Free Abbot's Passion by Stephen Wheeler

master.’
     
    I found nothing of course and left Joseph’s shop even more frustrated than when I entered. No clues, no signs of mess or blood from Hamo’s wounded shin, no evidence that he had been there. But at least I had the satisfaction of creating a mess for Chrétien to clear up. Serve him right for his impudence. The question was, though, why would Joseph rescue Hamo, assuming I was right and he had rescued him? There was nothing more than a tenuous connection between them. Both were market traders but that was all. I doubted whether Joseph had even heard of Hamo before today. The only reason that made sense was that Joseph didn’t think Hamo wasn’t the murderer either. Did that mean he knew who was? That was what Mother Han had been intimating. I dearly wanted to ask him and preferably before I went to Ely, but he was now missing too, damn his eyes, and Chrétien wasn’t telling me where.
    With all this chasing around I’d missed most of the day’s offices as well as my dinner and the next one was at nones. If I missed that as well tongues would begin to wag. I also had to start making preparations for my journey to Ely in the morning. But that final comment by Mother Han was weighing heavily on my mind. What did she mean about a stall having two sides? Of course a stall has two sides. And a top and a bottom. So what? What had it to do with Fidele’s murder? Maybe if I saw a stall Mother Han’s meaning would become clearer. Despite my anxiety to return to the abbey I turned left out of Heathenmans Street instead of right and went up into the marketplace for the second time that day.
     
    Samson was as good as his word. The square, so vibrant and full of life a few hours ago, was now deserted save for the reeve’s marshals who were posted at the four entrances and dotted at regular intervals around the perimeter. From the looks of it the market must have been cleared in a hurry. Many of the stalls were still on their pitches along with much of their wares.
    The site of the murder was on the diametrically opposite side of the square to where I was. I suppose I could have circled round the back and approached from the top end, but time was pressing and the most direct route was to cut across the square - assuming the marshals would let me in. I decided the easiest way would be to just march in brazenly as though I had every right to do so in the hope I wouldn’t be challenged. Unfortunately the guard nearest me had other ideas and stepped smartly in front of me as soon as I took my first step across the perimeter line.
    ‘The market’s closed, brother.’
    I gave him my most confident smile. ‘Yes I know, I just need to get to the market cross briefly. I shan’t be a moment.’ I tried to take another step forward but the man wouldn’t budge.
    ‘The market’s closed.’
    I retreated again. ‘I’ve not come to buy anything. You see my robes? I’m a monk. I just want to see something over there near where the murder occurred this morning, that’s all.’
    ‘The market’s closed.’
    ‘Do you know any other phrases?’ I put up my hand before he could say it again. ‘Never mind.’
    ‘It’s no good, brother. They won’t let you in.’
    I turned to see a man seated nearby on some sacking. With him was a young lad. I went over to them.
    ‘I been trying all morning,’ said the man. ‘Them over there’s my pies,’ he said pointing to a nearby barrow. ‘What’s left of ’em. What are you after?’
    ‘Nothing. Certainly not pies. I just need access for a few minutes.’
    ‘This is that French monk’s doing, ain’t it?’ he smirked. ‘Him what got his clerk killed.’
    I didn’t want to get into another discussion about Abbot Eustache. ‘Are you local?’ I asked him.
    He shook his head. ‘Scole. That’s the other side of Diss. Must be twenty mile or more. Rode all night to get here. And I got another market in Sudbury tomorrow. If we don’t get them pies back today there’ll be