The monk shrugged again. He was obviously just as confused.
Simon turned a frowning face to the young monk. “Tell me, David. How well did you know the abbot?”
“Not at all, really. I met him when he arrived at Tychfield, my abbey. He was on the way down to Buckland and I was asked to join him and take some goods and gifts with me. He wasn’t very talkative on the journey, he seemed too engrossed with his own thoughts for the most part, so I never really spoke to him much.”
“Oh. Oh well. So what do you know about him?”
“Well, not very much. He came from France, I know that. I saw his letters of introduction from the pope.”
“From the pope himself?” Simon was surprised. “What was he doing going to Buckland, then. I’d have thought he would have stayed in Avignon.”
David cast a quick glance at Simon, narrowing his eyes and obviously assessing him. “He may have found it better to be out of France.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well the new pope didn’t like the last one, so quite a number of men that were in favour then aren’t any longer. I think the abbot was unpopular with the new pope and he was given Buckland to get him out of France.”
“Oh?”
“He never wanted to talk about it, but…” He fell silent and pensive for a moment, but then continued in a rush, as if he wanted to get the words out before he could change his mind. “Well, I think that’s what happened. I think he wasn’t in favour any more. I think the new pope heard about something he had done and he was sent here to be out of the way, and the fact of it hurt him deeply – especially his pride. He was very proud.”
“Why do you say that?”
The monk gave a short laugh, sounding a little bitter. “I’m a monk! I may be young and new to the order, but even so… We’re supposed to be humble. He behaved like a knight in the way he treated others, always arrogant and often abusive. There were several times when he got drunk and insulted other people, and we had to calm them to stop him fighting them. But if you want to know more about the abbot, you’ll need to speak to brother Matthew. He came over with the abbot from France. He must know something about him.”
“Which is brother Matthew?”
“He’s the old one, the happy one – well, usually, he’s not happy now. Poor man! He seems to have taken the whole affair worse than any of us. I suppose because he came over with the abbot from France.”
“Were they friends?”
“Oh, I suppose so… that is… well, yes.” He seemed unsure.
They continued in silence for the rest of the journey. David seemed to almost regret having said as much as he already had and merely grunted at any attempt at further conversation, leaving Simon with the uncomfortable sensation of being a confidante without the pleasure of a secret to hold. He was relieved when they finally came up to the farmyard of Clanton Barton, and he looked forward to speaking to the others with anticipation, hoping that they would be able to shed some light on the affair.
But when he walked into the room with the great fire blazing away he was struck by a complete inability to frame his thoughts clearly, let alone ask any questions. It seemed grotesque to be asking about the abbot’s past in front of these good men when he had only just died, but he could think of nothing else to do. And then again, he knew that he must try to find out as much as possible about the man. It was not a pure guess that he would find answers in the man’s past, it was more a premonition that there must be a logical reason for the murder; especially the method of the killing. Why else would he have died in that way? Either it meant that the killers had taken him and murdered him for no purpose, or they knew him and wanted to kill him for some very specific reason. So the question was: would anyone want him dead? Why would they want to kill an abbot? The only way to find out was to question the monks – surely one among them must have some knowledge of the man who had led them?
“I suppose you have all heard that we found your abbot’s body?” he started, as he walked in and sat down, looking around at them all. They had all started at the sound of Simon’s voice when he had entered, all turning swiftly to stare, as if panicked by the mere sound of a human, looking as frightened as a flock of sheep upon hearing a dog. Now they seemed to be listening intently, sitting forward on their seats as he spoke and staring at him with the fixed, eagerly frowning concentration of men who would try their best to help. He sighed, this was not going to be easy. “He was killed by someone who tied him to a tree and burned him – probably while he was still alive. Obviously he was robbed, but that hardly explains the matter, does it? Why should he have been killed in that way? Why would someone burn him like a heretic? I have no idea why or what could have happened, and I need your help.”
He stood and slowly paced the room behind the huddled monks, who turned to watch him. He kept his eyes on the ground, carefully thinking as he went, as if he was talking to himself and not to them, almost as if he was unaware of their presence. “He was taken from you, as if he was to be kept for a ransom; he was taken deep into the woods like a hostage. But robbers normally go in larger groups, they don’t usually go around in pairs. They stay within a group so that they can ambush travellers more easily. So were these men part of a bigger group, or were they alone? Only the two were seen, there were no tracks of any others, so it seems that they were alone.
“They took the abbot into the woods. That would be normal, to avoid the roads and make an escape before the hue and cry could be raised. But normally it would mean that the robbers would be trying to escape, to go somewhere safe, somewhere to hide with their hostage and his money until they could claim the ransom. These men simply tied the abbot to a tree and set fire to him. Why? Why would they do that?” He spun around and glowered at the monks. “I can’t see a reason.”
He slowly tramped back to his chair by the fire, sat and stared at them again. “So I want you to tell me all you can about this abbot. What was his name, where did he come from, why was he going to Buckland? Everything. Who knew him best, out of all of you?”
He tried to ask the question as gently as possible, but the monks all stared at him in silent alarm, as if they were scared that he might accuse one of them of wanting the abbot dead. Perhaps it was the shock of the realisation that this seemed to be no ordinary attack by robbers that held them so quiet, but after a few minutes Simon could feel his confusion at the lack of response turning to impatience.
He looked over at David, his voice harsher. “One of you must have known him, even if only a little. Who was he? What was he like?”
“He was a proud man.” It was a statement of fact, a mild comment, as if it was an easily pardonable fault in one who ranked high in God’s army. The oldest monk had spoken -no longer the cheerful monk who could wink as if snaring a joke, now he was a small, worried man who sat with his eyes cast down as if he feared the response of his brothers, but even as Simon looked at him, his gaze came up to meet Simon’s questioning scowl with calm defiance. He seemed to consider for a moment, then continued. “He had been a knight in France and had served the pope well, which gave him his pride, and he was favoured by Pope Clement, rest his soul, until Clement died. Afterwards he was offered Buckland, and he resolved to come here to spend his last years in peace and dedication.”
“Your name?”
“I said Matthew.”
“Thank you. So who was he?”