by C. B. Hanley
The monks were by now all seated individually, each with his book and each with his cowl up, covering his head. To give them more privacy and help them to concentrate, Edwin thought, though it made them even more indistinguishable from each other than they were normally. Each of them was reading aloud to himself, but quietly so as not to disturb the others, so the whole cloister was filled with the sound of murmuring as the monks ran their fingers along the text of the page in front of them. Every so often one of them would stop reading and fold his hands – contemplating something he had learned, no doubt.
After what Edwin judged was about half of the allotted time for lectio divina he leaned over towards Martin, who had been sitting next to him unmoving all the while and clearly bored out of his mind. He whispered as quietly as he could. ‘Notice anything?’
Martin shrugged and replied in an equally low voice. ‘Nothing except that they’re all reading and I can’t tell who is who.’
‘Agreed.’ But Edwin had also noticed something else, and now he cupped his hand to Martin’s ear. ‘See that door over there? The one that leads through the lay brothers’ building and out into the precinct?’
Martin nodded.
‘Can you walk over there, go through the door so I can’t see you, and then walk back here as quietly and calmly as you can? I want to try something.’
Martin nodded again and rose. He sauntered around the walkway at the edge of the cloister until he reached the door, and then disappeared through it. Then he reappeared and strolled back, walking this time across the grassed area. As Edwin expected, none of the monks really paused in their reading and studying, but a number of them looked up at Martin curiously before lowering their gaze to their books once more.
Martin took his seat again. ‘And?’
Edwin leaned in. ‘I’ll tell you later, but I think it’s important.’
Once the lectio divina was over, each of the brothers closed his book with care and then queued in silence to hand it back to Brother Octavian before heading towards the refectory. The librarian took each volume one at a time, placing it precisely back in the armarium before coming back for the next, so the whole exercise was going to take some time. Occasionally he spoke in a low voice. ‘Brother Walter. How are you getting on with the Lives of the Fathers? Brother Eugenius – I’m glad to see you making sense of …’
Edwin’s attention was caught by the arrival in the cloister of one of the lay brothers. Bearded and wearing a brown tunic like all the others, he made his way over to the prior and bowed before handing him a slip of parchment in silence. That seemed odd – perhaps they weren’t allowed to speak in here at all? But Edwin could still hear Brother Octavian in the background, ‘Ah, the works of St Jerome – thank you, Brother Waldef,’ and the prior was also clearly audible as he thanked the lay brother, who seemed to be called Brother Guy. How strange. The lay brother departed without breaking his silence.
Eventually Edwin and Martin were alone, but Edwin still checked all about him to make sure before he spoke out loud.
‘Like you said, they all look the same. And they all look the same because they are choir monks, white-robed monks. The lay brothers don’t come in here while the reading is going on – did you see that one waited until it was all over? – and neither do any of the guests. As soon as you started walking around, a lot of them noticed.’
Martin looked perplexed. ‘So?’
‘So, if Brother Alexander was killed during the lectio divina, it can only have been by one of the other choir monks.’
‘Sorry, what? Why?’
‘Because they are the only ones who wear white robes. That lay brother in brown stood out among them, and so did you in your tunic – they would notice immediately anyone who was wearing a different colour.’
Comprehension started to dawn on Martin’s face. ‘You mean …’
Edwin nodded. ‘Brother Alexander was murdered by one of his brothers.’
Edwin raised his hand to knock on the door but let it fall again. He was not really looking forward to his interview with the abbot. However, it must be done, so he must go in. He squared his shoulders and smoothed down his tunic.
He still didn’t knock on the door.
After a short while he realised he was going to look foolish standing outside the room if anyone came along, so he rapped his knuckles on the wood in what he hoped was a respectful manner. He was admitted to the parlour, where he knelt and kissed the ring on the abbot’s hand before being invited to seat himself on a stool. The abbot placed himself in the chair on the other side of the table and folded his hands. ‘Well?’
Edwin took a deep breath. ‘I should start, my lord, by saying that I do not yet know who killed Brother Alexander, but I have made some progress and I know more about him than I did before.’ He explained what he had discovered about the dead monk’s past. The abbot nodded in recognition at the details of how seriously Brother Alexander took his duties in the abbey and that he drove a hard bargain with outside merchants; he looked thoughtful at the news that Brother Alexander had been in St Albans before arriving at Roche, that he had travelled abroad and that he had apparently brought something back with him.
‘But,’ Edwin concluded, ‘this is all outweighed by the things I don’t yet know about him. Most pressingly, why did he come all the way here instead of joining a monastery nearer to London, what did he bring back with him, and why did he keep it? Oh, and what if anything has someone called Daniel of Morley got to do with all this?’
The abbot raised one hand. ‘One thing at a time. First, I am surprised to find you are familiar with Daniel of Morley, as his writings are very challenging. How did you hear of him?’
‘When I first arrived, your prior said he didn’t know much about what Brother Alexander had done before he came here, but that he had mentioned that someone by that name had been a great influence on him. That’s all I know.’
‘He was a man who travelled widely, both within and outside Christendom, and his work deals with the creation of the world, matter, the elements, the nature of the stars, and so on. Some of it relies on Arabic sources which are not considered proper by the Church, and we do not have any of his texts here.’
‘Wait, you said he was a man who travelled widely? Is he still alive?’
The abbot shook his head. ‘No, he died – about seven or eight years ago now, perhaps? I heard the news from fellow abbots at our annual conclave.’
Edwin honestly couldn’t see what any of this had to do with his present task, so perhaps it was just a dead end. The prior had said it probably wasn’t important, after all.
‘Let’s leave that for now, then. What about the “treasure” that Brother Alexander brought back with him?’
‘That cannot be. Every man, when he enters the Order, must give up all personal possessions. There are no exceptions. Besides, if he had something then we would have found it after his death. When his place in the dormitory was cleared we found only the permitted items which all belong to the abbey: his belt, his eating knife, his boots, his spare robe. All were returned to the abbey stores ready to give to another. Even the robe he was wearing when he died was put back in the wardrobe after the washerwomen had cleaned and mended it.’
Edwin thought that he wouldn’t much like to be allocated the robe in which a man had been stabbed, but he supposed that the next wearer, whoever he was, wouldn’t know about the garment’s history.
‘But what if he kept it somewhere else?’ Edwin didn’t want to go into too many details about the cave, but he could speak generally. ‘Brother Alexander was often outside of the abbey due to his business – maybe he could have kept whatever it was in another place?’
The abbot’s lips were starting to form a thin line. ‘You are verging into speculation, my son, and you are doing the memory of Brother Alexander no credit. Precepts seven and fifty-two: not to bear false witness, and to guard one’s lips from uttering evil or wicked words.’
‘But —’
‘I will not have a decent man slandered after his death. I must ask you to cease on this line of questioning.’ His tone was firm and Edwin recognised authority when he heard it.
‘Very well, my lord. Perhaps I can ask you something else.’
‘Go on.’
‘Yesterday, when I was in the church I caught a glimpse of one of the monks – one of the choir monks – kneeling in a side chapel, praying and weeping as if his heart would burst. Martin says he also saw someone doing something similar soon after we arrived, but we’re not sure whether it was the same man. The one I saw had dark hair around his tonsure and I don’t think he was one of the oldest brothers, but I couldn’t identify him further than that. Do you have any idea who it might have been? If he was crying from guilt and praying for forgiveness then that might have a bearing on my quest.’
The abbot nodded. ‘From what you say, I would guess that the man you saw was Brother Walter, our sacrist.’ He sighed. ‘He is not suited to his life here in the cloister, but he tries hard and he prays constantly that he might improve.’
‘Why must he stay here, if he is not suited to it?’
‘He is not obliged to stay. Indeed, I have offered him the opportunity to leave the Order on several occasions – you may think that we seek to keep men imprisoned here, but like many of my fellow abbots I recognise that we can all serve God in different ways, and in Brother Walter’s case it may be that he would achieve that better in another way.’
Edwin was fascinated by this insight. He had always thought that once you were a monk, you were a monk and there would be no escape, no second chances. But something puzzled him. ‘But Brother Walter doesn’t wish to leave?’
The abbot shook his head. ‘No. He is determined that the fault somehow lies with him, that if only he tries harder, prays harder, makes more of an effort, that it will all become clear to him and he will be content here. He wants to stay, but he also wants to want to stay, if you see what I mean.’
Edwin could certainly sympathise with that situation, but he wasn’t about to think about it just at the moment. He moved on. ‘And what is his role in the abbey? You said he was the …?’
‘The sacrist. It is a highly responsible post, for Brother Walter is in charge of all our sacred vestments and vessels, meaning that he has to set them all out before each service, collect them in and take care of them.’
Edwin thought about that, and about other things he’d seen and heard. And then it started to fall into place. ‘And you appointed him to that post on purpose? So that he is often in the church, so that he has a greater opportunity to pray and perhaps to become closer to the Lord?’
The abbot sat back in his chair, a look of surprise on his face. ‘You have great insight, my son. I did indeed, and for exactly the reasons you describe. It hasn’t worked, I admit – I am sure that Brother Walter has a vocation, but it has not yet been revealed to me what that vocation might be. But how did you know?’
‘I —’ How could he put it into words?
‘You may speak freely.’
‘I … well, when I first met you, my lord, I thought you stern.’ He looked at the abbot in case he had already gone too far, but the abbot nodded.
‘This is something I recognise about myself,’ he said. ‘Have no fear – continue.’
‘But since I’ve been here I have already learned how much you know about all the brothers, and how you care for each one of them individually. They aren’t all just monks to you – I mean, they are monks, obviously – but what I mean is, to you they are all individual men with individual needs, and you try to help them.’
The abbot closed his eyes in brief prayer. ‘Yes, I try, for it is written in our Rule that the abbot should show the stern discipline of a master, but also the loving affection of a father. And what father does not seek to help his sons find their path? But sometimes I fail, as I have done so far with Brother Walter. The brethren might look the same to you, but in my eyes they are each unique among God’s creatures, and I must find a way. “The abbot must realise how difficult and arduous the task is that he has undertaken, that of ruling souls and serving men of many different characters.” That is also contained in the Rule, and I must seek to understand each individual. The Lord will show me the way if I pray hard enough and am deemed worthy.’
‘I hope so, Father,’ said Edwin. ‘He has already shown you the way with Brothers Godfrey and Waldef – think how much easier it is for them to serve God and the Order when they are allowed to be together, when others might have forced them to separate. And Brother William, whom you let out of the abbey to come and serve my lord earl.’ The abbot nodded in acknowledgement. ‘And this morning, you were kind to Brother Jordan. You had already arranged with the prior that he would speak up, hadn’t you?’
The abbot narrowed his eyes. ‘You are extremely perceptive. I can see why the lord earl puts so much faith in you. I too was deceived at our first meeting, for I thought you an inexperienced boy. I can see now that I was in error.’ He continued to stare and Edwin started to feel a little uncomfortable under his gaze. ‘Have you ever considered taking the cowl?’
‘What?’
‘You have only been here a few days, but I am already persuaded that you would make a fine brother of the Order. You have a keen mind and a thirst to know the Lord better, or so I hear both from Brother Helias and Brother Octavian.’
Edwin felt sweat break out on his forehead. ‘I – er, that is —’
The abbot raised his hand. ‘You do not need to decide anything now. But while you are here you might like to give the matter some thought. Once you have found out what happened to Brother Alexander, would it be so difficult to consider staying here instead of going back to the lord earl?’
Edwin opened his mouth but no words came out. He stood abruptly. ‘Thank you, my lord. I will think, as you say.’ He started backing away towards the door.
The abbot remained seated. ‘Peace, my son. I had no wish to alarm you. Have no fear – if you decide to walk away from the abbey then so be it. I have no desire to keep any man here against his will.’
Edwin was almost out the door by now, but the words chimed with something the abbot had said earlier. ‘Father?’
‘Yes?’
‘While we were talking, you said that you were sure that Brother Walter had a vocation, but you weren’t sure what it was?’
‘I did.’
‘It’s not my place, but … have you considered making him the new master of the lay brothers?’
The abbot sat up even straighter than he already was. ‘Why do you say this?’
Edwin shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Father, but if constant prayer and reflection are not working for him, perhaps more action, more activity, might be good for him and might reconcile him to the abbey? That way he can see that we can all serve the Lord in many ways.’
As I serve my lord earl in many ways, he thought, as he bowed and left the stunned abbot in the room. But for how long? Might there be another way?
Alys looked around the cottage as she sipped her ale, thinking to herself that it was a better brew than she had ever managed to produce. In some ways it was very different from her home – the place that had been her home – in Lincoln: it was made of wattle and daub rather than wood, and it was all on one storey with no upper floor. She was in the main room, but she could see that there was another off to one side which she assumed was a bedchamber. Another difference was that back home the front room of their house was a shop, opening on to the street, and they lived above and behind it; here all the space was for living.
But although the space looked different, there were also similarities: the cottage was well kept, with fresh rushes on the floor and stores hanging from the rafters; the fire was well tended, a bubbling pot over it, and the furniture was in good repair. She had striven to do the same in Lincoln, to make the house into a welcoming home, or at least she had until – but better not to think of that. She took another s
ip of her ale.
Mistress Anne, for so Edwin’s mother was called, was ladling some kind of savoury pottage into a bowl, and now she placed it on the table in front of Alys, along with a piece of bread. They were alone; Mistress Anne had explained that she was a widow, which Alys knew already as she had first encountered Edwin shortly after his father had died. Alys had started to speak, to try and explain, but she had been gently shushed, for Mistress Anne said she would like her sister and her sister’s husband to hear the tale as well. ‘And it might distress you less if you only have to tell it once.’
Alys was grateful, and also not a little jealous that Edwin had not only a mother but also an aunt and uncle. What she would have given for such adult family support when she had lived through the siege, trying almost single-handedly to keep her younger brothers and sister safe.
The pottage was warm and delicious, and Alys was just wiping the last piece of bread around the bowl when the doorway darkened and another woman entered, calling out a greeting as she did so. She was a similar age to Mistress Anne, perhaps a few years older, and although they were not terribly alike there was enough of a resemblance for Alys to work out that this must be Edwin’s aunt. The sisters embraced and Alys stood, smoothing down the front of her apron. Another shadow blackened the door and a man entered, stooping to lower his head under the lintel and leaning on a stick. He straightened and Alys started backwards in fear, for his face was twisted, distorted, like the very devil.
Mistress Anne hurried to her and patted her shoulder in reassurance. ‘Have no fear, child, for William is not as frightening as he looks. He was wounded in battle many years ago.’
Alys looked at the newcomer, taking in the horrific scar which disfigured the whole left side of his face, and the torn and part-missing ear. She curtsied and said nothing.
‘None of that, now, none of that. I’m no lord for you to bow to.’ His voice was gruff but a little lighter than she had expected; she watched as he heaved himself laboriously over to a stool and sat down, laying the stick on the floor next to him. He nodded to Mistress Anne. ‘Although she has her manners about her, I’ll give her that.’