Unholy Innocence (23 page)

Chapter 21

UNMASK
ING A MURDERER

I
now knew the identity of Matthew’s killer although I still did not know the reason. That I hoped to learn once I’d confronted his murderer which was where I was headed now. Whatever the reason turned out to be I was certain it had nothing whatever to do with boy-martyrs or Jews wanting to return to their homeland. Had I been a little smarter - or at least quicker – I might have been able to prevent the deaths of Isaac ben Moy and his wife Rachel and avoid the tragedy of the past few days. All this was going through my mind as I turned in at the tower gate and crossed the expanse of the Court of Hospice, passing the spot where Isaac had been so cruelly tortured, and out through the cellarer’s gate. My heart began to thump with anticipation for as I drew closer I could hear him singing the same tune that little Esme had been humming just as I remembered he had on each occasion I’d visited him. His sleeves were rolled up this time and I could see now they had concealed a pair of powerful forearms, certainly powerful enough to restrain the limbs of a fourteen-year-old boy.

At first he did not see me but when he did he stopped singing and his face broke into its usual jolly smile.

‘Well, good day to you Master Walter. Have you come to tend my injuries again? There is no need. As you can see, I am fully recovered now.’ To prove it he slapped and pummelled the dough on the bench before him shaping it and reshaping it with his big strong fists. I did not reply but instead placed the little almond macaroon I had retrieved from Matthew’s bed in the middle of the table. It was broken and shrivelled but still recognisable for what it was.

Alric glanced at it briefly and raised his eyebrows. ‘That looks a bit stale. Would you like another? I’ve plenty made.’ He nodded to a plate of freshly-baked Venus Nipples which were identical to the one I’d brought, his signature confection, his own speciality that only he baked. That was how I knew, of course. It could be no-one else.

He carried on working but gradually his kneading slowed and the smile on his face faltered. He glanced again quickly at the macaroon and then at me before looking away again. ‘I don’t recall giving that to you, brother. May I ask where you got it?’

‘It was concealed amongst the soiled linen of a child’s bed.’

For a moment he did not respond, then he said quietly, ‘Ah. That was careless. Boys of that age can be clumsy, can’t they brother?’

Though neither of us had mentioned Matthew’s name it was clear we both knew who he was talking about. Alric finished kneading his dough and placed it into a mould, sprinkled flour over the top and covered it with a linen cloth to rise. Then he wiped his hands on his apron and turned to face me. What was he going to do? Attack me? I braced myself for the blow but all he did was to sit on a little three-legged stool in the corner where he remained silently in the shadow for a long minute, his big hammy hands resting immobile on his knees.

‘You know,’ he said quietly, ‘I have in me such love, brother, such…longing.’ He frowned. ‘I think maybe his father dying like that when he was so young had a lot to do with it. Fathers are so important to a boy, don’t you think? It’s a terrible thing to be forced at such a tender age to provide for all those little brothers and sisters. I didn’t blame him for making the most of any opportunity to make life easier. He saw my weakness and exploited it.’

My jaw dropped in amazement. ‘You are saying it was his fault?’

‘No,’ he frowned, ‘of course not. But Matthew was special. He had wisdom beyond his years. The others merely teased and ran away, but Matthew – he had the measure of me from the start.’

‘Others?’ I frowned. ‘How many others?’

‘Over the years?’ He shrugged. ‘Dozens.’

I shut my eyes. ‘Dear God.’ Images came into my mind of the urchin boys I had met on the street outside Isaac’s house – Mother Han’s “waifs and strays”. How many of those, I wondered, had he abused? They knew all about Matthew – that was obvious from their curious behaviour now when I thought back. It was what their funny little dance had been about and their reluctance to speak to me. And how could I blame them? Even if they knew who or how to tell, who would have believed them? Who could they have trusted? Certainly not me, a stranger in a monk’s habit, the same habit that Alric wore. I was a fool to think that they would.

Then a horrific thought occurred to me. ‘These boys. Did one of them have a deformed hand? Like a fist that has not opened?’

He smiled. ‘You mean Onethumb – that’s what the others call him. A strange, quiet boy. But – how shall I say? -
accommodating
.’

Christ in Heaven, what must he have thought of me when I kissed his hand that day on the street? No wonder he spat at me. I had been simply trying to show compassion but he probably thought I meant something else. How dreadful to think that he must see all who wear the cowl in the same light as Alric. My monk’s habit, my belt, my tonsure – all supposed to be a symbol of humility and service. But to these boys it must have been a badge of menace. Anger welled inside me and I dare not speak for a moment for fear of what I might say to the man.

He, by contrast, seemed to want to speak: To confess, maybe, or at least to share the secret he had kept hidden to himself for so long relieved at last to unburden himself.

‘You don’t remember me do you, Master?’

‘Remember you? No, I don’t remember you.’

‘It must have been a year ago. I wasn’t a baker then. I was the assistant novice master.’

Of course! Yes indeed, I did remember him now. It had been nagging at me and now I knew. My mind suddenly hurtled back to an incident that occurred last summer, something of nothing really - or so it seemed at the time. The details were coming back to me. It was one Sunday morning.  I had been tending a sick patient in the town and was late back for the beginning of mass. Rather than interrupt the service I decided not to take my place in the choir but stood at the back of the nave with the general throng. Near me was a group of postulant boys. They were a little bit rowdy - boys of that age can be a challenge to discipline. One tries to make allowances for youthful high spirits, but even so postulants are supposed to be in training for holy orders and their behaviour was attracting some disapproving glances. I looked around for their novice master but seeing none I thought I had better admonish them myself which I did with a stern stare. But soon their sniggering returned until it was becoming quite a nuisance, so at a suitable moment in the mass I went over to have a word. It was then that I realised the cause of their bad behaviour: They were drunk! I could smell the alcohol on their breath.

Shocked, I quickly herded them out of the side door into the yard. I warned them I would report them to the Prior to be punished for their behaviour and demanded to know where their novice master was. Just at that moment one of the brothers had come running towards us from across the cloister garth. I realised now that brother was Alric. Breathless from his exertion, he was full of apologies claiming he’d been answering a call of nature. He assured me he’d been gone just a few minutes. I can’t remember now what I said in reply - some trite little speech about duty and respect, no doubt. The alcohol problem did give the incident a more serious slant than mere misdemeanour and one that should have ended these boys’ careers in the convent and possibly Alric’s too. But out of charity – or more likely laziness - I went back into the church and promptly forgot the whole affair.
Now another terrible thought struck me: What if I had reported the incident as was my clear duty at the time? Would Alric have been disciplined, perhaps lost his position? And if so, would Matthew still be alive now?

I do not pretend to understand what passions drive men like Alric. The simple answer is that it is the Devil’s work - but that is too easy. There has to be a deeper reason. I wanted to understand.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Master,’ he said watching me. ‘But there was no real harm done. It was just a game to them. To most of them at least.’

‘But not to Matthew?’

‘No,’ he smiled. ‘Not to Matthew. As I say, he was different. With him I was the prey and he played me as the angler plays his catch. Once he’d hooked me there was no escape.’

‘Or what?’ I asked, incredulous. ‘What did – what
could
he threaten you with?’

Alric shrugged. ‘What else? Exposure.’

I nodded. ‘If you didn’t give him what he wanted?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was that?’

Alric sighed deeply. ‘Not very much at first. Bread for his family. He has a large family, so many small children. I gave it willingly. I knew his father was dead and there was no income. Pity and compassion were my motives then.’ He looked down at his hands and smiled again. ‘I don’t expect you to believe that but it’s true. That was how clever he was, you see? I did not know then that I was dealing with a devil.’

‘He was a child!’ I protested angrily.

‘Oh yes. And all children are innocents, aren’t they?’

‘Yes,’ I nodded fiercely. ‘They are.’

He smiled wryly at that but didn’t reply.

‘When did it start?’

‘With Matthew? Oh…All Hallows Eve was probably the first time. I’d noticed him already, of course, as one of the new postulants. Such a beautiful boy. I could not take my eyes from him – and he knew it. He came with some other boys wanting wine to spice their pleasure - they like to dress as creatures of the night to terrorize the townsfolk. They knew I would not refuse them.’

‘In return for…favours,’ I suggested.

He glanced away, embarrassed by the word. ‘When the others left for the town Matthew remained. We talked. I genuinely liked him as a person. He seemed brighter than the others, more thoughtful, sensitive. I didn’t know then it was all an act. Oh he was clever, my bright little angel.’

First a devil now an angel. The double personality of the boy again.

‘But things soon changed?’ I suggested.

‘Oh yes.’ Alric took a deep breath and shuddered. ‘At first he was very sweet, and willing. But when he didn’t get what he wanted he changed, became spiteful, vicious. And always he was asking –
demanding
- more. He wanted beer from the cellars. Then wine - not like the others, to get drunk. In fact, I can’t remember seeing him actually drink himself.’

‘To sell, then?’ I suggested.

‘I suppose so. But that was just the beginning. Soon he was wanting other things, things I could not conceal. Plate from the vestry, coin from the Pilgrim Box. Quite a lot from the stores. The losses were being noticed. Brother Jocellus started complaining of items going missing from his cellars. It could not go on. I told Matthew to leave, to never return. I told him I would confess all to Abbot Samson.’

‘And that was when his mother paid you a visit,’ I guessed.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ he smiled at my insight. ‘I admit I was shocked. You wouldn’t have thought it would you? I mean, his own mother.’ He shook his head incredulously. ‘She threatened me. Said I wasn’t the one to tell Samson, she would do that and Matthew would be seen as the victim and I would be hanged.’ He curled his lip. ‘And she was almost right wasn’t she?’

So I was right about the mother. She must be a hardened woman to have used her own son in that way. I shuddered at the unfairness of life’s gamble.

I hesitated before I asked my next question, the one burning in my mind. ‘Now tell me about Jacob Moy.’

Alric’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘The Jew boy?’ He shrugged. ‘Not much to tell. Matthew brought him like all the others, but as soon as I saw him I knew he was the wrong type. He was too shy, not at all like the others. I was surprised they even knew each other. He was very nervous at being here and just wanted to leave.’

I clenched my fist tight as I asked my next question, dreading the answer: ‘Did you…violate him? The truth, Alric, upon your oath.’

He shot me a haughty look. ‘
Violate
? Is that what you think I did? No, brother, I did not
violate
him. I told you, he didn’t want to be here. Matthew made him come.’

His words filled me with inexpressible relief. I realised I had been holding my breath waiting for his reply. So in that case why? What purpose did Matthew have in bringing him? Jacob was no street urchin. He must have realised he was as Alric said, “the wrong type”. Why did Matthew bring him? There had to be another reason.