The Monastery Murders Read online

  ‘Perhaps there is one lesson,’ said Barling. ‘Which is that the man in there is less of a fool than those giving him their money.’

  Stanton opened his purse to throw a coin as the man passed. ‘Or perhaps it’s that making folk smile is worthy of a reward.’ He winked at the clerk.

  The unamused set of Barling’s thin lips told Stanton what the older man thought of his response.

  As Stanton grinned to himself, a stir in the crowd came from one side of the pit.

  ‘The nonsense has finished, which comes as a welcome relief,’ said Barling. ‘It would appear that Ursus is on his way.’

  Finally. Barling or no Barling, this was what he wanted to see. Stanton leaned forward as far as he could, craning his neck for a better view.

  The performer looked over at the source of the commotion and paled. He scooped his dog under one arm and was over the wall in a neat leap and gone. Gone too were the laughs of those watching, the smiling faces. Instead, mouths gaped in awe, as a low rumble of expectation loudened.

  The gate to one side swung open and two men armed with long poles stepped through. The bearward walked into the ring, pulling a long, thick metal chain with one hand and holding a stout staff in the other.

  And after him, at the end of the chain, lumbered the bear: the huge, black-furred bear.

  Chapter Three

  Stanton gasped aloud, as did many in the press of people around him. Others jostled to get a better look as excited shouts filled the air. Stanton stood firm to keep his place and he noted that Barling did the same.

  ‘The bear!’

  ‘God’s eyes, he’s a monster.’

  ‘It’s the bear!’

  Stanton wondered if his eyes played tricks. ‘Look at the size of that beast,’ he said, turning to Barling. ‘Just look at it.’

  Even the clerk seemed impressed. ‘I have witnessed a number of bear fights,’ he replied. ‘But never an animal as remarkable as this one.’

  Stanton returned his gaze to the enclosure, hopeful now that Barling might forget the lesson and simply watch the action.

  The chain the bearward held was attached to a stout leather-and-metal harness that encased the creature’s massive skull and the top of its heavy snout. Nothing secured its four powerful limbs, limbs which ended in curved claws longer than Stanton’s eating knife and which looked many times sharper.

  Stanton’s blood was up now, and he could sense the same in those watching – he could almost taste it on the wind. He wrenched one hand free from the crush of bodies and cloaks and blew sharp whistles to match those cutting the icy air.

  The bearward locked the chain on to the post, watched at every moment by the men with the poles. The beast’s small eyes in turn fixed on its master.

  ‘You see the main combatant,’ said Barling, his words for Stanton’s ears only. ‘What are your first thoughts?’

  His first thought was that he would be very careful in future about telling Barling his plans. But he wasn’t about to say that. He didn’t dare. Instead he said, ‘That the bear’s a fearsome beast.’

  Barling shrugged. ‘That dancing fool could have told me that. As could any fool.’

  Riled, Stanton added, ‘And that it has no love for his master.’ Where the little dog had looked at its owner with trust, the bear looked ready to feast on the man who controlled it.

  ‘Better.’

  Through the rising din came another chorus. Not one of human voices, but the clamour of dogs, their barks and howls telling of their readiness for the fight.

  ‘And,’ Barling added, ‘here is the foe.’

  The dogs entered the ring, three in total, smooth, mud-coloured coats rippling over solid muscle, straining against their leashes so hard that the men who held them could hardly keep their footing.

  Stanton knew the breed well. ‘Mastiffs. The finest dogs.’

  ‘I would disagree,’ said Barling. ‘There are far finer breeds.’

  ‘But they’re the best suited for this. They have the strongest jaws. And they’re going to need them.’

  The bear no longer looked at its master, who had stepped back out of the way. Ursus’s eyes were only for the heavy-set, snarling dogs. It opened its snout as much as it could in its tight head harness to send a snarl back.

  Stanton gasped at its huge teeth.

  The dogs answered the bear, showing vicious teeth of their own, powerful necks straining at their pointed metal collars as they bayed and tore at the ground with eager front paws.

  ‘Ursus is off!’ came a disgusted call from a man to Stanton’s left.

  Head down, the bear had turned and fled a few shambling short steps through the cloying sawdust. The chain snapped tight. Its head came up again. Now Stanton saw its fear.

  ‘It knows it’s trapped,’ he said to Barling. ‘Which will only make it more dangerous.’

  Barling nodded. ‘As is the case with all men. And all women.’

  Stanton knew that only too well, had seen the devastating results for himself. And not only as he uncovered the horror of last summer’s murders with Barling. He pushed the memory of his own loss away. Around him, folk shouted, drummed on the pit walls. His pulse banged faster in time with the sound.

  ‘Let the dogs go!’

  ‘The dogs! The dogs!’

  The mastiff handlers slipped their animals’ leads and the hounds charged their prey.

  And Ursus stood. Stood tall on its hind legs.

  ‘God’s eyes!’ yelled Stanton in delighted shock. ‘It’s like a man!’

  The first dog jumped. With a wide sweep of one front paw, the bear sent the hound in a howling arc, its shoulder torn open in deep, red gashes that drew screams from the crowd. The second got a blow to the snout that sent it rolling away but unhurt. The third hung well back, silent, its ears flat against its skull.

  ‘What make you of the foe, Stanton?’

  ‘Those first two dogs are fighters. But it looks like the third one’s taken fright. I don’t blame it.’

  Barling raised his thin eyebrows. ‘If you say so.’

  The bear’s roar matched the crowd’s as it dropped to all fours again, the better to slash at its attackers, spinning as deftly as its bulk would allow yet failing to land a blow. The first dog hadn’t managed to get back on its paws. But the second dog went in again, throwing its whole weight behind its wide-open jaws as it clamped them shut on the bear’s rear right leg. The bear howled in agony, thrashed its limb from side to side as the dog’s teeth held firm.

  Fur, then flesh, ripped in a spray of blood along with a bellow from the bear that echoed above the pulsing roar of those watching. But the bear hammered down on the dog in a clawed blow that rent the skin of his foe, and that hound went down too.

  ‘Back, back. Now.’ The bearward pulled hard on the chain of his animal and waved his staff in its face.

  The bear lunged at him.

  Stanton’s warning sounded with a hundred echoes.

  But the men with the poles moved in, lightning quick, jabbing the furious bear away to new cheers. Two of the dog handlers grabbed for their injured animals and pulled them out of reach as those watching broke into a flurry of exchanged coins, handshakes and oaths. The second dog bit its handler in its frenzy of pain and rage as it left the pit. The third handler stayed well back, merely whistled to his hound as it continued to slink behind the bear.

  Heart hammering, Stanton turned to speak to Barling but the clerk cut across him.

  ‘What of the third dog, Stanton?’ The clerk pointed. ‘The one that you declared not much of a fighter?’

  ‘It isn’t, it didn’t even—’ Then he saw. It didn’t hang back because of fear. It was hanging back because it was watching. Waiting. Then running in a sudden burst of lethal, silent speed. It jumped on the bear’s back. And fastened its powerful jaws on the neck of Ursus.

  A new wave of shouts erupted.

  The bear reared up in shock and pain, its front legs flailing in a futile effort to
get free of the huge dog. It could not. The dog had locked its bloodied grip and was using its weight to try to pull the bear down. Ursus span, staggered.

  Yet more shouts, more drumming on the sides of the pit.

  Stanton joined in this time, hammering with a force that bruised his knuckles, willing his energy into the bear to fight back from the unseen attack. ‘Come on!’

  The bear went over. Hard. Hard in a thick cloud of flying sawdust as Stanton’s shout met the crowd’s.

  So hard, the dog’s grip loosened and it slipped from the bear’s back to land on its own.

  Ursus kicked out one back leg. Claws met flesh in a terrible strike. The injured hound tried to rise yet couldn’t.

  But Ursus could. And was up.

  Up. Stanton could no longer form words, only think them as he yelled his lungs empty.

  With a shake of its head and a roar of rage, the bear reared up and slammed its claws down on to the dog, over and over, crushing and tearing its foe.

  Screams from the dying dog melted into the throng’s in a piercing echo that made Stanton’s head ring. But it was over. The bear had fought like the bravest warrior. And it had won. Stanton drew in a long, long breath.

  ‘Now do you see what I mean by spectacle, Stanton?’

  ‘I do. I’ll remember this for the rest of my days.’

  As the men with poles ran forward to push the bear off, a huge chant rose from the crowd: ‘Ursus is the victor! Ursus is the victor!’

  The scowling owner of the third dog hauled its corpse from the ring, leaving a smear of scarlet on the pale sawdust.

  Stanton went on. ‘That hound nearly won out by using its cunning. I was completely wrong about it. Thought I knew the breed better than that.’

  Ursus sank to the ground as well, his own injuries showing as glimpses of red and wet, matted fur. The noise from the spectators lessened as the business of bets being paid out and argued over got underway, along with the first retellings of what had taken place.

  ‘It was trained in a very clever approach,’ said Barling. ‘And one that came very close to succeeding. Remember too that a breed is still made up of a multitude of dogs. Though most will be alike, there will always be exceptions.’

  ‘A shame that it ended up losing its life. But the bear deserved to win.’ Stanton nodded at the exhausted-looking animal. It lay in an untidy heap on the ground, trying its best to lick its many wounds but prevented by its head harness. ‘It was magnificent.’

  ‘Was?’ said Barling. ‘The day is not over yet.’

  As if hearing his words, a distant new chorus of hounds floated on the air. The bear’s head shot up, injuries forgotten.

  ‘They’ll make it fight again today?’ Stanton stared in surprise at Barling. ‘After all it’s done?’

  ‘Of course.’ Barling gave a tight nod. ‘Otherwise people would riot. They need to have their fill.’

  Stanton searched for the right words to argue back at Barling but stopped at a stir in the group of people next to him. A couple of the palace guards he recognised were making their way through, folk stepping back despite the crush.

  ‘Sir,’ said the guard to Barling. ‘My lord de Glanville requests your presence at the palace, sir.’

  ‘The King’s justice summons me, on such a great feast day as this?’ The clerk’s reply told of his irritation at being disturbed. Stanton knew it well. Knew the look on his face too.

  ‘Yes, sir. At once, sir,’ came the respectful, if wary, reply.

  Barling gave an impatient scowl but went to leave with the guards.

  Stanton knew he would. Barling expected perfect obedience from those beneath him but followed every order from authority above him, no matter how unreasonable.

  The clerk paused. ‘I shall meet with you later, Stanton. We have much to discuss.’ He was gone without waiting for a reply.

  Fortune has smiled. As soon as Barling was out of sight, Stanton could go to eat and drink his fill, exactly as he’d intended.

  He looked back at the enclosure.

  The agonised, weary bear was climbing to its feet as the noise of the dogs came closer. The crowd roared into full voice once again.

  Stanton didn’t join in. But he didn’t leave his place at the wall, either.

  Forget feasting. He would stay to watch, though the sight no longer held any enjoyment for him. He knew what it was like to defeat a murderous enemy, only to have to face a new one. Knew the terror, the exhaustion it brought.

  He only wished he had half the courage of Ursus.

  Chapter Four

  Aelred Barling watched the landing at Southwark recede at a rapid pace. The wherry in which he sat was a far finer one than that in which he had arrived. Both guards rowed hard in a matched rhythm that kept up speed despite having to travel upstream to Westminster.

  Under usual circumstances, he would enjoy such a journey. On a clear day like this, the outline of London’s many castles, monasteries and churches soared into the pale blue sky, a testament to his beloved city’s greatness. The progress on the foundations of the magnificent stone bridge that was being built to replace the ancient, rotting wooden one was best viewed from a distance too. But he could take little pleasure from such grand sights. Again, he wondered about the urgent request, why King Henry’s great justice Ranulf de Glanville would summon him today.

  The King. Could something have happened to his Grace? That would be a grave matter – the most grave.

  A ridiculous idea, Barling. If that were the case, de Glanville would not be wasting time in calling for him. But while he wondered what the request could be, Barling had no doubt that it was necessary. He had the deepest respect for de Glanville, a man whom the King had ordered to lead his travelling law court to the north last year. Henry had decreed that his law should be brought to every corner of his lands. Barling had been a member of that court. While he had not relished the prospect of having to leave his work in the King’s scriptorium here, he was honoured to have been chosen. It had not turned out at all as he had expected. Barling had come face to face with terrible bloodshed and his path to resolving the matter had been a perilous one. Nevertheless, justice had prevailed.

  ‘Not long now, sir,’ said the guard in front of him, his work at the oar uninterrupted as he spoke.

  Barling took a glance over his shoulder and nodded. ‘We make satisfactory progress.’

  Yes, justice had prevailed. But without the help of the young Hugo Stanton, a mere messenger with the travelling court at the time, it might not have. Now they were master and pupil. Of sorts. Much of what Stanton could do and do well was very satisfactory. He was a talented, fast rider with a seemingly endless knowledge of how to get from one place to another. He also had a far better way with the common man than Barling. Or common woman. Especially a woman. Barling frequently despaired at how his pupil used his blue eyes and hair the colour of newly mown hay to charm and more. Worse, Stanton was lazy. Barling had yet to succeed in changing that particular vice. Barling knew full well that Stanton had a lively intelligence but showed little or no interest or enthusiasm when Barling tried to instruct him on even the most basic matters of the law. There were times when this would irritate Barling beyond measure. A pupil should pay attention to his master, and Barling would be at the point of utter exasperation with his assistant. Then Stanton would track down a missing plaintiff or tease important information from a neighbour about land inheritance, and Barling would have to admit to himself that, yes, Hugo Stanton was indeed invaluable to him at times. Not that he would ever utter those words. He had no time for blandishments.

  ‘Here we are, sir.’ The guard’s breath came cloudy on the cold air from his exertion.

  As the boat pulled into the stairs at Westminster, the higher bells of the hour of Sext sounded from the towering abbey of Saint Peter. Their peals told Barling that their progress here along the water had indeed been swift.

  He followed the guards as they led him from the landing place towards
the spacious house near the river that de Glanville occupied when he was staying on the business of the court. Barling could discern nothing that would suggest that an event of worrying importance had occurred. The King was away with his travelling court, which meant that the streets, squares and courtyards around the palace were quieter than usual. On a feast day such as this, the great hall from which much of the law was administered would be deserted.

  The guards led him through the small gatehouse at the entrance to de Glanville’s house. The stout wooden doors were opened at once to the guard’s knock by one of the justice’s servants. Barling pulled off his outer cloak and gloves, which the servant took from him with a bow, as one of the guards went into the hall to announce him.

  ‘Aelred Barling, my lord de Glanville.’

  ‘Enter, Barling,’ came de Glanville’s deep-voiced order.

  The guard ushered Barling through and closed the doors behind him.

  ‘My lord.’ As Barling gave his customary respectful bow, he saw that the imposing de Glanville was not alone in the comfortable, high-beamed room.

  Sitting opposite the justice before the large lit fireplace was an abbot.

  Barling was a little surprised. Not because de Glanville hosted such an important visitor – the abbot of the nearby Saint Peter’s was a familiar sight in these environs. But this man was not dressed in the black robes of that Benedictine house. Instead, he wore the white wool robes of the austere Cistercian order. Particularly fine white wool, Barling noted.

  De Glanville waved Barling forward across the rush-covered floor. ‘Come and join us.’

  Barling did so, hands clasped, halting at a suitable distance from the two men. Even so, the heat from the huge burning logs reached him, welcome after the cold outside.

  ‘Aelred Barling,’ said de Glanville to the monk. ‘One of my most experienced clerks.’

  The monk simply nodded.

  ‘Barling, this is Abbot Nicholas of the great Cistercian house of Linwood Abbey. We have a matter that we need to discuss with you.’