The Abbot's Gibbet

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.

“Has someone passed by here? He might have had your Abbot with him.”

The old monk shook his head, still mute, and Simon paused only to mutter an imprecation against the servant, whirled, and ran back the way he had come. Looking down, the monk sighed, shrugged, and began raking again to cover up the bailiff’s footprints.

Baldwin took step after tentative step until he was at the entrance to an aisle between immense vats which stood one on top of the other, rising high over his head. He was aware of a tension, as if he was a machine moving forward, impelled by a great spring that took every ounce of his energy to simply move his legs on. It exhibited itself as a hollowness in his throat, and a certain lightheadedness. He was less aware of his arms, his legs, and how to use them. They were useless appendages now. His every fiber was focused on his eyes and ears. All his faculties were concentrated to ensure that in this infernal darkness he might see and hear the servant.

As he entered among the false pillars of wood, he was tempted to withdraw and seek Simon. It was less a reflection of his fear than of a natural anxiety to prevent the escape of the man he sought. While he bumbled around in the dark, for all he knew Luke might have sidled round to the doorway, and be preparing to escape.

The thought made the knight want to turn and watch the doorway, but he must not, he knew. His only protection from the servant’s little knife was to keep his eyes constantly fixed forward. Only that way could he anticipate an attack. If he was to spin round, the man could be on him in an instant if he was nearby, and somehow Baldwin was sure he was close.

Taking another silent step, he thought he heard a noise, and he stopped, one foot half off the ground. It sounded like a quiet hiss, and he reflected that the noise seemed familiar. Then he heard it again, and leaped forward: it was the choking sigh of a man being throttled.

The huge barrels ended in an alley along the wall, and Baldwin ran into the stonework at full tilt. Momentarily winded, he turned this way and that seeking the source, then rushed off to his left. The sound came from there.

He heard it again, and skidded a little on the flags. Ahead, a short way down another narrow pathway he could see the two men. The Abbot appeared to be on his knees, his captor behind him, the two locked together in a hideous embrace. Baldwin shouted, gripped his dagger tighter in his fist, and charged. He saw the servant look up, the Abbot, released, tumbled forward to lie choking on all fours, and the knight felt a sudden loathing for the little man. He drew back his hand threateningly, but as he did so, his boot caught a lifted slab stone, and he lost his balance. With a horrified gasp, he threw himself sideways to avoid the servant’s upward-thrusting blade, and struck his shoulder on a barrel. It winded him, and he bounced forward, landing on his chest and striking his head on the stone of the floor. His dagger caught in a barrel as he dropped, and the blade snapped, leaving only the hilt in his hand.

In an instant Luke was on him, the knife under his ear, and he heard the man whispering viciously, “Silence, or you’ll die.”

Baldwin was still. With the man resting a knee on his back, he had no option but to remain there with Luke’s breath rasping in his ear. He heard footsteps, slow, quiet and stealthy pacing, that approached along the next lane among the stores, then silence.

“Baldwin? Are you here?”

The sound of his friend’s voice gave a renewed vigor to his strained nerves and muscles, but the knight hoarded his energy, willing his wounded body to remain still. There was no honor in winning a coffin, and he wanted Luke captured. While the servant crouched over him, he lay as one dead.

Hearing the steps retreat, Luke eased his grip on his prisoner’s throat and risked a careful glance all round. He could not escape through the windows, they were too high. This man, this strong, self-sufficient knight would make an admirable captive to guarantee his safety. They would surely not threaten Sir Baldwin’s life by trying to catch Luke while be could hold his hostage under the threat of instant death.

The feet hurried toward the door, and passed outside. Baldwin was suddenly aware of the weight on his back disappearing, and then he was hauled up by a hand on the neck of his tunic. All the time the point of the blade remained unwavering at his jugular.

“You will not make a sound, or your vein will be opened. You understand me? One move, and you die.”

He felt a fumbling hand tugging at his buckle, and there was a lightening at his waist as his sword fell to the floor with a dull clatter. Outside, running feet passing by the door, then Simon’s voice came from a distance, calling his name. Suddenly he felt a kind of appalled despair. The shame of being snared in this way and held hostage by such a mean-spirited man was galling, but as he was pushed along, a hand clutching his tunic, the other at his throat, he knew he could do nothing. He, a strong and honorable knight, was entirely at the mercy of a mere servant. The thought made him give a bitter little smile.

As he came toward the end of the alley, he formed his resolution. He would not step into the daylight as a prisoner. It would be better to fight, even if he was doomed to failure. He would try to strike the knife from his neck at the end of the lane and attempt to turn the tables on Luke.

Even as he formed this resolve, as he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, he heard a quick gasp. For a moment the knife was less painfully sharp against his skin, and he took his chance. He stopped and thrust back with his shoulder, whirling, and grabbing at the knife-hand. Luke was off-balance, and his hand was knocked away easily as Baldwin tried to grab at a barrel. It moved, and he fell back, and instantly the blade was back at his neck. Luke ducked as a dark shape loomed overhead.

There was a creaking, and a familiar voice called, “God’s teeth!” and then Baldwin saw the whole wall beside him moving. From the corner of his eye he saw the barrels slowly, but with a horrid inevitability, start to topple. Luke recognized the danger, and Baldwin felt the knife at his throat release its pressure a little. The knight grabbed Luke’s knife-hand and shoved it away, and as he did so a figure dropped to the ground beside him, catching Luke’s arm and hauling him back from Baldwin. The servant gave a short shriek, and even over the rumble of falling barrels Baldwin heard the sharp snap of breaking bone. Then his shoulder was taken in a firm hold and he was pulled to a safe distance from the collapsing wall.

The Abbot was carried gently upstairs to his chamber, and the infirmarer was called to examine his master. Simon stood by his side as the monk inspected the man’s throat, and finally declared him to be all right, providing he rested for a couple of days. The Abbot gave him a look of gratitude. “I never expected to hear you speak again, brother. Your words are exceedingly welcome.”

Hugh and Holcroft had bundled Lybbe and the Venetians back to their cells, and the room seemed oddly quiet after the sudden violence. When Baldwin entered, Simon led him to a chair. The knight was pale, but collected, and he cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “I’m fine, but no thanks to you!”

His bantering tone took the sting out of his words. Simon shook his head in mock disgust. “You think I failed?”

“I heard you shouting and yelling for me in the yard.”

“That,” Edgar said, “was what we agreed.”

Baldwin looked from him to the bailiff. “You agreed?”

“I knew you were in there,” said Simon. “I heard something falling to the ground.”

“It was my sword – he took it from me.”

“We thought either you had your victim or he had already captured you. You didn’t call for help, so I pretended to be looking for you outside while Edgar slipped in.”

“I thought it would be best to climb higher to see where Luke was hiding,” Edgar explained. “When I saw you, you were in the next alley, so I jumped over. Luke heard me, and glanced up, just as you turned to free yourself, and that was why he stopped dead like that. But my weight loosened the barrels, I could feel them going, so I hopped down and pulled you away.”

Baldwin nodded, his eyes fixed on his servant. It was all said in a matter-of-fact voice, but Baldwin knew what risks Edgar had taken. He gripped Edgar’s arm. “Thank you.”

“You saved my life once. It was nothing.”

The Abbot cleared his throat. “Where is Luke?”

Simon answered, “He’s having his shoulder bound in the cellar. Edgar broke his upper arm in several places, and it’s a mess. Right now Luke’s learning the meaning of the word pain, though it hardly seems worthwhile taking such care over him and getting his arm set when he’s going to end up on your gibbet.”

“I almost regret he didn’t get crushed by a falling barrel and die in the storeroom, after all he’s done. But perhaps it’s best that he should stand trial for his crimes so that the townspeople can all see that Jordan Lybbe is innocent. Otherwise some might look at him askance for the rest of his life. This way Luke’s guilt can be demonstrated in my court.” Champeaux closed his eyes, resting his head on the pillow. He desperately wanted a sip of wine, for his throat was on fire, and his skull felt as if a sharp dagger was slowly being inserted into each temple. The infirmarer had said it was the effect of being strangled, but all the Abbot knew was that it hurt. “I must thank you both. You have saved the reputation of the Abbey and our fair.”

Baldwin reflected that it was typical of the man that he should thank them for saving the Abbey and its income from the fair as if they were more important than his life. But the Abbot knew the Abbey was more important, he corrected himself. The Abbey was there to save humanity: the Abbot was only a short-term tenant. For hundreds of years after Abbot Robert’s death, his Abbey would stand and flourish.

The Abbot was speaking again, quieter, and with a contemplative sadness in his voice. “So many deaths, and all because this man Luke was trying to conceal past crimes. Yet even if he had been denounced as the robber and killer of Bayonne, it would hardly have endangered his life here. Gascony and England have their own laws. It was sheer folly to cover up his crimes there by killing a man here.”

Baldwin gave a faint smile as he took a seat near the Abbot. “Not, perhaps, so foolish.”

“But a crime committed in the King’s territories abroad wouldn’t be punished here.”

“No, Abbot, but a man’s crime committed here would be.”

“Ah, but I meant there was no need for him to try to kill Lybbe here just to hide what he had done in Bayonne,” the Abbot explained.

“I know, but Luke was guilty of crimes here already. Do you feel well enough to listen to what happened? May I bring in witnesses? I would not ask while you are recovering, but a man lies in prison unjustly.”

“If it is a matter of justice, I have a duty to listen to whatever evidence you have.”

Baldwin nodded to his servant and Edgar left the room. A few minutes later he returned with the friar and Lybbe. Hugo walked to stand before the Abbot, but Lybbe stayed near the door, his eyes downcast, hands bound before him. Baldwin spoke to the friar. “Brother, the Abbot is keen to hear your tale. Could you tell us about the trail-bastons of Tiverton?”

“My lord Abbot, I would have raised this before, had I known how important it was,” Hugo said apologetically. “I kept silent because I thought the man had already paid for his crimes and to tell the watch or others about offenses so many years ago could help no one, and would only result in his death. That seemed too heavy a price for him to pay when he had already suffered so much. I wish I could reverse that decision, for then I might at least have saved Peter’s life, if not Torre’s as well.”

“I am sure you acted through the best of motives,” the Abbot said soothingly.

“But the result was so devastating. Yet I must tell all I know now to prevent another unnecessary and unjust death.

“My lord Abbot, when I was new to my calling, I lived in the Franciscan house at Bridgewater. From there I used to travel far afield, preaching and hearing the confessions of the poor people. They were good days, when all over the country you could see hamlets being established, the forests being cleared as new assarts were thrust in among the trees, and the roads filled with merchants and travellers. Now, since the famine, many of those same places have been deserted. The survivors fled after burying the last of their kin.

“But twenty years ago the land was fertile, the people prosperous – and the idea of a famine inconceivable. Still, some were unprepared to work and earn their living as a man should, and these became gangs of trail-bastons – outlaws. They were like wolves feeding on helpless lambs; they would ride up to outlying farmsteads and bartons and attack, ravishing the women, murdering the men, stealing what they could from peasants and landowners alike.

“I saw little of the violence myself. Every so often I would come across a farm which had been devastated, or meet people flying from the trail-bastons, but that was all until I was myself taken.”

“You were caught by them?” the Abbot asked with surprise. “They dared capture a friar?”

“Oh, I don’t think all of them were in favor of it. Some wanted to let me go immediately, others wanted to ransom me. There was quite a debate. But after three days they did release me – once I had given them absolution. They refused to let me go until I had done that much.”

“It was meaningless if it was forced,” the Abbot muttered.

“True, my lord, but I hope that some of the men will have performed the little penances I gave them. It would be a terrible thing to see so many souls destroyed,” Hugo said piously. “I was set free not far from Tiverton, a little to the north of the town, and the trail-bastons continued on their way. It was there I first met Jordan Lybbe.”

“First met him?” the Abbot interrupted. “He was not with the outlaws?”

“No, my lord. I never saw him with them. When I was left by the men, I was lucky enough to meet a priest, and he took me to stay with him at his house. Lybbe was there. He was apprenticed to a merchant, and was travelling back from a fair, but his horse had become lame, and the priest had agreed to let him stable his animal to rest.

“I will say this. Lybbe was a well-spoken, kindly man. He was not so religious as I would have liked, but he gave me to believe that he understood justice and morality. He was no felon.

“We were both there some days later when we saw smoke from a nearby farm. Lybbe offered to go and see if he could help. He left me alone in the house – the priest had gone to visit the town – and hurried off. When he came back, it was with a young girl in his arms.” The friar stopped and motioned to the bearded merchant. “Come, you tell your own story.”

Lybbe shrugged. “There’s little enough to tell. As friar Hugo says, I thought there had been an accident, maybe a barn had caught light; I went to help put out the flames. Instead, when I got there I found men capering about with pots of ale and wine. The trail-bastons had attacked the place and fired the stores while they drank themselves stupid. I could do nothing against so many, but gradually the men settled as the drink fuddled their brains. Maybe I should have fetched help to capture them, but I didn’t know the area and couldn’t tell which direction to go to find enough men, so I waited and watched.

“When the men were well into their cups, I went in. Inside the house there was…”

Lybbe’s face was suddenly blank, and Baldwin was struck by his demeanor. If Lybbe had broken down and wept, Baldwin would have disbelieved it as an act, for this was a strong-willed man. His quick stillness was infinitely more convincing. That the scene had horrified him was clear from his careful words and unemotional speech.

“There was a family. The man lay on his back. His head had been cloven almost in two. Beside him was his wife. She had not died instantly – the men had put her to their own use before cutting her throat.” Lybbe could see the scene in his mind’s eye as he spoke. The woman with her face turned to her husband in death, mouth wide in a silent scream as if pleading with him to end her torment. “At her side was a girl, only a youngster, and all over blood. She had been struck, but when I looked, I thought I saw her breathe. It seemed impossible that she should have survived, but when I felt her, she was warm. I picked her up, but not before I saw Luke. He was there, drinking, a bloody axe in his hand. He saw me, but I think he was so fuddled with ale he didn’t realize I was not of his band. There were too many others around for me to risk fighting him, so I walked out and took the girl back to the friar.

“That is almost all my story. While I treated the child as best I could, the friar roused the men of the place, and soon a goodly number was gathered. They chased after, and captured quite a large number of the trail-bastons. Then, the next morning, I went to pray in the church, and I found one of them. It was Luke.”

“I was with him,” Hugo explained. “I knew Luke from when the band had caught me, and seeing him there astonished me. He claimed sanctuary.”

“I wanted to take him outside and give him to the locals,” Lybbe growled. “I grabbed him, and hauled him from the altar, and would have taken Luke outside, but friar Hugo wouldn’t let me. He insisted that the sanctuary must be honored. It was all I could do not to kill him there and then.”

“It would have been an evil act,” the Abbot said. “Brother Hugo was quite right.”

“You and brother Hugo didn’t see the family butchered like oxen in their own house.”

Hugo continued, “Lybbe gave his evidence in front of witnesses, and soon after we both carried on with our journeys. There was a guard set on the church to stop Luke escaping, and the coroner had been called, so there seemed little for us to do. I heard later that Luke had approved in exchange for his life, and I must confess I was pleased to think that one man would have an opportunity of saving his soul. I thought he would be able to create a new life for himself abroad.”

“Yes, only he lied,” Lybbe said gruffly. “He said I was one of his band; said I had killed the woman; said only his intervention had saved the girl’s life. I stopped in Tiverton for a night and while I was there I heard that I was being hunted. When I learned what he had said, I realized my danger. The friar knew I had not been with the trail-bastons, but I had no idea where he had gone. I could have gone back and told the truth, but what would have been my chances against a man who swore on his life? I was no local man, I was a foreigner to Tiverton. The priest was no use, he had been away. The only man who could vouch for my innocence was the friar, and he had gone. I thought I must escape home.

“I headed south as quickly as I could, but pursuit was only a few hours behind. I had never hidden the fact that I came from Tavistock. It was lucky that instead of going directly to my own place, I went to my brother’s. Elias gave me a meal and went out to fetch ale, and it was while he was out that he was told I was sought. He returned, and we made a plan to escape. My only hope was to abjure the realm, so I went to the coast. I found a ship, and within days I was in Gascony. I’ve lived there ever since.”

Baldwin glanced at Hugo. “Friar, was there any chance that Lybbe could have fooled you and been associated with the trail-bastons? Could he not have been sent on ahead to spy out the land before they attacked?”

“No, Sir Baldwin. I was with the band for several days, and met all their men. They were not trained soldiers, they didn’t have men to scout ahead, they were just uneducated peasants. Lybbe was not with them. Then again, when I met him at the priest’s house, he had opportunities to rob the place when he was there alone, yet he didn’t. I have absolutely no doubt he is innocent.”

“Then why do you think Luke accused him?” the Abbot asked.

“Because Lybbe wanted to attack him at the altar; I have no doubt that Luke accused Lybbe in revenge. Perhaps Luke had been planning on escaping from the church and was only forced to remain when Lybbe arrived. That would mean Lybbe was the cause of his having to approve and abjure the realm. Some men would consider that sufficient cause to exact a vicious revenge.”

“And it would explain why Luke would be scared once he recognized Lybbe in the tavern,” Baldwin observed. “It must have been a terrible shock to him to see Lybbe there after so many years.”

“But I didn’t recognize him, sir,” Lybbe asserted.

“No, but you were distracted by seeing the others, weren’t you? Tell me, though, did you see Luke while you were in Bayonne?”

“I never noticed him – the Camminos didn’t have him with them when they went around the town. Certainly when they were out buying goods he wasn’t with them. I would have recognized him for sure.”

“I wonder whether he recognized you there, or whether it was only when he came here, and saw you on your home territory that he realized who you were. Abroad he might hardly have given you a second glance, but here, hearing you speak English, he must have realized that you had escaped his vengeance.”

“It’s clear enough what happened, though,” Simon said. “Luke saw Lybbe in the tavern, recognized him, and immediately persuaded the Camminos to leave.”

“He pointed at me, sir,” said the friar. “I had preached at them earlier that day, and Antonio had no wish to be accosted for a second time.”

“And then he left the tavern with his master and son. I expect his mind was spinning with the risk he was running, but back at the Abbey he had a thought. He still had his habit from Bayonne. He could throw it on, hurry back to the tavern, and wait for Lybbe. It was pure misfortune that he happened to come across Torre instead.

“He had not meant to kill Peter, but the monk saw him in town. I have no doubt that Peter accosted him, and rather than be exposed as the murderer of Torre and the robber of Ruby and others, he was willing to kill again.”

Baldwin agreed. “But he had to escape from the town before he could be discovered. That was when he had the idea of duplicating the scene of Bayonne. He came across the friar giving a sermon against usury, and saw his opportunity. He mentioned to some of the men that there was a usurer staying with the Abbot. A few were already drunk, and it only took his subtle murmurings to rouse them. Luke was content that his master would be only too eager to escape from the town once he heard there was another mob baying for his blood.”

“But he didn’t go with them,” the Abbot pointed out.

“No,” said Simon, “and that shows a certain shrewdness on his part. How would it be if we had chased after the Camminos and then discovered a black Benedictine habit in Pietro’s bags? We would have brought them all back to Tavistock, and Luke might have been uncovered. But this way, he could try to run off while the two were being interrogated, and then he would have to be unlucky to be caught. That was what he planned: to get away while we were trying to persuade Antonio and Pietro to confess their guilt.”

“Yet Antonio and Pietro were…” The Abbot paused thoughtfully.

“We don’t know they were guilty of anything,” Baldwin said pointedly. “I think we all accept that the thief in Bayonne was Luke, and if that is so, we also have to assume that Antonio and Pietro only fled from Bayonne because of the mob. Likewise they left Tavistock in such a hurry because of the angry crowd here, in front of the Abbey gates.”

“I shall have to speak to them,” the Abbot said. “Now we know of Luke, as you say, it all becomes clearer. There is one last thing, though, Lybbe: Torre’s head. Why did you cut it off?”

Lybbe met his gaze steadfastly. “My lord Abbot, I guessed as soon as I saw the body, as soon as Elias said it looked like me, that someone had planned to kill me. In the tavern I had recognized the Camminos, but I couldn’t see why they should want to hurt me. Bayonne was a long way away. But the man with them had been familiar, and seeing Torre’s body, wondering who could want me dead, I suddenly realized who it was.

“But I couldn’t go to the watch. How could I, when I knew I might immediately be arrested for the crimes he had accused me of? I could say nothing. And if it was spread around the town that it was Torre who lay there dead, Luke might try to hunt me again. I thought that cutting his head off might leave Luke surprised, for he would have no idea who could want to do that.”

“Surprised! I should think he would be more than merely surprised to hear someone had stolen a corpse’s head,” the Abbot said heavily.

“I know, my lord. It was a horrible thing to do, but I had to try to prevent Luke from realizing he had got the wrong man. All the time he thought he had killed me, I was safe and had time to plan how to bring him to justice.”

“And there was another aspect which struck you, wasn’t there,” Baldwin said quietly. “I had wondered why the head was buried in Elias’ yard. At first I thought you just didn’t know where else to conceal it, but that wasn’t it, was it? You thought the best way to show Luke was guilty was to somehow plant the head on him, didn’t you? That was why you left it where you could get to it easily.”

Lybbe shot him a glance, but his eyes dropped. “It was bad enough cutting his head off, let alone burying it. I just did it on the spur of the moment, I hardly thought about the consequences. Yes, I had intended to make sure it was left on Luke somehow. I wondered whether I could waylay him, and leave it on him where he and it would be discovered, or maybe plant it among his goods so that it could be found. Anything, so that people would realize he was the killer. But then it was found, before I could do anything at all.”

“It is hard to know whether you behaved well or badly. The intention was to show who was the murderer, which was justifiable, even if the method was deplorable,” Champeaux said. “I would hesitate to condemn your act, when you had been so intolerably treated, but to desecrate a dead body that way was appalling.”

Simon was interested by another factor. “Why didn’t you simply tell us the truth once you were arrested? I can’t see what you had to lose when you were already in jail.”

“I hadn’t any need to at first, because you hadn’t discovered I was suspected of being an outlaw, so I held my tongue,” Lybbe said. “And afterward, what was the point? Would you have believed a felon?”

“It’s true,” the friar said. “I had first thought Luke was familiar when I saw him in the tavern, but at the time I didn’t realize where I knew him from – have no memory for faces. When Torre was killed, I had no inkling that Luke might be involved. And again, even when I knew who he was, I was disinclined to assume his guilt. Why should I? A man had been killed, but I had no idea the target was Lybbe. Then I saw Lybbe, and he explained about the similarity between him and Torre – that made me wonder – and when Lybbe was arrested, I knew I must tell you all, Sir Baldwin, but you had ridden off to hunt down the Camminos. I told you this morning as soon as I could.”

“I think that explains everything, my lord Abbot,” Baldwin said, and motioned toward Lybbe, who stood watching and listening. “I think this man should be freed, and so should his brother. Do you want the Camminos to be brought to you?”

“Yes, of course, Sir Baldwin. Holcroft, please go and release Elias from the jail and bring the Camminos to me. I think I owe father and son a sincere apology.”

“With your permission, Abbot,” Baldwin said, rising, “I will go with Lybbe here. I swore to him that I would see to Elias’ freedom, and to bringing Lybbe’s boy to safety. At the time I had not anticipated that Jordan would find himself in such a happy situation, but that is no reason not to carry out my oath.”