The Abbot's Gibbet by Michael Jecks

“I’ve had it moved to the inn. There’s an outhouse there where the coroner can view it.”
    “Good.”
    Baldwin leaned forward. “What of the man’s relatives?”
    “Until we find his head, there’s nothing we can do. We don’t know who he is, after all.”
    Simon waved his goblet questioningly. “No one’s reported a missing man? A wife would recognize her husband’s body, after all. You’re sure he must be a foreigner?”
    “Yes, sir, he must be from outside Tavistock. Nobody’s reported a man who’s disappeared.”
    “That means nothing,” Baldwin said. “While the fair is on, people will be spending their time in the alehouses and taverns. How many women would be surprised if their husbands turned up late or not at all every night of the fair? This man might well be a resident of the town whose woman thinks he’s sleeping off a hangover in a tavern.”
    “It’s not only that, Sir Baldwin,” said Holcroft. “The clothes look familiar to me, but I don’t remember where from. They’re not local; there’s no one I know in Tavistock who wears stuff like this.”
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    Michael Jecks
    “This isn’t good,” the Abbot said. He stared wistfully out through the window toward his deer park. Simon guessed that the talk of bodies was distasteful to him—he would rather be discussing his hounds or hawks. “It will be my court that has to resolve all this, and I don’t want a whole group of men from the town penalized when they have done nothing.”
    Baldwin nodded thoughtfully. The usual procedure was for the first finder and neighbors to be held against a surety, to guarantee that they would go to court. If no killer could be found, they would all be fined.
    “I hear that Sir Baldwin and the bailiff have found many other killers,” Holcroft suggested tentatively.
    “You want us to help you?” Simon asked, throwing Baldwin a glance. The knight shrugged.
    “Sir, I can do nothing,” said Holcroft plaintively.
    “We rarely have murders in the port, and I’m only in this post for a year. I don’t know how to perform an inquest or anything.”
    “That is down to the coroner,” Baldwin observed.
    “Yes, sir, but the killer could be leagues from here before the coroner arrives.”
    Robert Champeaux nodded pensively, looking from Simon to Baldwin. “You would be doing me a great service, gentlemen. Would it be possible for you to investigate this death? It should be the duty of the coroner, but this is my land, and the murder was within my court’s jurisdiction. In the interests of justice I feel justified in investigating it swiftly.”
    Baldwin stood. “Come, master port-reeve, let us return to where the body was found.”
    “One moment.” Champeaux walked to the door. He held a brief conversation with another monk before returning. “All should be noted down in case the coroner The Abbot’s Gibbet
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    wants to see exactly what has been said or done. Take young Peter here. He can write down everything for the report.”
    As the young man entered, Holcroft shook his head. He recognized the novice who had guided the Camminos to the tavern the night before. Things were bad enough already, he thought, without having an aggressive monk tagging along. Holcroft led them through the Great Court of the Abbey and out through the court gate—a massive square block large enough to house a small chapel. From there they followed the street northward until they came to the alley.
    Baldwin was pleased to try to help the Abbot, particularly since he was fascinated by the mystery of the missing head, but Simon felt a degree of irritation that they should so speedily have been involved in a murder hunt. He only hoped that their investigations could be concluded quickly. He had left Hugh to help Margaret settle into the room Abbot Champeaux had allocated for them. Baldwin did not bother to ask Edgar to remain. He would not leave his master in a strange town. When they were serving with the Knights Templar