by Mel Starr
“Four years past. The year the French king died. He was sub-prior before that.”
“Does a sub-prior have power to reject a novice?”
“Nay. Not at this house. Only an abbot or prior may do so.”
“Has Prior Philip disallowed any novice, other than Henry, since he assumed the office?” I asked.
Abbot Thurstan lay silent for a moment. “Martin,” he said. “Martin Glover.”
“What reason did Prior Philip give for spurning the fellow?”
“’Twas three years past. Not long after Philip was made prior. I don’t remember his objection.”
“What became of Martin? Did Prior Philip eventually relent?”
“Nay. Martin’s father sent him to Winchester. To St. Swithin’s Priory. He is a brother there.”
“St. Swithin’s saw no reason to reject the novice?”
“Nay. His father’s a prosperous merchant of London. St. Swithin’s was pleased to receive a plump endowment, I’m sure.”
“Did the lad’s father settle an endowment upon Eynsham Abbey?”
“Aye, he did.”
“Were you required to return it?”
“Nay,” Abbot Thurstan said. “We did not force Martin away. He chose to depart after Prior Philip rejected him.”
“If you had sent him away you would then also have had to return his father’s coin?”
“Not if we had good cause. Such a dispute, when it occurs, always provides employment for the lawyers.”
“How many novices have taken vows since Philip became prior, and are now brothers of Eynsham Abbey?”
“Three. Not so many as should be, but all abbeys, unless they are wealthy and of great renown, suffer as we here at Eynsham for a lack of new brothers.”
“Is the infirmarer one of these?”
“Brother Guibert? Aye, so he is. He took his vows but a few months after Philip became prior. Was much interested in the well-being of his brother monks, so I made him assistant to Brother Anselm, infirmarer at the time. Brother Anselm was full of years and of wisdom. When he died last year ’twas Brother Guibert who was best suited for the obedience.”
Abbot Thurstan again fell silent. Whether from fatigue or thought I knew not.
“Why did you conclude that Brother Guibert was new to the abbey, since Brother Philip became prior?” he said finally.
“He shows the prior much deference,” I said.
“Aye. Many of the younger brothers do so. Philip is a scholar, and with wit like a bodkin. He is ever ready to puncture youthful notions.”
“Only youthful opinions? Does the prior never dispute with older brothers?”
“Rarely. There is little time for idle chatter here. All must be silent in cloister, refectory, and during Holy Office.”
“What of Brother Gerleys?”
“He came to us as a novice but a few years after the great pestilence first struck. Has been novice-master for ten years or so. The obedience requires a man of patience, with the wisdom age does impart.”
“You said three novices have taken vows since Brother Philip became prior. Who are the other two?”
“Brother Adam and Brother Herbert.”
“Do these show deference to Prior Philip as does Brother Guibert?”
“Surely. But ’tis as should be,” Abbot Thurstan said.
“Aye,” I agreed. “Any young man should show honor to his superior. But do these venerate Prior Philip more than might be needful?”
The abbot was again silent. Arthur shifted uneasily upon his feet. Finally the abbot answered.
“You believe Prior Philip may be their adept? Brother Guibert and Brother Adam and Brother Herbert?”
“There must be some reason that the prior accepted those three but disallowed…”
“Martin,” the abbot whispered.
“Aye, Martin. Perhaps Prior Philip’s reasons were laudable, but perhaps not.”
“As with young Henry,” Abbot Thurstan said softly.
“Has Prior Philip a fur-lined coat?” I asked.
“Aye, he has. Why do you ask?” the abbot said.
I told him of finding a tuft of fur upon a thorn between the abbey and the place where Arthur and I had discovered John Whytyng’s corpse.
“Does any other brother own such a garment?” I asked.
“Nay. We have strayed far from the Rule, I fear, we who are abbots and priors. ’Tis why the Cistercians view us so reproachfully. But the sainted Benedict did not live where winters are so severe. Abbots and priors are often aged men, and the cold settles in our bones. ’Tis no great sin, I think, to be warm, nor a virtue to be cold, else we should all remove to Scotland.”
I was becoming convinced of Prior Philip’s guilt in the matter of John Whytyng’s murder. He resented the novice’s family; the mother for rejecting him, and the father for succeeding where he had failed. Henry Fuller was not already a brother because he had refused the prior’s requirement that he join the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit – if Henry was to be believed. Maude atte Pond had heard John Whytyng say, “I will never do so,” to some man. Then, a few moments later, the novice was struck down. Did he say these words to Prior Philip? Was this his reply to an invitation to enter the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit?
Prior Philip, with a monk named Eustace, was responsible for seeing the abbey secure each night. Maude said that she had met with John Whytyng in the night several times. Did the prior see John let himself out of the abbey using the key he had fashioned? This seemed likely. The novice would find himself in a compromised position, there by the fishpond, at midnight. Prior Philip may have thought that this was a lever he could use to pry John to his will. If the novice would not become his disciple in the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit, the prior would tell the chapter of John’s meeting Maude in the night and his dismissal from the abbey would be sure.
What the prior did not know was that John Whytyng had already purposed to abandon a monastic life, so the prior’s threat would have been hollow.
Maude had said that most of the conversation in the night there by the fishpond had been whispered. She had heard only what was said when voices were raised in anger. Had Prior Philip threatened John Whytyng with discovery in this hushed discourse? If so, John might then have disclosed his intent to return to his father. He might even have threatened Prior Philip, to inform Abbot Thurstan against him. The prior would then understand that he had no hold over John, and ’twas the novice who held the upper hand over him. All monks own a knife, but would a prior own a dagger? And would he think to take it with him to such an encounter? Surely he would not think himself threatened in the night.
All of these thoughts passed through my mind, and another also. “I would like to speak to Brother Eustace,” I said to Abbot Thurstan.
The abbot’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.
I explained. “He serves with Prior Philip as explorator, does he not?”
“Aye,” the abbot whispered, and I saw understanding in his eyes. His body might be near to death, but his wit was unimpaired. “Perhaps Brother Eustace knows of matters he has kept concealed… seen things of which he has not spoken.”
“For fear of Prior Philip,” I suggested.
“Just so. But if you face Brother Eustace you will place upon him a great burden. The brothers all know that you stand accused of heresy, have escaped Brother Guibert’s cell, and are now being sought.”
“Who will Brother Eustace tell?”
“Ah, he would come to me. I sent Prior Philip away,” he smiled. “Speak to him here, in my chamber, before me. I will demand of him that he tell no other of your presence, or of what matters you ask of him.”
“Will he obey, do you think, or is he the prior’s man?”
Abbot Thurstan thought on this for a few moments before he replied.
“I chose him for the duty. Prior Philip did not, nor did he seem much pleased with my choice. Brother Godfrey had served as explorator with Prior Philip and the priors who served before him,
but he was advanced in years, and often stumbled in the night, so asked to be relieved of the obedience.”
“Why did you choose Brother Eustace, when the prior might have desired another to assist him on his rounds?”
Abbot Thurstan pursed his lips. “’Twas not that Prior Philip said that he preferred another. And before my selection the two seemed to live in harmony… as they do yet. But when I told Prior Philip of my choice there was a brief scowl which flashed across his face. I wondered at this at the time. But nothing came of it. I thought ’twas perhaps my imagination.
“’Tis nearly time for vespers,” he continued. “Brother Guibert will visit before the office with wine and herbs to help me sleep. I will tell him to send Brother Eustace to me after vespers. You should return to the closet. Brother Guibert may appear soon.”
I motioned to Arthur to follow me to the closet, and when I shut the door behind us I extinguished the cresset so that the infirmarer would see no glimmer of light escaping from under the door. The closet was dark, only starlight from the window and a sliver of illumination under the door from the cressets lighting the abbot’s chamber gave faint light to the place.
We had not long to wait before the abbot’s chamber door opened and we heard Brother Guibert greet his abbot. As before we could hear no response from Abbot Thurstan, but through the infirmarer’s words could follow the conversation.
Brother Guibert offered wine and crushed hemp seeds, and silence followed as the abbot consumed the draught. When he had finished he must then have asked a question of Brother Guibert, for I heard the monk say, “All of the brothers esteem Prior Philip, I think.”
Silence followed, in which the abbot must have asked another question. I heard the infirmarer say, “Nay, he has never done so.” More silence, then with some agitation Brother Guibert said, “Nay, M’lord Abbot, there is nothing hidden in the abbey. You have surely been deceived.”
Another silence. Then, “I will do so. But you must not trouble yourself,” the infirmarer said, “with worry of apostasy among the brothers.”
There was no more conversation. I heard the chamber door open and close, and but a few heartbeats later I heard the sacrist ring the bell for vespers.
Abbot Thurstan must have asked a pointed question of Brother Guibert about the faithfulness of his brother monks. When I heard the infirmarer’s denial I was at first displeased that the abbot had given Brother Guibert cause for suspicion if he was of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit, and Prior Philip was his adept.
But as I thought on the matter I decided that perhaps ’twas a good thing to poke the hornets’ nest and see what might flee from it. I tapped Arthur upon the shoulder, squeezed past the bulky fellow – the closet was tiny – and opened the door. No need to fear discovery. The monks were at their office.
Brother Eustace would likely prefer to see to his duties as explorator, then crawl under his blanket ’till vigils, rather than attend his abbot. I waited, with Arthur, upon a bench in a dark corner of the abbot’s chamber. One of the cressets which lighted the room was extinguished, its oil consumed. Brother Eustace was prompt. And he was not alone. The chamber door opened and two monks entered. The first I did not recognize, the second was Brother Guibert. I had not expected the infirmarer to appear with Brother Eustace, else I would have awaited the explorator in the closet.
The infirmarer closed the chamber door behind him and with the first monk approached the abbot’s bed. Neither man peered into the dark corner where Arthur and I sat, nor made any sign that they had noticed our presence. But if either of us moved we would surely be seen. I remained still.
“I am come,” said Brother Eustace, “as you asked. How may I serve you?”
Abbot Thurstan struggled to raise himself upon an elbow, failed, then spoke. “Brother Guibert, I wish to speak to Brother Eustace alone.”
The infirmarer turned, saw our shadows in the corner, and stopped, peering into the dark to see who it was in the abbot’s chamber. “You!” he said, and I knew I was found out.
“Brother Guibert,” the abbot said, “you must tell no man who is here this night. I expect your obedience.”
Then, to Brother Eustace, Abbot Thurstan said, “Here is a man who wishes to speak to you of grave matters. I am your abbot, and I command you to answer truthfully all that he asks of you.”
The abbot then twisted so as to turn his gaze toward me. Brother Guibert backed away, as if to make for the door, intending, perhaps, to seek some brawny lay brothers to remove me again to his cell.
Abbot Thurstan saw this, and with as much volume as he could muster, cried, “Halt!” Brother Guibert obeyed.
“’Twas not my wish,” the abbot whispered, “that you return with Brother Eustace. But as you are here you must remain ’till Master Hugh has done with you.”
I have learned in similar circumstances in the past that altitude can be an advantage in prodding answers from those who might otherwise be reluctant to satisfy my curiosity. I told Arthur to bring forward the bench upon which we had recently sat, told the two monks to sit upon it, then requested of Arthur that he stand before the chamber door.
Brother Guibert sat with his arms folded, in an attitude of hostility, but Brother Eustace seemed more curious than antagonistic, wondering what this encounter was about. I began with him.
“How many times, when you made your rounds to secure the abbey for the night, did you see John Whytyng leaving through the north porch of the church?”
Brother Eustace’s mouth dropped, and even though their habits were black and the chamber was dark I saw Brother Guibert extend an elbow into the explorator’s ribs.
“John…?” Brother Eustace stammered. “The novice?”
“Was there another John Whytyng about in Eynsham?” I said.
“Uh… novices retire to their beds after compline,” he said quickly, “and are not required to rise for vigils.”
“That I know. I did not ask you of a novice’s schedule.”
I waited, and the room fell silent. This allowed the explorator time to consider what I might know. I wished for the monk to believe that I knew more than I did. Abbot Thurstan finally spoke, his whisper easily heard in the stillness.
“Answer Master Hugh,” the abbot commanded.
“Thrice,” the monk said softly. I saw a look of scorn pass across Brother Guibert’s face.
“Why did you not report these transgressions to your abbot?” I said.
“Prior Philip was present. We together saw the lad. He said he would report to M’lord Abbot. Did he do so?”
“He did not,” Abbot Thurstan said. “It is surely time for me to meet the Lord Christ. I have failed to rule the abbey as I should have done. My wit has been as clouded as my eyes. Truly, even had I not plunged down a stairway, I would no longer wish to live, to see daily the failure of my duty.”
“Not so, M’lord Abbot,” Brother Eustace said with muted vehemence. “You have governed us wisely and well.”
“There are matters about which you, I think, are ignorant,” Abbot Thurstan replied. “And for this you should be thankful.”
Brother Eustace’s only response was a puzzled expression, but I saw alarm in Brother Guibert’s eyes.
“John Whytyng went missing in the night nearly two weeks past,” I said. “’Twas a Wednesday evening he was last seen. Did you and Brother Prior see him leave the church through the north porch that night?”
Brother Eustace was silent – considering, I think, which reply, truth or falsehood, would do him most harm.
“Aye, we did so. Brother Prior said we should wait in the shadows to see if he came that night.”
“What hour of the night was this?”
“Soon after vigils.”
“And the other times that you saw him leave through the door in the north porch, was it the same hour?”
“Aye.”
“Had you and Prior Philip lain in wait for the novice on other nights, or was Wednesday the first time?”
“After the second time we saw the novice leave the abbey we waited in the porch to see would he do so again. Prior Philip said that before he told M’lord Abbot of this he wished to know where the novice went after leaving the abbey precincts.”
“When the novice left the church, what then?”
“Brother Prior told me to complete the rounds alone. I was to leave the door to the north porch of the church unlocked, so Prior Philip could re-enter after he had followed John Whytyng.”
“You did so?”
“Aye.”
“Did you again see Prior Philip that night?”
“Nay. Not ’till I left my bed for lauds.”
“The prior was then in his accustomed place? He had not sought you in the night?”
“All was as customary. Prior Philip said nothing of following John Whytyng. I had no opportunity to ask of him.”
“When the novice was discovered missing, did you not then wonder what Prior Philip had learned in the night as he followed the lad?”
Brother Eustace was silent for a time, then said, “I thought that if Brother Prior wanted me to know what he had found he would tell me. ’Tis unwise to meddle in Prior Philip’s business.”
“Even when you did rounds to secure the abbey for the night in the days after the novice disappeared, you asked nothing of Prior Philip? Not even after John’s corpse was found?”
“Nay.”
“And you told no one, not even Abbot Thurstan, that the last monk to see John Whytyng alive was the prior?”
“Nay.”
“Why not?” I asked. If he had done so my work at the abbey would already be completed and I would not be sought as a heretic. So I thought.
Brother Eustace looked to the bed where his abbot lay, listening. “All know that M’lord Abbot is near death, and Prior Philip may succeed him.”
The monk said no more, so I finished his thought. “You wished to save yourself the embarrassment of asking awkward questions of the next abbot of Eynsham Abbey?”
Brother Eustace dropped his gaze and replied, “Aye.”
All this time Brother Guibert had sat immobile, arms crossed, lips drawn tight. Now he spoke.