Free The Devil's Acolyte (2002) by Michael Jecks

knowledge. However, Simon had the
impression that he was sincere in his religious protestations. There were stories of men who robbed from the wealthy in order to support the poor. Could someone in the Abbey be behaving in that
way?
    Ah, well. It was nothing to do with him. The Abbot had told him to leave the matter alone.
    As he thought this, he saw Mark watching him. There was a brightness in his eyes which spoke of more intelligence than Simon would have guessed at from his conversation.
    Simon considered. ‘So you think that someone taking money from another, so long as it was put to good use, would be justified?’
    Mark set his head on one side. ‘Perhaps. Provided that nobody was hurt. And that the stealer did not take it for personal advantage.’
    ‘You are toying with words now. Surely if someone takes something, that is theft and there can be no excuse. A felon is a felon.’
    ‘There are some crimes which are worse than simply attempting to enrich oneself, Bailiff,’ Mark said sternly. He slurped at his wine. ‘The man who actively does harm to Holy
Mother Church is himself lost. There are some . . . But there! One has to point out the error of people’s ways, and hope that thereby one can save their souls.’
    ‘I have no idea what you are talking about,’ Simon smiled.
    Mark returned it with a grin that was both cheeky and tired. ‘I think perhaps that is for the best, Bailiff.’
    The Bailiff grunted, and they spoke of other, less weighty matters for a while, until Simon had drained a second cup and left Mark with thanks for his hospitality.
    The
salsarius
watched him go, his lips pursed. There were things he would have liked to have said to the Bailiff, but he daren’t, not yet. Perhaps later, once he had spoken to
that thieving devil, the miner Walwynus.
    There was no excuse for a man who stole from an Abbey. Yes, a thief who took property or money from a rich merchant and then distributed the wealth among the poor, thereby achieving
Christ’s aim of sharing out the world’s riches with those who needed it most, allowing each man his own piece, that was honourable. But not when the profits were kept to enrich the
thief.
    Wally had willingly participated in stealing from the Abbey, taking things from guests, purely for his own profit. That was evil. It could only lead to harm in the long run, ruining the
Abbey’s reputation. As soon as people learned that the Abbey had allowed it to go on, they would think again before donating funds; travellers would go elsewhere, and the Abbey would sink
into the mire of speculation and foul, irreverent gossip.
    Mark wouldn’t let that happen. He knew about Gerard, and he knew that Wally somehow acquired the goods from Gerard. It was Wally who made the profit. He must have forced the boy to steal
for him. Mark would deal with the lad himself later.
    It was time for Wally to pay for his impiety, for his crimes and his greed.
    The Swiss stood at the edge of the crowd while the coining went on. It wasn’t the biggest tin market he had ever seen, but the number of ingots were breathtaking, and he
watched with the hunger that only another craftsman can comprehend.
    Rudolf von Grindelwald was a master pewterer, and the sight of so much top-quality material was making his fingers itch. He wanted to get his hands on the gleaming bricks of solid metal. To
refine the tin, smelt it, mix in the proper quantity of lead and create beautiful plates, cups and mugs. He could do this, for he was an expert.
    The process of purchase here was straightforward. Each of the miners stood anxiously while their tin was assayed, and then they had to pay their fine before offering it for sale. That was simple
enough. Rudolf could follow that, although his understanding of the rough, rolling language here with its curious local dialect and odd words, made it all but impossible for him to make out a
single sentence.
    It was maddening. There were pewterers and agents from as far