Read Online The Devil's Acolyte (2002) by Michael Jecks - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Jecks
Tags: Medieval/Mystery
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into the hole, you always lose a great deal,’ the Abbot acknowledged
caustically. ‘I think I was aware of that, Bailiff. So what does that prove?’
‘That your Steward is innocent. He wouldn’t be so crass as to waste this much wine; he’d have used a tap.’ Simon saw Augerus throw him a grateful look.
‘I see your point,’ the Abbot grunted.
‘Can you suggest someone else who might have done this terrible thing?’ Brother Peter asked. There was a strange note in his voice and Simon eyed him a moment before answering.
Peter’s dreadful wound seemed to shine in the gloomy light of the undercroft, and not for the first time in the years since Simon had first met him, he thought that a wound like that would
have killed anyone else. The pain and horror of such a shocking blow would have finished them off, or the wound would have got infected. Peter was very lucky to be alive, Simon thought – or
exceptionally unfortunate, forced to go through life with a blemish that made him repellent to men and women alike.
It was especially tragic, because he looked as though he had been a handsome fellow once – tall, strong-looking, with those square features and a high brow. Not now. He had adopted some
odd little mannerisms too, Simon considered, such as talking with a hand near his face as though to conceal the wound, and his habit of turning his face slightly, so that it was away from those to
whom he spoke.
Simon wondered whether he would want to live with a hideous mark like that ravaging his features. He concluded that he would have preferred death.
‘I am suggesting no one,’ he said finally. ‘I wasn’t here.’
‘It must have been someone from the town,’ Peter said briskly. ‘No monk would dare – or bother. We all receive our daily allowance, after all.’
The Abbot was gazing down at the barrel. ‘Whoever it is, I will pray for him that he should give up his career of felony. Perhaps he will come to me and confess his theft, and if he does,
I shall pray with him.’
And issue a highly embarrassing and shaming penance, Simon added to himself. He liked Abbot Robert, and respected him, but he knew that the Abbot would look harshly upon anyone who could dare to
steal his favourite wine. It would rank as foully as stealing his best mount or rache in the Abbot’s mind.
‘Bailiff, come with me. Peter, please arrange for this mess to be cleared. At once!’
‘Yes, my Lord Abbot.’
The Abbot swept from the room, his habit rustling the leaves and twigs along the floor. Simon and Hugh hurried after him.
‘So, Bailiff. The coining is proceeding apace, I trust?’
‘It was when you called me.’
‘My apologies for dragging you away,’ the Abbot said drily. ‘I am sure you would have wished to remain to observe such a thrilling sight.’
Simon said nothing. It was very rare for him to hear the Abbot sounding so . . . so petulant.
His master stopped and looked about him, then he motioned to Hugh to leave them and crooked a finger to beckon Simon to his side. They were alone in the space before his lodgings, and no one
could overhear the Abbot’s words. ‘Bailiff, I apologise for asking you here. It is important that you tell no one outside the Abbey what you saw in there. You understand me?’
‘Of course. But why?’
The Abbot gave a dry, humourless chuckle. ‘Sometimes when one wishes to spread gossip it is necessary to have the right person overhear it. No!’ he said hurriedly, noticing
Simon’s offended expression. ‘Not you, Simon. There was another man there in the undercroft who may choose to repeat what we said.’
‘I see.’ Simon assumed that Abbot Robert expected either his Steward or Brother Peter to chat about the discovery to other Brothers, and noted the fact. He would not confide in
either, he decided. ‘What now? Do you wish me to seek the thief?’
‘No, no,’ the Abbot said hurriedly. ‘There is no need. This is abbey business, and outside your
caustically. ‘I think I was aware of that, Bailiff. So what does that prove?’
‘That your Steward is innocent. He wouldn’t be so crass as to waste this much wine; he’d have used a tap.’ Simon saw Augerus throw him a grateful look.
‘I see your point,’ the Abbot grunted.
‘Can you suggest someone else who might have done this terrible thing?’ Brother Peter asked. There was a strange note in his voice and Simon eyed him a moment before answering.
Peter’s dreadful wound seemed to shine in the gloomy light of the undercroft, and not for the first time in the years since Simon had first met him, he thought that a wound like that would
have killed anyone else. The pain and horror of such a shocking blow would have finished them off, or the wound would have got infected. Peter was very lucky to be alive, Simon thought – or
exceptionally unfortunate, forced to go through life with a blemish that made him repellent to men and women alike.
It was especially tragic, because he looked as though he had been a handsome fellow once – tall, strong-looking, with those square features and a high brow. Not now. He had adopted some
odd little mannerisms too, Simon considered, such as talking with a hand near his face as though to conceal the wound, and his habit of turning his face slightly, so that it was away from those to
whom he spoke.
Simon wondered whether he would want to live with a hideous mark like that ravaging his features. He concluded that he would have preferred death.
‘I am suggesting no one,’ he said finally. ‘I wasn’t here.’
‘It must have been someone from the town,’ Peter said briskly. ‘No monk would dare – or bother. We all receive our daily allowance, after all.’
The Abbot was gazing down at the barrel. ‘Whoever it is, I will pray for him that he should give up his career of felony. Perhaps he will come to me and confess his theft, and if he does,
I shall pray with him.’
And issue a highly embarrassing and shaming penance, Simon added to himself. He liked Abbot Robert, and respected him, but he knew that the Abbot would look harshly upon anyone who could dare to
steal his favourite wine. It would rank as foully as stealing his best mount or rache in the Abbot’s mind.
‘Bailiff, come with me. Peter, please arrange for this mess to be cleared. At once!’
‘Yes, my Lord Abbot.’
The Abbot swept from the room, his habit rustling the leaves and twigs along the floor. Simon and Hugh hurried after him.
‘So, Bailiff. The coining is proceeding apace, I trust?’
‘It was when you called me.’
‘My apologies for dragging you away,’ the Abbot said drily. ‘I am sure you would have wished to remain to observe such a thrilling sight.’
Simon said nothing. It was very rare for him to hear the Abbot sounding so . . . so petulant.
His master stopped and looked about him, then he motioned to Hugh to leave them and crooked a finger to beckon Simon to his side. They were alone in the space before his lodgings, and no one
could overhear the Abbot’s words. ‘Bailiff, I apologise for asking you here. It is important that you tell no one outside the Abbey what you saw in there. You understand me?’
‘Of course. But why?’
The Abbot gave a dry, humourless chuckle. ‘Sometimes when one wishes to spread gossip it is necessary to have the right person overhear it. No!’ he said hurriedly, noticing
Simon’s offended expression. ‘Not you, Simon. There was another man there in the undercroft who may choose to repeat what we said.’
‘I see.’ Simon assumed that Abbot Robert expected either his Steward or Brother Peter to chat about the discovery to other Brothers, and noted the fact. He would not confide in
either, he decided. ‘What now? Do you wish me to seek the thief?’
‘No, no,’ the Abbot said hurriedly. ‘There is no need. This is abbey business, and outside your
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