Free Abbot's Passion by Stephen Wheeler Page A

stale, that’s if there’s any left after the rats and them kids is finished. Ger-off you little buggers!’
    The man threw a stone at one tiny waif who had managed to dodge the stone and grab one of the pies before making off with it.
    ‘Lovely pies they is, too. Me and my lad spent all week baking - didn’t we, boy?’
    The lad, a thinner version of his father, gave me a cheery smile and a wave.
    ‘Have you spoken to the reeve?’ I said trying to be helpful. ‘He’s a reasonable sort of chap. I’m sure he’ll let you retrieve your property.’
    ‘Me and everyone else,’ the pie-man said indicating all the other traders trying to do the same thing. ‘Looks like we’s all goin’ be disappointed.’ He suddenly sat up straight. ‘Tell you what, I’ve just had an idea.’ He nodded towards the guard. ‘There’s only one of him and there’s three of us. Let’s all go together. You go that way, I’ll go this and the lad can take the middle. One of us is bound to get through.’
    ‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ I said eyeing the guard’s vicious-looking lance.
    ‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said the man getting to his feet. ‘We can do it. On a count of three.’
    ‘No I -’
    ‘One -’
    ‘No wait!’
    ‘Two -‘
    ‘No really!’
    ‘Three!’
    Before I could object again he and his son started running hell for leather towards their barrow.
    ‘Oi you!’ yelled the guard and started after them not knowing which to tackle first.
    I hesitated for a moment longer, and then I started running too.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
    THE WRONG MURDER WEAPON
    ‘What on earth did you think you were doing? Look at the state of you! Your robe’s ripped, your lip’s cut and you’ve got mud in your hair.’
    I was standing in front of Samson’s desk again with him glaring up at me a look of thunder on his face. Abbot Eustache was also there with a smirk like an engorged hernia on his. Admittedly I was a little dishevelled.
    ‘I got into a slight tussle with one of the guards,’ I said trying discreetly to hold the two halves of my hood together. ‘The good news is he knocked my bad tooth out - look!’ I showed them both the gap where the rotten molar had been and flinching at my cut lip.
    ‘You’re lucky that was all you lost,’ said Samson. ‘That guard had orders to keep the market clear, especially the area around the murder site.’
    ‘Oh I don’t think it would have come to that. Fellow was quite amenable once he understood what I was after - and released me from the headlock.’
    Samson shook his head. ‘You knew the abbot-legate’s orders. The market was to remain closed.’
    ‘Yes, but only for tradesmen, surely, not to senior members of the abbey?’ I raised a quizzical eyebrow to Eustache.
    ‘Your irresponsible actions enabled one tradesman to get in, mon frère .’
    ‘You mean the pie-man?’ I said eagerly. ‘Did he manage to get his pies?’
    ‘He did not. They were impounded.’
    I turned to Samson. ‘Oh really, father!’
    ‘Never mind the pie-man,’ said Samson flapping a dismissive hand. ‘What were you doing there?’
    ‘Looking for this.’
    I produced the thing I’d been secreting beneath my robe and laid it on the desk before them. They both stared at it.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘It’s the rod Fidele used to whack Hamo on the shin. I found it under the remains of his stall.’
    Samson shrugged. ‘What of it?’
    ‘Well don’t you see? If it was still at the murder scene it can’t have been used to kill Fidele.’
    ‘Walter, Brother Fidele’s body is at this moment lying in the chapel of Saint Denis with a hole in his chest. Are you suggesting he isn’t?’
    ‘I’m suggesting this isn’t the weapon that killed him. But if Hamo was the murderer it would have to be. Ergo , he can’t be the murderer.’
    Samson and Eustache exchanged glances.
    ‘Explain.’
    I was happy to: ‘There are two metal rods like this one on a market stall that hold up the canopy roof. I