The Bishop's Brood

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘It is not!’ exclaimed Turgot, exasperated. ‘How many more times must I say it? There is no reliquary for Oswald’s head: that rests in Cuthbert’s coffin. Always.’

  ‘So, if Roger used the contents of this box for his candle holder, then it could not have been Oswald’s skull?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘He is no desecrator of holy relics.’

  Turgot gazed at him. ‘Is that what he thought he did?’

  ‘That is what my father said I did,’ said Roger resentfully.

  ‘Then he was not telling you the truth,’ said Turgot. ‘Or me. He told me you had opened St Cuthbert’s coffin, and that was why you had to go on the Crusade.’

  ‘I opened no coffin,’ protested Roger indignantly. ‘I looked inside this.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Turgot, ‘it seems you did not have to leave after all. Still, knowing what you did to the Scots, I am sure it did your soul no harm.’

  ‘And I did not have to look for your missing maps,’ said Geoffrey. He started to laugh, his voice echoing around the hallowed silence of the chapel and drawing the curious looks of the onlookers.

  Turgot pursed his lips. ‘I do not see what is so funny.’

  ‘Nor me,’ added Roger.

  ‘It was all for nothing,’ said Geoffrey, still laughing. ‘There is no treasure and Roger did not desecrate St Oswald’s relics.’

  ‘Who says there is no treasure?’ asked Burchard. ‘We do not know what this chest contains.’

  ‘It will contain Balthere,’ said Turgot. ‘Everyone knows that cracked box is his reliquary, although I had no idea this beautiful silver piece was inside it. That will look nice in our new cathedral.’

  ‘But it belongs to St Giles’ Church,’ objected Geoffrey. ‘Balthere was stolen from Eilaf and his people, and should be returned there.’

  ‘Perhaps we can come to some arrangement,’ said Turgot thoughtfully. ‘The abbey will keep the silver box, and Eilaf can have the wooden bit.’

  ‘That sounds fair,’ remarked Geoffrey facetiously.

  Burchard pushed open the lid, jumping back with a cry of revulsion as he looked inside. Curious, Geoffrey peered over his shoulder. Inside the box was the shrivelled body of a snake.

  Fourteen

  ‘Horrible!’ exclaimed the prior with a shudder, gazing at the coiled body of the serpent. ‘Flambard is playing with us. You were right, Geoffrey. There is no treasure.’

  Roger pushed Burchard out of the way so he could take a closer look, and pointed at a small bowl that rested in one corner of the box. ‘There is St Oswald’s skull.’

  ‘That is not bone,’ said Geoffrey, picking it up. ‘It is wood.’

  ‘Ha!’ exclaimed Roger triumphantly. ‘It is a candle holder!’

  ‘And Balthere is still missing,’ said Turgot. ‘We have his reliquary, but no bones.’

  ‘But how did Balthere’s box end up in our chapel without its bones?’ asked Burchard, bewildered.

  ‘That is easy to answer – at least in part,’ said Turgot. ‘Poor Balthere was stolen a few nights after the foundations of the chapel cracked. Do you not recall people spreading the rumour that we had stolen them and that God had predicted we would do so, and had tried to warn the Saxons by damaging our cathedral?’

  ‘I do indeed,’ said Burchard. ‘Seditious lies.’

  ‘Right,’ agreed Roger. ‘It fell because Cuthbert did not want the Lady chapel near his shrine.’

  Turgot nodded. ‘That is a more likely explanation. But after the collapse, we had to re-pave the chapel floor. It seems someone took advantage of the upheaval to deposit Balthere’s reliquary here. What was Flambard thinking to leave a trail that leads only to this?’

  ‘He probably thinks that anyone who managed get his hands on all three maps, survived the poisoned barbs protecting his pennies, yet still lived to dig this up would be a cunning old snake,’ said Roger, his big shoulders quaking with laughter. ‘It is a joke!’

  ‘Not a very amusing one,’ said Turgot stiffly. ‘Because of it my sub-prior is dead, and I need to find a new bursar. I am too busy for Flambard’s feeble attempts at humour.’

  ‘Oh, come now,’ said Roger, elbowing him in the ribs and all but knocking the breath from him. ‘You must see it is a little funny.’

  ‘It is not funny at all,’ said Turgot sternly. ‘But since you think it is, you can take that revolting object with you and bury it somewhere away from my abbey. Leave the silver casket, though,’ he added, tipping snake and bowl into the wooden reliquary and tucking the valuable one under his arm.

  With that he turned on his heel and stalked away, his worried secretary scurrying at his heels. Geoffrey heard the man offering his services for the posts of either bursar or sub-prior, immodestly reciting a list of his talents.

  ‘Come on, Geoff, lad,’ said Roger, picking up the box and its grisly contents. ‘I have had enough of this place and its humourless monastics. Ellie asked me to see whether Simon has returned after we had finished here, and then we will throw this thing in the river. And after that, we will take her to her husband’s funeral, which is due to take place this afternoon.’

  ‘Well, it really is over now,’ said Geoffrey, walking with him into the sunshine. ‘Flambard’s treasure turned out to be a hoax, and a number of people are dead because of it. But we have discharged our duties, and if the weather continues fine, I will be able to leave in a day or two.’

  ‘I am coming with you,’ said Roger firmly. ‘I am not staying here.’

  ‘What about Eleanor and her brothel? Will you abandon them?’

  ‘They will be glad to see the back of me,’ said Roger with uncharacteristic insight. ‘And I long to feel the golden sun of Normandy on my back. But it is you who will be sorry to leave Ellie, not me.’

  ‘Yes, I will,’ said Geoffrey honestly.

  ‘She likes you, too,’ said Roger, giving him a clap on the back with the hand that was not holding the box. ‘And you could do a lot worse than old Ellie.’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Geoffrey warily.

  Roger bawled with laughter. ‘Do not be coy with me, lad! I have seen the way you leer at her when you think no one is watching. Stay a while, and try her out for size, or better still, tell her to come with us to the Holy Land. She will love it there.’

  ‘I do not think she will appreciate being “told” anything, and I doubt she would like it, anyway. Most women do not. It is hot, dusty, and there are too many flies.’

  ‘Do not stand for that sort of nonsense. Make her marry you. She is a widow after all.’

  ‘Here is Simon’s house,’ said Geoffrey, not wanting to hear any more of Roger’s recommendations for a life of marital bliss. ‘You can climb over the wall yourself this time. The pig has gone.’

  ‘No need for that,’ said Roger with a grin. ‘Ellie has a key and she gave it to me. Hold the snake, while I undo the lock.’

  He swore and muttered under his breath while he fiddled. A mess of sloppy snow, half-melted from the sun, landed on Geoffrey’s head, splattering him with cold water.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he grumbled, wiping drops from his eyes. ‘This is useless. Simon will not have shut himself inside, and if the door is locked, then he is still out.’

  The door swung open and Roger gave him a triumphant grin. ‘Come on,’ he said, leading the way inside. ‘It will not take a moment, and Ellie will be pleased to know you did what she asked.’ He gave a horrible, leering wink, and entered the smelly interior of Simon’s house.

  He had not taken more than a couple of steps before something dark swung toward him. He ducked, thus avoiding having his brains dashed out, but he still took a blow hard enough to knock him from his feet and send him sprawling to the floor.

  Geoffrey had reached for his sword the instant he had detected a shadow moving behind the door. Part of his mind registered a sharp splintering as the box fell to the floor and cracked. He leapt into the room with his sword raised to protect the fallen Roger, but froze when he heard
the unmistakable click of a crossbow being readied.

  ‘Do not fire!’ cried a familiar voice in alarm. ‘It is my son and his friend.’

  ‘Flambard!’ exclaimed Geoffrey in astonishment. He glanced to one side and saw that the man with the crossbow was Odard. Geoffrey looked from monk to bishop in confusion. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I want you to do something for me,’ said Flambard, waving to tell Odard to lower his weapon.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Geoffrey, backing away. ‘Not again. Never again.’

  ‘But it seems I do not need to bother you after all,’ continued Flambard silkily, bending to inspect the objects that lay on the floor among the splintered wood. ‘Really, gentlemen. This is no way to treat one of the kingdom’s most sacred relics.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Roger nervously. ‘That is a candle holder. Turgot told me. You cannot send me off on another Crusade by telling me it is Oswald’s head. I know it is not.’

  ‘This is priceless,’ said Flambard, holding the snake in his hat, careful not to touch it with his hands.

  ‘It is some old serpent from Finchale,’ said Roger, although his voiced lacked conviction.

  ‘It is more than that,’ said Flambard. ‘This is the Holy Staff – Aaron’s Rod.’

  ‘It is a dried snake,’ said Geoffrey, seeing Roger blanch. What dreadful price would Flambard try to extract from his son this time, to atone for his ‘sin’? Geoffrey was determined the bishop would not take advantage of Roger’s loyalty and gullibility a second time.

  ‘Think of your scriptures, Geoffrey,’ said Flambard smoothly. ‘What happened to Aaron’s Rod when God ordered him to lay it on the ground? It turned into a snake.’ He held the withered body reverently in the air. ‘And this is it.’

  Geoffrey and Roger gazed at Flambard. Roger was fearful, concerned that he had treated another sacred object with disrespect. Geoffrey was unable to speak because he was too astounded by Flambard’s claim. Meanwhile, Odard had not obeyed the order to dispense with his crossbow, and had it trained unwaveringly on the two knights. Roger climbed slowly to his feet. He deliberately avoided looking at the grisly object Flambard cradled so lovingly.

  ‘What are you doing in Durham anyway?’ he asked of his father. ‘It is dangerous here. You should be in Normandy with the Duke.’

  ‘I did not want to leave without this,’ said Flambard, indicating the snake. ‘It is worth more than all my other fortunes put together. I was beginning to despair that anyone would dig it up for me, and I could scarcely do it myself.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Flambard sighed and regarded Roger wearily. ‘Fool! Because it would be impossible to excavate the Chapel of the Nine Altars with no one seeing me.’

  That was certainly true, thought Geoffrey, recalling how many townspeople and monks had stopped to watch Burchard wield his spades and levers. It was a public place, and would not even be deserted at night, when monks would be saying their offices and private vigils might be kept.

  ‘Put down the crossbow, Odard,’ Flambard continued. ‘Weapons make me nervous in confined places. You never know when they might go off and hurt someone. You have no need of it anyway. You can see it is only Roger and Geoffrey.’

  Odard lowered the bow, although Geoffrey noticed it was still wound and that all Odard needed to do to fire it was to take aim.

  ‘Turgot said you are a Knight Hospitaller,’ said Geoffrey to the dark-haired man with his curiously bird-like features. ‘Is that true?’

  Odard nodded. ‘But I occasionally wear a Benedictine habit for convenience, as did Xavier. Our order is young, and it is often easier to be thought of as a Black Monk than a Hospitaller.’

  ‘Gilbert Courcy favoured civilian clothes, though,’ added Flambard. ‘He was murdered in Southampton. That Gamelo was a nuisance. He followed me from London, hoping to learn where I had hidden my treasure, chased poor Gilbert on to a roof, and killed him when he refused to tell. Gilbert was only a novice, and was an inexperienced fighter.’

  ‘We noticed,’ said Geoffrey, recalling the young man’s tactical errors. ‘And we know Gilbert’s death left you short of a courier for your three maps, so you asked Roger instead.’

  ‘Gamelo almost destroyed what was a very clever plan,’ said Flambard. ‘My Hospitallers are honourable men, and there are not many of those around these days.’

  ‘Why do you serve a churchman from another order?’ asked Geoffrey of Odard curiously.

  ‘Our Grand Master knew Flambard would need loyal servants,’ said Odard. ‘So, four years ago, he ordered us to swear a sacred oath to Flambard. It is to be to our mutual advantage – we protect him and help him attain influence, and he will use that influence to favour our order.’

  ‘I would have done that,’ said Roger resentfully. ‘I would have obeyed and not demanded anything in exchange. I delivered your map to the prior and did not try to steal anything for myself.’

  ‘Was that because there was no treasure to steal, or because you really do honour your father?’ asked Flambard. He studied Roger, as if meeting him for the first time. ‘Yes, perhaps I should have used members of my family instead of my knights.’

  Then he did not know Roger very well, thought Geoffrey, recalling how Roger had been more than willing to siphon off a little of Flambard’s fabled wealth to compensate himself for his troubles. Roger was loyal in many things, but his Norman ancestry was strong in him, and wealth and riches were just as important as family ties.

  ‘You can trust Roger,’ came a voice from the hall. ‘Although I cannot say the same for his friend.’

  Geoffrey was not at all surprised to see Simon standing there, holding a sword.

  ‘You rogue!’ exclaimed Roger, springing across the room and giving his half-brother a clap on the shoulders that all but knocked the weapon from his hand. ‘I was afraid someone had harmed you.’

  Odard’s sardonic features broke into a disgusted sneer. ‘The likes of him would never come to harm – he is too quick to flee for that.’

  ‘Burchard said he saw you in Durham recently,’ said Roger to Simon, ignoring Odard.

  Simon nodded. ‘I’ve been in Chester-le-Street on business …’

  ‘He fled there after Gamelo almost shot him in Eleanor’s solar,’ corrected Odard, unimpressed. ‘He ran away because he was afraid.’

  Simon shot him a withering glance. ‘But then our father sent a message saying he needed a secure place to stay. My house is perfect – it can be reached easily from the river and my neighbours mind their own business, and do not prattle about what they see to the sheriff’s men.’

  ‘But it is not as pleasant as Eleanor’s home,’ said Flambard, wrinkling his nose fastidiously.

  ‘Do not stay with Ellie,’ said Roger quickly. ‘It might be dangerous for her.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ asked Simon nervously. ‘Why?’

  ‘You are hiding England’s most notorious escaped prisoner,’ said Geoffrey dryly. ‘Why do you think it might be dangerous?’

  Simon was silent, gnawing on his lip, as though the thought had not occurred to him. Geoffrey saw that he was having second thoughts about his magnanimous hospitality. Odard merely sneered.

  ‘Never mind all that,’ said Flambard, raising the cracked box with the snake in it. He stroked it fondly. ‘All has ended well, because I have brought Aaron’s Rod to Durham, just as I promised.’

  ‘I told you so,’ said Roger gloatingly to Geoffrey. ‘I told you it was real.’

  ‘It is not Aaron’s Rod,’ insisted Geoffrey. ‘It is a dead snake.’

  ‘I have already explained that,’ said Flambard impatiently. ‘Aaron’s Rod regularly turned itself into a serpent. Why do you think I drew a snake on one of my treasure maps? You are an intelligent man. I thought you would have guessed that.’

  ‘Roger said there were snakes at Finchale, and so I thought your diagram, like the tree split by lightning, was to depict Finchale for the illiterate.’

  ‘Well,
you were wrong,’ said Flambard. ‘Can you imagine how many pilgrims will travel here to see this? King Henry will have to reinstate me and restore my fortunes when he learns I have it.’

  ‘What about the candle holder?’ asked Roger warily, pointing at the dish. ‘Last time I saw that—’

  ‘Last time you saw that, I had to send you on the Crusade,’ said Flambard. ‘I could not risk you telling anyone what you had seen rummaging through my personal effects four years ago.’

  ‘You mean I am exonerated?’ asked Roger hopefully.

  ‘No,’ said Flambard airily. ‘Because you have done nothing to be exonerated from.’

  ‘Four years ago,’ mused Geoffrey. ‘Four years ago you gave Balthere’s bones to Eilaf, which were stolen the night Brother Wulfkill died; four years ago Odard, Xavier and Gilbert Courcy entered your service; four years ago the foundations collapsed in parts of the cathedral; and four years ago Roger was dispatched on the Crusade that might have ended his life.’

  ‘But I am an excellent warrior …’ objected Roger.

  ‘I see the connection now,’ continued Geoffrey. ‘The wooden reliquary is the one Burchard recognized as containing St Balthere. The inner box, of silver—’

  ‘Where is that?’ interrupted Flambard, looking around as though it might suddenly materialize. ‘I had it specially made to hold Aaron’s Rod in its serpent form. It cost a fortune.’

  ‘Turgot has it,’ said Roger. ‘He—’

  ‘Balthere’s relics never existed,’ interrupted Geoffrey. ‘You gave Eilaf a wooden box, claiming it contained bones. People were impressed by your uncharacteristic generosity at the time, and it was a safe place to store your snake. No one was likely to look inside the reliquary, especially superstitious Saxons, who believe it is dangerous to tamper with sacred things.’

  ‘Is this true?’ asked Odard of Flambard in astonishment. ‘You stored Aaron’s Rod in a mean little church? You never told me!’

  ‘I told no one,’ said Flambard smugly. ‘I mentioned to one of the carpenters working on the cathedral that the Rod was in Durham, to ensure he kept a space for it when he built the shrine, but I gave him no details. It was safer that way. And Geoffrey is right: St Giles’ was a perfect hiding place, among superstitious Saxons who would have protected their saint to the death. But, unfortunately, I did not anticipate the greed of a Norman abbey.’