Free The Abbot's Gibbet by Michael Jecks Page B

sat, with The Abbot’s Gibbet
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    his back to the hearth, he could gaze out through the glazed windows over the fishponds and gardens. The grounds took up a large area, stretching to the strip fields. He could see the lazy sweep of the river as it meandered away from the town.
    When he saw a flash of reddish brown, he stiffened. It was near the water’s edge, and he sat up to peer. The Abbot noticed his concentration, and turned to see what had attracted his guest’s interest. “Ah, Sir Baldwin, you have a good eye,” he chuckled.
    “It looks a good beast.”
    “Yes. We are fortunate in having over forty deer in our park, though we do sometimes have difficulties.”
    “What sort of difficulties?” Margaret asked. The abbot smiled genially, and there was a twinkle in his eye. “Sometimes they manage to escape from the park when we’re trying to catch them. I’ve been told off for chasing my venison on to the moors before now. We do try to make sure that our hounds catch the beasts before they can get out of the park, but every now and again one of them will succeed, and what then are we to do? It’s hard to keep the ditches and hedges maintained.”
    Baldwin could not restrain a grin. That an abbot should dare to roam over the chase of Dartmoor to poach, and then happily confess it, was unique in his experience. “I should like to see your pack of hounds,”
    he said, and the Abbot nodded delightedly.
    “It would be my pleasure. Perhaps I could tempt you to join me for a hunt as well?”
    “I would have to accept so kind an offer.”
    Simon patted his bag. “Would you like to go through the business of the stannary now?”
    “Oh no, Simon. You’ve had a tiring journey to get 62
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    here. Please, rest ! We can talk about business later. I’ve been Abbot here for four and thirty years, and while Our Lord may decide not to let me carry on for another four and thirty, I hope that I’ve a few more years left in me! There’s time for us to discuss our work later.”
    Baldwin leaned back in his seat. The Abbot was a good host, chatting with Simon and his wife and putting both at their ease. Baldwin had known many priestly men, but this one, Robert Champeaux, seemed to wear his power and authority lightly. And he did have authority. Baldwin had spent some time enquiring about his host with Peter Clifford, the Dean of Crediton Church, and had found the time instructive. As Champeaux said, he had been Abbot for over thirty years. When he had taken on the post, the Abbey had been in debt, but now, after his careful administration, it was rumored to be one of the soundest institutions in the shire.
    Abbot Robert had attracted money by improving the fairs and markets, taking business from Chagford and Lydford, and reinvesting the money to buy lucrative offices. He had been appointed controller of all the silver mines in Devon in 1318, and Baldwin understood he had recently extended his management of the mines in exchange for a sizeable loan to help with the war against Scotland. This year, 1319, he had become the warden of the Devon stannaries, and keeper of the port of Dartmouth, both highly profitable positions, yet he was content to sit and discuss the quality of cloths in the market with the wife of one of his bailiffs. That displayed a humility and generosity of spirit many other priests would do well to emulate.
    There was a knock at the door and a young monk The Abbot’s Gibbet
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    entered, bowing low. “My lord, the port-reeve would like to speak to you.”
    “Please show him in. Ah, Holcroft, you have sent for the coroner, I hear?”
    “Yes, sir. And I have attached the four neighbors and Will Ruby, the first finder.”
    “The hue was raised, of course, so there is little more to be done. Where is the body?”
    “I couldn’t leave it there, sir.” Normally a body would be left where it had been found until the coroner could view it. “It would be impossible with so many people around.