Devil's Acre (8 page)

He nodded. ‘Perhaps. Goodnight then brother - and thank you once again for bringing Jane.’

When he closed the door I heard the bolt being slid firmly across.

I met up with Samson again at the church door. The service of welcome was over and most of the villagers had left. Only Samson was still chatting to his
twin-priest-cousin Absalom in the porch. I was impressed again at how alike they were. It really was quite astonishing.

‘Walter, my lad, you’ve missed a splendid service, simply splendid. Absalom here made an embarrassingly flattering speech about me. But I forgave him
- just this once.’ He grinned.

‘I was escorting Jane to her lodging. She’s staying with Ralf’s cousin.’

‘So you’ve met Michael. How is the old bird?’

‘You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the funeral.’

‘Ah yes. The funeral.’ Samson glanced briefly at Absalom.

I looked
irritably from one to the other sensing something amiss. ‘Is there a problem? I can’t think what. Ralf needs to be put in the ground as quickly as possible.’

‘Of course he does,’ agreed Samson. ‘And he will be. The only question is, whose ground?’

I frowned. ‘What do you mean “whose ground”? God’s good ground of course. The church’s ground, hallowed ground,
this
ground,’ I jabbed a finger at the churchyard.

Samson tapped me lightly on my shoulder. ‘Perhaps Absalom should explain.’

Absalom cleared his throat. ‘Brother Walter,’ he began awkwardly. ‘I can only apologize. We find ourselves - how can I say? Temporarily embarrassed.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry
father, you’ve lost me.’

‘It seems
there are no spades,’ supplied Samson.

‘No -?’
I staggered.

‘You’ve seen the ground. It’s hard as rock. Far too hard to split with wooden blades. That’s all that’s available,
I’m afraid.’

I looked at him with incredulity. ‘Are you telling me there isn’t a single iron spade or pick to be had in the whole of Tottington?’

‘Please don’t embarrass the good father more than he already is.’

‘We are a poor community, Brother Walter,’ explained Absalom
.

‘Does no-one die in Tottington in winter
, father?’

‘Of course they do. But normally they are kept above ground until the spring thaw.’

‘Ridiculous!’

‘Brother Walter!’ snapped Samson. ‘I’ll remind you these people are your hosts.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry father, but what do you propose we do? Remain here until April?’

‘No need for that,’ said Samson. ‘We ca
n take the body with us. Acre is only a few more miles up the road.’

My jaw dropped in astonishment. ‘And do what with him?’

‘Bury him of course. At the priory. The prior’s an old friend, he won’t mind.’

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘We can’t move the body again. It’s
- sacrilegious.’

‘Well, we can’t leave him here.’

‘We should have left him in Thetford.’

He shook his head. ‘We’ve been all through that. It was impossible. No, taking him with us to
Acre is the best option. It’ll be no trouble.’

No trouble? The thought of travelling another day with Ralf’s decaying body strapped over Clytemnestra’s back didn’t bear thinking about.

‘What about Jane? Perhaps she doesn’t want Ralf to be buried in Acre. Tottington was far enough. At Acre she might never see him again.’

‘
What has this to do with her? She was only his servant.’

‘Father,
’ I said eyeing Absalom cautiously, ‘you know she was much more than that. We should at least ask her - in fact I insist that we do.’

‘You
insist
?’

‘Yes I do. And
another thing,’ I added while I had the bit between my teeth. ‘My examination of the body.’

‘What about it?’

‘You agreed I could do it.’

He shook his head.
‘Not tonight. It’s far too late.’

‘Tomorrow morning
, then. Before we leave. It won’t take long. While there’s still enough of a body left for me to examine. Please father. Don’t make me ask again.’

He thought for a moment.
‘Very well.’

‘You agree?’

‘I’ve said so haven’t I?’

I
have to admit I didn’t expect him to give in quite so readily.

‘
Good. Well,’ I said before he could change his mind again, ‘in that case I’ll bid you both goodnight.’ I started to leave.

‘Walter?’

I frowned irritably. ‘Yes father?’

‘
Don’t you want to know where you’re sleeping tonight?’

‘
What? Erm, I mean yes.’

Samson nodded.
‘Absalom’s house - it’s the long, low building at the foot of the hill. He’s generously offered to give up his bed.’

I turned to Father Absalom.
‘Where will you sleep?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll sleep in the church.’

‘Well if you’re sure,’ I mumbled. ‘Thank you very much.’

‘You’re both very welcome,’ smiled Absalom.

‘Both?’

‘Yes,’
said Samson. ‘It seems we share.’

Chapter 10

THE BODY DISAPPEARS

I
didn’t sleep at all well that night. Absalom’s was a single man’s cot - perfectly adequate for one rotund country parson, but we were two and Samson was not the easiest of bed-fellows. Wider and heavier than I, he occupied most of the available space and I was left clinging to the edge for fear of rolling off - or worse, rolling onto him. He also rose several times in the night as old men do to answer the call of nature which he did copiously and noisily into a bucket in the corner of the room. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Being a part-time farmer as well as the village priest, Absalom kept his animals inside during the winter months which meant we had to bed down with two milkers, a dozen chickens, three goats and a pig all in the adjoining room. The proximity of so many warm bodies certainly kept the chill off but they brought with them their own menageries of tiny creatures which, not being content with their usual hosts, were happy to gorge themselves on my ankles. So all in all it was a noisome, restless and above all itchy night.

But it wasn’t just physical discomfort that kept me from sleep. My mind would not stop turning over the events of the previous two days. Despite my best efforts I could not escape the suspicion that the man snoring peacefully next to me had somehow been complicit in
another man’s death. Still the notion seemed impossible to me. We had our differences and on occasion I found him tiresome to the point of exhaustion but if I were asked to name one man I would trust with my life Samson of Tottington would be that man.

Yet what did I really know about him? He had been my abbot for fifteen years and a monk for twenty-some years
more. But he had a life before that, possibly even a turbulent one - Jane certainly seemed to think so. And we all have things in our pasts which we would rather not remember. Barely a day goes by when I do not cringe at some embarrassing episode recalled from my own youth - like the time Ellen our kitchen maid caught me spying on her from the branches of an apple tree as she bent to gather windfalls in her upturned skirts. She teased me for weeks about that and the memory of it still haunts me. But there is a world of difference between sneaking a glimpse of a woman’s bare calf and cold-blooded murder.

All of which put me in mind
again of the tale Samson told me of his journey as a young man across Europe to see the pope. He must have been a sturdy and courageous young man then to have undertaken such a hazardous journey alone, not the puffing elder churchman he is now with sagging jowls and receding locks. Is this the man who could do physical harm to another?

If only I knew the cause of his antipathy towards Ralf. His cousin Michael wasn’t much help and I wasn’t sure Jane really knew.
Maybe there was none - at least, none that warranted killing somebody for. Maybe he simply frightened the man to death. I’d seen enough monks wilt in the glare of the great man’s wrath. But Ralf hadn’t struck me as being particularly intimidated by Samson’s ranting. If anything he’d seemed amused by it. But maybe that was simply bravado to cover his vulnerability. As everyone kept reminding me, the man was not in the best of health.

No no no.
Things always seem starker at night with only our thoughts to keep us company. In all probability Ralf died as everyone said from natural causes as his cousin Michael and the sisters of Saint George believed. It was only Jane who thought otherwise and she was biased. He could simply have left Ralf’s body with the nuns and they would never have questioned his motives. Safer for him perhaps if he had for by now we would be in Acre and Ralf would be but a fading memory.

So why
had he decided to move him? The charitable answer was that it was an act of compassion, to carry Ralf to his home village where his family could more easily visit the grave. The less charitable answer was that Tottington was Samson’s own home village where practically everyone was his kin, surely no safer place to hide a body that held a secret. But now he wasn’t going to be left here either. On the frankly ludicrous excuse that no grave could be dug for him Ralf was to be moved again this time to Acre. I was quite sure that had Samson insisted some sort of grave could have been found, or failing that do as Absalom had suggested and leave the body until the thaw.

Well, the morning would give me an opportunity to find some of the answers when I examined the body properly. At least I had his agreement on that. Doubtless it would show my anxiety to be just that - groundless apprehension. I certainly hoped so. And I had the added comfort of knowing that I did so with Samson’s blessing for surely no true murderer would be so stupid as to permit another to scrutinize his victim.

Since I couldn’t sleep I decided I may as well go up to the church to say lauds. With all that had gone on since leaving Bury I had somewhat neglected my prayers and felt in need of spiritual renewal. So, wrapped in my robe and hood and with the night still not ended, I stepped out of Absalom’s hovel and set off up the slope at a brisk pace my breath billowing clouds in the freezing air before me.

Saint Andrew’s Tottington is a modest little church built largely of cob with a steep-pitched roof and lacking both aisle and tower but with a single bell gable at the western end. It amazed me to think that this simple place was where Samson had learned his catechism and first became inspired to take the cowl. A narrow porch sheltered the only door in the south wall of the nave through which I now entered.

The inside was
even darker and colder than outside and I had to pause for a moment for my eyes to adjust, but once they had I was pleasantly surprised to glimpse colour on the walls above me reflected in the light of the sanctuary lamp. I could still smell the sweet incense from the afternoon’s welcoming service and looked up to see a crude painting on the wall of a man driving a cart across a bridge that I took to be Saint Christopher carrying the Christ child. Christ in this painting bore an unnerving resemblance to most of the inhabitants of Tottington, I couldn’t help but notice. He was waving at me as though he were off on a picnic rather than carrying the weight of the whole world’s troubles on his narrow juvenile shoulders. It occurred to me that it was a pity Ralf hadn’t seen it for it is said that if a man should die alone as Ralf had done the image of Saint Christopher would protect him in the afterlife. Still, the painting was competently if amateurly executed.

A
s I stood admiring the painting I thought I heard a sound at the far end of the church and caught my breath. Surely no-one was in the church at this time of the morning? I looked over towards the chancel. In the gloom I could just make out a door to the left of the altar standing slightly ajar. This had to be the vestry where those two youths were to have taken Ralf’s body. I distinctly remembered telling them to lock the vestry door after them. Was someone in there now?

Another noise, this time I was certain
it came from the vestry. Who could be in there at this time of day? I went up the chancel steps and put my hand out to push the door open when it suddenly swung back and I came face to face with...

‘John. Isn’t that your name? I remember you from yesterday. Yes, John
father of four sons. Or was it five?’

The man looked as startled to see me as I was to see him. ‘What are you doing here, brother?’

‘What am
I
doing here? What are
you
doing here? And where is Father Absalom? I thought he was spending the night here.’

‘I’ve come...to clean the church.’

‘At this hour?’

The man started to pull the door to the vestry closed behind him. I looked suspiciously over his shoulder.

‘What’s going on in there?’

I pushed past him and opened the door wide. Without windows the room was in darkness but there was just enough light coming from the chancel to see inside. The room was tiny. It contained a vestment trunk, a crucifix, a table, some hooks with vestments hanging from them, and set up in the middle of the room was a pair of trestle stands and boards - presumably where Ralf’s body had been resting. But of the body there was no sign.

I went back outside. ‘I think you owe me an explanation. And don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The body - Father Ralf’s body. Where is it?’

‘It was taken, brother.’

‘Taken? What do you mean it was taken? Taken where?’

‘To Acre, brother.’

For a moment I couldn’t speak. Finally I managed to ask: ‘Who told you to do that? No, don’t tell me. I can guess.’

I knew it had been too easy. Samson had been far too ready to agree to my demand to view the body. I had been tricked again. What a fool I was to trust him! As I rolled my eyes to heaven for assistance they alighted again on the wall painting of Saint Christopher driving a cart across a bridge with the Christ child standing on the back. But this time he wasn’t so much waving as mocking me.

‘Father abbot!’

‘Walter my boy
. What’s the matter, couldn’t you sleep? I slept wonderfully. Look, Absalom has prepared a wonderful repast for us. Come, sit, eat.’

‘I’ve been in the church
, father.’

‘Have you now?’

‘Where I found this man.’ I thrust John forward who stood between us.

Samson looked the man up and down. ‘Good morning John.’

‘Morning father,’ he mumbled.

‘How are you today?’

‘Well, thank you father.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. Your boys? Wife
Alice?’

‘The body, father,’ I
interrupted.

‘Oh not yet Walter, the day has barely begun.’

‘It’s gone.’

‘Has it indeed?’

‘You know it has.’ I jabbed a finger towards John. ‘This man said you told him to take it to
Acre.’

‘That’s right, I did.’

I looked at him with incredulity. ‘Why? You knew I wanted to examine him this morning.’

‘That was my fault, I’m afraid,’ said Absalom coming
in from the yard with an armful of logs. ‘I told John to send the carrier on ahead with the body. I thought it would save you the trouble.’

‘But Father Absalom, you heard me tell the abbot I wanted to examine the body this morning.’

Absalom shrugged. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know the carrier was going to arrive so early. A genuine mistake.’

I just stood
staring with my mouth gaping open.

‘Good, well that’s that mystery solved,’ smiled Samson reaching for a bread roll. ‘Have some breakfast, Walter.
Absalom’s just baked some bread.’

‘I don’t want any breakfast.’

‘Then don’t have any,’ snapped Samson. ‘But you will end these childish emotional outbursts or you will feel my wrath once we return to Bury.’ He threw down the roll he was holding. ‘For your information, I told John yesterday that we were leaving today and he kindly offered to arrange for a cart to take the body in order to save us having to use the mules again. If you had come to the service instead of spying on me you’d have known that.’

‘I wasn’t spying.’

‘Walter, I know exactly what you were talking to Michael about because he told me.’

‘That’s right, brother.’

I turned to see Michael standing in the doorway. It was a shock to see him. I’d assumed because Ralf and Samson had been enemies Michael would be too. With him was Jane who seemed to be wriggling as though she had a flea. But then I saw that she was struggling to hold on to a puppy that was fighting to get out of her arms. Now it escaped and came scampering towards Samson and me.

‘Esme!’ she snapped darting for
the creature. ‘Come here!’

Without thinking I scooped up the tiny
thing before Jane could reach it. For a few moments I couldn’t see for hot tongues and wet noses covering my face. When I did manage to open my eyes again I saw they were all staring at me. Samson rose from his seat.

‘When you’ve
finished doing whatever it is you’re doing with that creature,’ he said, ‘gather your things together and meet me out in the yard. It is still a few hours’ ride to Acre.’

W
hile I struggled to keep hold of the puppy he eased his way out of the room giving me and the puppy as wide a berth as he could.