It did not matter whether it was the king or Despenser who had had the idea. Probably it was Despenser, he thought. That man would leave no purse unopened in his ambition to be as rich as Croesus. And thinking that the abbot could have been himself guilty of similar greedy manipulation of events, they thought that they could take advantage of his desires.
So in order to become abbot, he need only collect the sum demanded, and in return the king would confirm his favoured position. If he were to pay, he could guarantee Edward’s approval. That would be a strong inducement for a man of limited honour and much greed.
‘Father Abbot! Father Abbot, you should come at once.’
‘What is it, my son?’
The novice was a boy called Peter, and he stood before Robert now, panting, his round face ruddy, eyes staring. ‘It’s the messenger. The king’s messenger? He’s died, Father Abbot. He was found over at the roadside near Tavymarie. Looks like he fell from his poor horse and died, Father Abbot, drowned in a pool of mud at the river’s side!’
Robert Busse nodded and stood. He looked about him with a little smile, the roll of parchment still, in his hand, and then glanced down at it. He carefully stowed it in his scrip, before following the lad to view the body. The messenger would have to be laid out in the parish church of St Rumon, and the abbey would have to find money to provide mourners and pay for the body’s wrappings. And for another man to take the pouch with all the replies and messages to the king.
He smiled again now, a broad smile of understanding that did not touch his eyes.
If he was cynical, he might think that someone could have wanted to catch a messenger with an incriminating message. Perhaps a message from an abbot-elect agreeing to pay for the post to be confirmed. Even a message that gave details of the precise amount to be paid, signed by the abbot himself. Such a piece of parchment would be worth much to a man who was ruthless enough to consider taking it. Such a scrap could be rewarded by an abbacy.
It was fortunate, he considered, that he was neither cynical nor a fool. And that he had no intention of stealing money from the abbey to fund his elevation.
The abbacy was entirely in the hands of God. Robert Busse would not demean the position by stealing to gain it.
Abbeyford Woods
Simon and Sir Richard gazed about them as they returned to the wide space in the middle of the trees. It was a glorious place for a camp, and Simon could easily understand why it would have been chosen, although there was one detail that confused him. It had been in his mind already, but Mark’s discovery of the crucifix had somehow solidified it. ‘What were they doing so far north of the road from Oakhampton?’
Sir Richard looked at him questioningly. ‘Eh?’
‘Just look at this place. The Exeter road is due east from Oakhampton. If they’d been going to the king, they’d have carried on to Exeter and London, so they’d have left Oakhampton by the Crediton Road. Why turn north?’
The coroner shrugged. ‘That is something to consider,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps they were lost? It happens. I once left a town near London and started off towards home, as I thought, but when the clouds cleared I learned I was heading off to Scotland. When it’s cloudy, it is easy to become confused.’
Brother Mark sniffed haughtily. ‘It was a clear day.’
‘What was?’
‘The day that these fellows left. It was just over two weeks ago, and we have had excellent weather from then until a week ago. Do you try to tell me that they would have had the immense stupidity to think that north was east? If this was the group, there were two good brothers with them, and although Pietro didn’t know the area, Brother Anselm would never have made so elementary an error.’
‘Oh, really?’ the coroner said, and would have continued, but then he frowned, and nodded. ‘Even a monk with a butcher’s crop must know where the sun rises and sets.’
‘Well, Anselm did. I know he was good at directions. It makes no sense for him to have come up here.’
Simon left them and began searching about the area.
The charcoal burner was standing watching the three, arms akimbo, an expression of amusement on his face. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Anything that could tell us what happened here,’ Simon said shortly. ‘Sometimes the men who commit acts of this nature can leave signs behind to show who they were.’
‘There’s no doubt who they were,’ the charcoal burner said.
‘You know?’ Simon asked.
‘I reckon anyone east of here would be able to guess. They don’t often come here, but just recently there’s been a number of folks killed on the roads.’
‘Not here, you say?’ Sir Richard demanded. ‘Where, then? Who do you think could be responsible?’
‘Sirs, I come from Coleford. I only wander over here a few times each year. Round my home, there are always stories of men being knocked on the head and their goods stolen. And I’m told that there is a large force in Bow. A force of men that would be able to fight even a large party of travellers.’
The coroner’s face took on a scowl. ‘Bow? That’s where Sir Robert lives, isn’t it? He’s a knight.’
Brother Mark gave a short harrumph.
‘What is that supposed to mean, Brother Mark?’ Sir Richard said sharply.
‘Only that there are enough knights who have failed to live up to their chivalric ideals. Would you be so shocked to learn that this Sir Robert was another in the same mould?’
‘Monk, you overstep your position,’ Sir Richard said. ‘But in this case you may be right.’
Brother Mark sniffed disdainfully.
‘Do you know many who live about this area?’ Simon said to the charcoal burner.
‘A few. Most are up at Jacobstowe.’
‘How far’s that?’ the coroner said, still eyeing Brother Mark suspiciously.
Simon could answer him. ‘It’s only a matter of a mile or so. I assume that’s where they took the bodies?’
‘I reckon,’ the charcoal burner agreed.
‘Did you tell the coroner about your suspicions?’ Simon said.
‘No. He didn’t see me. The others around here, they all wanted to keep it quiet.’
‘That’s stupid,’ the coroner declared. ‘Keep it quiet and they’ll be fined all the more.’
‘Aye, perhaps that’s true,’ the burner said easily. ‘But at least they won’t have Sir Robert of Traci coming to visit and ask ’em why they have been telling stories about him.’
Crediton
William atte Wattere had kept a tight grip on her all the way from the Exe to here, and Edith dared not make a sound as they rode up the high street, only praying that none of her father’s friends might see her and ask where she was going.
There were enough people whom she knew here. This was the town where she had gone all the time when she was a child, the only large market town near her home. And her father had regularly brought her here with her mother when he came to have discussions with the priests, especially Dean Peter at the church. It had sometimes seemed to her that more of her life was spent here in Crediton with her mother in the shops than was spent at their farm.
Surely someone must see her and comment? She hoped not. The thought of the man’s reaction were that to happen was too dreadful to contemplate. It made her shiver, and she could feel the hot bile in her throat at the thought. If anyone challenged them, he had made it clear what he would do.