At once many voices were raised, and the Abbot could hear nothing. He held up a hand. “One at a time, please! Now- you, you tell me what this is all about.”
The man he pointed to, a miner, met his gaze resolutely. “Abbot, we know you’ve got Venetians with you. They’re known to be criminals, felons. We came here to demand that you throw them out.”
“You demand that I throw out guests, when my duty of hospitality requires me to look after them?”
“Your duty doesn’t demand that you protect usurers and thieves, Abbot.”
There was an angry murmuring, and Abbot Robert held up his hand again. “Who among you accuses these men?”
“We were told,” the miner stated, but behind him Champeaux saw men shamefacedly letting their weapons drop, and others surreptitiously hiding them from sight.
“My friends, these men are here, but they are harmless. I assure you that they are innocent of any crime against me, against the Abbey, or against the town.”
“Isn’t it true they’re trying to make you sell them your wool?”
“No one can force me to sell my fleece. If it will make you comfortable, I swear I shall sell them nothing. There! You can have no quarrel with these men, and neither do I. Now disperse, before the watch comes to beat you away. I will have no fighting at my door, especially on St. Rumon’s Day. My monks have enough to do without mending your bones!”
It was a bold demand, but the crowd had lost its collective will to violence. The Abbot had seen such groups before. They gathered where there was too much ale, and a single man could rouse them to rage in a moment, but all too often another strong-willed man could cow them, and the faces here were more embarrassed than brutal. The Abbot took advantage of the sudden lull to make the Sign of the Cross, and that was enough to end it. As if it was an accepted signal, the crush thinned as men sought entertainment and more ale.
Heaving a sigh of relief, the Abbot watched as they faded away. It was a good-sized group, he thought to himself. If they had truly wanted to cause havoc, it would have been difficult even for the watch to dispose of them. He was doubly glad that he had been able to disperse them before they committed any acts of violence upon the Abbey or his monks.
As the men wandered away up the hill, Champeaux leaned through the wicket-gate and called to the gatekeeper, “Open the gates and let them stay open.”
As the great oaken doors rasped wide on their iron hinges, he glanced back. There were only a few pots and sticks to show where the crowd had been. He should have told the rioters to take away their own rubbish, but he reflected that it was all for the best that he had not. One such demand could have been enough to swing their mood back to violence again.
He was about to return to his study when he saw two figures hesitantly approaching-Pietro and his servant. The Abbot waited, outwardly calm and patient, but inwardly seething, sure that they were somehow responsible for the eruption.
“Are you all right?”
Pietro entered first, pale and wary. “Yes, my lord Abbot, I’m unhurt.”
“What caused this madness? Did you see what led to it?”
“No,” Pietro said, and there was a baffled look to him which brooked no debate. “I was returning when I saw the men here, and I hid from them.”
“I did,” said Luke, and he cast about him fearfully. “There was a friar in the market-place giving a sermon about usury, and he quoted my master’s name as a usurer. It was him who incited the crowd to fury, my lord Abbot.”
“Who gave my name? What’s the matter?” called Antonio genially. He had been taking a nap when he heard the row from the main gate, and had missed most of Luke’s words. “What have you been up to now, Luke?”
“A friar?” Champeaux repeated thoughtfully. Friars had often caused problems before through overzealous preaching, but this was the first time it had happened in Tavistock. “Antonio, there is nothing for you to fear. A few hotheads, that is all.”
“Fear?” Antonio gazed at him blankly. “Why should I fear?”
“Master,” Luke burst out excitedly, “it was that same friar-the one we saw on the way here, and again at the tavern. He was talking about usury and rousing the people against the sin, as he called it.”
“It seems as if it’s impossible to escape the prejudice of the uneducated,” Antonio said loftily.
“This has happened to you before?” Champeaux asked.
“Yes, in Bayonne,” Antonio said.
“But master, he was talking about you -he gave your name, he described you. The mob was after your blood!” Luke cried. “I thought we were going to be lynched.”
Pietro stared at Luke. He quickly turned to the Abbot. “My lord Abbot, I think it is dangerous for us to stay here now, and not good for the Abbey if we are likely to create disturbances by remaining. Perhaps it would be better for all if we were to leave.”
“We can’t, Pietro,” said Antonio. “Not yet.”
The Abbot shot him a look. It was clear enough what was on the Venetian’s mind: the deal for the fleeces. “I am sure you would be safe enough here, my friend, but if all that holds you back is our negotiation, I am afraid that I must refuse your offer.”
Antonio started. “But, Abbot, you…Is my offer not high enough? If I were to increase the amount…?”
“No, Antonio. I had to give my word to the mob to stop them from their mad rampage.”
“But, Abbot, surely…surely your word was given under duress. There’s no need for you to be bound by it…and think of the profit it would give you!”
“My word is my word, Cammino,” the Abbot said, and though his voice was calm, it held a steel edge. Antonio lifted his hands and let them fall in a gesture of defeat. He was stunned at the sudden reversal of his fortunes. This was the second blow in a year. He turned from the Abbot to glower balefully at the gates, now open. Apart from the debris, there was nothing to show that a few minutes before the rabble had congregated to bring about his ruin.
“In that case,” Pietro said, with a glance at his father, “I think we should leave immediately. If we remain we will only cause more trouble.”
“Very well, then. Go with my blessing,” said the Abbot agreeably.
He watched as the three made their way across the courtyard to their rooms, and was about to return to his study when something made him glance back outside.
There, strolling down the hill, were Simon and Baldwin with the women. Champeaux waited for them to arrive, but his eyes narrowed as he saw another man pelting past them down the hill. Soon the Abbot could make out the figure of Daniel. The fair-headed man dashed into the courtyard and cried breathlessly, “My lord Abbot, you must come! It’s Peter-he’s…he’s dead!”
19
T he Abbot had a sense of unreality as he stood in the alley staring down at the slumped figure clothed in the black habit of his Order. People clustered at the entrance to the alley, craning over the crossed polearms of two watchmen to peer at the body. Beyond, men and women strolled past, uninterested, as they made their way up to the fair or returned from it to their lodgings for a meal.
Champeaux had seen many dead bodies in his life-monks who had expired from fevers, old age, or occasionally famine, but there was something unutterably sad about this death. Peter was so young. He should have had many years to live, for he was healthy enough, and he might have become a good monk if he had resolved his problem with the girl. All men who entered the cloister were forced to come to terms with their vow of chastity, and Champeaux was convinced that the youth would have been able to as well. It was one thing to be tempted, but if one had to be, it was better that it should happen before taking the vows so that the problem could be confronted and the firm decision taken beforehand.