For the Love of Old Bones - and other stories (Templar Series) by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online

animal. The affair was taking its toll on the nineteen-year-old, and I gave him a reassuring grin.
    I was about to offer him some advice when he stopped me. 'Last night - I have to tell someone ...'
    'Shh!' I hissed. I could sense the two pests approaching. Their shadows loomed.
    'Brother Humphrey, we'd like to ask you what you saw last night,' Bailiff Puttock said.
    The knight hunkered down beside us. 'It's hard to understand why the Abbot should have died. Especially since he had money on him, money that was not taken but was instead left at his side. Did you see him stabbed?'
    'No, Sir Baldwin. I could scarcely see anything.'
    'You weren't knocked unconscious?' the Bailiff asked.
    'No.'
    'You came from Launceston with Brother Peter here, didn't you?'
    'Yes. We were both sent to persuade the Abbot against taking our relics.'
    'But he decided to in any case?'
    'They wouldn't listen to us!' Humphrey stormed. 'It wasn't fair! They'd already decided to steal our ...
    I interrupted hastily. 'This was no theft, Humphrey. It was their right and their decision.'
    'The relics are ours! They should remain in Cornwall!'
    'Did you like the Abbot?' Sir Baldwin asked.
    Humphrey looked at me, and I glanced at the knight with an annoyed coldness. 'Sir Baldwin, what has this to do with anything? The Abbot - God bless his soul! - is dead. What good can raking over other people's feelings for him achieve?'
    'Brother, you were unconscious and couldn't have seen much,' Bailiff Puttock said easily, 'but we have to find out as much about these robbers as we can because we have to catch them. All we want is to gain a good idea of exactly what happened last night.'
    Before Humphrey could answer, I peered over my shoulder. Brother Roger had not returned. 'Go and seek Brother Roger. I fear he could have become lost. God forbid that he should be swallowed in a mire.'
    When he was gone, I faced the two once more. They exchanged a look.
    'Brother Humphrey is well known to me, and I would prefer that you didn't question him too deeply. It could harm him.'
    'What's that supposed to mean?' the Bailiff demanded. 'The man's fine, but you seem determined to protect him from our questions. Why?'
    'Because he is not well,' I told him harshly. 'Good God! Can't you see? The fellow is a wreck.'  
    'Because of the attack?'
    I took a deep breath. 'No, because his father was a clerk in Holy Orders who raped a nun. Humphrey is convinced that his whole existence is an affront to God.'
    'Christ's bones!' the Bailiff gasped. 'The poor bastard!'
    'So I would be most grateful if you could leave the poor fellow alone. He needs peace, and the attack itself has severely upset him. I should have thought that you would have been able to see that!'
    The two apologised handsomely. It was plain that the Bailiff was shocked by what he had heard. And who wouldn't be? The story was one to chill the blood - being born as a result of the rape of one of Christ's own brides was hideous. It had marked out poor Humphrey from early on: the product of an heretical union.
    'Did the Abbot know of his past?' Sir Baldwin asked.
    ‘Yes, I would imagine so. Naturally. Abbot Bertrand would have known the history of all his brethren, even those from a small daughter house like ours.'
    I saw the knight's attention move behind me and turned in time to see Humphrey leading Brother Roger back into the makeshift camp. The Frenchman looked confused and happily took his seat on a satchel, while Humphrey solicitously spread a blanket over his knees and patted his hand. I called to him sharply and asked him to fetch a wineskin. We could all do with some refreshment.
    Only a few moments after the knight and Bailiff had risen, they began to move in the direction of Brother Roger. I followed them, pointing out that the poor lad was dazed still from his wound.
    'I understand that, but I would still like to ask him a little about the attack,' the knight stated in what I can only call a curt manner. He was