Brother's Blood

by C. B. Hanley

  He shoved past Edwin and stalked off.

  Edwin stood at something of a loss. The monks were emerging from the church – nones must be quite a short service – and heading in different directions, presumably to work on other duties. Should he follow any of them? But before he could decide, he felt a touch on his arm. It was a monk, a choir monk in a white robe whom he hadn’t seen before. This one had reddish hair around his tonsure and was about forty-ish, Edwin would guess.

  ‘You are Edwin? The man the lord abbot sent for?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am – Brother …?’

  ‘I’m Brother Helias, my son, the cellarer. I had word that you wished to see me?’

  ‘Ah, yes, thank you. I was wondering if you could tell me a bit more about Brother Alexander and what he did here? Who did he deal with, did he ever go out of the abbey, that kind of thing?’

  The monk nodded. ‘I can tell you all you require about Brother Alexander’s duties. I have time now while the brethren are undertaking their afternoon’s physical labour. But perhaps we would be more comfortable in my office than out here in the precinct?’ He gestured and Edwin followed him across the open space, past a warren of smaller buildings and into a room which reminded him very much of the steward’s office at Conisbrough. He sat on a stool indicated to him by Brother Helias and looked around at the storage kists and the neat rolls of parchment stacked up on shelves on the wall. He sniffed – a hint of herbs and spices. He felt at home.

  ‘So, being cellarer is a bit like being the steward?’

  Brother Helias eased himself down on to a bench and nodded. ‘Yes. I’m in charge of all the provisions in the abbey – not just food and drink but also things like leather for our sandals and the lay brothers’ boots, and cloth to make our habits. It’s one of the more worldly positions here, as I need to talk to men outside the abbey quite often, but it is of some small importance to the brethren, for if I get my orders wrong we might end up with nothing to eat. Which reminds me – Brother?’

  Edwin looked around, surprised to see that a younger monk had been sitting quietly in the corner all this time. He was near a small window which cast light on the parchments he was reading, spread out on a table, but he himself was in shadow. These monks really knew how to be silent. Frighteningly so.

  The monk stood as Brother Helias beckoned him. ‘Have you finished reading the delivery list for the wine?’

  The younger man nodded without speaking.

  ‘Good. Take it with you down to the cellar and check it against the barrels which arrived this morning. Take a piece of charcoal with you and mark off each item on the list as you see it in the cellar. Make a note of any barrels without entries on the list, or items on the list for which there are no barrels.’

  The monk bowed his head, picked up a parchment and a stick of charcoal from the table, and walked out of the room. Edwin would swear that even his sandals made no sound on the floor.

  Brother Helias turned back to him. ‘He will be the next cellarer after me, so he needs to learn. If the lists of what we are supposed to have don’t match what’s actually in the cellar or the stores, it can cause problems.’

  Edwin nodded. ‘Yes, I know. My uncle William is the steward at my lord’s castle in Conisbrough, and he checks everything very carefully. I often help him with his additions and calculations.’

  ‘Ah, you do, do you? An apprentice cellarer yourself? Well then …’ Brother Helias allowed a smile to crease his face as he rocked back on the bench, an expression of concentration on his face. ‘Tell me, if I ordered three ten-gallon barrels of wine at fourpence a gallon, four ten-gallon barrels of ale at a penny a gallon, and eight pounds of pepper at four shillings a pound, how much would —’

  ‘Two pounds, five shillings and fourpence, Brother, though William would balk at paying four shillings a pound for pepper.’

  Brother Helias gaped at him. Edwin shrugged. ‘Sorry, Brother, I didn’t mean to be impertinent. Adding up like that is something I’ve always been able to do – I don’t know why.’

  ‘It’s a gift from the Lord, that’s what it is. If you ever decide to become a monk, my son, ask them to let you work with the cellarer.’ He continued staring and then shook his head as if to clear it. ‘I am sorry I allowed myself to change the subject. Levity is not a desired trait among the brethren – precept fifty-four, as Father Abbot would no doubt say. I shall confess my transgression later.’

  He looked serious, but Edwin thought he could discern the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was nice to think that at least some of the monks might still be real people underneath. Which brought him back to the fact that he still knew nothing about the man whose death he was supposed to be looking into. ‘But anyway, back to Brother Alexander, if I may. Did he also have dealings with people outside these walls?’

  Brother Helias sighed and crossed himself. ‘Yes, he did. As the master of the lay brothers he was always out and about. Only half of our lay brothers actually work here in the abbey – the others are scattered round and about in different granges, like separate farms – and so he would visit each in turn to check up on their work.’

  ‘And was he popular? I mean, might there have been any of the lay brothers who didn’t like him?’

  Brother Helias looked shocked. ‘My son, none of the brethren could possibly have wanted to kill Brother Alexander. The whole notion is impossible.’

  Edwin hastened to soothe him. ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t, Brother, but the fact is that somebody killed him, and the more I can find out about him and what he did, the better. Especially if he had contact with many people outside the abbey?’

  The defensive attitude softened a little. ‘Well, yes, when you put it like that … of course it is much more likely that the culprit is someone from outside. Perhaps a disgruntled farmer or trader who wanted to sell to us and was annoyed that we grow much of our own produce? Or a wool merchant? Brother Alexander, with his knowledge of the outside world before he came here, was the one of us who struck the bargains with the merchants to whom we sell our fleeces.’

  Now there was an idea which started Edwin’s mind working. He had seen traders and merchants often at the fairs in Conisbrough, and knew that they took their prices and their deals very seriously. He had often heard trade referred to as a cut-throat business, but would anyone take the phrase literally? He would need to think about that some more.

  But in the meantime, what of this ‘knowledge of the outside world’ which several of the monks had mentioned? ‘Do you know anything about what Brother Alexander did before he took the cowl?’

  Brother Helias spread his hands. ‘Alas not. All I can tell you is what you probably know already – that he was out in the world for many years, that he travelled, and that he came to the monastic life in his middle years.’

  ‘Have you ever heard of the writings of a man called Daniel of Morley?’

  Edwin watched as the monk searched his mind. ‘No, sorry. I must admit that I am much less adept at the studying part of our duties than many of the brethren, though I do try.’ He sighed. ‘I try to love all parts of my life here equally, but I confess I am more at home in my domain here than I am with the books.’ He gestured at the office.

  ‘Not to worry, Brother – I just asked on the off-chance. Is there anyone else here who might know more? Not just about the writings of Daniel of Morley, I mean, but about Brother Alexander’s life before he came here?’

  Brother Helias was in the act of shaking his head when he stopped. ‘Well, there is Brother Richard, I suppose. We are not supposed to have particular friends among the brethren, but men being what they are, everyone has some whose company they value more than others, and they were often together. If they were outside the abbey and able to talk, I suppose Brother Alexander may have told him something of his previous life.’ He shrugged. ‘That is the best I can come up with, I’m afraid. And you won’t be able to talk to Brother Richard anyway, as he is confined to the infirmary wi
th toothache.’

  Toothache? Hadn’t Martin said something about that earlier? He would check – if he could track Martin down, that was. What in the Lord’s name was the matter with him at the moment?

  Feeling that the conversation was at an end, Edwin was about to stand and take his leave when the younger monk returned. This time he opened his mouth, shaking the parchment in front of Brother Helias and whispering urgently in his ear. The older monk stood and smiled down.

  ‘Alas, it appears we do have a discrepancy, so I had best go and deal with the matter. Please come and speak with me again whenever you wish – unless it is time for one of the offices in church I am normally in here or round about.’

  He went out, the younger monk pulling on his sleeve, but poked his head back around the doorway. ‘I forgot to say, when we were speaking of those outside the abbey. One of Brother Alexander’s other duties was dealing with that witch in the woods. Perhaps you should talk to her. Yes, yes, I’m coming!’

  He departed once more.

  Martin didn’t know how long he had been stamping around before he found the woodshed. He wanted to walk off his temper – better still, ride it off – but he wasn’t going to leave Edwin alone in the abbey with all these madmen. Honestly, why would anyone choose to live here if they didn’t have to? He had walked around the ward, or whatever they called it; he’d glowered at any monk who so much as looked at him; he’d kicked a stone around; he’d sat in the sun with his back against a wall for a while; and he’d walked again. The place was just too quiet, and it was suffocating. The walls weren’t like the ones at Conisbrough. There they kept him safe, but here they were imprisoning him, closing in until he could hardly breathe.

  At some point he heard a noise he did recognise – the thump and split of logs being chopped. Of course, with this many mouths to feed the abbey kitchens no doubt got through a fair amount each day so it would be a constant task, just like it was at the castle. Although, judging by the sound, whoever was doing it was very erratic and hadn’t got into the rhythm which you needed if you were going to keep at it. Martin didn’t do so much of it these days, what with his other duties, but chopping wood had been a major part of his strength training when he was younger, and Sir Geoffrey had made him wield the axe hour after exhausting hour until the sweat poured off him and his arms shook. That was before life got so complicated, and Martin now looked back on those times with some fondness.

  He followed the sound until he rounded a fence into a yard full of wood. At one end were new and uncut pieces; at the other a roofed area where split logs were stacked neatly. In the middle, busy turning one into the other, was a monk, just one on his own. Martin watched him for a few moments. He wasn’t very good at it – a weedy-looking youth with white arms sticking out of the sleeves of his habit, the skirts of which were clearly getting in his way.

  The monk stopped and put his axe down, picked up some logs and staggered over to the woodshed to stack them. As he turned again he saw Martin and jumped and took a step back.

  Martin, who was beginning to be aware that people could be intimidated by the mere sight of him, held up his hands. ‘Sorry, Brother, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

  The monk said nothing but continued to look wary. Martin nodded at the white habit, which surely indicated that he was a choir monk. ‘Are you supposed to be doing that? Don’t you have anyone to do it for you?’

  The monk opened his mouth but no words came out. Damn these people. Martin spoke slowly. ‘It’s all right. I’ve been sent here by my lord earl, and your abbot said that you were allowed to speak to us.’ The monk’s stance softened a little. ‘What’s your name, Brother?’

  ‘B– Benedict.’ His voice quavered a little but recovered. ‘I’m a novice.’

  ‘And, what, you’ve been told to chop wood as some kind of punishment?’

  Benedict moved closer and Martin saw what he hadn’t noticed before – he had no tonsure. ‘Oh no, it’s not a punishment. It’s God’s work.’

  Martin was confused. ‘God’s work? Chopping wood?’

  Benedict nodded, his face lighting up. ‘Yes. As part of our duties we all have to undertake manual labour every afternoon. Everyone has something different: the older brothers might do sewing or shoemaking, and others are scribes or copyists or work in the gardens or the stables. I’m the youngest apart from the three boys, so it’s fitting that I should do something heavier.’ He heaved a piece of tree-trunk on to the chopping block and hefted the axe enthusiastically, the pale skin on his arms catching the sun as he brought it down, not hard enough, and it got stuck in the wood instead of splitting it. He tried to jerk it back out, without success.

  Martin stepped forward to help him, and between them they levered the axe free. Martin looked speculatively at the piles of logs still waiting to be dealt with, and at his companion’s gaunt frame. ‘Is there any rule that says you can’t have some help?’

  Benedict’s face was immediately confused. ‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to fail in my duty to the abbey or to the Lord. I have to do this.’ He backed away and gestured vaguely; Martin realised he was losing him again. Pretend he’s a skittish horse, that might work.

  He took half a pace back so he wasn’t crowding the monk, and spoke soothingly, placatingly. ‘I’m not saying that you have to stop. You’ll still be doing your duty. But …’ he cast around for an idea that would sound right. ‘But surely it would be my duty as a good Christian to help with some abbey work while I’m here?’ He was quite pleased with himself for coming up with that.

  Benedict nodded doubtfully. ‘Well, if you put it like that … as long as I keep going as well … I’m sure …’

  Martin grinned. He took off his belt and tunic, rolled up his shirtsleeves and spat on his hands. ‘Pass me another axe.’

  Edwin sat in the church. The open space in front of him, where the congregation would stand and kneel during Mass, was empty; the choir, where the monks sang their services, was away to his right on the other side of the altar screen. He had found a bench pushed up against the side wall, presumably put there for the benefit of those parishioners who were too aged and feeble to stand or kneel, as was the case in the church at Conisbrough, and he had been there some time observing the church from this unusual angle and trying to order his thoughts.

  Eventually a bell began to toll somewhere, and a few people made their way in from the western end of the church, the end which led out into the precinct. It must be time for vespers, which parishioners were no doubt allowed to attend if they could. Edwin slipped off the bench and mingled with them, gaining a few looks but no suspicion – the people here must be used to strangers and abbey guests being in their midst. He knelt along with them as the monks filed in, chanting, and the service began. The lay brothers were all along one side of the church and the choir monks away near the altar behind the screen, so he couldn’t see them very well. Edwin tried to look around him as much as he could without arousing too much notice. The parishioners all looked like respectable people – no working men among them at this time on a Saturday, of course, but some older folk and a few devout-looking goodwives. The lay brothers – well, frankly, they all looked alike. All bearded, all wearing the same scapular over their clothes, which were in themselves very similar tunics of brown wool.

  Edwin said ‘Amen’ without thinking and then realised that the service was at an end and that people were leaving. He watched the parishioners go out of the west door and decided that now was not the time to try to talk to any of them – better to wait until Mass tomorrow morning when there would no doubt be many more. The lay brothers could wait as well; they might not be too keen to talk to him after a full day’s labour and besides, he wanted to take Martin with him if he was going to leave the abbey. Instead he slipped on to the end of the line of choir monks and followed them out of the door which led from the church into the cloister. He followed them around the edge of the square and to the entrance of the refectory, where they f
iled in and sat in silence at two long tables. Edwin did not like to go in, so he hovered by the doorway. One monk saw him and detached himself to come over. Red hair, middle-aged – yes, it was Brother Helias, the cellarer.

  ‘Can I help you, my son?’ His voice was a whisper.

  Edwin hadn’t meant to be noticed. ‘Thank you, no, er, what I mean is …’

  Brother Helias moved them both to one side so they were out of the doorway. ‘We’re about to have our evening meal – the days are so much longer in the summer that we are allowed to eat twice. You won’t be able to talk to anyone during the meal, I’m afraid.’

  From inside the refectory came the sound of sixty or so men all sitting down at once. Then a single voice started to speak, reading sonorously from what Edwin now recognised as the Rule. Thanks to his early studies Edwin’s Latin had always been reasonably good, so he picked up most of it. This bit was evidently about the use of the church: … used for prayer and not for any other purpose … when the work of God has been completed all are to go out noiselessly … if someone wishes to make a private prayer then let him go in without hesitation and pray not aloud but with tears and with the attention of his heart.

  As the reading continued Edwin could hear the sound of cups, plates and spoons, but there was no other noise, no chat, no raucous conversation as there always was at the lower tables in the earl’s hall. He risked a glance back through the doorway. It was very strange watching so many men sitting in such complete silence. Some of them were making obscure gestures to each other.

  Brother Helias put his head close to Edwin’s. ‘Speech is forbidden at meals, but we have other ways of asking the brethren to pass the bread or the beans.’ He smiled and patted Edwin on the shoulder. ‘I must go back in – I am sometimes late anyway so Brother Prior won’t chastise me. And you’d better go back to the guesthouse if you want your evening meal.’

  Edwin realised how hungry he was. ‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Brother.’