Samson and Maynus exchanged glances. I gave up. I was exhausted. I seemed to be banging my head against a wall trying to get through to either of them.
‘Well, at least it clears up one thing,’ said Samson. ‘The Revenant did not return last night after all.’ He smirked at Maynus. ‘What a surprise.’
‘You are forgetting, père abbé, half the town saw it.’
‘They saw something. In all probability it was an apparition conjured by that crazy woman.’
‘Actually it was Tomelinus,’ I said sheepishly. ‘I recognized him - or rather my bandaging.’
Samson exploded. ‘That charlatan again! Perhaps it’s his ears I should pin to the church door, show these people exactly what species of monster it really is.’
‘That wouldn’t be very fair, would it? If Tom hadn’t appeared when he did there’s no saying what the mob might have done. He frightened them off.’
‘They wouldn’t have been here at all if you had remained inside the priory as I’d asked.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, father. After today I fully intend to do just that.’
The real Angelus bell started to sound now and Maynus rose to attend.
‘We must all try our best to calm matters,’ said Samson removing his cope and mitre. ‘Maynus, after the mass speak to your people. See if you can drum some sense into them. As for me, I have some grovelling to do up at the castle - that’s if I manage to get there without being lynched.’
Chapter 21
OLD FLAMES
‘Sorry to interrupt master but you have a visitor.’
‘A visitor? For me? How exciting!’
‘Visitors are not normally permitted, you understand, but in the circumstances…’
‘You mean, as I am about to croak.’
‘We don’t like to think in those terms here, Dom Walter. God gathers us when he will. We none of us knows the number of our days.’
‘I’ve a pretty good idea of mine.’
‘Think of it as part of your treatment. This visit might serve to invigorate you - spiritually I mean.’
‘Oh dear God, it’s not one of these po-faced friars is it, bleating about poverty and self-denial? Save me from that, Gilbert, at least!’
‘Actually it’s a nun. From Saint George’s in Thetford. You remember where that is?’
‘Of course I remember where it is. I’m not yet gaga.’
‘Persons of the…female sex…are not strictly speaking allowed beyond the cloister gate.’
‘She’ll be safe enough in here with us old crocks. Most of them can’t remember what a woman is. Mind you, Cedric’s been looking at me in a worrying way recently.’
‘Master, you should not joke about these things.’
‘You think I’m joking?’
‘I’ll send her in then, shall I? She can’t stay long mind, just until the vesper bell sounds.’
‘That gives me a whole half hour. How very generous of you, Gilbert.’
‘You’re welcome, master. And it’s Gerard.’
A nun, eh? That’ll make a welcome change from all these wizened old men dribbling into their beards. A pretty young face to gladden my bleached old bachelor eyes. Alas, it was not to be. She turned out to be yet another old crone, sixty if she was a day. Said she knew me. She might. I’ve known a few nuns in my time, most of them ugly as old boots and utterly forgettable. But something about this one struck a chord. And then I remembered: the teeth…
‘Sister Monica-Jerome?’
‘Mother Monica-Jerome now.’
‘They elected you prioress? How marvellous!’
‘It was only for a year. That was a decade ago. But the title remains with me. Sister Agnes is prioress now. She asked to be remembered to you and sends you her prayers and good wishes.’
‘Agnes. Let me see…was she the Jack-of-all-trades?’
‘No, that was Sister Benjamin. Benjamin was never prioress.’
‘Funny, I would have thought of the three of you…’
‘So you do remember us?’
‘I remember the apple. That was a kindness.’
‘A special gift. I was rather taken with you - I can admit it now that it no longer matters.’
‘Why sister, you’re blushing!’
‘A weakness I have never been able to conquer.’
‘And you still have your little-girl giggle. Charming. Well now, what can I do for you Mother Monica-Jerome?’
‘Nothing, master. Rather it is what I can do for you. It is of those times that I speak.’
‘Speak then, for I am in the middle of writing about them myself.’
‘The matter is a delicate one as I’m sure you appreciate. And walls have ears even in this holy place.’
‘Then lean closer, sister - and to hell with the gossips!’
‘A nun you say? Interesting.’
‘Not just any nun, lord. A former prioress of the Convent of Saint George and Saint Gregory. That’s in Thetford.’
‘Yes, thank you Gerard, I know where it is. My family are its benefactors. The name, tell me her name.’
‘Monica-Jerome.’
‘Not one I recognize. She can’t have been prioress for very long. Did you manage to hear what passed between them?’
‘They spoke in whispers as though they suspected to be overheard.’
‘Something important, then. I should dearly like to know what.’
‘Use the rack. She’ll soon tell all.’
‘Yes, you’d like that wouldn’t you, Gerard? Times have changed my young friend, we don’t rack nuns anymore. Besides, it would draw unwanted attention. We will have to be more subtle. Carry on as before. Be attentive. Watch. Listen. He’s an old man. His wits are failing. Eventually he will make a mistake. We just have to be patient.’
Dear Sister Monica-Jerome. It was kind of her to come even though she didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. But it’s always good to have things confirmed. I’m just a little surprised she managed to keep the secret for so long. Of all of the nuns of St George I’d have had her down as the chatterbox. Who else among the sisters, I wonder, knew the truth? Mother Odell of course - that goes without saying. And Sister Benjamin, she would have had to know. But not necessarily Agnes or Monica-Jerome. And how fortuitous that she should have chosen this moment to tell me…
That was always Tomelinus’s trouble, his inability to hold his tongue. In his case he couldn’t help himself - some mischievous imp turning his every utterance into a curse, poor fellow. But he wasn’t quite the fool he liked to pretend. He had, after all, travelled the world from Santiago de Compostela to the Iconium, seen things that few other men have seen and lived to tell the tale. That takes skill. And he had been a monk himself once, don’t forget - and I mean a proper monk not one of these numb-headed half-brothers they have up in those northern abbeys who do all the work while the sons of the nobility spend their time impregnating sheep. I speak agriculturally of course.
Where was I? Ah yes, the Revenant. Following the invasion of the priory by the town rabble there was a noticeable cooling among the Cluniacs towards us Benedictines. Understandable really. As well as the threat of a spectre roaming about causing mayhem in its wake they now had the ill-will of the town to contend with. No-one said anything to me directly but from the evasive looks and sudden silences I knew our presence was beginning to be resented. And who could blame them? In a day or two Samson and I would be gone but they were going to have to live with the consequences of our visit. Rifts between town and cloister are never desirable as I knew from bitter personal experience.
Samson returned from the castle having successfully warded off any intervention from that quarter but he reported on a similar air of disquiet among the townsfolk. It was plain that Lord William would like to see the back of us and the sooner the better. Personally I found this aspect of the affair more worrying than the prospect of a marauding monster. I was beginning to agree with Samson that the whole Revenant thing was suspect
. Not that I didn’t think such creatures existed for I did - but Ralf? I simply couldn’t reconcile the ogre he was supposed to have become with the gentle priest I had escorted to his house at the nunnery. Also in life Ralf had been blind yet he apparently had no difficulty finding his way round the unfamiliar streets of Acre. Had sight been restored to him along with his life? And of course I knew what most did not know: the true identity of both the wailer in the cemetery and the apparition on the hill, and there was nothing very monstrous about either Nicholas or Tomelinus.
Not that any of this would have deterred the steady stream of petitioners who came to the priory to see Samson. They wanted a conjuration to ward off evil and only the touch of the abbatial hand would satisfy them. Samson took a predictably dim view of such hocus-pocus and made me send them away.
One man, a guild merchant, was not satisfied with that. He’d brought along his young son who he was convinced had been touched by the creature and showed me the mark on the boy’s leg to prove it. But when I examined him the searing turned out to be nothing more than nettle rash. The child’s father was not convinced by my diagnosis and was even less happy when I recommended dock leaves as the appropriate treatment.
‘You Benedictines, you bring the curse but you offer no comfort,’ he complained and went off to spread disenchantment among his fellow guildsmen. This made me think that perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for Samson to see a few petitioners if only to quell their anxieties.
‘Father, can you see this woman?’ I said of the next supplicant. ‘She claims the monster has cursed her daughter and got her with child.’
‘So what does she want me to do about it? I’m a cleric not a miracle-worker.’
‘She says that your blessing will restore the child’s honour.’
‘The thing that will restore her brat’s honour is to find the knave who despoiled her and make him marry her.’
I pulled the door to and lowered my voice: ‘Father, I think we should indulge this woman. It will show us in a more sympathetic light and may go some way to redeem us with the people.’
‘I don’t need redemption. I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Please, father. It will take but a minute.’
I fetched the woman and her daughter, a child of not more than thirteen summers, in from the passageway. From the look of her she had been growing her “curse” for considerably longer than the few days the Revenant had been loose. As soon as the mother saw Samson she fell on her knees and kissed his hand:
‘Bless you father for your trouble.’
‘Yes yes,’ he grimaced extricating his hand. He turned to the girl. ‘What’s your name, child?’
‘Bethilda, father.’
‘Kneel Bethilda and receive the grace.’ He placed one hand on her brow and raised the other in benediction: ‘I sign you with the sign of the cross in the name of Jesus Christ your saviour.’
‘And absolve her of her sins, father,’ I reminded him quietly.
‘And I absolve you of your sins.’
‘Amen, father.’
‘Amen.’
Once again the mother kissed his hand, tears of gratitude flowing copiously down her cheeks. ‘Thank you, father. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
‘That was very kind,’ I said once they’d left. ‘She will laud your name to all she meets.’
‘I’m sure she will, but only until Easter judging by the size of that bump.’
The rest of that night passed slowly for the people of Castle Acre, I doubt if many slept. Every rustle of a tree, every mew of a cat brought the hardiest from their beds and onto their knees: there is nothing like the smell of your own mortality to bring you to God. Samson and I spent the night keeping office in the priory church with Maynus and our brother monks who were praying for an end to their misery. Unfortunately the news we received the next morning was no redemption but further tragedy.
In the dim light of dawn two young men climbed over the precinct wall and made their way to the monks’ cemetery armed with mattocks. Their intention, it appeared, was to beard the Revenant in his lair while he slept. But when they got there instead of the monster they found only Jane, ever faithful Jane, squatting in her usual position at the head of the empty grave. There had been another heavy fall of snow during the night and she was half buried by it. She didn’t stir as the men approached and at first they thought she was asleep. But when one of them touched her she felt icy cold to the touch. Terrified lest it was the plague, they ran into the priory church just as prime was finishing.
‘The creature has struck again!’ they garbled. ‘This time it has murdered its own kin!’
Moans from the brothers as some fell to their knees while others rushed off to see.
Samson frowned at me. ‘Its own kin?’
‘Jane. They must mean Jane,’ I said and ran after them.
They had stopped well short of the grave fearful of getting too close which gave me a chance to run my eye quickly over the scene before too many boots obliterated it. The snow had blanketed everything to the depth of half a hand’s span. I counted four sets of footprints - two approaching the grave from the precinct wall and two more leading to the church all presumably left by the two men who found her. The grave likewise had a layer of pristine snow covering the bottom. Otherwise the ground was clear.
‘When will we be rid of this curse?’ asked the monk next to me.
‘This wasn’t the creature,’ I said. ‘Look around you. The snow is undisturbed. No-one has been here this night.’
‘The creature does not need to walk, brother. It flies through the air on Satan’s breath.’
I looked at him uncertainly.
‘How else do you explain it?’ He pulled up his hood to hide his face.
‘Lest the dead recognize him,’ nodded Maynus coming up behind me.
Another monk, braver than the rest, edged closer, his hand outstretched before him like a man testing his weight on a frozen pond. He gave Jane’s body a tentative push. When it didn’t move he pushed harder. ‘She’s frozen solid.’
No-one wanted to venture closer. We all stood staring.
‘Well we can’t just leave her like that,’ I said furious at my own timidity. I strode purposefully forward and started to brush the snow from Jane’s face, to the horrified gasps of my brother monks I was pleased to hear. But there was nothing to be done. She had been dead for hours frozen so solid I couldn’t even get her eyes to close.
From behind I heard a groan. I turned to see Samson standing there.
‘Oh Jane. This was never meant to be.’
‘Really father?’ I said angrily. ‘What then was meant?’
He made no reply. As he began to intone the prayer for the dead I went over to Maynus.
‘A pity he couldn’t have done as much for Ralf.’
‘No-one can foretell the future, mon fils,’ smiled the prior sadly.
‘Not even Samson of Tottington?’
‘Not even he.’
It took some digging to free Jane from her frozen tomb so firmly was she buried. It was almost as though she was determined not to leave even in death. As the monks got to work on her my eye was caught by a figure standing in the shadows. It was the grave-digger I had spoken to earlier in the week.
‘So she dead then?’ he chuckled as I approached. ‘Thought she would be sitting out here night after night.’
‘You don’t believe it was the monster killed her either?’
He snorted. ‘’Tweren’t no monster I saw. Not less it wore monk’s garb.’
‘I don’t follow you. Look, have you seen something? If you have you must tell me. Speak now I beg you.’
He gave me a cynical smirk and glanced about before lowering his voice. ‘Two on ’em. Come at night.’
‘To do what?’
‘Take he away of course.’
I was struggling with the man’s accent. ‘You’re saying the body was removed? By two monks?’
He
looked at me as though I were stupid. ‘Tha’s what I say.’
‘When was this?’
‘Two nights gone, mebbe three.’
‘That was before we last spoke. Why didn’t you mention this then?’
‘That were afore she frizzed. Besides,’ he looked me up and down. ‘Could’ve been you. All monks look the same in the dark.’
‘Well it wasn’t me.’
‘So you say.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘Three nights she sat. An’ all the time the grave were empty as a witch’s tit.’
‘Did you tell her that?’
He didn’t need to answer. Of course he told her. It explained why Jane was digging the grave. And probably why he was telling me now - out of some mischief.
‘These two monks,’ I said. ‘Can you describe them?’
‘Like I told ’ee, it were dark.’
‘But you must have noticed something. Were they tall? Short?’
‘One were tall.’
‘As tall as Brother Lambert?’
He shrugged. ‘Mebbe’
‘But it was a body they removed - you’re sure of that?’
He tapped the palm of his hand with a gnarled finger. ‘It were long. It were heavy. An’ it were wrapped in a shroud. What else were it?’
I nodded. ‘All right. Do you know where they took it?’
He stuck out his chin again. ‘Up through yon vineyard.’
I looked to see where he was indicating but all I could see were rows of skeletal vines stretching up the north side of the valley. When I turned back he had gone.
Chapter 22
TOMELINUS - YET AGAIN
On the face of it the grave-digger’s story was absurd. Why would anybody want to bury a corpse one night only to dig it up again the next? The man clearly had no great love for the monks and I didn’t doubt that part of his motive for telling me was to stir up trouble for them. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. It was too elaborate to have been invention.
I needed to speak to someone about all this and I should have liked to begin with Brother Lambert. But as I made my way back towards the priory to do just that I saw another monk making a beeline for me across the cloister garth. What now? Like the man at the graveside his hood was up covering his face - fearful of being recognized by the monster? Ralf may not recognize him with his hood up but I did, or thought I did. Something about the way he walked - or rather, skipped.
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