Read The Devil's Acolyte (2002) for Free Online Page A

unfeigned.
    ‘Bailiff, come in and sit down. Sorry not to have been here when you first arrived, but I have only just settled back myself. I have been over at Buckfast meeting my brother Abbots and
talking about the costs of our Benedictine House at Oxford.’
    His eyes left Simon and slid across to the window. When Simon followed his glance, he saw a deer trotting through the trees and slipping down to drink from the river. The Abbot was a keen
huntsman, and Simon knew that the sight of a deer so near must have been sorely tempting. Abbot Robert’s fingers tapped impatiently on the arm of his chair. ‘We were kept talking for
hours about finance, when the whole matter could have been agreed in moments. Why people insist on talking around and around in circles when they could be . . .’ He gave a slight cough and
seemingly reminded himself of his duties. ‘Tell me, how was the journey from Lydford? And how is your lovely wife?’
    All through the casual small talk, Simon was edgy, waiting for the right moment to broach the subject of the hammer. He took the proffered wine, drank deeply, answered his host’s searching
questions about prisoners in the gaol and about a boundary dispute between two tin-miners’ claims at Beckamoor Combe, and then, when he saw the Abbot’s eyebrow raised in enquiry, he
confessed his error.
    ‘
You left the hammer at your house
? God help us, Bailiff, how could you be so careless!’ The Abbot swallowed hard and gave him a long hard stare. ‘This is not the sort
of behaviour I expect from you, Simon. You are my most trusted servant. You have failed me, and that is a great sadness to me. I had—. But no. Enough.’
    Simon squirmed. He hated making mistakes. Robert Champeaux was a kindly, generous-hearted man, but his years as Abbot had not been easy. When he was originally elected in 1285, thirty-seven
years before, he had found the Abbey finances in a disastrous state and had been forced to borrow two hundred pounds, but since then he had, through careful management and scrupulous care, been
able to rebuild the monastery’s fortunes. Lands which had been lost were now regained, at Ogbear and West Liddaton; he had marvellously improved the farming and taken up new fisheries; while
by his purchase of the Wardenship of the Stannaries he had brought in still more money which he had spent helping to found a House at Oxford in which Benedictines could study, and building the new
church here in Tavistock. And even after doing all that, Simon knew that Abbot Robert had been able to save plenty. His Abbey had grown to be one of the wealthiest in Devonshire.
    Robert Champeaux was not the sort of man to leave a vital tool behind. Nor could he understand how someone else could. It was not mere anger that darkened his brow as he stared at Simon, but
genuine incomprehension.
    Although the Abbot wasn’t avaricious for his own purse, Simon knew he wanted to leave Tavistock on a sound financial footing. Stupidity like this could endanger his legacy – and that
was why he was intolerant of such lapses.
    ‘You had?’ Simon prompted him automatically. ‘You said, “I had”?’
    ‘Nothing. I shall have to consider. You have many duties already. Such as, sending a messenger to fetch the hammer before the coining,’ Abbot Robert said pointedly.
    That was two days ago. Simon had ridden back yesterday with his servant as a foul-tempered companion. At his house he found Meg instructing two of their manservants in redecorating their little
solar. She loved their house, and had recently had a new wall of timber panels installed to separate off a little store-area from their parlour. Now she was having the walls whitewashed and the
wood limed in preparation for the likenesses of saints to be painted on them.
    ‘I thought Saint Rumon
here
and Saint Boniface
there
,’ she said. ‘To remind us of Tavistock, where you have been so fortunate and Crediton where we were so
happy.’
    The sight