Brother's Blood (29 page)

He bowed his head again. ‘What I mean is, I should have treated you with more respect, as I should treat any man, regardless of his rank. Even were you a lay brother who came from a local village family, I should have demonstrated my worthiness by acting courteously.' He waited, and was rewarded by the touch on his head again. This time it was a benediction.

Brother Guy sketched the sign of the cross in the air over Martin's head and then helped him to rise. Martin's heart felt lighter. ‘Thank you.'

Brother Guy stood waiting expectantly and gestured for Martin to speak. He poured out the story of Brother Eugenius's death, of how Edwin thought he knew what had happened and had gone off to set some kind of trap. ‘And he's in danger, Brother, I know he is, despite what he said. It's my duty to protect him – please, please help me.'

He received a nod and a gesture to keep talking. He realised he hadn't said anything which would help right now, for he had no idea what Edwin was thinking or where he had gone. He tried to think his way through it, aloud.

‘It must be one of the choir monks, for both the dead men were killed in places where nobody else is allowed to go. But they're all so alike, I can't tell them apart. And how could the killer even know who he was killing? Brother Eugenius, maybe, for he was on his own. But Brother Alexander, he was surrounded by others and they all had their hoods up, so how could anyone tell him from anyone else?'

As he spoke his eye fell on the twins, Brothers Godfrey and Waldef, who were crossing the precinct. How long had he been here, talking to Brother Guy? Was the reading over? He pointed. ‘For all I know, all the monks could be as indistinguishable from each other as they are. And nobody can tell
them
apart.'

Martin knew he was starting to panic. In God's name, how was he going to face the earl if something happened to Edwin? And where the hell was he?

He felt a hand clamp his arm and he looked into a pair of eyes which had seen danger and death many times, and had survived. They were urging him to do something, but he didn't know what. ‘Please,
say
something. Tell me what to do.'

Brother Guy looked pained, but he did not speak. Instead he turned Martin round and pointed very firmly at the twins.

‘What? I'm sorry, Brother, I just don't understand. Please – Edwin's life might be at stake. Help me.'

Finally Brother Guy nodded, looked to the heavens, and opened his mouth to speak.

Edwin looked at the wool ledgers before him in the lay brothers' parlour. He had made it into the building and up the stairs unseen; nobody challenged him and nobody followed. Like the rest of the abbey the parlour was a plain space: a table, some stools, a storage kist, and the shelves in front of him on which sat the ledgers. Unlike the books in the library these were stored upright, and there were three rows of them. All the spines were towards him, and all were neatly labelled with dates. He started with the one with the earliest date, the leftmost one on the upper shelf, and methodically began to take them down and look through them.

It was the fourth one on the second row. As soon as he lifted it off the shelf he knew that it felt different, loose, so when he laid it on the table and began to open it he was unsurprised to see a flash of colour.

He opened the book fully, laying the hard cover as flat as he could and smoothing down the plain binding page. It was glued to the cover and was evidently part of the original ledger, as was the matching page at the back, but all the rest of the inside had been torn out, and bound manuscript leaves from another work had been placed inside to fill the space. The inner manuscript was the same thickness as the removed part, so when the ledger had been on the shelf with its spine facing outwards nobody could have noticed any difference. The label indicated that the accounts were from some years ago so there would have been no real occasion for anyone to take the book off the shelf in the normal course of things. It was a good hiding place.

If Edwin was right, then this was what someone had killed Brother Alexander for.
All knowledge is precious
, that was what Anabilia had said, in a throwaway remark. And knowledge was to be found in books. And books were valuable. The fabled ‘treasure' which Brother Alexander had brought back from the East was neither gold nor jewels, but a book. But why? Why would someone kill for this?

And then he opened the manuscript and he understood, for all the wonders of the world were contained inside.

Edwin had no idea how long he stood there, staring, unable to take his eyes away from the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He drank in the words, the pictures, the decorations, the thoughts, the experiences. It might have been an hour; it might have been a year. Time was immaterial. The world stopped. He could look at this for the rest of his life. Every page contained not only the words of Holy Scripture, but the most wonderful images, pictures which told stories of their own and which were decorated to the last, tiniest detail. He could see every link on the armour of Goliath as he was slain by the boy David; he stared in horror at Adam and Eve being expelled from Eden; he flinched despite himself at the vivid depiction of blind Samson bringing a building crashing down to destroy the Philistines; he drank in the sight of God the Father creating the world, running his finger in awe over the image as many others had evidently done before him; he could not take his eyes off the intricate interwoven decorations which filled every space on every page. He gazed at the red, the gold, the
blue
.

He was disturbed by a sound behind him.

Edwin turned to see Brother Octavian standing in the doorway. Oh dear Lord – he'd spent too long entranced by the book and the
lectio divina
was finished. The
lectio divina
which was to keep all the choir monks occupied until he had dragged this book out and left it in public so he could watch the librarian's reaction. And now here he was alone with him. What a fool. He'd have to make the best of it. Maybe he could stall long enough for Martin to find him.

Or maybe he would die, for really, what difference was it going to make? He was going to die in the earl's service at some point anyway. Perhaps here, in this room, with the most stunning object he'd ever seen, was as good a place as any. A quick thrust to the heart and it would all be over. He would be at peace.

And then, in a moment of blinding clarity, he realised that he had been driving himself towards this moment ever since he had arrived at the abbey, ever since the earl had sent him here – ever since he received word that Alys was already married. For his life was worth nothing, and would be better ended. Why else would he have gone to so much trouble to elude the man who was sworn to protect him? His life was over. He
wanted
it to be over. He should accept his death calmly.

But.

If he were to die then the killer might go on to murder again. Edwin thought of Brother Eugenius's body, of the blood pooling on his chest. Of others who might suffer. He had to do something, he had to do just enough to let the killer be identified before he gave in and let himself step into the welcoming arms of death.

‘Brother —' He felt the unsteadiness in his voice and cleared his throat before trying again. ‘Brother Octavian. I was just going to come and fetch you. Look what was hidden here, hidden inside one of the ledgers. It's a Bible, Brother, the most incredible thing I've ever seen.' But if he wanted to die, if he truly desired it, why was he looking past the monk at the door? Why was he hoping that Martin would arrive? Martin would be sad if he died, and so would Mother. Could he do that to them?

Brother Octavian moved towards him, almost staggering as he looked at the book on the table, now open on a page depicting a battle which was so vibrant it almost jumped up off the parchment. He approached with one shaky hand held out in front of him, his mouth open but incapable of speech as he stared at the riches before him. Edwin knew how he felt.

Perhaps he could escape after all, using Brother Octavian's disorientation to his advantage. But it was too late: by now the monk was standing right next to him, his robe brushing Edwin's tunic, and Edwin felt the point of the knife in his side.

Martin stood with Brother Guy as the lay brother continued to point to the twins, now almost across the precinct and oblivious to the scrutiny.

And finally Brother Guy broke his vow of silence. His voice was low and rumbling. ‘Think. Who can tell them apart?'

Martin's mind ran back over the last few days. Nobody could, could they? He hadn't … oh, wait. He remembered the end of the
lectio divina
, when he'd been so bored watching the monks read. Brother Guy had entered from the lay brothers' range just as the monks were giving their books back. And Brother Octavian, the librarian, knew which twin was which because of the book each was reading. And if he could tell
them
apart, he could identify any of the brethren from their reading material. He could, for example, see which reader was Brother Alexander. He could creep up and stab him.

He was crossing the precinct now.

Martin had no idea why Brother Octavian should do any of these things, but he didn't care. He drew his sword and sprinted across the open space as he saw the monk entering the abbey building through the door in the lay brothers' range. Martin followed, but he was a way behind and when he skidded to a halt inside he couldn't see his quarry. There were doorways to the left and right of him. Where had the guestmaster told them they led, on that first day? If only he'd been paying more attention! There was a passage ahead which led into the cloister. He felt his sweaty hand starting to lose its grip on the sword hilt. Dear God, if he'd slipped in among all the other white monks …

Martin looked wildly around him. He was standing at the bottom of a flight of stairs. The stairs! That was where —

A voice came floating down. Edwin's. Martin tore up the steps and burst into the room.

Two figures swung round to face him. One was Edwin, looking pale and shocked. The other was Brother Octavian, who was holding a knife to Edwin's ribs.

‘Stop!' The monk was wild-eyed. ‘I can kill him before you can get near enough to hurt me with that.' He pushed the point of the knife further into Edwin's side, and Martin saw his friend give a start of pain as the sharp point pricked into him.

Martin raised his left hand in the air and took a careful step back. ‘Put the knife down.'

‘Put your sword down first.'

Martin hesitated and the knife pressed further into Edwin's side. Edwin gasped and a small bloodstain appeared on his tunic. ‘All right, all right!' He carefully placed the sword on the floor and stood. The hilt was towards him and he began to calculate how quickly he could pick it up again if he needed to.

A sound came from behind him and he knew that Brother Guy had followed him up and was in the room. Good. Numbers were now in their favour, though Brother Octavian was still holding the knife far too close to Edwin's body. It was a small, sharp-looking thing, similar to the one which had been used to kill Brother Eugenius, and Martin knew that it would slide into Edwin's unarmoured body like butter, leading to a swift and inevitable death.

Brother Octavian looked about him, and Martin could see him weighing up his options. There was only one doorway. Both he and Brother Guy stood between him and it, but the monk had the knife and the hostage. Martin glanced down again at his sword.

Brother Octavian caught the direction of his gaze. ‘Brother Guy. Step forward and kick that sword over towards me.'

Martin exchanged a glance with the lay brother, who did as he was bid and then moved to stand level with Martin but apart from him, so that there was a gap between them and the way to the door was open. Martin cast him a questioning look and received a barely perceptible nod. Did he have a plan?

‘What is it you hope to achieve?' Martin tried addressing Brother Octavian directly. Negotiation was not going to be his strong point, but he had to try something. And why, in the Lord's name, was Edwin not saying anything? Surely he was clever enough to talk his way out of this, if he tried? But he was just standing there. Admittedly he had a knife held to him – the bloodstain didn't appear to be getting any bigger, thank God – but he looked … blank. As if he wasn't there at all, in his mind.

‘This young man and I are going to walk out of here with the book.' Martin belatedly noticed that there was some kind of brightly coloured volume open on the table. Was this what it had all been about? A
book
? What was wrong with these people?

Brother Octavian was continuing. ‘Nobody will see the knife, and we will look as though we are simply walking together and discussing the work. If you try to stop me leaving, I will kill him.'

‘And then what?'