“We don’t know for certain it was him,” said Baldwin.
“ You may not, I do! I want him whipped-God’s blood! What if he’s…if he’s polluted her, I’ll have his-”
“Husband, the least we can do now is consider how to find her and bring her back.”
“Find her? Of course we’ll have to find her, woman!”
Baldwin took the sputtering, furious merchant by the arm and began to direct him back toward the hall. His voice was low and calm, talking with an unhurried steadiness that soothed the irate man. “You mentioned the Venetian. Was that the younger man? I thought so, yes-it was Pietro. Avice was in her room? Fine, I see. There was little more for a concerned father to do, other than manacle her to a ring, and that is not the way to earn the love and trust of your daughter, is it? Of course not…Ah, here we are.”
They had arrived once more in the hall, and Baldwin directed the now compliant father to a seat, then sent the maid for wine and water. Marion sat, hands in her lap, while she considered her husband. She had told him it wouldn’t work, she’d said they should pack immediately and leave, but he had refused because of his business. He had all the furs still, he hadn’t managed to sell them yet, and he had to remain in Tavistock to try to get rid of them. “She’ll be all right locked in her room,” he’d said. This was how all right she was, Marion thought bitterly. Probably ruined already, and John wouldn’t want her like that. He came from an old family, and they would expect any woman he chose to be pure, no matter how rich her parents.
The wine arrived, and Baldwin filled a goblet, nodding to the man to drink. Arthur lifted it to his mouth with shaking hands, sipped, then put it down. His Avice had run away, it was inconceivable!
“Sir, when was your daughter last seen?” Baldwin asked.
“I don’t know. Marion?”
“About the middle of the morning.”
“Thank you, madam. And she had been forbidden, I assume, to see this boy again, is that right?”
“Yes,” Arthur said heavily. “We told her this morning. You see, we’d checked up on him and his father, and they were not as they portrayed themselves. The pair of them had made out they were prosperous, yet I know that they only have poor riding ponies. Would a wealthy man stint on his horse-flesh like that?”
“I see.” Baldwin chewed his lip. There was one thing that concerned him more than any other. “Tell me, do you know of any reason why he should have decided to run away with your daughter now?”
“Yes. I saw him this morning, arrogant damned fool!” Arthur explained with a sidelong glance at his wife-he hadn’t told her this yet. After seeing Pietro, he had been so angry that he had gone straight back to the tavern. “I informed him he would not be able to see my daughter again, that he was not suitable for her as far as I was concerned.”
“I see. What did he do after you spoke with him?”
“He scampered off toward the Abbey. After what I said, I assumed he’d never dare to show his face again.”
“Do you have horses kept here?”
“Yes, there are stables at the back in a yard.”
“Has your daughter’s gone?”
“I don’t know-follow me!”
He rose and hurried out to the screens. The back door gave onto a small yard with stabling on the left. While he went to question the groom, Baldwin cast an eye upward. There was a ladder leaning against the wall. “That’s how, then,” he said to Simon, jerking his head at it.
“Not the most difficult inference you’ve ever made,” Simon muttered.
There was a cry from the stable, and they ran over to the entrance. Inside they found the merchant bending over a squirming figure. “The bastard tied up my groom!” Arthur bawled indignantly.
The knight bent over Henry and cut the cords binding his arms and feet. Edgar helped him to his feet and with his help Henry was taken to his palliasse and laid down on it gently. The knight stood at his side.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Baldwin asked.
“I was clobbered, sir,” Henry said painfully. “Someone belted me from behind.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“No, sir. All I know is, I was out here seeing to the horses, and next thing I had a headache and was trussed like a capon.”
“You didn’t see which way they went?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you hear anything? Screams or shouting?”
“Do you mean,” Arthur said, drawing himself straight with indignation, “do you mean to suggest that my daughter might have willingly eloped with this Venetian jackanapes?”
“It is possible,” said Baldwin, raising a hand to cut short the angry expostulation that Pole’s daughter would never connive at such a betrayal of her parents’ wishes. “At this moment we don’t even know for sure that Pietro da Cammino is involved. We shall leave you now, and go to the Abbey to question him.”
“He won’t be at the Abbey-I tell you he’s run off!”
“In that case, when we have made sure he is not at the Abbey, we will organize a search for him-and her.”
“There is one more thing, Sir Baldwin. If the Abbot doesn’t believe this, tell him that his guest, that bastard Pietro, has been impersonating a monk.”
“What?”
“My man saw him last night. He was dressed like a Benedictine, wandering round the town. My daughter met him, and he wooed her under the protection of holy garb.”
“God’s blood!” Simon breathed. “Was he the thief?”
21
S imon and Baldwin sent Edgar to get their horses saddled and bridled, and ran across the court to the Abbot’s lodging. A monk told them he was in his private chapel, and they had to wait, chafing at the delay, while another monk went in and asked the Abbot to see them.
“My friends-do you have news from the girl?”
Simon told of the missing girl, and the Abbot froze. “But…the Venetians have gone.”
“When?” Baldwin asked quickly.
“After the rabble came to the gate. Both Pietro and their servant were terrified by the appearance of so many ruffians calling for their blood. Someone had roused them against bankers. Pietro insisted that they should leave. His father was unwilling at first, not wanting to lose his deal with me, but I refused it, and he agreed to leave then.”
“It would appear that Pietro had an ulterior motive. The crowd at the gate gave him his excuse, and he took his chance.”
“Sir Baldwin, you must find them.”
“We shall try, sir. But where they could have gone is a matter of guesswork. We will need to hunt them down carefully.”
“I shall come to the yard with you. It’s impossible for me to join you on the Feast Day of the Abbey’s saint, but at least I can make sure you are sent off with as many men as possible.”
So saying, Abbot Robert led the way out of the room. A monk was outside in the Prayle, and the Abbot called him over, telling him to prepare men to join the hunt. He scurried off and the Abbot and the others continued on their way.
Edgar stood waiting with the horses, and Baldwin took the reins from his servant. “The trouble is, we have no idea where they might have gone. Do you have a hunter used to tracking animals?”
“I do, but he’s not here, he’s out working.”
Simon said, “Surely they’ll make straight for the coast? Plymouth would be best for them.”
“Perhaps,” Baldwin mused. “But the port there is very small. The chances of finding a ship before we catch up with them are remote, unless they have a ship waiting.”
“Did they leave in a great hurry?” Simon asked the Abbot. “What about their clothes and belongings-are all gone?”
“I don’t know, I…You,” he called to a lay brother. The man ambled over, a spade on his shoulder like a weapon. “Go to the guest-master and find out whether the Venetians left anything behind. Quickly, brother!”