Page 7 of Laird of Flint
“Any progress, Sir Hew?” the abbot suddenly intoned, startling him.
Hew choked down the last rough morsel of bread. “Not so far. I’ll venture to the village today to see what information I can acquire.”
“The village?” the prior groused, gathering his bushy gray brows into a frown. “What do ye hope to find there?”
The vision of a table groaning with food and a lass feeding him grapes popped into Hew’s head. He dismissed it at once.
“Clues,” he replied.
“What sort o’ clues?” the prior pressed.
The abbot placed a gentle silencing hand on the prying prior’s sleeve. “I suspect a warrior o’ Rivenloch knows what he’s doin’ and needs no help from us.”
The chided prior’s eyes frosted over briefly, but he said nothing, bowing his dutiful head.
“Still,” the abbot said to Hew, “I hope ye’ll be…discreet.”
“Of course,” Hew said. “Is there anything you need from the village?”
The prior frowned as if offended. “We have all we require.”
The abbot smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”
Hew disagreed, and he suspected some of the monks did as well. They seemed like they could use a hearty roast. A barrel of strong beer. Perhaps a roll in the hay.
It was a four mile walk to the village. Hew frowned as he trod down the knobby road beneath the gray sky, his axe slung across his shoulders. His belly growled despite the horsebread. So he distracted himself by focusing on the crime he’d been hired to solve.
Three questions came to mind about the missing treasures.
First, who would have wanted to steal them?
They were obviously taken, not for their religious significance, but for their value. Anyone who needed or wanted wealth could have been responsible. Which left a lot of suspects.
And that led to his second question. What would the thief have done with them?
He might have sold them. The jewelry could be marketed to a merchant. But anyone could see the silver cross and gold chalice were religious items. So if they’d gone to a merchant, it would have to be a disreputable one.
He might have had them melted down. That would require a small crucible. Crucibles were used mostly by silversmiths and goldsmiths, who resided in the village.
He might have run away with them. But Hew didn’t think so. The thief had returned again and again to the monastery. He likely lived nearby.
He might have hidden them to be sold later, when less suspicion would be roused. That would be the worst possibility. Hew couldn’t very well ransack the whole village, searching for stolen goods.
The third question was how had the thief gained access to the monastery?
It was well known that nobles sent their valuables to monasteries for safekeeping since it was considered a mortal sin to rob a holy place. Most thieves would think twice before risking their soul by filching God’s property.
The monks were up for worship all night and all day. Matins. Prime. Terce. Sext. None. Vespers. Compline. A thief would have to time his entry into the monastery to dodge the sessions of prayer.
A stranger wouldn’t know the layout of the monastery. Where the treasures were kept. Who resided where. Which rooms were occupied at which hours.
Only someone familiar with the building could easily carry out such thefts. That meant the thief had to be someone who currently resided at the monastery, had lived there once, or visited regularly.
Hew would be sure to ask the prior who made deliveries of food and supplies. He’d learn which outsiders serviced the monastery in terms of cleaning or repairs or harvesting. And he’d ask the abbot whether any novices had recently changed their minds about entering the order.
Armed with those questions and his trusty axe, he figured he could get answers fairly quickly.
What he couldn’t do so quickly was get past the appetizing array of lasses who populated the village streets.
