Blood Moon

by Stephen Wheeler

  However, the process this time had been complicated by the elevation of Cardinal Langton to the archiepiscopal throne of Saint Augustine. Langton was the choice of neither the king nor the monks of Canterbury but a direct appointee of Pope Innocent. The whole question of clerical elections therefore had become a trial of strength between the pope and the king. Sensing an advantage, the monks of Bury have thus far resisted the king’s interference while for his part King John has deliberately equivocated over our choice which was why Hugh Northwold has been chasing the king half way round France trying to obtain his approval – so far without success. And that was how matters stood this November morning as John entered the chapterhouse preceded only by the earl of Winchester, Saer de Quency, and Philip de Ulecotes who carried before him the Sword of State.

  John’s speech was long and rambling and at times a little bitter. It was a cold day and the vapour from his breath iced his words. He spoke a lot about loyalty and duty and I got the impression that he had others in mind than the seventy shivering monks who were listening in respectful silence. Not much of what he said was relevant to us, but he did eventually come to the point:

  ‘My brothers, I have detained you for long enough. All I ask is that you proceed according to custom and not infringe upon my historical rights as your king. If you do this I will be happy to accept whoever you choose as abbot, either him who calls himself abbot-elect,’ here he graciously acknowledged Hugh Northwold who was sitting alongside, ‘or anyone else you desire.’

  But then he finished with a stark warning:

  ‘But let me caution you, if you choose to ignore my advice then you risk incurring the wrath of your ruler. That may not be a wise position to hold.’ He looked sternly around the assembled faces before smiling graciously. ‘I leave it now to you to ponder my words.’ And so he sat down.

  Personally I thought it was a good speech. It seemed to give everyone what they wanted. We could choose who our abbot should be and John would not contest our choice provided we agreed to abide by his decision – which would be to confirm that choice. As a piece of face-saving fudgery it was masterly and equal to anything his wily father could have devised. I could not see how anyone could object to his offer and I confidently looked forward to Hugh being confirmed as our next abbot.

  A brief discussion followed. Then Hugh stood up and bowed low to the king. He thanked his grace for his words and answered that the house would divide on the issue. Those in favour of the king’s proposal should move to the left of the room, those against to the right.

  Now, this wasn’t the first time this had happened. Back in May a similar division had been conducted under the auspices that time of William Marshal, the earl of Pembroke, when the split had been more or less even – half for the king and half against. This time, however, those in favour of the king were overwhelmingly outnumbered by those against. It was a deliberate slap in the face for the king and frankly I was astonished. It seemed to me an act of gross ingratitude considering how far the king had moved to accommodate us.

  What had happened since May to so harden their faces against the king? Well what happened, of course, was that John had lost the war in France. It was as Joseph had predicted. In the eyes of the world he had been fatally weakened and sensing it, the brothers had become obstinate. Understandably furious at the result, John stormed out of the chapterhouse threatening all manner of retribution. Thus instead of achieving harmony and reconciliation we had prolonged acrimony and recrimination.

  *

  It was probably not the best moment to pick for what I did next but I felt I had no choice. For all I knew John would have one of his famous sulks and leave town forthwith before I had the chance to put my case to him. Having failed so dismally to win Hugh Northwold to my side I was determined not to make the same mistake with John. Uppermost in my mind was Joseph’s advice to play the royal suit as possibly my only trump card. I just hoped it did not turn out to be another Joker.

  With this in mind, I rushed from the chapterhouse arriving at the abbot’s palace just ahead of the bodyguard that was escorting the king to his chambers. In the middle of the party the king was talking animatedly with his advisors including among them once again Geoffrey de Saye. Seeing my great adversary so cosy with the king I was tempted to withdraw but I knew I owed it to Raoul, Adelle, Rosabel, Onethumb and to Effie at least to try. Summoning all my courage, therefore, I stepped out directly into the path of the king.

  ‘Sire, may I -?’

  I got no further before one of the guards pushed his pike into my face cutting my lip and sending me sprawling on the floor. He was a great lump of a German and in another moment he would have skewered me to the floor if the king had not intervened.

  ‘Whoa there, monk!’ he said putting out his hand to stay the guard’s hand. ‘Don’t you know it is impertinent to address the king uninvited? Men have been garrotted for less - assuming this brute hasn’t decapitated you first.’ He gave the guard an amiable shove in the shoulder.

  Seeing me, de Saye immediately stepped between us. ‘Sire, I know this man. He’s a trouble maker. Let us continue.’

  He placed his hand on the king’s arm - a fatal mistake for one thing I did know about King John is that he has a strong dislike for being hoodwinked. John removed de Saye’s hand from his arm and gently but firmly eased him out of the way.

  ‘Well monk,’ said John glancing down at me still flat on my back. ‘Have you come to apologise on behalf of your brothers, or gloat at your king’s humiliation?’

  ‘Neither, your grace,’ I said in as clear a voice as I could muster. ‘I have come to give you a message.’

  John rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘Oh God’s teeth, another soothsayer. I warn you, I hanged the last one. What is it this time? Is my kingdom doomed? Am I to eat less meat? Take fewer baths? Go on pilgrimage to the Holy Land?’ Then he squinted at me. ‘I know you. We’ve met before.’

  ‘Indeed sire,’ I said scrambling to my feet. ‘I am -’

  ‘No, don’t tell me,’ he said waving me silent. ‘I have an excellent memory for faces.’ He tapped a beringed finger on his lips but eventually had to shrug and give up. ‘No, it’s gone. But you were in the chapterhouse earlier, I think.’

  ‘We all were, sire.’

  ‘Indeed. So tell me, which way did you vote?’

  I swallowed hard. ‘The…fairest way, your grace.’

  His smile evaporated. ‘Fifty against nine. Do you call that “fair”?’

  ‘Sire, I…’ I started, but he interrupted:

  ‘Fair to gainsay your royal liege? Fair to sew controversy where none need be? To set king against pope?’

  For a dreadful moment I thought my efforts had been in vain and he was going to go into one of his famous rants. But as suddenly his smile returned and he snapped his fingers.

  ‘I’ve remembered who you are. You’re the bone-breaker. You cured my bellyache.’ He grinned round at his companions who to a man laughed appreciatively at the joke.

  ‘Sire,’ I bowed.

  ‘Well well well,’ he continued to chuckle. ‘The bone-breaker. But I can’t keep calling you that. Only a fool would call you that – wouldn’t you say my lord? A foolish phrase, n’est-ce pas? Bone-breaker?’ he said pointedly to de Saye who blushed a fine shade of scarlet, much to my delight. It seemed John was not quite the fool his courtiers took him for.

  ‘I am Walter de Ixworth, sire. My mother is the Lady Isabel de Ixworth of Ixworth Hall and -’

  ‘Yes yes yes, I know who you are,’ he said impatiently waving me silent. He snapped his fingers again. ‘I know what I’ll call you: Bumble, because you’re for ever poking your nose into things you shouldn’t ought. Eh? Eh?’ He grinned round at his courtiers again. ‘Do you like that, my lords? Bumble? Like the busy bee? Buzz-buzz?’

  They liked it very much. In fact, judging by their reaction, it must have been the funniest thing they’d heard all year.

  ‘Sire,’ said de Saye trying again,
‘we should move on.’

  ‘In a minute,’ frowned John irritably. ‘Well go on then,’ he said to me.

  ‘Sire?’

  ‘A message you said. Let’s hear it. I haven’t got all day.’

  It was what I had come for. It was now or never. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Sire, there is a boy – Raoul de Gray by name. You may have heard of him. He is the nephew of Bishop John de Gray of Norwich.’

  ‘What of him?’

  ‘He has been wrongfully accused of murdering his wife’s maid - by Prior Herbert and my lord de Saye, here.’ I nodded to Lord Geoffrey.

  John looked round at him inquiringly.

  De Saye looked furious. ‘Sire,’ he said confidentially, ‘it is as I said. This man is a trouble maker. Nothing he says can be relied upon.’

  ‘Well, if he is indeed malicious I will have his tongue pulled out and his nose split.’ John smiled brightly at me. ‘You have proof of what you say?’

  ‘I do, my liege.’

  Again the king looked expectantly at de Saye.

  De Saye exploded. ‘This is preposterous!’

  But John would not be fobbed off. He waited, eyebrows raised.

  ‘The evidence condemns the boy,’ growled de Saye reluctantly. ‘This monk alone denies it.’

  ‘The evidence,’ I insisted raising my chin defiantly, ‘such as it is, exonerates Raoul.’

  ‘Isn’t that for the courts to decide?’ said John. ‘I presume my justices have been informed?’

  ‘No, sire,’ I put in quickly before de Saye, ‘they have not.’

  John raised his eyebrows again at de Saye who was getting redder and redder by the minute.

  ‘Sire,’ he growled, ‘the boy has absconded and is now a fugitive. By his own actions he condemns himself.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ nodded John to me. ‘If he is innocent why would he run?’

  ‘I don’t believe he has run,’ I replied. ‘I believe my lord de Saye has him under guard.’

  At this de Saye almost exploded.

  ‘Really?’ John cut across him. ‘To what purpose?’

  ‘I don’t know. Only my lord de Saye has the answer to that, so maybe you should ask him.’

  I caught the look of annoyance on John’s face at that but by now I could not stop myself:

  ‘Raoul de Gray and his entire family vanished overnight. They could not have done so without Lord de Saye’s knowledge. His troops were everywhere. Surely you must have noticed on the road?’

  I thought Geoffrey de Saye was about to jump me, but John said quietly:

  ‘You know, come to think of it, I do remember you now. Something about some money being owed to a Jew. Wasn’t it at the beginning of our reign? Yes, and there was a murder that time, too, I think.’ He looked rather pleased with himself. ‘Bumble, we shall be here for a day or two yet. Maybe we will find time to speak again. Right - on!’

  And with that he moved off leaving me standing alone unsure whether I had achieved anything or whether it had all been for nothing. Prior Herbert had no such doubts. As the king’s party disappeared I saw him lurking in their wake where he had been watching the little drama unfold with a look on his face somewhere between amusement and incredulity. He waited until the others were gone before coming over.

  ‘Well now Walter, that was quite a performance.’ He wiped a small trickle of blood from my chin with his thumb. ‘I do believe you may just have signed your own death warrant.’

  Chapter 19

  THE PRICE OF LOYALTY

  I didn’t know whether I was doing right by challenging de Saye so openly in front of the king or whether I had, as Herbert so graphically put it, “signed my own death warrant”. It was a gamble. But it certainly felt good. Just the look of pain on de Saye’s face was reward enough for the pain he inflicted on me in the gatekeeper’s lodge. I was, however, under no illusion that John would take my side against one of his leading nobles whatever the rights or wrongs in the matter. Abbot Samson once said to me that the great families of England stick together “like dog-shit sticks to fur”; and he was surely right because ultimately whatever threatens one threatens them all. What gave me hope this time, however, was the sense I got that my lord de Saye did not entirely enjoy the king’s confidence. Whatever else John was he was nobody’s fool. He knew exactly the worth of Geoffrey de Saye. So Joseph may also be right when he said de Saye was unlikely to do anything to antagonize the king while he was in Bury. That surely boded well for Rosabel and the de Grays.

  Meanwhile John let it be known that he would remain in the town for a few more days during which time he expected the decision taken in the chapterhouse over the new abbot to be reversed. Fat chance there was of that happening. My brother monks were cock-a-hoop over what happened believing they had twisted the lion’s tail. But the lion can bite back, and John needed to do little in order to draw blood. He could simply leave the abbacy vacant and continue to reap the income for himself, and all the while the abbey’s wealth and prestige would slowly ebb away. We needed a resolution to the question of the new abbot even more than he did. But John was a capricious man and could change his plans at any minute. It wouldn’t surprise me to wake the next morning to find the whole abbey turned upside down again with the king gone and his entourage hastily packing up ready to leave. But while John remained he gave me time to find out where de Saye was holding the de Gray family – if indeed he was holding them - and in this I had help from an unexpected quarter. King John had a well-known penchant for entertainment and to this end our customary Christmas celebrations were hastily brought forward under the able direction of Brother Kevin, the sub-novice master. John would surely stay for that.

  I have long been an admirer of Brother Kevin’s talents despite his flamboyant mannerisms which some of my more staid brothers find distasteful. He inspires all with his enthusiasm and energy and on this occasion rose magnificently to the challenge of amusing the king, beginning with a Feast of Fools. This was enacted by some of the novices and students from the abbey school who were in effect given licence for one day to mock their elders and betters and generally to say under the anonymity of the mime what they were constrained from saying openly the rest of the year. Not that anybody was fooled by the disguise; we all recognised the identities of players beneath the masks. But the fiction of secrecy was maintained thus enabling the targets to learn some home truths that would otherwise not be voiced, and possibly amend them. And it is all done in a spirit of good humour, albeit humour with a sting. We had a Pope of Unreason, a Boy Bishop, and even someone got up as the Abbot of Fools – or should that have been the Prior of Fools for the lad playing him got Herbert’s whining voice off to a T. Herbert laughed along with the rest of us though I suspect he was enjoying more the prospect of my impending demise than his own lampooning. The king certainly enjoyed himself going blue in the face with laughter and nearly falling off his chair. His was the one character that was not mocked, however – there was no King of Fools, probably wisely under the circumstances.

  After this there was a cock fight followed by jugglers, clowns and acrobats from the town, all splendidly professional and exciting. Finally as the sun began to sink a series of tableaux of scenes from the Bible were acted out. Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden - a moment of unintentional hilarity here when the novice playing Adam bit into the apple only to find it rotten inside and immediately spat it out again. Jocelin who was sitting next to me whispered gleefully that had the real Adam done the same it might have altered entirely the subsequent history of the world.

  Next came Jonah and the Whale. With so much water being flung about to represent the waves, the “whale” slipped on the wooden boards, broke in half and regurgitated a somewhat surprised Jonah prematurely onto the shore who had to be hastily reinserted back into the whale’s belly by Brother Kevin. Noah and the Flood fared hardly better although there was so much water left over from the previous tableau that there was little need to imagine the delug
e – the “animals” in the ark looked as though they were already half-drowned before the waters had even begun to rise.

  The grand finale was the Christmas story itself with a sombre representation of the Stable in Bethlehem: The three Wise Men; the shepherds; Mary gazing tenderly at a rather grotesque and oversized dummy of the Christ-child; Joseph looking suitably contemplative and aloof - all played by the older novices. The Holy Mother was convincingly portrayed by young Timothy, I noted, whose angelic face charmed all, while the angel was played by a stoical Brother Eusebius garbed in his odd Gilbertine robes. As he appeared the audience gasped for he seemed to rise unaided above the stable and remained there suspended by invisible cords, his robe flapping like wings in the breeze. Once the initial shock was over we all burst into spontaneous applause as we realised the trick Kevin had played on us with ropes and pulleys. It was a fine end to the entertainment but seeing both Eusebius and Timothy on stage together gave me a slight feeling of uneasiness.

  As the performers took their final bows and we all applauded with heart-felt enthusiasm, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I saw it was one of the royal servants in his dark blue livery. It seemed the king was now ready to receive me.

  *

  ‘Ah, there you are, Bumble. Come in, come in. You’ve met the queen?’

  I entered upon an unexpected and charming scene of a happy family at their ease, albeit the grandest family in the land. King John was standing with his back to the fire while seated before him upon a cushioned chair was a beautiful young woman in her mid-twenties together with three attending ladies-in-waiting all chattering in French. From her magnificent raiment of silk and shot gold there could be little doubt that this was the fabled Queen Isabelle of Angoulême, King John’s second wife. I had no idea she was even in the town; she must have arrived quietly while the entertainment was underway. She was playing with a child of about seven or eight years of age who I assumed be one of her children. The little boy’s wide eyes took me in as I fell to my knees before his mother and bowed my head low.