Unholy Innocence (17 page)

‘That’s very interesting,’ I said and realised immediately it might explain another inconsistency. I told him what Sir Richard de Tayfen had said about Matthew’s interest in his daughter. Difficult enough to believe in a child of fourteen, but not as difficult as in a child of twelve. It also rendered the boy less than the pure in heart we were led to think he was, and certainly no pre-pubescent child.

‘Didn’t you say part of the reason these boys are chosen by the Jews for sacrifice is for their innocence? If Matthew wasn’t as young as we thought then that surely weakens the argument against Isaac.’ I grinned rubbing my hands together. ‘Things are looking up.’

Jocelin studied me for a moment. ‘Forgive me for saying so, brother, but you’re sounding more like Moy’s defence c-council than the chief investigator.’

I shifted awkwardly. It was something Samson had also noticed. ‘It’s as you said before, I pity his plight,’ I defended. ‘A-and with so many eager to hang this crime on him I think it reasonable to have someone on his side. And as you so rightly pointed out just now, I betrayed his trust. Because of my incompetence he may well die and his wife and family end up penniless. I have ground to make up. A slight leaning in his direction I feel is not amiss - to redress the balance somewhat.’ I grimaced, unconvinced myself of my own argument.

Jocelin thought for a moment. ‘Have you considered that may be part of his strategy - to influence the c-course of the investigation? To win your sympathy?’

‘I prefer to think that it is a sign of his desperation that he had to turn to me, a complete stranger, a Christian and possibly his chief persecutor, to help him.’ I frowned at the sunlight. ‘It seems to me that everywhere you look someone has something to gain from finding Isaac guilty: The King covets the man’s wealth; our brother monks wish for a new saint to venerate. No-one seems to be bothered about finding the truth.’

‘The elusive truth again,’ smiled Jocelin.

‘Indeed,’ I said resolutely. ‘And I intend to get to it even if that means upsetting the Abbot, Geoffrey de Saye, or even the King himself. But mark me,’ I put on what I hoped was my sternest face for Jocelin. ‘If it turns out that Isaac ben Moy really is the murderer of this boy then I will be the first to put the rope around his neck, make no mistake.’

Jocelin smiled and nodded. ‘S-speaking of mistakes, I noticed that Matthew’s mother d-didn’t try to correct the one about the boy’s age when we spoke to her. ‘

‘Yes, you’re right. Perhaps we should tackle her about it. God, there is so much to do and so little time.’

Jocelin looked thoughtful. ‘It seems to me we are dealing almost with two completely d-different people. There’s Matthew the child saint eulogised by Egbert,
Ranulf, Jeremiah
et al
. And then there’s the urchin Matthew described by your Mother Han, who r-runs about the streets and lechers after girls. Which is the real Matthew, I wonder?’

‘When we know that we’ll know which one got himself murdered, the saint or the sinner. And then perhaps we will know the reason why.’

Two young monks I knew to be among those who had supported the canonization of Matthew at his requiem came out of the inner parlour. They were in animated conversation which stopped abruptly when they saw me. I was dreading they might come over and braced myself for another barrage of abuse. But they merely nodded politely, if coolly, and walked off the other way towards the church. I could sense Jocelin tense and then relax next to me again.

‘What happened to the four Knieler women?’ I asked him gazing up at the brilliant round globe of the sun. ‘I haven’t seen them beside the grave today.’

‘Samson had them removed,’ he said. ‘He d-doesn’t think they are genuine either. I think they may have resumed their vigil outside Isaac’s house.’

Poor Rachel, I thought. That’s all she needs.

‘I think that’s where I should go next, see how she’s faring. God knows what the poor woman must be going through alone in that house with three young children. But she showed herself to be a woman of spirit when we were there. Maybe she can animate Isaac into fighting for what is undoubtedly going to be his life.’

‘Do you want me to come too?’ Jocelin asked.

‘No. She thinks poorly enough of our Christian ways. One monk is intimidating. Two may clam her up completely.’

*

On my way to the Moy house I thought I’d make a quick detour to Joseph’s shop again to see how things were there. I hadn’t been for a few days and it was an insubstantial structure vulnerable if left unattended, and though it had appeared to be all right on my last visit I felt a duty to go up there again to keep an eye on it. It would be one less worry on my mind if I knew it was safe and one less distraction from my difficult task. As before, I went out of the town through Risbygate, turned right and walked the few dozen yards to the shop.

When I got there I was appalled at what I found. It had always been such a welcoming place, lively, busy and filled with the most wonderful artefacts, exotic plants and herbs, spices and potions in colourful bottles and glorious silks and fabrics from the East. All had gone, the shop entirely empty, shutters up and blinds down. My eyes filled with tears at the sight of such dereliction. I was almost too distraught to go inside but I forced myself to push at the door and step across the threshold.

The interior was dark and damp where just a fortnight earlier it had been light and airy, and where there had been the fragrance of incense now was the stench of dereliction and decay. I had no doubt animals and probably vagrants had been in. I knew Joseph had intended going but I had thought he meant to leave the place ready for his return as soon as the King and his entourage had left the town. But this was total abandonment. Coming on top of my concerns over the murder I suddenly felt very weary and realised the events of the past two weeks and lack of sleep had taken a greater toll on me than I had thought. The emotion must have got to me then because I let out a sob of such despair I surprised myself. The sound must have disturbed someone in the inner sitting room because I heard a noise.

‘Who’s there?’ I called angrily and readied myself to fight whoever it was. But the screen parted and a tall lithesome figure appeared in the doorway. The possessor was in shadow at first and I could not see who it was, but then I recognised the young man who had served the tray of spiced must and sweetmeats the last time I was here. I hadn’t liked the look of him then and finding him alone now when Joseph was away annoyed me all the more.

‘You,’ I said. ‘I thought it was a vagrant.’

‘There was someone until two days ago, but I threw him out. I am alone here now.’

I didn’t believe that. By the look of him he couldn’t have thrown a cat out never mind a vagrant. He was clearly up to no good.

‘You know who I am?’ I demanded.

He nodded. ‘Joseph’s brother.’

I bridled at his impertinence. ‘You call your master by name? I wonder if he knows. Where is your master?’

‘Gone.’

‘I can see he’s gone,’ I said sharply. ‘I’m asking you where?’

‘I do not know.’

‘You do, you just won’t tell me. And by the way, what is your name? I don’t think I heard it. Do you not know to show courtesy when you address a brother of the abbey?’

He did not flinch but spoke steadily. ‘My name is Chrétien.’

I snorted. ‘That’s a name
for a French ponce. What’s your real name?’

‘It is the name Joseph chooses to call me.’

‘Oh, does he?’ I wagged an admonishing finger at him. ‘I’ll tell him all this when next I see him, don’t think I won’t.’

I’d had enough of his insolence and was about to order him out of the place when I noticed something he was holding behind his back.

‘What have you got there?’

He produced the object, a money purse which I snatched from his grasp. ‘I’ll take that, thank you.’

I opened the purse and saw that it was indeed filled with dozens of silver pennies - doubtless takings from Joseph’s business. This was probably the real reason the boy was here today. I’d clearly caught him in the act of stealing it and was in two minds whether to call the Beadle. But I reluctantly concluded that anyone on the premises, even this ne’er-do-well, was better than no-one.

‘I’ll keep this,’ I sniffed turning to leave. ‘And tidy the place up a bit. Living here as though you owned the place. I shall be back to make sure you do, probably when you least expect me. So beware.’ And giving him one last sneer of disapproval I marched smartly out of the building.

Outside I felt oddly elated by the encounter and relieved at least to have heard news of Joseph. I set off back towards the town feeling unexpectedly refreshed and ready to tackle the harridan who was Isaac ben Moy’s wife.

Chapter 16

THE STREET URCHINS

The
week of hot dry weather continued but I was beginning to sense a subtle change in the wind. As I looked back from the top of the town over the abbey below me white fluffy clouds scuttled maniacally, so it seemed to me, across the otherwise clear blue sky. As they did so the west end of the abbey church, now completely encased in scaffolding for Samson’s towers, cast intermittent shadows over Palace Yard, the space through which Isaac ben Moy would be brought for trial in three days time. Just three days to save a man of whose innocence I was more and more convinced.

The scene outside Isaac’s house as I arrived was more or less the same as it had been the previous week. The sturdy little captain of horse was still there but had been joined by two more soldiers who were guarding the doorway to Isaac’s house. I noted with dismay that several pieces of vegetation had been flung at the door and were lying rotting on the doorstep but otherwise it had remained unmolested. The ‘
whining wenches’ as I had privately come to think of the Knieler women were back and still on their knees outside the house babbling in what I now knew to be Gaelic and not heavenly ‘tongues’. Their presence was drawing unwelcome attention to the house inciting curiosity and ill-will in equal measure against the family – which no doubt was their purpose. It was just a pity I did not know another Scot who might be able to challenge them in their own language and put an end to their ridiculous blathering once and for all. Someone had put them up to this and I was sorely tempted to tackle them on the spot to find out who. But confrontation would simply cast them in the role of victim while doing nothing to help the Moy family. All I could do was bide my time and pray for some miracle to remove them.

In contrast to this and adding a welcome note of levity to an otherwise dismal scene was a gaggle of half a dozen street urchins who were clowning about, having fun mimicking the women’s attitude of devotion and inventing a very plausible gobbledegook of their own. It crossed my mind these might be some of the waifs Mother Han had referred to in the gaol. The captain certainly was enjoying their antics and the ones who particularly took his fancy were rewarded with the occasional quarter-penny which he flicked high into the air for them to catch. It must have been very irritating for the Knieler women to have these human hornets buzzing around their heads and being unable to swat them but to do so would have meant they’d have to reveal themselves for the charlatans they were. Still, I had to admire their forbearance in the face of such provocation. Some passers-by slowed their pace to watch the fun but most seemed content merely to hurry by leaving the captain and his men with little else to amuse them on this sultry afternoon.

‘These young tykes, brother,’ chuckled the bearded captain as I approached. ‘They put on a good act. That one with the mizzened hand is a born showman. I’d wager he’ll be in one of the Easter plays before he’s much older. His face is as pretty as a girl’s, make a bonnie wife for one of Noah’s sons. Ha ha, look at him! Here, a whole penny this time.’ He pinged the sliver of silver high in the air whereupon all six scamps dived for it. But it was the boy with the mizzened hand who managed to catch it despite his handicap.

‘See?’ grinned the delighted captain. ‘He may have half the limbs of the others but he has twice their wits. He gets the coin every time.’

I laughed too, but I was more interested in one of the Knieler women who was evidently in not quite so blindly euphoric a state as the others for although she didn’t stop her gabbling I noticed her eyes followed the line of the captain’s little shiny charm as it arched its way through the light-filled air. This gave me an idea.

‘Why captain,’ I said, beaming at him. ‘A penny’s a paltry reward for such excellent sport. Let’s raise the wager a little.’ I reached inside the purse that I had taken from Chrétien and withdrew a handful
of coins. ‘Here boys,’ I yelled holding out the pile temptingly. ‘Something this time for everyone.’

Upon saying, I scattered the coins high in the air so that they rained down like a sparkling shower of Italian comfits landing all about with a very pleasing tinkling sound on the ground. This time it wasn’t just the urchins who scrabbled in the dust for the money but one or two of the watching adults also. But still the Knieler women held their ground and stoically carried on their charade of pretend-gibberish. So I tried another handful of Joseph’s bounty and then a third just for luck. I would have thrown a fourth but I didn’t need to. First one, then a second, and finally all four Knieler women, their nerve finally gone, were screeching and scratching and shoving each other and the urchins out the way to get at the money. Wimples askew, hair flying, they fought like dockyard drunkards to scrape up the money accompanied by much shrieking and spitting in both Gaelic and English.

The captain’s eyebrows shot to the top of his head. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!  You know, I thought there was something fishy about those women.’

Fishy
being the operative word for these herring-gutters, I thought to myself. We watched the women for a few moments more all pretence now abandoned as petticoats flew and fingers scrabbled for the remaining few half-pennies, much to the amusement of the men watching, some of whom threw up their own few coins just to keep the entertainment going.

I turned away with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction. ‘Captain, I’ve come to see the Moy family again. I’m the chief investigator in the murder case. You remember I was here a few days ago.’

‘Aye,’ nodded the captain. ‘I remember you, and the fuss you caused last time.’ He nodded toward the fracas on the road. ‘Seems havoc has a habit of following you.’ He signalled to the soldier by the door to let me through the gate.

‘I’ll try to be less bothersome this time,’ I said kicking aside a rotting cabbage that was lying by the door. ‘And thank you.’

*

The gruff-looking, late-middle-aged woman dressed entirely in black who I had seen on my last visit let me in.

‘You are Matilde? The Moys’ servant?’ I said as she shut and bolted the door behind me.

‘
Oui, mon
frère,
’
she bobbed politely
.

Her reply in French took me momentarily by surprise until I remembered what Isaac had told me that three generations of her family had served the Moy household. In all probability they had hardly been out of the house in all that time and had no lives of their own, passing on their skills and ancient version of the language from one generation to the next. I had heard of such servants before but usually they were of Arab or African descent, never French.

‘I have come to see your mistress on a matter of some urgency,’ I articulated as clearly as I could. ‘I do not have time for the usual courtesies so I would be grateful if you could just tell her I am here. I am sure she will see me.’

She seemed to understand well enough my purpose and led the way to one of the side rooms on the ground floor.

I couldn’t help noticing as I walked through the dark and empty hall that the house was still as shuttered and cold as it had been the last time I came, giving the house a depressing but serene atmosphere as though it were waiting for something to happen. The side room turned out to be a sort of scullery not a living room at all. There was no window and the only light was from a single candle that sat on a table in the middle of the room. Next to it, huddled together on a wooden settle, sat Rachel Moy who was cradling the two little girls, one in each arm, while the boy stood close by. It was a moment or two before my eyes adjusted sufficiently to see them all properly.

‘Mistress Moy,’ I said, slightly shocked by her appearance. ‘Are you all right?’

At first she seemed not to hear me, her eyes glazed and unseeing. But then she curled her lip to reply. ‘They throw missiles at the house,’ she said in a voice empty of emotion. ‘Shout at night. Sometimes they try to get in. We are safer in here.’ She leaned over and kissed the heads of the two little girls.

My heart filled with desolation and compassion at her words. She sounded so hopeless. ‘Rachel, is there nowhere you can go? Surely now to your husband’s family in Norwich? For pity’s sake – for the
children’s
sake?’

She snorted. ‘Who would carry us there? You?’

I looked at Rachel Moy’s face. It was the face of a rabbit caught in the jaws of a stoat, hypnotised and resigned to a fate that was beyond her understanding or control. I didn’t know what to say to her.

‘If it is any comfort, those women outside are gone now. I don’t think they will be back.’

She merely snorted. ‘They have done their work. Everyone knows we are here now.’

There was a sound behind her and I stiffened as I realised that there was a fifth person in the room standing so far back in the shadows that it was almost impossible to see him. He must have seen me start for he came forward and I could see from his attire that he was a rabbi. I wondered how he had got in to the house for I doubted if the captain would have allowed him to pass. But then I guessed he must have come in through the secret shaft at the side of the house leading to the cellar and in so thinking it occurred to me that that was probably the reason they had kept the shaft and the cellar clear. The Abbot’s ordinances against Jews living in the town extended to visiting rabbis. This way he could come and go discreetly. The man now stepped between me and Rachel holding out his hands protectively.

‘We are all praying that Isaac will soon be back and this nightmare will be at an end.’ He gestured towards the door for me to leave. But I had no intention of being so summarily dismissed.

‘Rabbi, I have to ask her some questions,’ I insisted.

‘To what purpose?’

I bristled. ‘In order to fight, of course. You can’t just do
nothing
.’

‘I told you, we are doing something. We are praying.’

‘I too am praying,’ I said. ‘And I think God has partly answered my prayer. He sent me a messenger with some unexpected information that I believe may be critical. I asked Isaac about it but he was reluctant to discuss it. I want to see if Rachel can throw any further light.’

‘Forgive me, brother, but that is your desire. It is not Rachel’s. And from what you say it is not Isaac’s either. So please, leave now. You cannot help.’ He stepped forward with his hands held out to usher me away.

This was maddening. What was wrong with these people? Why were they being so defeatist? It was almost as though they welcomed their own martyrdom.

‘I just want to ask,’ I insisted, ‘did the murdered boy Matthew come here to the house? I mean, I know he did but I need to know why.’

‘You already have the answer to that. He came to be crucified by the Christ-killers.’

The phrase infuriated me. It could have been uttered by Egbert. ‘I don’t believe that,’ I frowned. ‘And I don’t think Rachel does either. There has to be another reason.’

‘Then you are the only one to think it.’

From behind the rabbi Rachel spoke at last, though not to me but quietly as though reminiscing to herself. ‘At first he came to sell us earth – the clay of Adam’s body. It was a kindness. Useful.’

She was referring to the fuller’s earth used for cleaning clothes. I understood that. ‘Yes?’ I said encouragingly. ‘That’s right. The earth. But something else. Some other reason for his visit. What was it?’

‘They became – friends.’ She curled her lip and spat the word again. ‘Friends!’

‘Matthew and Isaac. Yes, yes. Go on. What passed between them?’

Her mouth smiled but her eyes showed her mind was elsewhere. ‘The Devil passed. He comes in many guises, old Ned. Sometimes with the sweet face of innocence.’

The rabbi swung round. ‘Say no more, Rachel. Your duty is not to this man but to your husband.’

‘Please,’ I was almost begging. ‘Don’t stop now.’ But it was no good. Rachel’s face crumpled as Jacob put his arms around his mother and she broke down in silent sobs clutching her children to her. I knew I would get no more from her. With all the stress of the past days her wits had finally left her.

The rabbi looked almost as distraught as she. ‘You must go now. Can you not see you only distress her more with your questions? Her mind is in turmoil. Leave her to grieve in peace.’ We had reached the door which Matilde stood ready to open. As she did so the rabbi stepped back into shadow so as not to be seen from outside.