Devil's Acre (6 page)

I had to admit it
was a shock. I’d never been to Tottington but I knew it was a small village. Could they all have known each other in childhood?

‘Tell me Jane, when you first saw Ralf this morning, what condition was he in?’

She looked at me suspiciously. ‘Why’re you asking that?’

‘Just answer me.’

‘He wor as Sister Benjamin left him.’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t mean in the cellar. I mean when you first
saw him.’

‘That wor when I first
saw him.’

‘No,
’ I said patiently. ‘When you discovered him - in the priesthouse.’

‘I weren’t at the priesthouse.’

‘But Abbot Samson said -’ I stopped. ‘Never mind. Well if you didn’t find Ralf, who did?’

‘Mother Odell.’

I drew back a little at that. ‘You’re saying Mother Odell discovered Ralf’s body? In the priesthouse? Mother Odell? This morning? Mother Odell?’

She
pursed her lips at me as though I were an imbecile.

‘She do that
when I aren’t there. Looks in on Ralf.’

‘
Ah yes. Ralf said you were off sulking somewhere.’

She shook her head.
‘Weren’t sulking. Ralf didn’t want me last night.’

‘
Now I know you’re lying,’ I said. ‘You left because you were upset - understandably under the circumstances but nevertheless neglectful. Your duty was to be with your master.’

She glared at me.
‘Jane don’t lie. I were waitin’ in the porch to take Ralf home. It were him sent me away.’

My instinct was that she was lying in order to shift the blame away from her.
After all, had she been with Ralf overnight she might have been able to save his life. But why would she lie about finding his body?

When at last Samson emerged he was red-cheeked and exuding bonhomie having clearly enjoyed the prior’s log fire - and doubtless a cup or two of the prior’s wine. By contrast Jane and I in contrast were sitting sullen and silent astride our mounts.

Samson pulled a face at me. ‘What’s the matter with you? Not still sulking about being left out in the cold, are you?’

But it wasn’t that. There was something very mysterious about the whole Ralf affair. Someone was lying. Someone was covering up. But I didn’t know what or who or why. Prior Peter was waiting to see us off but I was in no mood for pleasantries. I set off along the Tottington road without a word leaving Samson behind to make our farewells alone.

Chapter
8

TOMELINUS

‘Walter
that was very rude of you,’ Samson said catching me up.

‘I’m sorry father.’

‘Whatever is the matter with you? You shame me and Saint Edmund with your petulance.’

‘
I’ve said I’m sorry. I will apologize to Prior Peter on our return journey. I take it we will be returning this way when our business in Acre is done - whatever that is?’

I looked at him expectantly but he merely grunted, pulled up his cowl and spurred his mule on ahead. Behind me I heard Jane snort again and I had to fight the urge to reprove her. And thus we continued for the next few miles with Samson out in front, me a few yards behind trailing Ralf’s mule, and Jane bringing up the rear. The snow was falling heavily now covering everything in a blanket of pure whiteness. It was a beautiful sight to behold and one that would normally lift the spirit, but I cannot remember a time when I felt more miserable.

We passed through just one more village that day
in the bottom of a valley half way between Thetford and Tottington. I say “village” but it didn’t amount to much more than a few huts clustered behind a church which was in the process of having its tower rebuilt. The weather had temporarily halted building work but it was heartening to see that however poor the villagers were they had their priorities right. And poor they surely were for the soil in this part of Norfolk is very sandy and cannot support the numbers that are on my mother’s estate at Ixworth. If this was the sort of country Samson hailed from then it made for meagre farming indeed. It wouldn’t be long before I found out for Tottington village lay just a few miles further ahead of us.

The climb out of the village was slow and gradual as we ascended from the valley below. The snow had begun to ease and finally stopped altogether as we reached the top of the slope with the sun coming out to bathe us all in its cold brilliance. Samson shook the snow off his cowl and waited fo
r us to catch up.

‘Isn’t it a glorious day?’ he grinned and drew his hand across the expanse of white and brown fields. ‘Look at that view! This must have been what the very first Christmas was like. Why, I can almost see the shepherds abiding in the field. No star to guide our way of course, but look, that little hovel down there could easily be the Holy Stable itself.’

‘Very nice father.’

He looked at me.
‘Still sulking I see. Tell you what - we’ll break for some refreshment. That’ll cheer us all up.’

‘Are you sure we can spare the time?’

He pretended not to hear me. ‘I know this road well. It was the one my dear mother first brought me down as a child to pray at Saint Edmund’s shrine,’ he said dismounting. ‘Did I ever tell you that story?’

‘Often
, father.’

‘
It was as the result of a dream, you see? I dreamt I was standing in front of a cemetery gate when the Devil tried to seize me.’

‘I
bet you were absolutely terrified, father.’

‘
I was absolutely terrified. I cried out in my sleep for Saint Edmund to help me - a name I had never heard before. Hearing my cries my mother took me next day to the abbey which I immediately recognized as being the place in my dream even though I had never been there before.’

‘
How fortuitous that your mother had.’

‘
Indeed. It was clear to me that I was being called by the martyr to renounce the world and take up the religious life which I duly did. There, what do you think of that?’

‘Very uplifting, father.’

‘Hmn,’ he looked at me doubtfully. ‘Well all this happened a long time ago in Tottington village which is not far away now. A good moment, perhaps, to pause and reflect. So, let’s see what the good nuns of Saint George have furnished us with - something special knowing Benjamin. And a little extra for you I saw from Monica-Jerome.’ He winked. ‘I think the lady has a soft spot for you, my boy.’ He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘Come, the ride has made me ravenous. What have we got?’

‘Pottage.’

His grin remained fixed but his eyes registered disappointment. ‘Pottage.’

‘But there’s always my apple.’ I took it out to show him. ‘You may bite on it if you wish.’

He put up his hand. ‘No no. Monica-Jerome intended it for you and you shall have it all. Denial is good for the soul. Jane and I will make do with the erm...pottage.’

I collected what dry twigs I could find and cleared a patch of snow for our fire. Then I got out my fire-striker. At least with all this clean snow we wouldn’t want for water. It would melt quickly on our make-shift hearth

‘How’s Jane been doing?’ Samson asked once I’d coaxed a flame.

I looked across at her sullen countenance as she sat upon her mule. ‘I’m a little concerned about her, actually. She hasn’t moved from her saddle since we left the nunnery.’

‘Hm, still pining over Ralf.’ He patted my shoulder. ‘Get a good fire going and see if that will entice her
down. I have to answer nature’s call. If she’s not down by the time I get back I’ll speak to her.’

While Samson went off to relieve himself behind a tree I set the pot among the flames to warm. I had already hobbled the mule carrying Ralf so it could not wander off but Jane remained stubbornly on hers. When he returned Samson raised his eyebrows quizzically but I shook my head. He went over to her.

‘Now Jane, what’s this?’ he said firmly. ‘You can’t sit up there all day and not eat. We’ve already got one corpse, we don’t want another. And Clytemnestra could do with a rest.’ He stroked the animal’s ear.

Jane did not respond.

‘You know, it’s bad manners to ignore someone when they are speaking to you. So I’m asking you, please come down and warm yourself by the fire.’

Jane
sneered and looked away.

‘Do you not want to shit?’

Still no response.

‘Very well. As your lord I command you.’

She shot him a bitter look. ‘You en’t my lord. My lord is the Bishop of Ely.’

‘I’m sure Bishop Eustace would be heartened to hear of your loyalty, but I’m afraid while you live with the nuns
you are in my care like it or not. Now, I command you. Come down and eat. Brother Walter has lit a fire for you, and look, we have pottage.’

She reluctantly swung her leg over the pommel.
‘I get down because I want it, not because you say.’

She
dropped onto the powdery snow and ambled off into the woods. Samson watched her go with disdain.

‘I fear we will be having trouble with that lady before very long.’

It was then that we heard it. Distant at first but slowly getting louder. A sound that rose and fell like a cat in distress.

‘Yu
uuule-prrrrrp-tick-tick-tickety, brr, brrr, pooo-bop!’

‘What on earth?’ said Samson squinting hard in the direction we had come. The road
, I should point out, at this point was long and straight with no bends. We had chosen this place carefully just so that we have good views in both directions and could see trouble coming from afar. And trouble afar there seemed to be. In the distance coming up the hill from behind us was a tiny black dot that buzzed and fluttered like a fly.

Samson screwed up his face and peered hard. ‘Your eyes are younger than mine
, Walter. Can you see what it is?’

I
squinted against the sunlight and shielded my eyes. ‘It’s a man - I think.’

‘Or a devil,’ said Samson. ‘A fool whoever he is announcing his presence like that. Every footpad for miles must have heard him.’

As the creature drew closer his words became clearer: ‘Yo-liddle-idus, my name is Tom-e-linus. I come up from Mont-i-pillery and I’m on my way to York-i-shivery. I’ve been away for a year and a day and won’t be back tomor-or-ow. Pirrip-pirrip-pop-pop-droooo!’ And then every few yards he would leap into the air as if skipping over some unseen obstacle. But there was nothing there - at least, nothing I could see.

‘Is he mad?’ asked Samson.

‘To walk from the south of France to Yorkshire in the depth of winter?’ I grinned. ‘Yes, I should say he is.’

Eventually the creature came close enough for us to make out some details. He was indeed a man, tall and thin and dressed in what must once have been an expensive cloak. On his head was a wide-brimmed hat and over his shoulder he had slung an old leather satchel. As for his peculiar behaviour, it struck me that it was quite a clever tactic. He was alone and therefore vulnerable to robbers as Samson had suggested. But the noise he was making would draw attention far along the road in both directions - as
indeed it had ours. And if that didn’t put off a potential robber his condition might. He was filthy and didn’t look as though he had anything worth stealing. He didn’t even have boots but old rags wrapped round his feet. No self-respecting thief would waste their time on such a doubtful prospect. Perhaps this Tomelinus was not quite the fool he first appeared.

At last he caught us up and
with a great flurry bowed extravagantly low sweeping the snow with his hat.

‘Your gracious majesties.’

‘Now now,’ said Samson, ‘none of your impertinence. We are important persons and you would be well advised to leave us be and continue on your way.’

‘Pirrrrrrip-pip-pip!’ said the man and flicked Samson’s shoulder with a finger.

Samson jumped back in alarm. ‘God in heaven man, whatever do you think you’re doing?’

‘So sorry, your pip-pip
-pipesty,’ he said brushing Samson’s shoulder again.

‘Stop that I say!’ said Samson putting out a hand. ‘
Stop it at once! Have you lost your mind? Who the devil are you?’

The man bowed
low again. ‘My name is Tomelinus and I am walking to -’

‘Yes yes, we heard all that,’ interrupted Samson flapping his hand at him. ‘What do you want?’

He smiled revealing a graveyard of blackened teeth. ‘Nowt but to greet a fellow Christian with a Christian smile and a Christian welcome.’

‘Northerners,’ said Samson
rolling his eyes at me. ‘Do you have permission to be out here? Who is your lord?’

The man did a little skip and held out his hand. ‘You perchance.’

‘More insolence! For your information I am his grace the Abbot of Edmundsbury.’

‘Begging your holyship’s
pip-pip pardon.’

Samson turned to me
again. ‘By God, he’s doing it on purpose!’

I had to bite my lip to stop myself from giggling.

‘He’s a pilgrim.’ I pointed to a clutch of metal clasps pinned to the folds of his cloak. ‘Look at his badges.’

‘Aye, a pilgrim that’s me, your
holy-lowly-nessesses - pip-pip tirrip-didly-di.’

‘Let me see them,’ said Samson
roughly grabbing the man’s lapel. He tapped a tin brooch with his fingernail. ‘I know this one. It has Saint Edmund’s arrows. He’s been to Bury - by God!’

‘Ah, a beautiful shrine it is too. So hooooly.’

‘And other shrines,’ I said scrutinizing his badges. ‘Here’s the scallop of Saint James of Compostela - this is Becket’s tonsure - and Saint Denis, the French saint. You’ve travelled far, my friend. I wonder how you support yourself? Have you a trade?’

‘Trickery is his trade,’ snorted
Samson. ‘By Christ’s limbs if you’ve been cheating the good folk of Bury -’

‘And now you are off to Walsingham,’ I interrupted hastily. ‘Have I guessed right? Walsingham next?’

The man bowed graciously, ‘Your brotherliness is wisdom personified, pirrip-tirrip,’ and he did a little skip and a dance.

I could see the man’s antics were irritating Samson
- a fact that pleased me no end. I don’t think he knew quite how to handle him.

‘What is all this pip-pip nonsense?’
Samson frowned at him. ‘Can’t you speak without pip-pipping? Don’t try any of your tricks here, my man, for we are wise to them.’

‘No tricks, your holier
-than-thou-ness. The brotherliness here is quite right. Trade is my purpose.’