Brother's Blood (15 page)

He needed to concentrate, to push the distractions away and to think only of the task in hand. What did he know of Brother Alexander already? Think not just of
what
may have happened, but also
why
, for that was the key. His death had not been an accident; someone had killed him on purpose; therefore that person had a reason to do so. Find the reason and it will lead to the killer.

His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Brother Helias, who smiled as he caught sight of him.

‘You look comfortable, my son.'

Edwin squinted up at him. ‘I was just thinking, and it's easier to do that when I'm sitting still.'

‘Thinking about Brother Alexander?'

‘Yes, but also about many other things. And I'm tired because I didn't sleep much last night.'

‘Ah, well, that's something we brethren can all sympathise with. One of the most difficult things for new recruits to get used to is the night-time services, although they are a way to get closer to God.'

Edwin stood up, for he was craning his neck and he could hardly ask the monk to sit on the ground beside him. ‘I was in the church last night while you were all singing.'

‘And did it help you to find peace?'

‘Not really. I saw Brother Godfrey and Brother Waldef together and it scared me out of my wits – I hadn't realised there were two of them.' He couldn't work out whether admitting this in the bright light of day made him feel less foolish, or more, but Brother Helias was nodding.

‘I remember the day they arrived. It was quite a shock to some of us as well.'

‘How do you tell them apart? Does it get easier once you've known them longer?'

‘You'd think that, wouldn't you – but I can't tell one from the other and neither can any of the rest of the brethren, as far as I can make out. We just trust that when we say “Brother Godfrey”, the right one answers. But the Lord, who can see into the souls of all men, knows each of them.'

‘I hope so, for it would be a dreadful thing to come before Him on the day of judgement only to find yourself answering for the sins of your brother.' A cloud crossed the monk's face and Edwin hurried to placate him. ‘I'm sorry, Brother, I was just talking idly. I hope that's not blasphemy or anything.'

‘As far as I know, my son, it is not, though it is an interesting philosophical point which some of my more learned brethren could no doubt discuss at great length. All I can say is that I trust the Lord to know each man's sins. And He is well aware that not all brothers are as alike as Brothers Godfrey and Waldef.'

Edwin saw Martin ride into the precinct, leading another horse on a rein. He waved, and Martin gestured that he would stable the horses and then come over.

Brother Helias sketched the sign of the cross in the air. ‘I must be about my duties, Edwin. I know that we have permission to talk to you, but I have been heading towards idle gossip and I don't think Father Abbot intended that.
Benedicte
, my son.'

He walked off and Edwin sat back down against the wall. It wasn't long before Martin arrived, blocking out the sun and casting him into shadow. Edwin shifted sideways and indicated the ground beside him; Martin obligingly took off his sword and folded himself down into the space so that Edwin didn't have to strain his neck upwards. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

‘So, how were the books?'

Edwin laughed. ‘They were fine, thank you, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about it. The one useful thing I did find out was that Brother Alexander wrote some of them himself, and that he was halfway through another one when he died. I thought I'd keep it in mind that someone might have wanted to stop him finishing it, but I can't for the life of me think why.'

‘What was it about?'

Edwin opened his mouth, but he just couldn't bring himself to confess his stupidity. He waved his hand. ‘Something religious. Nothing controversial, though Brother Octavian reckoned that heathens and heretics might not like it.'

Martin made a derisive noise. ‘Heathens and heretics don't like anything, do they? That's why we go on crusades to kill them.'

Edwin digested that. ‘Anyway, how was your afternoon? Did you find anything out from the lay brothers at the grange?'

Martin picked up a small stone and cast it aimlessly across the courtyard. ‘More than I ever wanted to know about wool, that's for sure. Oh, but Brother Alexander did used to go there, and he was apparently really fussy about checking all their accounts and making sure that they graded their wool right.'

Edwin pricked up his ears. ‘Their accounts?' Money had been the reason for many a murder before.

‘Yes, they shear the sheep and pack all the wool there, and keep lists – ledgers, they call them – of what they sell and for how much. That sort of thing. Some of the ledgers are out at the granges and the rest are in the office in the lay brothers' range here – is that the place up the stairs we saw when we first arrived?'

‘Yes, I think so.' That reminded Edwin of something and he reached into the purse at his belt. ‘When I came past it again I found this on the stairs, but I don't know what it is – any idea?' He showed Martin the strangely shaped piece of metal.

Martin took it. ‘Yes, of course – it's the chape off the bottom end of a scabbard. Look.' He held his sword across his knees and showed the bottom tip of the scabbard to Edwin. There was a piece of metal there helping to strengthen the leather, and Edwin could see the similarity in the shape. Martin looked at him quizzically. ‘And your own dagger will have one as well – didn't you notice?'

Edwin shrugged. ‘I wasn't paying it all that much attention, to be honest.'

‘A fine dagger like that, and you haven't looked it over so many times that you know every detail?' Martin shook his head. ‘You're mad.'

‘If you say so. Anyway …' Edwin pointed at the chapes in front of him. ‘These aren't quite the same. Yours is plain and this one has a decoration on it.'

Martin handed it back. ‘Yes. And I know whose it is – it belongs to that knight who's staying in the guesthouse. Sir Philip.'

Edwin paused in the act of stowing the metal back in his purse. ‘Sir Philip? But what would he be doing in the lay brothers' office? He's not a merchant, is he?'

‘Ha – not likely, and I wouldn't say that to his face, either.'

Edwin pondered that for a while, but came up with nothing. ‘Let's leave that for now and go back to the question of the lay brothers. One of them is in charge of these accounts you were talking about?'

‘No, it turns out that none of the lay brothers can read or write. I had a talk with one of them, Brother Sinnulph, while he was showing me around, and he explained it all. The white monks – choir monks – come from noble families, so they've got some education. The lay brothers are all from peasant families – some of them ask to join, and some are persuaded to by their families if they have too many sons for their bits of land. You can't move from one to the other – you join one part and you stay there. And the lay brothers just do manual work, not the reading and so on.'

‘So how do they do the accounts then?'

‘Oh, didn't I say? One of the white monks was there. Sitting at a table and scribbling down loads of numbers – no idea what they meant.'

‘Which monk?'

Martin thought about it and then shrugged. ‘No idea. They all look the same to me. Youngish, I suppose, but it's difficult to tell when they all shave their heads like that.'

Edwin watched in amusement as Martin ran his hand through his own mop of hair, tousling it, apparently unaware that he was doing so. If there was one man he could guarantee was never going to become a monk, he was looking at him now.

‘So, say that Brother Alexander went to look at these accounts and found out that something was wrong with them?'

Martin dropped his hand again, running his fingers idly up and down his scabbard. ‘What, like they were stealing money or something?'

‘Yes. From what you saw, would it be possible for them to sell the wool at one price, but then write down a different price and keep the difference?'

‘I don't know, but I suppose so.'

‘Who would that involve?'

‘Well, they had lots of men there, but it wouldn't be anything to do with the hired labourers. They just come in at this time of year, shear the sheep and pack the wool, but they aren't involved with the grading or the selling. So that leaves the lay brothers and the monk who comes to do the writing.'

‘And we don't know who that is.'

Martin looked down. ‘No. Sorry. Now I think about it, I should have asked.'

Edwin was quick to reassure him, conscious of his own current feelings of inadequacy in that area. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

‘I still don't feel like we know much about Brother Alexander himself. Lots of people have been able to tell us about what he did, but nobody has really said what he was like.'

Martin squinted into the sun as he considered this. ‘He was a bit tougher than the other monks, I reckon.'

Edwin nodded. ‘Aylwin did say that he thought he'd come off worst in a fight if it came to one.'

‘Well, yes, though judging by the state of him, Adam could probably best him in a fight so that doesn't say all that much.' He thought for a moment. ‘Although, having said that, Brother Alexander must have been quite strong if he's been carrying barrels of ale around by himself – they're quite heavy and I should know.' Unconsciously he flexed his arms, no doubt recalling his years of table service for the earl. ‘But no, what I meant was that he's travelled. It takes some guts to get yourself around like that – how many of the other brothers here do you reckon would pack up a bag and rely on themselves to get five miles, never mind over the sea?'

Travelling … that reminded Edwin of something. ‘Brother Octavian told me that before he came here to take the cowl, Brother Alexander was a schoolmaster at St Albans. Do you know where that is?'

‘Not exactly, but not far north of London.'

‘So nowhere near here then?'

‘Oh no. Several days' journey even on horseback. Weeks, I suppose, if you were walking.'

‘And there must be some other Cistercian monasteries between there and here.'

Martin made a noncommittal gesture. ‘I suppose there must be.'

‘So, if you're in St Albans, and you decide you want to become a monk, a Cistercian monk, why would you travel half the length of the kingdom to join the Order here? Why not just find the nearest place?'

‘No idea. But then I also have no idea why anyone would want to be a monk in the first place, so I'm probably not the right person to ask.'

Edwin sighed. ‘All right. I'll keep that in my head for now. There is someone who might be able to tell us more about Brother Alexander's travels – Brother Helias told me that there was another monk here who he talked to more than the others. But he's apparently in the infirmary with toothache, so I'm not sure if I can just walk in and ask to talk to him.'

Martin gave a mirthless laugh. ‘Ha. Good luck getting past that infirmarer. He'll probably throw you out before you have a chance to open your mouth.'

Edwin stood. ‘I'll try my best to be polite. And if you've already argued with him then I'd better go on my own. What will you do in the meantime, apart from trying not to upset any more monks so you can't go near them again?' He'd meant it as a joke, but a shadow crossed Martin's face as he also got to his feet. Edwin was used to his height, but every so often he was struck again by Martin's physical presence, and he hoped to the Lord that they would never come to blows. ‘I'm sorry, I didn't mean …'

‘It's all right. You're right anyway – I need to learn to act more cautiously around them.' He glanced around. ‘But there is one I haven't offended yet. If you'll excuse me, I'm off to chop some more wood.'

‘Wood? What … oh, the novice you spoke to.' Edwin followed Martin's gaze and spotted – Benedict, was it? – making his way across the precinct. ‘Good idea. Just get him talking about anything you can think of, and you never know, he might say something important.'

‘All right. And I wish you well with the infirmarer.' He grinned. ‘If he threatens you, come and get me and I'll threaten him back. I'm turning out to be quite good at that!' He gave Edwin the most almighty clout on the shoulder and stalked off to follow the novice.

Rubbing his shoulder and muttering under his breath about knights and squires, Edwin made his way around the outside of the main abbey buildings, and was directed by an obliging lay brother to where the infirmary occupied a separate building out to one side, not far from the abbot's house. He entered quietly and stood by the door, looking as meek as he could, watching the tall, bald monk who was attending to an elderly brother in a bed.

Eventually the monk noticed Edwin. Edwin whipped off his hat and looked at the floor. Judging by what Martin had said, extreme humility was going to be the way forward here.

The monk approached him. ‘This is the infirmary for the brethren, my son. If you are a guest who needs attention then you need to go to the guestmaster.'

Edwin risked a look up. ‘Pardon me for interrupting, Brother, but are you the infirmarer?'

‘Brother Durand, yes. But as I say —'

‘I don't mean to disturb you, Brother, but the lord abbot said I might speak to any of the brethren if it helped me to find out what happened to Brother Alexander.'

The monk folded his arms and stared at Edwin for a long moment. ‘So, you're one of them, are you? Well, you've got better manners than your friend, I'll give you that. To whom did you wish to speak? Me? Or one of the brethren here?' He gestured and Edwin saw that several of the beds were occupied by frail-looking men.