standing on the hillside pointing an accusing finger at Samson:

‘Murderer, I say! I name Samson of Tottington!’

‘What is this?’ growled Samson. To his credit the abbot stood his ground without flinching. But then another voice cried out:

‘Look!’

We all turned to see on the side of the valley a truly terrifying sight: the figure of a man silhouetted against the dark sky, his head was bandaged and his clothes hanging from him in rags. Hesitantly he started staggering down the slope towards us, his arms outstretched before him.

‘The monster!’

Women screamed, men shouted and suddenly all was pandemonium as people scrambled, tripped, fell over each other to get away. Even the monks ran for the cloisters and the church. In a minute the entire precinct was cleared of all humanity leaving only Samson, Maynus and me staring at each other in bewilderment.

T
hus ended the stand-off at the priory yard.

*

‘I’ll have them
all blinded! I’ll have their noses split! I’ll have their ears pinned to the church door!’

Samson was raging up and down the prior’s study. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his mitre or put down his crook
which he was brandishing like a weapon at Prior Maynus.

‘I want the names of the ringleaders. I’ll teach them to threaten a prince of the church!’

‘Is this wise,
père abbé?
’ cautioned Maynus. ‘It may only make matters worse with Lord William.’

‘It is to forestall Lord William that I want
to sort this thing out ourselves. Did you not notice his men among that rabble?’

‘
They weren’t Lord William’s men, father,’ I said. ‘That is, they were his men but they were youths. Richard’s companions mostly.’

Samson glared at me.
‘You seem to know a lot about it. Why would that be I wonder? Could it be because you were at the castle despite my request that you don’t leave the priory? Maybe if you had that ridiculous pantomime out there might never have happened.’

I
winced. ‘I was summoned by the countess, father. I could hardly refuse.’

Th
at caught him by surprise. ‘The countess? What did she want?’

‘To be truthful, I don’t know.’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know? You must know what you talked about.’

I shrugged.
‘Nothing. At least, nothing I could make any sense of. I thought she might want me to see the earl. But when I offered she pooh-poohed the suggestion. Seemed to find the idea absurd. Which was curious in the light of what she said next.’

‘Which was?’

‘She said our meeting had been satisfactory -
most
satisfactory to be precise.’

He stroked his beard
thoughtfully. ‘Did she, indeed? Interesting.’

‘Does that mean anything to you, father?’

He shook his head. ‘Not a thing. But that doesn’t let you off the hook. What I want to know is how she knew where to find you. You were supposed to be at the graveside keeping watch for the Revenant.’

I winced
again. There was no ducking the issue. I told him about Nicholas killing Esme and my suspicion that Richard was behind it. When I’d finished he smiled knowingly.

‘
So that was why you were at the castle. Not because the countess summoned you. You went there to defend Nicholas.’

‘
Well someone had to. He can’t do it himself and nobody else seems bothered about him, not you, not Father Maynus, not even his own grandmother.’

‘
What did
la comtesse
say to that?’ asked the gentle Maynus.

‘She said she would punish
Nicholas. Can you believe that?’

Maynus
have a helpless shrug. ‘Well you did say he killed the creature.’

‘Only to prevent her suffering more from
those young louts,’ I said in exasperation. ‘They were going to torture poor Esme to death.’

Maynus laughed dismissively.
‘You don’t really believe that.’

‘
What I believe, father, doesn’t matter. It’s what Nicholas believed. That’s why he did what he did. The poor lad was in a terrible dilemma. It was him those boys were torturing with his cousin’s approval.’

‘Be careful
who you accuse,
mon fils
,’ cautioned Maynus quietly. ‘Richard is still of the blood royal.’

‘
That’s what’s really bothering you all, isn’t it? The fact that Richard is King John’s son.’

Samson and Maynus exchanged glances.
I gave up. I was exhausted. I seemed to be banging my head against a wall trying to get through to either of them.

‘Well,
at least it clears up one thing,’ said Samson. ‘The Revenant did not return last night after all.’ He smirked at Maynus. ‘What a surprise.’

‘You are forgetting,
père abbé
, half the town saw it.’

‘
They saw something. In all probability it was an apparition conjured by that crazy woman.’

‘Actually it was Tomelinus
,’ I said sheepishly. ‘I recognized him - or rather my bandaging.’

Samson exploded.
‘That charlatan again! Perhaps it’s his ears I should pin to the church door, show these people exactly what species of monster it really is.’

‘That wouldn’t be
very fair, would it? If Tom hadn’t appeared when he did there’s no saying what the mob might have done. He frightened them off.’

‘
They wouldn’t have been here at all if you had remained inside the priory as I’d asked.’

‘Oh, don’t worry
, father. After today I fully intend to do just that.’

The real Angelus bell started to sound
now and Maynus rose to attend.

‘We must all try our best to calm matters
,’ said Samson removing his cope and mitre. ‘Maynus, after the mass speak to your people. See if you can drum some sense into them. As for me, I have some grovelling to do up at the castle - that’s if I manage to get there without being lynched.’

Chapter
21

OLD FLAMES

‘Sorry
to interrupt master but you have a visitor.’

‘A visitor? For me? How exciting!’

‘Visitors are not normally permitted, you understand, but in the circumstances...’

‘You mean
, as I am about to croak.’

‘We don’t like to think in those terms here, Dom Walter. God gathers us when he will. We none of us knows the number of our days.’

‘I’ve a pretty good idea of mine.’

‘Think of it as part of your treatment. This visit might serve to invigorate you - spiritually I mean.’

‘Oh dear God, it’s not one of these po-faced friars is it, bleating about poverty and self-denial? Save me from that, Gilbert, at least!’

‘Actually it’s a nun. From Saint George’s in Thetford. You remember where that is?’

‘Of course I remember where it is. I’m not yet gaga.’

‘Persons of the...female sex...are not strictly speaking allowed beyond the cloister gate.’

‘She’ll be safe enough in here with us old crocks. Most of them can’t remember what a woman is. Mind you, Cedric’s been looking at me in a worrying way recently.’

‘Master, you should not joke about these things.’

‘You think I’m joking?’

‘I’ll send her in then, shall I? She can’t stay long mind, just until the vesper bell sounds.’

‘That gives me a whole half hour. How very generous of you, Gilbert.’

‘You’re welcome, master. And it’s Gerard.’

A nun, eh?
That’ll make a welcome change from all these wizened old men dribbling into their beards. A pretty young face to gladden my bleached old bachelor eyes. Alas, it was not to be. She turned out to be yet another old crone, sixty if she was a day. Said she knew me. She might. I’ve known a few nuns in my time, most of them ugly as old boots and utterly forgettable. But something about this one struck a chord. And then I remembered: the teeth...

‘Sister Monica-Jerome?’

‘
Mother
Monica-Jerome now.’

‘They elected you prioress? How marvellous!’

‘It was only for a year. That was a decade ago. But the title remains with me. Sister Agnes is prioress now. She asked to be remembered to you and sends you her prayers and good wishes.’

‘Agnes. Let me see...was she the Jack-of-all-trades?’

‘No, that was Sister Benjamin. Benjamin was never prioress.’

‘Funny, I would have thought of the three of you...’

‘So you do remember us?’

‘I remember the apple. That was a kindness.’

‘A special gift. I was rather taken with you - I can admit it now that it no longer matters.’

‘Why sister, you’re blushing!’

‘A weakness I have never been able to conquer.’

‘And you still have your little-girl giggle. Charming. Well now, what can I do for you
Mother
Monica-Jerome?’

‘Nothing, master. Rather it is what I can do for you. It is of those times that I speak.’

‘Speak then, for I am in the middle of writing about them myself.’

‘The matter is a delicate one as I’m sure you appreciate. And walls have ears even in this holy place.’

‘Then lean closer, sister - and to hell with the gossips!’

‘A nun you say? Interesting.’

‘Not just any nun, lord. A former prioress of the Convent of Saint George and Saint Gregory. That’s in Thetford.’

‘Yes, thank you Gerard, I know where it is. My family are its benefactors. The name, tell me her name.’

‘Monica-Jerome.’

‘Not one I recognize. She can’t have been prioress for very long. Did you manage to hear what passed between them?’

‘They spoke in whispers as though they suspected to be overheard.’

‘Something important, then. I should dearly like to know what.’

‘Use the rack. She’ll soon tell all.’

‘Yes, you’d like that wouldn’t you, Gerard? Times have changed my young friend, we don’t rack nuns anymore. Besides, it would draw unwanted attention. We will have to be more subtle. Carry on as before. Be attentive. Watch. Listen. He’s an old man. His wits are failing. Eventually he will make a mistake. We just have to be patient.’

Dear Sister Monica-Jerome. It was kind of her to come even though she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. But it’s
always good to have things confirmed. I’m just a little surprised she managed to keep the secret for so long. Of all of the nuns of St George I’d have had her down as the chatterbox. Who else among the sisters, I wonder, knew the truth? Mother Odell of course - that goes without saying. And Sister Benjamin, she would have had to know. But not necessarily Agnes or Monica-Jerome. And how fortuitous that she should have chosen this moment to tell me...

That was always Tomelinus’s trouble, his inability to hold his tongue. In his case he couldn’t help himself - some mischievous imp turning his every utterance into a curse, poor fellow. But he wasn’t quite the fool he liked to pretend. He had, after all, travelled the world from
Santiago de Compostela to the Iconium, seen things that few other men have seen and lived to tell the tale. That takes skill. And he had been a monk himself once, don’t forget - and I mean a proper monk not one of these numb-headed half-brothers they have up in those northern abbeys who do all the work while the sons of the nobility spend their time impregnating sheep. I speak agriculturally of course.

Where was I? Ah yes, the Revenant. Following the invasion of the priory by the town rabble there was a noticeable cooling among the Cluniacs towards us Benedictines. Understandable really. As well as the threat of a spectre roaming about causing mayhem in its wake they now had the ill-will of the town to contend with. No-one said anything to me directly but from the evasive looks and sudden silences I knew our presence was beginning to be resented. And who could blame them? In a day or two Samson and I would be gone but they were going to have to live with the consequences of our visit. Rifts between town and cloister are never desirable as I knew from bitter personal experience.

Samson returned from the castle having successfully warded off any intervention from that quarter but he reported on a similar air of disquiet among the townsfolk.
It was plain that Lord William would like to see the back of us and the sooner the better. Personally I found this aspect of the affair more worrying than the prospect of a marauding monster. I was beginning to agree with Samson that the whole Revenant thing was suspect. Not that I didn’t think such creatures existed for I did - but Ralf? I simply couldn’t reconcile the ogre he was supposed to have become with the gentle priest I had escorted to his house at the nunnery. Also in life Ralf had been blind yet he apparently had no difficulty finding his way round the unfamiliar streets of Acre. Had sight been restored to him along with his life? And of course I knew what most did not know: the true identity of both the wailer in the cemetery and the apparition on the hill, and there was nothing very monstrous about either Nicholas or Tomelinus.

Not that any of this would have deterred the steady stream of petitioners who came to the priory to see Samson. They wanted a conjuration to ward off evil and only the touch of the abbatial hand would satisfy them. Samson took a predictably dim view of such hocus-pocus and made me send them away.

One man, a guild merchant, was not satisfied with that. He’d brought along his young son who he was convinced had been touched by the creature and showed me the mark on the boy’s leg to prove it. But when I examined him the searing turned out to be nothing more than nettle rash. The child’s father was not convinced by my diagnosis and was even less happy when I recommended dock leaves as the appropriate treatment.

‘You Benedictines, you bring the curse but you offer no
comfort,’ he complained and went off to spread disenchantment among his fellow guildsmen. This made me think that perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for Samson to see a few petitioners if only to quell their anxieties.

‘Father, can you see this woman?’ I said of the next supplicant. ‘She claims the monster has cursed her daughter and got her with child.’

‘So what does she want me to do about it? I’m a cleric not a miracle-worker.’

‘She says that your blessing will restore the child’s honour.’

‘The thing that will restore her brat’s honour is to find the knave who despoiled her and make him marry her.’

I pulled the door to and lowered my voice: ‘Father, I think we should indulge this woman. It will show us in a more sympathetic light and may go some way to redeem us with the people.’

‘I don’t need redemption. I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Please, father. It will take but a minute.’

I fetched the woman and her daughter, a child of not more than thirteen summers, in from the passageway. From the look of her she had been growing her “curse” for considerably longer than the few days the Revenant had been loose. As soon as the mother saw Samson she fell on her knees and kissed his hand:

‘Bless you father for your trouble.’

‘Yes yes,’ he grimaced extricating his hand. He turned to the girl. ‘What’s your name, child?’

‘Bethilda, father.’

‘Kneel Bethilda and receive the grace.’ He placed one hand on her brow and raised the other in benediction: ‘I sign you with the sign of the cross in the name of Jesus Christ your saviour.’

‘And absolve her of her sins, father,’ I reminded him quietly.

‘And I absolve you of your sins.’

‘Amen, father.’

‘Amen.’

Once again the mother kissed his hand, tears of gratitude flowing
copiously down her cheeks. ‘Thank you, father. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

‘That was very kind,’ I said once they’d left. ‘She will laud your name to all she meets.’

‘I’m sure she will, but only until Easter judging by the size of that bump.’

The rest of that night passed slowly for the people of Castle Acre, I doubt if many slept. Every rustle of a tree, every mew of a cat brought the hardiest from their beds and onto their knees: there is nothing like the smell of your own mortality to bring you to God. Samson and I spent the night keeping office in the priory church with Maynus and our brother monks who were praying for an end to their misery. Unfortunately
the news we received the next morning was no redemption but further tragedy.

In the dim light of dawn two young men climbed over the precinct wall and made their way to the monks’ cemetery armed with mattocks. Their intention, it appeared, was to beard the Revenant in his lair while he slept. But when they got there instead of the monster they found only Jane, ever faithful Jane, squatting in her usual position at the head of the empty grave. There had been another heavy fall of snow during the night and she was half buried by it. She didn’t stir as the men approached and at first they thought she was asleep. But when one of them touched her she felt icy cold to the touch. Terrified lest it was the plague, they ran into the priory church just as prime was finishing.

‘The creature
has struck again!’ they garbled. ‘This time it has murdered its own kin!’

M
oans from the brothers as some fell to their knees while others rushed off to see.

Samson
frowned at me. ‘Its own kin?’

‘J
ane. They must mean Jane,’ I said and ran after them.

They had stopped well short of the grave
fearful of getting too close which gave me a chance to run my eye quickly over the scene before too many boots obliterated it. The snow had blanketed everything to the depth of half a hand’s span. I counted four sets of footprints - two approaching the grave from the precinct wall and two more leading to the church all presumably left by the two men who found her. The grave likewise had a layer of pristine snow covering the bottom. Otherwise the ground was clear.

‘When will we be rid of this curse?’ asked the monk next to me.

‘This wasn’t the creature,’ I said. ‘Look around you. The snow is undisturbed. No-one has been here this night.’