The Barber Surgeon's Hairshirt (Barney Thomson series) by Douglas Lindsay

had been kept at the monastery since the fourteenth century; a gift from a Knight Templar, of uncertain and mysterious provenance. A knife that might have seen action in the Crusades, but certainly never since. Until it had pierced the throat and rendered the flesh of Brother Saturday.
    He had been a popular member of the order, much loved by the other monks. He had answered the call thirty-seven years previously, on the back of a series of rejections at the hands of women, which had tormented him through the teenage years. A wayward eye, unruly hair, lips that meant he could do naught but kiss like a sea anemone, skin like the surface of a Rice Krispie, and many times had his heart been broken. However, he had found his peace with God, believing him to be not judgmental; ignoring the evidence of the Old Testament, where God won the Olympic gold for being judgmental, for several consecutive centuries.
    For nine years past he had worked in the library, keeping meticulous care of the seven thousand volumes in his possession. Losing himself in books, the only way. He had come to the position of librarian at an early age. He should have been librarian’s apprentice for many years. However, after only six months in the post, the librarian of the day, Brother Atwell had given in to the lure of compliant womanhood, and had fled the abbey on an evil and stormy night. Brother Saturday had been given premature promotion; Brother Morgan had become his apprentice. Not that anyone suspected Morgan of the heinous crime perpetrated upon Saturday.
    There were many of the monks who would have been grateful for the opportunity to work in the library, away from the cold of the fields. The chance of working amongst the warmth of the books could have been a powerful motive; for an unbalanced mind. And there seemed little doubt that the killer had come from within the walls of the monastery itself, the murder weapon coming from the vaults of the abbey.
    No one suspected the Abbot or Brother Herman. That left thirty others under suspicion; everyone from the longest-serving – the aged Brother Frederick, who had come to the monastery from the killing fields of Passchendaele – to the newest recruit, Brother Jacob. And there were few who doubted that many of their fellow brothers within those walls were hiding dark secrets and dark pasts.
    ‘Brother Jacob?’
    Barney turned. Breakfast was over, the company beginning to disassemble, the day’s tasks ahead. Tending the livestock; fortifying the buildings and the land against the harsh winter to come; kitchen, cleaning and laundry duties. The mornings were for the work of the monastery, the afternoons for prayer and study with the Lord. Barney’s task was to clean the floors.
    ‘Aye?’ he said to Brother Herman. Felt nervous in his presence.
    Brother Herman’s eyes stared from deep sockets, within a long, thin face. Long Face they’d called him at school. Behind his back.
    ‘The Abbot will see you in his study in five minutes.’ Deep voice. Ominous.
    Barney nodded. The Abbot. Brother Copernicus. He had been awaiting the call. All new students of the order were called to the Abbot at the end of their first week. Barney had already been questioned by Brother Herman on Saturday’s murder; wondered if this was why the Abbot would see him now. Further questioning. Barney, a man under suspicion. Felt like he couldn’t get away from murder.
    Five minutes. His heart raced.

    ***

    Barney sat before the Abbot in the Spartan surroundings of his study. A simple desk, a wooden chair on either side. Bare stone floors and walls, a row of books along one. A long, slim cut in the wall behind the Abbot, the window open, so that the cold of the room was the cold of outside. The light of day was augmented by two oil lamps mounted on the walls and an unlit candle sat on the desk. The Abbot read. Left hand turning the pages of the book, right hand tucked away inside his cloak.
    Barney stewed.
    Forgive me,