Hubert continued. ‘Abbot Philip fears that there are people posing as pilgrims within the abbey precincts, allies of those who threaten him. Three armed men, as we know, arrived this very day, sent by their overlord to escort the wagon carrying the earl’s imported goods from off the St Marie. But what else might they demand? He does not know. All he knows is that should he fail to keep up his payments he will have no protection. He is not sure what to do about it.’
Before either Gregory or Egbert could interrupt Hubert gave a faint smile. ‘I can read the minds of my two brothers, knowing well their characters. They will say as I do that you should throw these people out.’His glance fell full on Abbot Philip who seemed to shrink in his chair.
He gnawed his lip and eventually managed to reply, ‘The earl’s vassal whom I cannot name would attack us in the knowledge that the earl himself would turn a blind eye.’
Hubert did not sigh audibly but the suggestion of one hung in the air. ‘After I’d got rid of the enemies within,’ he continued, ‘I’d hire a handful of mercenaries, a couple of good archers, swordsmen, such like, make sure the abbey’s defences were in good repair, ensure enough food in my cellars for a short siege, then make my stand. I would also send messengers to our headquarters at St Mary Graces in London and to our French one at Citeaux, giving them the full story and demanding that they bring their influence to bear on the Pope, on Parliament, and the King. As it’s a question of a local lord I would find out his enemies and enlist their help with the promise of a manor or two for their pains.’
‘I agree,’ Gregory said at once.
‘And so do I,’ Egbert growled.
‘I see.’ The abbot pulled at his vestments and looked thoughtful. ‘All that will be quite an undertaking.’
‘Your alternative is to pay up and pay and pay again until the abbey’s resources are so depleted your work here will be impossible.’
Abbot Philip said slowly as if working out an alternative, ‘When thieves break in it’s as well to hide one’s treasure.’
‘The thing to do, if I may have permission to speak,’ broke in Hildegard, not waiting for an answer, ‘is not to allow them to break in in the first place.’
Hubert nodded and closed his eyes. If it came to an attack on the abbey he knew he would be useless in a fight at present but it had to be said.
‘I see you are in accord, my lord abbot, brothers – domina,’ he added belatedly as if not wishing to admit her presence now she had seen him weak in front of others. ‘Quite in accord and remarkably so, quite in agreement, yes, all concurring. However, I fear my prior and the rest will not sing with one voice.’
‘Maybe it’s something you will discuss in Chapter?’ suggested Hubert.
‘I could never do that. We cannot discuss hiring paid killers. We are monks. We are vowed not to raise arms against our fellow man.’
‘Even though they make free use of your abbey and are draining its resources to nothing?’ Hubert’s disdain was barely concealed. ‘Do you not have a duty to protect those who have given you their trust? What do you imagine will happen to them if the abbey is attacked?’
‘Nobody would dare to harm us.’ Despite his words he looked uncertain. ‘If we pay – if we pay the knight who has promised us protection we shall be safe. He has given his word.’
‘Meanwhile he asks more and more from you.’ Hubert closed his eyes.
Abbot Philip saw it as a sign to withdraw. ‘My prayers are with you, my dear Hubert. I trust my people will continue to give you the best care they can.’
When he left in a rustle of crisp linen Hildegard glanced across the aisle. Friar Hywel had entered on gossamer footsteps in the silent manner she had noticed before and was standing half-concealed behind a pillar. How long he had been there she could not tell. His unexpected presence made her suspect that it was he who was one of the enemies within.
When he saw that Hildegard had noticed him he moved off just as silently down the long aisle to the far end of the chamber.
Gregory waited until they were alone then told Hubert about the presence of Glyn Dwr in the abbey and the suspicion that Arundel was planning to use it as a base for an invasion of France. ‘It makes Netley a place under the menace of the war lords, not the haven we imagined,’ he finished. ‘I suspected all was not as it seems.’
Hubert glared down at the contraption fitted round his broken leg. ‘Knit, curse you,’ he muttered, then corrected himself.‘Please God and all the angels in heaven, allow my wound to heal so that I may more perfectly fulfil your divine will, amen.’
‘What do you make of that, then?’ Egbert asked as they eventually left Hubert to take his medicine and sleep.
‘I praise the lord that Hubert is our abbot,’ Gregory replied. ‘I also suggest that we keep an eye on those three cut-throats who forced their way in here as if they had permission from someone with power.’
‘Whether Abbot Philip likes it or not, by capitulating to this vassal of Arundel’s he lays himself open to the abbey being taken over. Unless he fights back there’ll be nothing to stop it being used as a military base.’
‘Can he really accept a situation like that?’ Hildegard looked askance.
Gregory gave a dry smile. ‘Does your chamber door have a lock, Hildegard? I suggest you use it.’
‘He’ll keep on paying,’ Egbert decided. ‘There will be no attack. The abbot and his monks will meet their nemesis slowly and over many years.’
‘If it does come to it, we can’t leave Hubert to defend himself. What are we going to do about that?’ Hildegard glanced back towards the infirmary with an anxious frown.
Shadows were lengthening across the garth and filling in the spaces between the arches of the cloisters. Despite the lingering heat she shivered. ‘I wish we could get out of here. It’s beautiful but it’s more dangerous than it looks.’
‘Fear not. No-one will attack because Abbot Philip will go on paying until he has nothing left,’ Egbert repeated. ‘It’s really not our concern. As for Arundel and his plans, it’s better to keep the place intact so he can use it. All the monks need to do is keep on praying.’ He frowned. ‘I do hate to see the militia make fools of our Order, though. They think we’re sitting ducks.’
‘We can only wait and see what their plan is. It may be no more than tribute they’re after,’ said Gregory. ‘What I don’t like is the idea of Glyn Dwr spying out the land. His presence puts our suspicions on a far more serious footing suggesting the imminent prospect of war.’
‘Southampton won’t allow any but the king’s ships there.’
‘And an invasion of France is expressly against the king’s wishes.’
‘But don’t forget Lord Berners was executed on the orders of Gloucester for starting secret peace talks with Charles of France. King Richard is betrayed on all sides by Gloucester and the other two war-mongers.’
‘One of whom seems to have Netley Abbey in his pocket,’ finished Hildegard.
The friar came up behind them. ‘A scene of beauty and tranquility,’ he observed, falling into step beside them. ‘Who would imagine that under the surface all is not at peace?’
Hildegard gave him a close look. His face, angular and intelligent, with those burning eyes that gave no clue as to the purpose of his remark was turned to her. She greeted him in Welsh. He offered a complicit smile in return. What did he want to find out? She was sure he guessed by now that they were aware that Glyn Dwr was secretly within the precinct.
‘Earlier today,’ he began, ‘before we were invaded,’ he gave an ironic smile, ‘I heard some comment about my astrolabe.’ His spoke in English to include them all. ‘Would you care to have a look at it?’
Gregory gave him a side-long glance. ‘Where is it?’
‘This way. Follow, if you will.’
It was a small, close chamber built onto the end of the house where the conversi, the lay-brothers lived as if it had once been a store for their goods but had somehow been taken over. With
a long window down one side giving an even light onto a work bench, it was sheltered from the glare of the sun by its northerly aspect. Despite this the shutters were flung wide to draw in a slight breeze and the first thing Hywel did was close the top section, casting a gloom over the cell.
‘Jankin!’ he called.
The apprentice shuffled from out of a pile of blankets in the corner.
‘Been sleeping?’
‘I deemed it too hot to run errands, magister, even for you.’
‘Don’t give me any of your lip. Show deference to your betters. Here, who are these visitors?’
‘The three monastics from a far away abbey in the North of England,’ the boy replied.
‘And what do you know about them?’
‘What should I know?’
‘I asked first.’
‘Nothing, magister.’
‘Diplomatic, good. And what do they know about us?’
‘Everything, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Is that so?’ Hywel turned suddenly to scrutinize Brother Gregory for an answer.
Unperturbed, Gregory exclaimed, ‘I doubt whether anyone can know everything about anyone else. Heaven forfend! We would never have our swords out of our hands.’ He was standing near Hywel’s work bench and glanced casually along it. ‘Is this it?’
He pointed a long finger at a brass dish-shaped object with numerals incised round its edges.
‘Pick it up. See if you can work it out,’ offered Hywel. Turning to Jankin he said, ‘Get us something to drink, there’s a good lad.’
When Jankin had gone out Hywel said, ‘It has a thousand uses. My use is to predict the tides around the coast here.’ He paused. ‘I can tell you when there will be a high tide three months hence.’
‘Will that be important – three months hence?’ Gregory asked, as guileless as could be.
‘Who can tell? A more subtle instrument may be needed to forecast something of that order.’
‘Three months? Noihing more definite than that?’ Gregory gave him a level stare.
‘I am not a necromancer.’
‘We’ve heard otherwise,’ riposted Egbert.
‘As you would from the ignorant. They know no better.’
Just then one of the young lay-brothers carrying a jug of wine and three wooden beakers followed Jankin inside. ‘Where shall I set them down?’
‘Anywhere you like,’ Hywel instructed off-handedly. He did not address him by name but turned back to the astrolabe which he took from Gregory as if retrieving his most precious possession, which, indeed, it may have been.
The servant placed the jug on the bench along with the three beakers and paused as if unsure whether to pour or not.
‘Alaric, are you waiting to see it burst into flames or something? Fill them, will you?’ Hywel turned back to what interested him more.
Alaric flushed slightly, filled the beakers then searched quickly for his master’s goblet, filling it to the brim. He glanced at Jankin and raised his eyebrows. Jankin gave a quick glance at Hywel then nodded towards a small cup on a shelf.Afterwards, job done, he melted back against the wall but did not leave. Hywel was too busy explaining the instrument to notice.
It was the same lay-brother who attended Mistress Beata. Despite the fact that they often looked similar in their short fustian tunics and bare feet Alaric was noticeable for his fine, slender features and his gentle manner. He had been treated kindly by Mistress Beata and been welcomed by her.
It was a fact that lads from the poor farming families who were too many to keep were sent to the abbeys as servants. In lieu of cash they were given board and lodging and a life of order in an unpredictable world. Only the rich and well-connected filled the ranks of the brotherhoods. Hildregard thought it unfair that money rather than native wit, temperament or ability should determine the status of these children.Without servants the great abbeys could not survive because the conversi did all the hard labour both on the granges and within the precincts and there was never a monk or nun who did not have several servants always on hand.
What was worse, in Hildegard’s opinion, was that they were not allowed to learn to read or write so their prospects were limited within the Orders.
Alaric was a delicate-looking youth of about eighteen, sturdy calves browned by the sun, clipped fair hair, Saxon colouring with eyes in that shade of blue that always seems to be looking into the distance. He moved neatly, like a dancer, yet his apparent pleasure in being useful seemed to hide an air of melancholy.
The men were still discussing the workings of the astrolabe and when Hywel handed it back to Gregory she asked about the thousand uses.
‘The measurements of the stars and the motion of the planets, time-keeping therefore, making the timing of the canonical hours more constant and not reliant on the sun, navigation, surveying.’ He smiled. ‘It was invented, so we’re told, by one of your kind, domina, by Hypatia, a woman mathematician in Ancient Greece.’
‘I’ve heard so. May I have a closer look at it when Gregory has sated his curiosity? It was explained to me how to work it long ago and I wonder if I can remember what I was told.’
‘Do so, by all means.’
The two youths, Jankin, the apprentice, and the less-privileged Alaric were crowding as close as they dare to watch Brother Gregory, with the disc resting on one shoulder, try to align the rete with the symbols. While their attention was fixed Hywel took the opportunity to tap Jankin on the shoulder.
‘Now we have the presence of a jury let’s go through your theft again.’
Jankin went white. ‘My theft, magister?’
Hywel nodded. ‘I entrusted you with the capture of a mouse. You brought me one and then, lo! You claimed my mouse had run off. I suspect you were lying to me. What do you think, brother?’ He appealed to Egbert who was fingering through a book lying open on the bench.
‘I?’ He glanced at Jankin. ‘Did it run off?’
Jankin nodded.
‘With encouragement or is that another lie?’ asked Hywel. After a long and delicate pause, he asked, ‘Why did you let it go?’
Jankin was silent for too long because Hywel repeated the question and then asked, ‘You must have had a reason or are you truly a sot wit and do things without purpose?’
‘If I let him go I did it because it’s a living thing and I love all things that live.’
Alaric made a movement in the shadows, quickly stifled.
‘I see,’ said Hywel. ‘So having established the fact that you disobeyed me – if you let it go, as you prevaricate – then comes the question of punishment.’
‘It’s punishment enough to know I’ve fallen into your trap and admitted to being the agent of its escape and been bested by a Welshman into the bargain.’
‘Enough punishment for so heinous a sin as lying to me? Tell me, if it had been a crocodile with snapping jaws would you have let it go?’
‘I doubt it because in the heat of the moment as its jaws came down I would have weighed my own life with the good I may do in the world, compared it to the good a crocodile might do, then weighted the matter in my own favour.’
‘A process which demonstrates that you regard your own worth, though more than that of a crocodile, as less, in fact than that of a mouse?’ Hywel opened his eyes in mock astonishment.
Jankin shifted, angry with himself for a moment, but found nothing to say in his own defence.
‘So where is my mouse now?...C’mon, don’t compound your insolence.’
‘He’s here.’ He stepped back as he brushed his pouch with something in it. His fists clenched.
‘Show me,’ Hywel demanded.
Jankin couched one hand inside and held the other cupped as, between his fingers, a mouse peered out.
Hywel nodded. ‘I see it. The creature touched your heart, did it? There’s no accounting for what moves us. Well, don’t just stand there. Are you going to feed the little monster?’
‘I give him my crumbs, magiste
r,’ Jankin muttered in a sullen tone.
‘I have some spare cheese here so why don’t you give it that? Alaric, fetch the cheese.’
‘Are you intending to fatten him up the better to complete your work?’ Jankin asked with a wary expression.
Hywel laughed. ‘Do you think so darkly of me? I’m quite disarmed by your argument for the value of life even though you did not take it to its conclusion. Are you disarmed too, Alaric?’ Without waiting for a reply he took a crumb of the proferred cheese and held it out. ‘Feed it. Let’s see how tame we can make it.’
‘It’s a he, magister, with a wife and a little family.’
‘Is he really doing experiments on mice?’ Hildegard asked as she left the dark little cell with Gregory and Egbert and stepped out into the heated evening.
‘It seems so. He’s curious about everything, their substance, their habits, what they are capable of doing. Did you see the books on that shelf?’ Egbert was impressed.
‘I expect he’s dabbling in the black arts,’ Gregory looked scathing. ‘Despite his denial we saw many would-be necromancers when we were overseas, men like him, whose curiosity leads them down many a dark and evil path to the gates of hell itself. A necromancer to his finger-tips.’
‘I see no reason to accuse him of communicating with the dead,’ Hildegard chided.
‘Magus, alchemist then,’ Gregory replied, amused. ‘How does he see himself, I wonder?’
‘He must have those books brought in.’ Egbert suggested.
‘I wonder how he pays for them?’ Gregory narrowed his glance.
Hildegard thought of his allegiance to Arundel through the mediation of Glyn Dwr.‘No shortage of gold in Arundel’s coffers,’ she remarked.
‘Maybe he can turn base metals into gold himself?’ Egbert chuckled. ‘Surely by now somebody has managed to do it and has thought to sell the secret to the world?’
Both men laughed.
‘He teases that lad of his but I suppose it helps keep him on his toes.’ Gregory gave a sideways look. ‘The sorceror’s apprentice?’
‘He ignores the abbey servant,’ Hildegard broke in, ‘although I can see no reason for doing so.’
The Alchemist of Netley Abbey: Eighth in the Hildegard of Meaux medieval mystery series Page 9