And then there was one last crashing blow to his head, and he knew no more.
Crediton
The road back home was quiet.
Edith was aware of a faint unease in her belly as they rode, but she wasn’t going to tell her father that. There was enough on his mind already.
Sir Richard and Simon had ridden to Tavistock to speak with Cardinal de Fargis already, and had told him all that they had learned, as well as returning to him the chest with the king’s silver. The cardinal had been glad to receive it, Simon was sure, but it was not enough to compensate him for the death of two good monks.
‘Pietro was an old friend. And Anselm, so sad to see a man tortured by his desires. That he should have allowed them to rule his heart in so marked a manner — that is terrible. The poor man.’
‘He was willing to plot to have all those travelling with him murdered,’ Simon pointed out.
‘Was he? Or was that a matter over which he had little or no control? I do not pretend to see into a man’s heart, Master Puttock. That is God’s task. For me it is enough that I see so much sadness. So much greed and jealousy.’
‘You mean the selection of the new abbot?’
‘Which of the two men would you choose?’
Simon looked away. This was not something he could do. Any answer he gave must be hazardous, for whomsoever he chose would be sure to hear of it, and then the other would learn that Simon had not supported him. And either of the two monks was a bad enemy to have. Busse was known to have dabbled in magic to try to win his post, while de Courtenay was a perfect menace, and with his powerful connections could make life intolerably hard for a man like Simon. ‘I … er …’
‘Yes. I too have a similar problem,’ Cardinal de Fargis said with a wintry little smile.
‘It isn’t the kind of decision I’d be qualified to make,’ Simon said.
‘Either will prove to be a dangerous influence if the other is made abbot.’ The cardinal continued as though Simon had not spoken. ‘So perhaps it would be better if neither was to have it. And neither was to remain here.’
He looked up suddenly, and appeared to notice Simon for the first time. A faintly bemused expression wandered over his face. ‘Ah. And you heard about the king’s messenger?’
‘Yes. A great pity,’ Simon said, remembering the man with whom he had travelled.
‘He had a great number of messages still in his pouch, my friend,’ the cardinal said thoughtfully. ‘There were several from men around here who were writing to my lord Despenser. I think you should be very careful in his presence. He is a most dangerous adversary.’
It was those words that echoed in Simon’s mind now as he rode home, but Edith had no idea of the cause of his grim face and apparent ill humour. For her part, she was filled only with a determination to get back home to her husband as soon as possible.
‘You will come to see your mother?’ Simon asked.
‘Only for the night, Father. I have to get home and see my husband.’
‘Of course,’ Simon said, and there was a stilted pause.
‘I think I should return home,’ Baldwin said after a few moments.
‘I would be sad to see you leave and not come to visit, Baldwin,’ Simon said. ‘Margaret will be disappointed.’
Edith looked from one to the other, and then back at Edgar, who wore a most untypical expression of seriousness. She was suddenly struck with a sense of how these two men, both of whom she adored, had been driven apart. There was a gulf between them, where before there had been only comradeship. She would have thought that nothing could have caused them to become so distant from each other, and the fact that it had been caused by the threat to which she had been exposed served only to make her feel guilty. Looking back at Edgar again, she felt a quick resolve.
‘Nonsense,’ she said. ‘Sir Baldwin, you must certainly come and rest at Father’s house. You have risked your life to help us, and I would not hear of you continuing tonight.’
‘Edith, if he says that he should carry on to his wife, you are in no position to prevent him,’ Simon said.
‘Father, I owe perhaps my life to Sir Baldwin. If it were not for his swift response in riding after me to rescue me from Sir Robert of Traci, you would not have learned of my predicament and I might well still be there now — raped and injured. Yet you would see him leave to continue his journey at night in the cold? For shame!’
Simon’s jaw clenched, and he threw her a look of such pain that she wanted to apologise, but then with relief she heard him repeat his invitation to Sir Baldwin to stay the night.
‘Please do, Sir Baldwin,’ she said. ‘And then perhaps tomorrow you can ride with me to Exeter to protect me? I should be most grateful for your company.’
‘Of course,’ Sir Baldwin said with a gracious little bow. ‘I would be honoured to ride with you, if your father has no objection.’
‘How could I object?’ Simon responded, but he looked at neither of them. Instead his eyes remained fixed resolutely on the road ahead.
Tavistock Abbey
Brother Mark stepped into the chapter house and crossed the floor to the stone seat at the further wall. He sat, his eyes downcast, as he contemplated his decision.
It was some little while later that the other brothers filed in.
In the past, all the monks would have been chattering and laughing as they walked in, but not today. Not for the last few days. There had been a curious air of nervous expectation ever since the body of the messenger had been found and rumours had begun of the messages from Brother John found in his shirt. Although there had been attempts to keep news of the messages secret, it was impossible to prevent so many monks from enjoying the potential of such juicy gossip. It had flown about the abbey in a matter of hours.
It was the cardinal who entered last, and he walked to the middle of the chamber and looked about him with the cold, measuring eye of an executioner considering his next victim.
‘I am aware of the stories that are circulating about the two brothers who are in contention for the abbacy. They are both here now. I require them to step forward.’
Mark watched as the two monks approached the cardinal and stood, one at either side, their hands clasped, heads down like penitents.
‘These two have acknowledged their faults, and will now show their repentance by exchanging the kiss of peace,’ the cardinal said.
Of the two, Mark reckoned that Robert Busse was the less reluctant. With a show of distaste, he stepped forward and waited. Brother John wore a glower of loathing on his face as he contemplated his enemy. But then, he had plotted the murder of Robert. If the rumours were all true, he was guilty of terrible ambition and pride. Brother Robert himself was little better, though, if the stories of his thefts of gold and silver from the treasury were correct.
Brother John gave a gesture of disgust and went to meet Robert, and both gave a quick glance to the cardinal. He made no movement, and the two suddenly came together and exchanged a swift peck. As they stepped apart, Mark was sure that both would have wiped away that kiss if they were not being watched.
This was shameful. It was the sort of situation that Mark would expect from knights. He could remember now his animosity to Sir Richard de Welles, and felt shame. Sir Richard was a deeply honourable man in comparison to these two. It was appalling. It left Mark feeling tainted by their presence and their awful shame. Perhaps his own offence was less significant than he had realised. It was possible, after all, that God had given these two as a proof that his crime was of little import by comparison.
The chapter meeting continued with the business of the day being conducted swiftly enough, and then the cardinal made to leave.