“Abbot, please! This is all rubbish, complete gibberish. I’ve not harmed anyone; it’s a lie to say I killed these men.”
Baldwin ignored his cry. “But it was truly foolish to try to pull the same method of escape as he had used in Bayonne.”
“What do you mean?” Champeaux asked.
“That little mob at your gate? It was a stunt to scare Antonio into running away from here, so that all guilt could be deflected from Luke again, and he could quietly vanish in a different direction with the money he robbed from your townspeople.”
“It was the friar’s fault! He preached against usury!”
“It is easy to stand at the back of a crowd which has been drinking, and by dropping the odd word rouse them to anger – and who easier for a target than a usurer? Usury is a sin, yet usurers are rich. Jealousy as well as righteous indignation will make men want to attack them. You incited the people to anger against the bankers.”
“But why did he think he had to kill Lybbe?” the Abbott persisted. “So what if Lybbe was in Bayonne? It was unlikely he would recognize Luke again – why should he murder on the off-chance?”
“Because I knew him from before then,” Lybbe interrupted firmly. “This man was the approver who accused me of being with his gang. It was this man’s word that declared me an outlaw.”
“Is this true?” the Abbot asked. He felt as if nothing new could surprise him today.
“No, my lord. He’s just…”
“Listen to me, my son. If it is true, I can at least pray and intercede for you, but if you continue to lie there is nothing I can do. You will go to your death in ignominious falsehood. It will not save you in this life, and God Himself, from Whom no secrets are hidden, will judge you in the next. Can you not see that there is no reason, no justification, no security, in lying to me now? Please, please, as you love your everlasting soul, confess your guilt to me now if you can, for otherwise you will be damned!”
Simon knew how much the Abbot had liked the novice that this wretch had murdered, and if the bailiff had been in the Abbot’s shoes, he would have wanted only to damn the servant. Yet the Abbot spoke with a strained, desperate sincerity. He was begging the man to confess so that he could do all in his power to protect his immortal soul. It was not a task Simon could have undertaken. He realized with a jolt just how awesome were the responsibilities of an Abbot.
Baldwin, he saw, felt a disgust similar to his own for the creature. His demeanor surprised the bailiff, for he knew of Baldwin’s past as a Knight Templar, and half-expected his friend to desire the same protection of Luke’s soul as the Abbot, yet he could see the knight loathed the sight of the servant, and with a flash of intuition he realized why: the Knights Templar had been destroyed, Baldwin had once told him, by lying spies who dressed as Templars in order to denounce them. In his own small and mean way, Luke had done the same. If his petty thefts had become widely known, he might have ruined the faith of the portmen in their monks, and that was something Baldwin would never be able to forgive.
Simon kept his face blank. He was not prepared to give the man any sympathy. Luke didn’t deserve it.
It was then that Luke moved. He must have planned it for some moments, for the action was so smooth and executed so flawlessly that it could only have been considered well in advance.
As Simon and Baldwin watched, and the Abbot leaned forward with sympathy in his eyes, Luke sprang forward, shoving Lybbe from his path. Baldwin and Simon were transfixed in astonishment as Luke spun to a halt beside the Abbot and whipped out a small knife from under his shirt. He held it to the Abbot’s neck.
“Keep back!” he snarled as Baldwin made to move forward.
Simon was rooted to the spot. The burst of energy had been so sudden, he had been incapable of action, and now it was over he was too shocked to move. The threat of the small blade was too obvious to risk.
Baldwin was speaking. “You will never leave this room alive if you so much as scratch his flesh.”
“I’ll kill him if you come closer.”
“You will die first!”
“You think so? Maybe I’m better able to defend myself against you than you against me, knight! If you draw your sword, Abbot Robert will die.”
“I don’t need a sword against you. A sword is an honorable weapon. You only merit a dagger.”
“You hear that, Abbot? I only merit a mean weapon, not a true and honorable sword,” Luke hissed in the Abbot’s ear. “I feel so sad. Perhaps with my little knife at your neck you feel the same, eh?”
Behind him was the door to the chapel, still open from Edgar and Lybbe’s entrance, and while Baldwin sidled forward, Luke made his way toward it, still gripping the Abbot by the neck. He reached the door and entered, his captive glancing down with his eyes three times in rapid succession as he passed through.
Simon was still gazing uncomprehendingly at the closed door when the knight made a stabbing gesture with his finger. “Edgar, wait here. If he comes out again, don’t let him pass.” The Keeper darted from the room as his servant drew his short sword with a slither of steel.
“Oh, God’s blood!” Simon realized the Abbot had been signalling with his eyes: there must be another door from the chapel. Beneath was an undercroft, and there must be a stair going down to it. He barged the dumbfounded Holcroft from his path and rushed after his friend.
The tiny, narrow spiralling staircase took them down to the gate beneath the Abbot’s private chamber, and Baldwin saw in a flash that the door to the stew-ponds and orchards was firmly closed and bolted. Without looking for Simon he ran out into the prayle. He paused a moment to stare all round. There was no sign of the man. The Abbey church rose solemn and proud on his left, the dorter and reredorter were before him, the infirmary a broad block on the right, beyond which lay the small garden where the infirmarer kept his herbs.
The door to the undercroft was partly open. He made a quick decision and stepped to it, kicking it wide, peering in to pierce the darkness. There was no sign of Luke, but with the barrels and bundles lying all round that was no surprise. He muttered an angry curse. Motioning to Simon to run and check the infirmarer’s herbary, he entered the undercroft.
A thin light lanced in through the narrow, high windows, and in it he could see the dust whirling and dancing. It lighted the stores, reflecting dully from the metal hoops and rivets on the barrels, glowing gently as it touched the yellow-gray sacks of meal and grain. He heard a skittering in a corner, and spun toward it, but the small shape that scuttled away so quickly was only a rat.
Breathing noiselessly, his mouth open, ears alert to catch the faintest sound, he cautiously stepped round the wall, keeping the light over his head so that he remained in the gloom beneath. The dust would protect him, shining in the light while he passed behind, but soon he realized that while it protected him, it also helped his prey remain hidden. It was impossible to penetrate the column of sunlight as he walked behind it; it was too bright, the rest of the chamber too somber.
He heard a cautious footstep crunch on a loose pebble. Holding his breath, his scalp tingling with anticipation, Baldwin drew his dagger and edged silently into the room.
24
Simon pelted along past the infirmary, glancing at the door. If Luke had dashed in there, the bailiff reasoned, they must have heard the door slam as they came out of the lodging. Ignoring it, he rushed on to the herbary. Here he found an elderly monk raking a patch of neatly tended soil. The old man looked up, startled to see a breathless man rush past, and as Simon skidded to a halt, staring round the dog-leg toward the well, he leaned on his rake and watched silently.