Brother's Blood (22 page)

This was as much an atmosphere of home as he was likely to get, so he placed a stool against the wall and leaned back. He could be fairly confident of having the place to himself almost until dusk, for the monks would go from vespers to their evening meal and then probably straight to compline without returning to their places of work. And if Brother Helias should by any chance come back in between, Edwin would be able to explain why he was there. The cellarer wouldn't mind.

Edwin breathed in the scent of spices and closed his eyes.

He tried to visualise the figure of Brother Alexander, but the nearest he could get was a tall, shadowy figure in a white robe, whose face he could not see. Who would want to kill you? thought Edwin, but the figure did not speak. So, who might have wanted the master of the lay brothers dead? The novice Benedict was critical of his previous involvement with heathen masters and teachers – fanatical, even. And his own behaviour showed him to be unstable. But would this have led him to murder a brother, a professed monk? Surely even he could see that this would be against the Rule of the Order he so desperately wanted to join, against the will of God, and that it would send him to hell. Or was he so far gone in his hatred that he didn't care? Did he see Brother Alexander as a heathen himself, and thus worthy only of death, as Martin had noted so dismissively?

Edwin considered the case against Benedict and put him to one side for a moment. He would not have needed to use a borrowed white robe, for he wore one already. Who else from outside the ranks of the choir monks needed to be considered? There was the question, which was only a question at the moment, of whether some form of swindling had been going on at the lay brothers' grange with regard to the wool. That would bring into question both the choir monk who worked there – and Edwin didn't know who that was at the moment – and also the lay brothers, particularly the one Martin had met, Sinnulph. Edwin would need to go there for himself to see if he could pick up on anything else. Suppose Brother Alexander had found out that the abbey was being defrauded and had threatened to tell the abbot. One of the lay brothers could have dressed himself in the robe and murdered him to stop him talking.

But how would the lay brother know about the cave in the cliffs? He wouldn't likely be wandering around there when he had work to do at the grange, which was several miles away, and it was hard to see how he might have found it by accident for it was so well hidden. The only people who knew about its location were Brother Alexander himself, anyone he might have told about it, and the hermit Anabilia – although she didn't know of its actual existence, only that Brother Alexander had somehow ‘disappeared'.

Edwin jumped as a bolt of wakefulness shot through him. Had he been dozing off in the quiet comfort of the office? What was it that had alerted him? Oh yes, there was one other who could have known of the cave: Sir Philip, the knight who had been awake and who Edwin thought had been listening when he and Martin were talking during the night. If he had learned of the cave he could have gone out there while Edwin and Martin were busy with other matters, for it had been many hours in the time between their whispered conversation and their trip out to the woods. Perhaps Sir Philip had murdered Brother Alexander and now sought to hide the means by which he had done it. But then why would he stay around? Surely if he had murdered a monk his safest course of action would be to get away as quickly as possible afterwards. And why would a knight want to murder a monk anyway? And what had that odd remark to Brother Helias meant? None of this made sense. However, he would keep it at the back of his mind in case it started to become clearer later on.

Brother Alexander had brought back treasure when he returned from the Moorish lands. But what was this treasure and who might want it? Monks were sworn to have no possessions, so Brother Alexander must have kept it against the rules, which was why he had hidden it. But what good would gold be if he could not spend it? And therefore what good would it do any of the other monks to have it? The monastery was prosperous, and although Edwin guessed that the abbot might not actually turn down any additional wealth which came his way, he was fairly sure he wouldn't kill for it. He was a good man. And besides, if he had killed one of his monks, he would hardly have sent for Edwin, would he?

So had someone else crept into that cave and stolen the treasure? And had they done so before or after they killed Brother Alexander? He could have been murdered to stop him alerting anyone to the theft – although that would put him in an awkward position as he would have to explain why he had the treasure in the first place. So perhaps he had been killed by someone before the theft. If so then that someone had planned everything carefully: stealing a robe, sneaking into the abbey, murdering a monk in front of his brothers, leaving again, going to the cave, stealing the treasure and leaving the robe. No, wait, not leaving the robe, for that had not been done until later.

Edwin's eyes were heavy and his head nodded towards his chest. Something important was nagging at the back of his mind. He'd just thought of it a moment ago; what was it? He searched … oh yes, that was it. Someone else might know the location of the cave if Brother Alexander had told him about it. And Brother Alexander spoke most often to Brother Richard. But the robe had certainly been hidden there in between Edwin's two visits, for he was as sure as he could be that it had not been there the first time. And that meant that Brother Richard could not have hidden it there, for he was confined to the infirmary with a condition that was certainly not faked. Edwin wished he could speak to him again, but there seemed little hope of that, and he did not wish to cause the ill man any further pain, for he had seemed genuinely upset when he heard of Brother Alexander's death.

But now the figure of Brother Alexander was stepping forward out of the shadows. As Edwin watched, he pulled back his hood. Edwin shrank back in horror, for the face was dead, the skin dark and rotting around the empty eye sockets and the bared teeth. Then the figure reached behind it and pulled out a bloody knife, holding it out, dripping, as it advanced on Edwin, crying out for revenge …

Edwin woke up. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his mouth, and he looked around the office in horror. But there was no ghost, no corpse, no blood. He was alone. He was haunted. He needed to get more sleep.

He opened his dry mouth and stretched his stiff arms. He sat for a few moments before attempting to stand. And on top of all this, there was the abbot's question to him –
have you ever considered taking the cowl?
He couldn't give that proper thought at this point in time, but now that the question had been asked, now that it was a real possibility, it was going to weigh on him until he made a decision one way or another. For what was there for him in the outside world? A lifetime of being sent by the earl on difficult and dangerous missions, until the inevitable happened and one of them ended up killing him.

He was tired. But he was also hungry, so he stood to make his weary way back to the guesthouse. As he left the cellarer's office he heard a noise behind him and turned, in case he hadn't shut the door properly – just in time to see the edge of a white robe disappearing inside.

He should have ignored it and walked on, but some prickling of his neck, something about the way the man had moved into the building, made him stop. Perhaps it wasn't Brother Helias? But what would anyone else be doing there?

Edwin concealed himself in the shadow between two other buildings and watched the office. No light was lit within, but there was still enough to see by in the dusk, so it would be unlikely that anyone would light a candle or rush if he was only going to be inside for a few moments. As indeed appeared to be the case: after a very short while Edwin saw the monk leave the building again, and he cursed himself for his overactive imagination – it was the young brother who was the cellarer's assistant, and he was carrying a piece of parchment and a small sack. No doubt the kitchen had run out of something and he had been sent to fetch it and account for it on a list. Kitchen. Food. Yes. He made his way to the guesthouse.

Martin dumped the bag on the floor of the guesthouse in between his bed and Edwin's. Nobody should need to walk past it, for theirs were the last two berths at the end of the room, but it looked a bit out of place and might arouse curiosity. Martin scanned around him for possibilities, and then picked up Edwin's cloak. He draped it over the bag and kicked it all as close to Edwin's bed as possible. It wasn't hidden, but a casual observer might just think it was travelling luggage stacked untidily.

He stretched. The ceiling of the guesthouse wasn't all that high and his fingertips brushed the rafters. Lord, when were they going to get
out
of here? He'd never felt so confined.

It wasn't time for the evening meal yet, and he wasn't about to stay cooped up in here any longer than he had to. He couldn't really leave the precinct again, either, but he could head over to the stables and check on the horses, which hadn't been ridden today. He cheered himself at the thought that he'd have a good excuse to get out somewhere tomorrow as they'd need some exercise.

The sun's rays were slanting in through the open stable door, illuminating the dust in the air and the neat rows of stalls. The mute half-witted lay brother was just coming out of the one which contained Sir Philip's horse, and he stood back with a bow as Martin pushed past him. Martin looked suspiciously at all three of his animals, but had to admit – grudgingly – that they were being well cared for and that the place was clean and tidy. He doubted even that Arnulf, the long-serving stablemaster at Conisbrough, would have been able to find fault with anything. Not that he wouldn't try, of course.

Martin stood for a while with his courser, glancing idly over the barrier at Sir Philip's horse, and was still there when the knight himself came in. He cut off Martin's greeting with a curt nod which clearly indicated that he should mind his own business and Martin turned away. As he unnecessarily brushed the coat of Edwin's palfrey he reflected that Edwin had been right – as usual – when he pointed out that Sir Philip probably wasn't well off. Now he'd had a closer chance to look at it, he could see that the horse, a courser no better than his own, was getting on a bit and wasn't in very good condition. Except —

‘You there!' Sir Philip was addressing the lay brother, who looked up enquiringly from the stall on the other side of the knight. ‘Get me some hot water so I can replace this poultice.'

The lay brother bowed and left the stable in silence, but not before Martin had seen him give a very sharp glance indeed at the knight.

Martin didn't attempt to engage in any further conversation with Sir Philip. Instead he concentrated on the smooth, even strokes of his brush as he contemplated two things. The first was that perhaps the lay brother wasn't as half-witted as he might seem. And the second was that, from what he had seen, Martin was as certain as he could be that Sir Philip's horse was not lame.

Brother Amandus was his usual garrulous self as he ladled out bowls of food for his four guests. Edwin wondered how often he had the same people staying for so long – surely most of the men who stayed here would only be doing so for one night. He ate to try and give himself some strength and even mustered the energy to poke a thoughtful-looking Martin in the ribs. ‘Never mind. You'll soon be back at the lord earl's hall and eating as much meat as you can stomach.'

Martin stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Why? Have you found something?'

Was it Edwin's imagination or did both the other men at the table stiffen slightly?

‘Oh, no – nothing in particular, not since I saw you earlier. I just meant that you'll be back within a few days whatever happens.'

Martin grunted and continued with his meal. Edwin finished his, and then pushed a piece of bread around the bowl for no reason. Nothing was getting any clearer. Just the opposite, in fact: the more he went on, the more confused he was getting. He needed something. He needed a sign.