“Do you deny inventing money and lands in order to con the Abbot out of his fleece?” Simon shot back, and the Venetian blinked.
“Of course I do! It’s rubbish!”
Baldwin looked up from the papers, interested by the tone of outrage. “Then why do you travel on broken-down nags? Where are your palfreys, if you are so rich? No banker or merchant would ride on such demeaning stock.”
“Perhaps not by choice, Sir Baldwin, but we don’t always have much choice. When one is waylaid and robbed, one has to buy the best horse-flesh one can. Is it a crime to be a victim?”
“And what of your friendship with Bishop Stapledon of Exeter?” asked Champeaux.
“What of it?”
“I wrote to him, and I have heard that he hardly knows you.”
“The Bishop denies knowing us?”
Antonio’s eyes grew round, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. The expression was so convincing that the Abbot had to glance at Baldwin to gauge his feelings.
The knight was nodding as if it were no surprise.
“Abbot,” Antonio pleaded. “Tell me what I am supposed to have done. Of what am I accused? Of trying to arrange a business deal with you? Of running from a mob determined to lynch me? What am I guilty of?”
Simon scratched his cheek. “There were many robberies while you were in Bayonne. You were in the tavern on the night Torre was murdered. Some have said you saw Lybbe and recognized him from Bayonne. They say you knew that if he spoke of what you had been up to there…”
“I wasn’t up to anything!”
“… you could be uncovered as a fraud and a thief, dressed up in expensive clothes. So you left before he could see you, and waited in an alley until he passed, then stabbed him. Thinking it was a job well done, you hurried back to be with the Abbot.”
“Me! I never killed Torre – why should I?”
“He looked the same as Lybbe, didn’t he, from behind? Especially in the dark. Their figures were very similar.”
“Why should I kill him? And why cut off his head?” he demanded disbelievingly.
“Oh, we know all about that,” Simon said dismissively. “Lybbe saw the body and realized you had done it thinking it was him. He took the head. But he only damaged a dead body; it was you who actually killed the man.”
“No! I had nothing to do with it – nothing! We saw him in the tavern, yes, but that was all. I’m no murderer.”
“And all so that you could rob the Abbey,” Simon continued.
“No, I swear…”
Baldwin turned from his ashen face to that of the son. “What of you, boy? Did you know about all this?”
“Me? All I know is that I wanted to marry Avice. I still do, I love her.”
“You were seen the night before Peter died, wearing a monk’s habit.”
The young man took a deep breath. “It is true, and I apologize, Abbot. I will undertake any penance, but I never…”
“What? Carried out robberies as you had done in Bayonne?” Baldwin said sharply.
“No. I have never robbed or stolen.”
“Then why the monkish garb?” asked Simon.
“How was I to meet Avice? Her father sent servants with her to prevent me from seeing her. I only used a habit as a disguise so that I could meet her. I returned it when I got back.”
“It was a serious crime, nonetheless,” said the Abbot sternly.
“You have my apology, my lord Abbot, but I did no harm.”
“Have you heard about the robberies?” Baldwin probed.
“What robberies?”
“When you were in Bayonne, there were rumors of a man in monk’s habit who was attacking people. His last victim died. We know a man in monk’s habit has been knocking men down here as well and stealing their purses.”
“It wasn’t me! That evening when I went to see Avice was the first time I ever wore a habit.”
Baldwin saw the door open, and Holcroft’s face as he hurried in, Luke behind him. The port-reeve held a bundle in his hands. “My lord, this was found in Pietro’s bags.”
Champeaux stared as he shook out the Benedictine habit. The black cloth rippled as the Abbot met Luke’s eyes. “Where was it?”
“In the boy’s saddlebags.”
Pietro’s mouth fell open. “No! It’s a lie! It isn’t mine!” He moved forward convulsively, the chains of his manacles rattling as he reached toward the Abbot. “Believe me, I know nothing about this.”
“Silence, Pietro!” Simon said quietly.
Baldwin’s gaze was fixed on the servant. Luke was obviously terrified. It must be a novel experience to bear witness against his master, the knight thought. But not as novel as some of his other experiences. “Edgar?”
Champeaux heard the door to his chapel open, and turned to see Baldwin’s servant walk in with Jordan Lybbe. Baldwin glanced at the outlaw. “Well?”
“It’s him,” Lybbe confirmed, and pointed to Luke.
The servant was transfixed. “What is this? Who is this?”
Baldwin relaxed in his chair. “Abbot, you told us that on the night Torre was murdered, Antonio and Pietro were here with you as the bell for compline rang.” He passed over the novice’s papers. “Peter’s notes confirm Lizzie’s words: she recalled the bell tolling as Torre left her. He was alive at compline, but then Antonio and Pietro were already here.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“But their servant wasn’t with you.”
“No, we had our food in my study. The servants were in the hall.”
“This man went out of the Abbey and clothed himself in his habit. No wonder Torre didn’t try to protect himself. If he saw his attacker, he would never have associated a monk with danger.”
“No, sir, it was Pietro,” Luke said, his face white. “Why would I have killed the man? Pietro knew that he and his father were in danger if Lybbe recognized them. You would hear that your business with them was false, that they were trying to steal from you.”
“They were with me when he was killed,” Champeaux said steadily.
“You don’t know that! How can you know exactly when he died? And why should I kill the boy, the novice? Pietro killed him because they were rivals for the girl.”
“That was what made me realize he could have had nothing to do with the murders. He knew he had no rival in love,” Baldwin said. “Pietro already knew she had refused the novice. She told him when he saw her up at the fair – when he had borrowed your robe.” That was a guess, but when he shot a look at Pietro, he saw the lad nod with slow, appalled understanding.
“Why should I kill the novice?” Luke cried beseechingly, holding his hands out to the Abbot like a supplicant. “I had no reason to, lord Abbot.”
Simon clapped a hand to his brow. “He saw you, didn’t he? He saw you in the street.”
“That’s it, Simon,” said Baldwin encouragingly.
Champeaux looked from one to the other. “So what if he did? Surely there were hundreds who would have seen this man if he was impersonating a monk?”
“Hundreds or maybe thousands,” Baldwin agreed. “But none of them would have seen more than a habit. A portman would look at the cloth and see a monk. Another monk wouldn’t. A monk would see a man, and a man he should recognize. You have what – fifty men in the convent who wear the habit? Peter saw a man he assumed must be a friend, but when he saw the face he realized it was an imposter.”
“Abbot, it’s untrue!”
“Torre was killed because you thought it was Lybbe, and he could have guessed what you’d been doing, couldn’t he?” Baldwin mused. “And you had to murder poor Peter because he saw you in your robes.”
“No, this is all nonsense,” Luke declared, holding out his hands.
“You thought Lybbe might recognize you,” Simon said dispassionately. “You weren’t with Antonio when he came back here to dine with the Abbot. You saw your chance. Instead of going to eat with the other servants, you hurried to your room, took up your habit, and left the Abbey.”
“It was easy enough, for visitors are not to be kept imprisoned,” said Baldwin to the Abbot. “He went off to the tavern, found a suitable alley, and lay in wait. When he saw his man, or someone who looked like his man, he struck. In the dark he did not realize it was the wrong man. Later, he was merely surprised when he heard about the mutilation of the corpse. It was a horrible thing to have happened to a corpse, but what would Luke care? As far as he knew, it was still the correct man who had died, so what did someone removing the head matter? The threat to his life was gone, that was all that counted.”