The Bunting Quest

by Steven Marcuson

  That’s what was bugging him: the reference to Black Monks! He must have seen it before, but hadn’t registered. He quickly turned the pages to get to the article.

  New Norcia is the only monastic town in Australia. It was founded on its present site, in March 1847, by Spanish Benedictine Monks, sometimes called ‘Black Monks’ due to the colour of their robes. The town has had many purposes; a mission, a monastery, a provider of education a place of spiritual retreat and now a tourism destination. The first fifty years of New Norcia’s history are dominated by the towering figure of Bishop Rosendo Salvado (1814–1900). Salvado spent 54 years of his life making New Norcia one of the most progressive and successful missions in Australian history. Salvado’s original vision was to create, among the indigenous peoples of the Victoria Plains, a Christian and largely self-sufficient village based on agriculture. It is not only the majestic buildings, some in Spanish Style, set amongst the Australian bush that sets New Norcia apart; its history is also encapsulated in the archival records of New Norcia and in the library and museum collections.

  Nick tapped Verity on the shoulder. ‘Do you know anything about New Norcia?’

  ‘Nope, never heard of it. Where and what is it?’

  ‘It’s a monastic town about 130 kilometres north of Perth. It was established in 1846 by the Benedictine monks, also known as the Black Monks due to the colour of their robes.’ Verity raised her eyebrows, understanding the significance. ‘And Perth was settled in 1829, so this was only seventeen years later!’ said Nick.

  ‘Okay, that gives us something to work on when we arrive in Perth, Nick. I don’t know about you but I’m really excited about going to Oz.’

  The following day, settled in the hotel bar overlooking the Swan River, they resumed their research.

  ‘It says here,’ said Verity, looking at a ‘History of the Colony’ website, ‘that Perth itself struggled as a new colony for decades and its population was only about 1500 people by 1850.’ So why on earth did they travel so far out of this small, newly-established town when there were probably thousands of acres within a few kilometres to build a monastery?’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ agreed Nick. ‘I mean a hundred and thirty kilometres today is neither here nor there, but back then they would have been travelling into an absolute wilderness, and probably for days.’

  Nick brought up New Norcia on the map and followed a line directly to the coast. ‘My God,’ he said at last. ‘It is eighty-four kilometres as the crow flies from the small fishing town of Lancelin to New Norcia.’

  ‘Is there a river?’ said Verity excitedly.

  ‘Yes there is! The Moore River flows past the monastery!’ Nick gulped down a whisky and gestured to the waiter to bring him another. ‘God! It’s possible that Bunting landed at Lancelin, walked directly east for 100,000 paces and buried the written words of Jesus where that monastery is now!’ He stabbed a finger at the screen.

  ‘And the Black Monks, in some way,’ said Verity, ‘knowing about “The Words”, built their monastery on the very site… or over the site!’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ exclaimed Nick.

  ‘I know,’ Verity said shakily. ‘Why on earth would the monks have settled there, unless there was a reason? It really could make sense.’

  46

  ‘Taufan, Taufan,’ said Pobasso, sniffing the air and staring up at the gathering purple and black clouds.

  Philip talked to him quietly, but it was obvious to the others that their captain was anxious by the way he was expressing himself and pointing to the sky. Philip turned to the others. ‘Pobasso is saying there is a storm coming and we must tie ourselves to the proa.’ It was no real surprise, as all the travellers had noticed a shift in the weather over the last few hours; the dry hot air now formed an ominous sultry humid blanket. The wind had picked up, as had the swell; low rumblings could be heard in the distance.

  Pobasso gestured for Bunting and Amir to bind themselves onto the shorter hull, while the three others did the same on the main hull and platform.

  ‘Pobasso says this is for balance,’ said Philip, his manner now very serious. ‘If the seas get too wild there is always a chance that the shorter hull will snap off, this way there is some hope of keeping the boat intact. He says he will try and sail with the storm but it depends how angry the sea-gods are with us.’

  Jakob gave Bunting a worried look, which Bunting acknowledged with a weak smile.

  And soon it was as if daytime had become night. The ominous filtered red light that had been their recent companion completely disappeared, leaving them in darkness. Then, without warning, the sky ripped open; a terrifying cracking sound filled the air accompanied by a deluge of rain. Before anyone had a chance to speak or shout, a wall of water slammed the proa, throwing everybody off balance. A flash of lightning gave Bunting a fleeting opportunity to see the frightened faces of his companions all bound to the boat. Pobasso struggled to his feet to steer the proa into the waves, which had now grown to the size of the mast. Over and over again, they climbed huge mountainous waves and crashed down into the troughs, with Pobasso struggling to prevent his vessel from turning side-on and capsizing. Time seemed to stand still as they were tossed and slammed through the maelstrom. Nature did not care for them and was indifferent to their situation.

  Sink, drown or survive … your fate is not my problem, sneered the elements. The waves, thunder and lightning drowned out the screams of the battered voyagers, ignoring their pleas for mercy; their every intake of desperate breath ingesting turbulent sea water.

  It was difficult to say how long the storm lasted. Perhaps a full day had passed when, suddenly and surprisingly, all went quiet and calm. Deep dark clouds still surrounded them in all directions but above, through the centre, they could just see glimpses again of a weak sun.

  The five battered sailors, coughing and retching, unbound themselves and stood up on shaky legs to survey their situation. Bunting immediately checked to see that that the Holy Words, wrapped in cerecloth, had remained dry.

  ‘Don’t you want to confirm the wellbeing of your loyal servant first?’ said Jakob with only a hint of sarcasm, ‘or has this holy quest removed your humanity?’

  ‘Something has changed within me, I am sure of that,’ replied Bunting sadly, ‘however, our eighteen-month journey would be pointless without it. If I lost you I would be devastated, but would try to continue with the quest. However, if we lost this,’ he said, pointing to the wrapped box, ‘then all our sacrifices would be in vain.’

  Jakob gave his friend a withering look and, clearly dissatisfied with the response, turned to check on the health of the others. Philip handed out some fresh water, soggy bread and meats kept in the shallow hold. Pobasso spoke quickly to him, shaking his head and gesticulating at the sky.

  ‘I am afraid we are only in the eye of the storm and Pobasso believes worse is still to come.’

  ‘How long before it starts again?’ said Jakob.

  ‘It is noon now and we may be fortunate for a few hours. However, it will come. Be assured.’

  ‘Can we reach land before the onslaught?’ asked Bunting.

  Philip spoke to Pobasso. ‘No we cannot. Pobasso is unsure where land is, let alone how far we are from it.’

  The group soon fell into a morose silence. Bunting felt the responsibility of their precarious situation but knew not what to say.

  It came quicker than they thought. The clouds, heavy and black inexorably reduced the remaining circle of light … and the dark returned. Bunting stood staring at the sky, and could not help but think that God had closed his eyes on them and that they were on their own, forsaken in this vast, perilous unknown.

  The following days became one long extended nightmare. The cyclone moved south, dragging them along with it at a rapid pace. They knew neither day nor night and held fast to the vessel. For short periods the storm would reduce in intensity, tricking the battered and sodden voyagers into thinking that their ordeal was over,
only for it to resume worse than previously.

  It was not until the fourth morning that it ended. Exhaustion had overtaken them all hours before. None were aware when the proa bobbed cheerfully into a large shallow bay, bordered by white unblemished sand and scrubby dunes with sand mountains in the distance.

  Pobasso roused himself first and, realising he was still alive, said a prayer of thanks to the sea-gods. He, and a groggy Philip, unbound themselves and jumped gingerly into the shallows, pulling the proa with them to the shore. Jakob roused next, staring high into the cloudless blue sky; the sweet dreams of his wife and children were rudely substituted by the acrid reality of regurgitating sea water choking his airways as he was bound tight and unable to move or speak. Just as he started to black out, he became aware of movement on his body as Bunting unravelled the bindings, roughly turned him around and continuously thumped his back, releasing the swallowed sea water from deep within his stomach.

  ‘Enough, Heinrich, enough,’ spluttered Jakob, now dry retching. ‘There is no more … I need water, please.’

  Amir was last to recover his senses but seemed in surprisingly good spirits. ‘I met my father and brother in the storm. They held me up from the waves and told me to return home, to look after my mother and sisters.’

  47

  Dom Letizia drove slowly into New Norcia. The few West Australian towns he passed through on his two-hour journey hadn’t prepared him for the strange mix of grand buildings surrounded by trees on both sides of the highway. The Baroque, Gothic, Byzantine and Latin architecture seemed incongruous to this isolated and remote part of the world, almost as if they had been transported fully built, in different eras, and dropped into virgin bush.

  He parked his vehicle and made straight for the Abbot’s office. Abbot Harrison, a tall man with red wavy hair and a close-cut beard greeted him with a curt nod and brief handshake. The Abbot introduced Dom Herbert, his personal assistant.

  ‘Now Dom Letizia, it is unusual to get such short notice of a formal visit from Monte Cassino,’ said the Abbot with a slightly haughty air. ‘You are of course a welcome guest, but I am some-what in the dark as to your purpose.’

  Dom Letizia ignored the tone. ‘The matter is of great importance and your assistant cannot be privy to our conversation.’

  The Abbot, clearly taken aback by the request, gave a surprised glance to Dom Herbert … then acquiesced with a nod of his head. Dom Letizia waited for the door to close before continuing. ‘This is about the “Oath of Perpetual Assistance”.’

  Abbot Harrison gasped as he remembered the sacred oath he had made twenty years before on taking up his position at New Norcia.

  ‘I am sure, Abbot Harrison,’ Letizia went on, ‘I have no need to remind you of the importance of our oath first given by Abbot Primate Vittocelli in 1576 and adhered to scrupulously ever since.’

  ‘Of course … I see …’ spluttered the Abbot.

  ‘And I remind you,’ continued Dom Letizia, ‘of St Benedict’s Rule, from The Good Zeal of Monks: No one is to pursue what he judges better for himself, but instead, what he judges better for someone else.’

  ‘Yes, of course, of course … how can I help?’ said the Abbot.

  ‘You can help by temporarily leaving the monastery while I am here. Make some excuse to go on business to Perth.’

  ‘There must be some mistake, Dom Letizia. What is to be my role?’

  ‘I am sorry. This is the way it has to be.’

  An hour later, a disgruntled Abbot Harrison had packed his late model Volvo station wagon. Dom Letizia stood silently by, watching the priest give last-minute instructions to a confused Dom Herbert, before getting into the car.

  ‘This arrived for you yesterday,’ he said, now sitting behind the wheel and handing over an envelope to Dom Letizia through the open window, ‘it’s from Monte Cassino.’

  Dom Letizia thanked the Abbot for his understanding and in a more conciliatory tone said as an afterthought, ‘It is for the best that you are not here.’

  ‘When should I return?’ responded the Abbot, who clearly thought the situation a total abuse of power.

  ‘You will know when to return,’ responded Dom Letizia obliquely.

  Abbot Harrison gave a large sigh and closed his window and without further words accelerated out of the property.

  ‘Maybe it was true what the Abbot Primate had said: you care little of what others may think of you,’ Dom Letizia said to himself, as he watched the Volvo disappearing into the distance.

  Dom Letizia opened the envelope. He smiled as he recognised the spindly handwriting of his mentor, but his good feeling faded as he read on.

  Francesco,

  You will read this letter after my death. I have lived a long and fruitful life, in the service of God Almighty, and I knew when we met recently that it would be for the last time. I was blessed with having you in my life and you were as a son to me. You will recall the numerous photographs in my room, of all the famous people who have graced our monastery with their company, however, my favourite photo is kept in my left hand desk drawer. It is the one of you and me standing next to the statue of Saint Benedict, in the Bramante Cloister. I believe you were about eleven years old at the time. I have given this photo to Roberto to pass on to you on your return.

  My only regret is the situation I have put you in. Dom Forte, my successor, knows of the Holy Words but not of the present, urgent predicament. He may need this ignorance to answer questions by authorities in the future, depending on the outcome of your efforts in maintaining our Perpetual Oath to protect the Holy Words.

  Dom Letizia put the letter down and phoned Italy. ‘Sorry to wake you, Roberto. How are you?’ He took a deep breath as he listened to his sleepy friend recount the passing of the Abbot Primate only yesterday and how the bells had tolled all day. He told Roberto to go back to sleep and returned to the letter.

  The first group were unsure of the exact location of the final resting place of the Holy Words, so the mission was initially established about 8 km north of the present site, next to a freshwater spring. From this base, Dom Salvado took the opportunity to retrace the directions indicated on the Lutherans map. He retraced Bunting’s steps, from the shores of the ocean, to the final resting place on a number of expeditions. When he was certain of the location, he argued for the mission to be moved to that position. Dom Tootell agreed with Dom Salvado’s findings but felt that the Mission should remain where it was, considering the effort that had been made to establish it. Dom Tootell felt that The Oath of Perpetual Assistance was better served by not drawing attention to the location. Dom Salvado petitioned Abbot Michelangelo Celesia, who agreed with Salvado, that the Mission should be moved. Tootell, who felt his authority had been usurped, left Western Australia, never to return. The new church was built over the site. Dom Salvado ordered that after his death, his Crypt should cover this location. The Abbot of the Mission is aware that under the Crypt is buried something of infinite importance. All Abbots of the Mission, as you know, have sworn the Oath of Perpetual Assistance and are sworn to secrecy.

  I directed you to take and read the French edition of Salvado’s book, including a detailed plan of the early monastery and its surrounds. I stressed the importance of this plan for the location of the Holy Words. This information was not true. If you are reading this letter then you have reached the mission. I was concerned that if you were abducted en route and tortured, you would be forced to reveal what you knew. The French edition and plan have no significance. This letter explains all. Forgive me my son, but subterfuge is all I had to continue The Oath of Perpetual Assistance.

  Francesco my son, may God protect you and assist you. I say goodbye to you. Please burn this letter now.

  Dom Letizia brought the letter to his lips and kissed it softly. He lit a match and let the letter burn in his left hand before dropping it on the marble floor and crushing the ashes underfoot.

  48

  ‘Four hundred thirty one, four hun
dred and thirty two, four hundred and thirty three, STOP!’ shouted Jakob. Both men came to a halt and Jakob stopped his counting.

  The evening before, battling exhaustion, the group had foraged around the beach and dunes, collecting anything to make shelter. Philip and Pobasso, knowledgeable in this type of environment, had soon erected three rough walls using the sail of the proa as a roof. The two casks of fresh water collected in the rains of the storm were carried from the vessel to the shelter and buried, to keep them as cool as possible.

  Bunting insisted that Philip, Pobasso and Amir should wait for them no longer than the fifth day before leaving.

  They set off towards the sun at first light. Bunting carried the Holy Words, while Jakob carried provisions and the water-skins. Amir walked with them as far as the sand mountains and stood on the ridge waving, as the intrepid pair continued east, slowly disappearing into the sun.

  ‘I must have lost my senses when I agreed to this quest. I misjudged you, Heinrich. I thought you were sensible and logical but this counting is ridiculous.’

  ‘I don’t agree with you, Jakob. This quest has never been about sense or logic. It was always about a higher calling. This is about our relationship with God.’

  Jakob stared quizzically at the priest. ‘I think it is about your relationship with God, not mine.’

  ‘No, God guided me to you. If it had not been for you, we would not have survived this far.’ Bunting hesitated for a second. ‘Now, I want you to listen and hear me out. Last night, although exhausted, I could not sleep. After a while of tossing and turning, I walked out of the shelter, stepping over you and the others. The sky was clear and the stars were a twinkling canopy over my head. I cannot explain what happened next, but can only tell you that as I was looking out into the deep darkness of the sea, I saw a faint light in the distance. This light brightened and came towards me. It was a man, or like a man, wearing robes. As he got closer I realised that it was The Lord Jesus and I fell on my knees and dared not look up. I awoke back in the shelter, with the knowledge deep inside me, to walk 100,000 paces into the rising sun to a river with a tree and a laughing bird.’