by C. B. Hanley
Edwin moved to the bank and considered his options. There wasn’t really much point in finding or waking anyone else until he knew what it was under the bridge – if it turned out to be a dead cat then he’d feel rather foolish if he’d caused an alarm. He sat down, took off his boots and hose and rolled up his linen braies.
The water was chilly, much colder than he’d expected it to be during such a warm season. Still, it was bearable. He was downstream of the bridge so the current of water around his legs was minimal, not much more than knee-deep, and he had no problem wading through it. He reached the bridge, crouched, held on to the wooden planking just in case, and stretched one arm underneath. His fingers touched something – which he was fairly certain wasn’t a dead cat – but he couldn’t shift it. Taking a firmer grip on the planking he strained as far forward as he could and managed to grasp the object more firmly. He braced himself and pulled as hard as he could, and it came towards him.
Of course, what he hadn’t considered was that releasing the object would also unblock the beck, and a large wave of freezing water hit him in the face and chest. Gasping and clutching the object to him, he held on to the bridge until the first wave had passed, and then waded towards the bank. As he was shaking the water out of his eyes and hair he felt himself grabbed by the shoulder of his tunic and hauled out on to dry ground.
Martin was standing over him. ‘What in the Lord’s name are you doing? I can’t leave you on your own for one paternoster, can I?’
Edwin spluttered and regained his footing. ‘I’m fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you – I just came out for some air and I noticed that the water wasn’t right, and …’
‘What? Anyway, never mind that now. Come back inside and dry off. What’s that you have there?’
Edwin’s teeth were chattering. ‘I have no idea. Something very wet.’
‘Well, we can look at it once you’re dry. Come.’ Martin picked up Edwin’s discarded boots and hose and propelled him back towards the guesthouse.
The movement helped Edwin to warm up, and by the time he was back inside he felt a little recovered. The other two guests were still in bed so he stripped off his sodden tunic and shirt as quietly as he could, found the spare in his pack, and put his dry hose back on. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the dripping object.
It was a book – or, at least, not a whole book but the parchment leaves from inside it. The pages were so sodden and stuck together that it was impossible to see what the contents might have been, and Edwin regarded it helplessly.
Martin leaned over his shoulder. ‘Maybe if we can dry it out …?’
‘I’m not sure how much that will help – look, the ink has run – but it can’t do any harm.’ A shaft of sun was coming in through the window so Edwin placed the pages on the floor directly in the light. It was the best he could do.
Aylwin and Sir Philip were now rising, and Brother Amandus bustled in with some bread and ale. He looked at Edwin and shook his head in disbelief. ‘Remarkable. I have heard from Brother Durand that Brother Richard is further recovered this morning after a night’s sleep, and he seems certain to live and to regain his health. A miracle! Gaudete, indeed.’
In the excitement of his find and his dousing Edwin had almost forgotten about the events of last night, but now it all came crashing back in on him. Was this the sign he had been waiting for, the sign that told him that he should stay here and live his life in peace and study, rather than returning to the earl and his dangerous existence there? He sighed and tried to force down a piece of bread.
Once Aylwin and Sir Philip had left the guesthouse – and exactly how long were they going to stay here, anyway? – and Martin had gone to check the horses, Edwin went back to the pages. There was a puddle of water around them on the floor, and most of the leaves were still very wet, but the ones which had been on the top in the direct sunlight were a little drier. The parchment was wavy and the ink smeared, but maybe there was hope of finding out something. Edwin carried it over to the table.
He couldn’t make any sense of it. What he could see, despite the condition, was that the pages had not come from a fine illuminated volume – it was just parchment and ink, no traces of paint or colour. And if there had been some, surely he would have seen the remains of it even after it had been in the water. No, it was just writing. But it seemed to be going in a funny direction – he turned the pages round and round, in case he was holding it the wrong way up – and the ink had run so much that he just couldn’t read anything; it all just looked like squiggles. He pushed it away from him and sighed.
He was alerted by a noise behind him, and he tried to put his arms around the pages so they couldn’t be seen. It was futile, of course – it was perfectly obvious what was on the table in front of him.
It was Aylwin, who walked over to his bed and was rummaging in his bag. ‘I forgot my hat.’ He retrieved it and placed it on his head, turning to leave. As he did so, his eyes fell on the pages and he walked up to the table. ‘I didn’t know you were interested in wool.’
‘What?’
Aylwin gestured at the pages, currently spreading a damp patch on the table. ‘It’s a wool ledger. Not in very good condition, clearly – where on earth did you find it?’ He didn’t seem to expect an answer, but instead leaned forward over it.
‘How can you tell?’
‘Well, look here – you can’t read it very well because the ink is smeared, but this is how you arrange the figures in columns, with the grade of wool, the weight and the price.’
Edwin stared, and as he did so, some of the mess on the page seemed to become clearer. That was why the writing had seemed the wrong way up – because it was in columns and not in long lines across the page. He looked up at the merchant standing over him. If Aylwin had had something to do with dubious wool deals, or with hiding this ledger, surely he would not be standing there so brazenly looking at it; he would not have volunteered to Edwin the information about what it was, he would look a bit … guiltier?
Edwin decided to take a chance. ‘If you were to look through this ledger – when it’s dried out, I mean – would you be able to tell whether there was anything wrong with it?’
Aylwin frowned. ‘Wrong with it? What are you suggesting?’
Edwin should have known that a man didn’t become a respected and prosperous merchant without being intelligent. ‘Nothing, nothing. I just thought that maybe someone had thrown it away because the numbers were wrong, or maybe it’s really old and they don’t need it any more.’ That sounded feeble, even to him, for nobody would throw parchment away – they would scrape it clean and use it again and again, until it eventually wore right through.
Aylwin was looking doubtful. ‘It’s very wet and difficult to read, I grant you, but I’m willing to have a try if you like. I’m still waiting for the lord abbot to tell me who I’m supposed to talk to, so I’m only waiting around in the meantime. Please God they’ll appoint a new master of the lay brothers soon.’ He sat down on the bench next to Edwin.
There was no point in them both looking at it. ‘Thank you, Master Aylwin. I’m very grateful to you. I’ll leave you to it as I have something else to attend to, but perhaps we may speak later?’
The merchant grunted, already engrossed in trying to make sense of the ink splatters in front of him. Edwin made his way out of the guesthouse to find Martin, because one thing was certain – he needed to go to the lay brothers’ range.
Chapter Eleven
Martin was at the stables, waving his arms around at one of the bearded lay brothers, a burly fellow Edwin had seen before … ah yes, he was the one who had delivered that message to Prior Henry while Edwin had been observing the lectio divina. The man was standing in silence with his head bowed, making no effort to reply to Martin.
Edwin attracted Martin’s attention and he stalked over. ‘These lay brothers are from the peasantry, and I’m just not sure they know how to look after fine horses properly.�
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‘Why? What’s wrong with ours?’
‘Well, nothing.’ Edwin looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Martin was virtually spluttering and he continued, much more voluble than Edwin had ever seen him. ‘But they’re much better quality than the mules and suchlike that they keep here normally. And that fellow just won’t talk to me when I ask him in detail about their feed. Yesterday I was just starting to think that he … but anyway, I’ve told him that the abbot said they were all allowed to speak with us, but he just stands there. I think he must be simple.’
Edwin had no idea what Martin was talking about. ‘If there’s nothing wrong with the horses, they must be doing something right. Anyway, I have news.’
‘News that can get us out of here all the sooner, I hope.’
Ah. So that was it. Edwin actually felt quite comfortable within the enclosing walls of the abbey, but he had the feeling it was driving Martin mad. He kept his tone mild. ‘Maybe not completely out, not today, but we do need to go out to the lay brothers’ range which you visited the other day. I want to talk to the lay brother – Sinnulph, was it? – that you spoke to.’ He saw Martin making a move towards the stables. ‘I suppose it’s too far to walk?’
Martin looked at him as though he’d just suggested flying. ‘Walk? When we have horses? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll saddle them up now.’ Looking a bit happier, he hurried off into the stables.
Edwin sighed. He supposed he was going to have to get used to riding on horseback, if he was going to continue in the earl’s service. Or maybe he wouldn’t need to, if he stayed here. But that would mean facing down the lord earl, looking him in the eye and asking to be released from his service, only weeks after being formally accepted as his man. Edwin winced at the thought. And anyway, didn’t he owe duty to the earl above and beyond that? The earl, who trusted him, who had raised him up? Edwin expelled a long breath. It looked impossible whichever way he looked at it.
Martin led the horses out of the gatehouse and Edwin heaved himself up on to the back of the one he’d ridden from Conisbrough. Would he ever be comfortable in the saddle? ‘How far is it?’
‘About four miles. Won’t take long. Come on!’ And Martin was off.
Four miles might not seem long to Martin, but Edwin was quite glad to get down off the horse and hand the reins to a waiting lay brother once they arrived at the grange. Martin, as ever, swung down easily and looked no worse for wear, and Edwin was momentarily jealous.
A second bearded lay brother was approaching, and he greeted Martin. ‘Benedicte. And this must be your companion?’
Martin shoved Edwin forward. ‘Yes, this is Edwin. I told him about my trip here the other day, and he said he’d like to come out and see for himself, to meet you. Edwin, this is Brother Sinnulph.’
‘To meet me?’ The brother sounded surprised, but Edwin detected a hint of fear underneath. Had he been expecting someone to come here and question him?
Edwin didn’t want to make him hostile before he’d even started. ‘Not just you, Brother, although I hear you gave Martin something of a lesson on wool production which I’d like to hear about. No, I’d like to talk to all of you, particularly about anything you might remember about Brother Alexander, anything he might have said or done in the last few weeks which you didn’t think was important, but which might help me if I were to hear it.’
Brother Sinnulph relaxed a little, and Edwin tried to keep his voice innocent. ‘I’d also like to talk to the choir monk who comes here to do your accounts. Is he here? Brother … I’m sorry, I don’t even know his name, but Martin met him here before.’
‘That would be Brother Eugenius. He doesn’t work here all the time, he just comes out two afternoons a week because it’s part of his other duties. He’ll be here about mid-afternoon today, if you can stay that long.’
Was he trying to get rid of them? Edwin exchanged a glance with Martin. ‘That will be fine. Perhaps I could speak with you and then the other brothers one at a time while we wait for him?’ It was heading for noon, so they could surely kill some time.
‘Of course. Please, come this way.’ Brother Sinnulph led them into a building where there were two long tables with benches down each side, and bade them sit. He fetched them some ale. ‘We only eat twice a day, so there is no meal prepared, but I could find you something if …?’
‘Thank you, we have already …’ Edwin looked at Martin. ‘Why yes, anything you might be able to provide would be most welcome. Some bread, perhaps?’ Martin looked unenthusiastic, but what did he expect them to come up with?
Brother Sinnulph gestured to another brother and then took a seat on the opposite side of the table. ‘Well then, let us begin. You wish to talk of Brother Alexander?’
Edwin started with a few general questions, to try and put him at his ease – how many days a week did the master of the lay brothers visit, what were his duties, and so on. He was aware that Sinnulph had already told all this to Martin, and from what Edwin could gather he gave no answers now that differed from what he had said before. A plate of bread arrived with some hard cheese and a couple of onions. Martin rolled his eyes but nevertheless tucked in while Edwin crumbled some bread and ate a little out of politeness.
He turned the conversation to more personal matters. ‘So, are you a local man yourself?’
Brother Sinnulph nodded. ‘Born and bred on the Maltby manor here. And you must be local yourself, from your voice?’
‘Yes, I’m from Conisbrough. My father was the bailiff there for many years.’
The lay brother’s face creased into a smile. ‘You’re never Godric’s son? Godric that they called the Weaver?’
Surprised, Edwin put down the bread he had been toying with. ‘Yes, yes I am. Did you know my father?’
‘Aye, and a fine man he was too. Sorry, lad, I should have said right off that I was sorry to hear that he was dead. He was a good man, and all knew it.’
‘Thank you.’ Edwin was surprised to find out that he did not feel overwhelmed at the mention of Father’s death. Sad, yes, but he didn’t want to run away and cry. He could continue in an even tone of voice. ‘Of course, if you’re from Maltby you might have seen him when he went out there every quarter.’
‘That’s right. And a fair man he was too. Courteous to all, even villeins like my father, listened to all, spoke the truth, never took more than he was due. Like I said, a fine man. There aren’t many of them around. Well, well, Godric’s son, here and all grown up.’
Edwin began to feel more at his ease. ‘So, your father was a villein on Lord Richard’s estate here at Maltby? How did you come to join the Order?’
‘Ah, too many brothers, that was my problem. Or it was back then, anyway.’ A shadow crossed his face but it was gone before Edwin could interpret it. ‘That was all right when it came to giving service on the lord’s land, for we could share it about, but our own holding wasn’t enough to support us all. My eldest brother married and had children of his own, but there was no chance for the rest of us, so I thought, if I’m not going to marry and have a family anyway, why not try for a lay brother? The work is pretty much the same and you get a good meal every day – two in the summer – not to mention getting closer to God. Even such as I might go to heaven if I work hard enough.’
Martin pushed away the empty plate and leaned forward. ‘So all the lay brothers come from the local peasantry, do they?’
‘Most of them, yes. Like I said, the work isn’t too different and we get fed regardless of what the harvest is like. In return we take vows, the same as the choir monks, so we’re part of the abbey and not allowed to marry or have children.’
Martin nodded, and Edwin wondered what he was driving at.
‘So, most of them are local and would know their way around?’
Oh well done, thought Edwin, he’s seeing if anyone might know about the cave.
‘Yes, I suppose so, from when they were running around as lads. Although even as lads we all had plenty of
work to do.’
Martin’s next question was forestalled as Brother Sinnulph continued in a thoughtful tone.
‘Of course, that’s not quite true. Most come from the peasantry, but not all. Take Brother Guy.’
Edwin was confused. ‘Brother Guy?’
‘A lay brother at the abbey. Great burly fellow, bigger beard than most. Works a lot with the horses.’
‘Oh yes. I saw him and you’ve spoken to him a few times, haven’t you, Martin? Was that him you were talking to when I arrived at the stables this morning?’ Edwin wondered why Martin had started to look uneasy.
‘Yes, yes I have. What about him?’
‘Well, before he joined the Order he was a knight, quite a famous one if the tales are true. He travelled to the Holy Land a long time ago with old King Richard’s crusade, and then again to Constantinople about fifteen years ago. He was a great warrior.’
Martin looked like he was going to be sick. ‘Really?’
Brother Sinnulph was getting into his storytelling. ‘Oh yes. He was a lord, a man of renown. Of course, some men do come back from such campaigns and then wish to take the cowl. But they mainly become choir monks – more suited to their rank, you see. Brother Guy, now, I remember the day he arrived. He begged entry, but he had a great many sins on his conscience so he wished to demonstrate his humility before the Lord by becoming a lay brother.’
‘He did?’
‘Of course my lord abbot – Abbot Osmund it was then – tried to talk him out of it. But he was determined. And from that day to this he has never once spoken of his past, never shirked the heaviest or foulest duties. Most of the lay brothers take advantage of working in the fields or the granges to talk to each other, but not Brother Guy – he took a vow of complete silence and he sticks to it. He has never said what his sins were, but surely he’s atoned for them by now.’