Clovenhoof 02 Pigeonwings

by Heide Goody

  He caught up with Abbot Ambrose, pushing the prior in his bath-chair.

  "Good evening Father Abbot. Are you all right?"

  "Yes, yes of course I'm all right. Just taking the prior for an evening stroll."

  Stephen caught the impatient tone in the abbot's voice.

  "Ah, right. It's unusual to see you out this late," he said, "and the prior's bath-chair doesn't look all that secure on that pathway. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

  "It is a good idea if I say it is a good idea!" shouted Ambrose without turning round. "The prior especially wanted to see the sunset this evening from the shore. Surely you can understand that a man of such simple needs must be granted this wish?"

  "Yes, yes, of course," said Stephen, his brow wrinkling with confusion. He had no idea how the prior might have expressed such a desire to the abbot or anyone else.

  Something bobbed up and down on the shore.

  "Father Abbot, Is that a boat over there? Whose is it?"

  The abbot started to speak, but the sound was drowned out by the inhuman screeching of Barry the peacock who launched himself across Stephen's path with a flurry of wings and a sharp, aggressive jabbing of his beak.

  "Oh," said Stephen as he pedalled backwards, losing his grip on the uneven surface. He stumbled backwards and landed with a thump. As Barry advanced, he scrambled to his feet and retreated back up the path.

  "Just call if you need a hand, Abbot!" he yelled over his shoulder as he brushed down his habit and attempted to restore his dignity.

  Abbot Ambrose had got the bath-chair stuck on a large rock that jutted out from the side of the path.

  "Sorry Arthur," he said, as he tipped the chair over to the side to free it. The Prior shifted dangerously, and the three bags that Ambrose had placed on his lap toppled off to the side.

  Once the chair was safely level again, Ambrose grappled one-handed to retrieve the bags. Why was this ancient contraption not fitted with an effective brake? He found the bags, and quickly hefted them back onto the Prior's lap.

  There was no time to lose before the sun set, and navigation became more difficult. The bags contained a small portion of the hoard that the abbot considered might be used as currency to assist their flight and ultimately their resettlement. He had estimated that even one of the bags would be enough to buy a remote castle in most countries of the world. This was travelling money and he needed to keep it handy.

  The boat was still safely tied up, and Ambrose wheeled the prior across the access ramp that he had put in place.

  "There we are Arthur, off for a boat trip. It's been a while, eh? If only we could have enjoyed such things when we were boys."

  He had to use all his ancient muscle to avoid tipping Arthur into the boat amongst the crates. "I tell you," he wheezed, "there's nobody else who could appreciate how it was for the two of us when we were children. You look at the world today, so many millions of souls. We had only each other. So little joy in our childhood. Our parents lived a life of guilt and blame, I see that now. Our father couldn't bear the crushing guilt of what he’d done. And yet I secretly think he also blamed mother for taking the fruit."

  He wedged the chair into place and put the extra blankets around the Prior's thin frame.

  "We did all right in our own way, didn't we? You always had a way with the animals. I was the one with green fingers."

  He raised his face to Heaven and called out.

  "It wasn't good enough, was it? It was never enough! That bounty of food grown with my back-breaking work. I tilled the soil, watered the plants, pinched off the insects, but a single dumb animal was worth more than all of that. Why? Plenty of people live as vegetarians today. I was ahead of my time!"

  He lowered his head and placed a hand gently on the prior's shoulder.

  "Sorry brother. So sorry for everything."

  He turned, seized with a sudden thought. He checked in the top of a bag that he'd placed by the Prior's bath chair. The bag held a store of apples, which would be essential for the coming months, but where were the carefully selected shoots that he had taken from the tree? As long as he found a new rootstock at their destination, he could graft on one of the precious shoots and the tree would once again provide them with its bounty. He checked the other bags, but the waxed paper wrap that contained the shoots was nowhere to be found.

  He must have left them in the orangery.

  "Arthur, I need to go back and fetch something. I'll be as fast as I can. Don't go anywhere, will you?"

  Chapter 12 - In which immortals meet, a fire is started and an apple is eaten.

  Nerys and Clovenhoof gazed up at the apple tree.

  "Oh yes, I remember this tree," said Clovenhoof.

  "What, this actual tree?" asked Nerys.

  "Well, not this exact one. At least I don't think so. One of its forebears I imagine. Same air of smugness about it."

  "How can a tree have an air of smugness?" asked Nerys.

  "Oh, it knew what it was there for," said Clovenhoof. "Sure, I was there, coiled in its branches, doing my best to talk the woman into the idea that she should taste the apples."

  "That was you?"

  Clovenhoof nodded.

  "They don’t call me Jeremy the Python purely on account of my massive todger."

  "No one calls you Jeremy the Python."

  "The ladies on the premium rate phone lines do, if I ask them. But don't you ever wonder what it was doing there?"

  "What?"

  "The tree. A forbidden fruit tree, right slap bang in the middle of a garden? That’s bloody entrapment. Tempt the poor sods and then act all surprised and angry when they give in to it. Ridiculous. It's almost as if the Other Guy has a sense of humour a bit like mine sometimes."

  "So this is the actual tree of, er, life?" asked Nerys.

  "If you read the Bible, it says there were two trees in the Garden of Eden," said Clovenhoof. "The Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. They were actually the same tree, and this is that tree."

  "And that jam we all ate at my mom’s…"

  "Yep," said Clovenhoof. "The Jam of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Mind you, we must have also been eating the Jam of Life, so you've probably extended your life expectancy by a year or two as well."

  "Why is it here though?" asked Nerys. "How could it have been here for all this time and remained a secret?"

  "Secrets are easy to keep if you limit the number of people who know about them," came a voice from behind.

  Nerys and Clovenhoof turned to see Abbot Ambrose.

  The old man walked over and picked up a small bundle from beneath the apple tree. Nerys's eyes were fixed on the blade that he held out before him. It was a pair of spring-loaded pruning shears with a wicked point at the end.

  "I don’t know who you are," said the abbot. "I don’t care. But you know too much."

  "Oh puh-lease!" scoffed Clovenhoof. "Are you seriously threatening us with those overgrown nail scissors? I promise they'll do nothing more than dent your ego if you try them on me."

  "Bravado? Do you hold other people’s lives in equally low regard?" said the abbot, looking meaningfully at Nerys.

  Nerys saw Clovenhoof glance her way and his smile faltered slightly.

  "Whatever," said Clovenhoof casually. "I have a question."

  "Only one?"

  "Where did you get this tree from? It should be in Eden. I think I would have heard of someone breaking in."

  "I tried."

  "Wait up," said Nerys. "Eden is a real place."

  "Used to be," said Clovenhoof. "Its original location is in what’s now Iran. Or maybe Iraq. Geography’s shifted a bit since then. No, the Other Guy sealed it up and put Michael’s crew on guard duty."

  "I almost slipped by them." said Ambrose. "Even managed to snaffle myself one of their swords."

  "You stole a cherubim sword?" said Clovenhoof, impressed.

  "Cherubim. Seraphim. I forget. But I couldn’t get in, couldn’t g
et to the tree."

  "So where did this one come from?" said Clovenhoof.

  "A seed," said Ambrose. "My parents ate the fruit. Seeds and all."

  Nerys mentally joined the dots.

  "It grew out of Adam and Eve’s poo?"

  "I was always good with plants," said Ambrose. "Until He cursed me."

  "You wanted immortality and knowledge," said Clovenhoof.

  "Not at all," said Ambrose. "I don’t need it. No, but my brother does."

  Clovenhoof nodded.

  "So that is Abel in the bath chair. I thought you killed him, back in the day?"

  "I did kill him. I never meant to, but God made me so angry. I always regretted it though. I planted the tree on his grave, and slowly, very slowly it brought him back to life."

  "Like a zombie?" said Nerys, disgusted.

  "Zombie?" said Ambrose, who clearly had never heard the word.

  "You know, brought back from the dead, all rotting flesh, snot and sinew."

  Ambrose tilted his head.

  "At first. And he grew stronger. And for several thousand years he was his old self, my brother Abel. But the past ten, twelve centuries, it’s not been so good. He’s degenerated, like the will, the life has gone from him."

  "The guy in the wheelchair. You’ve kept him like that for… how long?"

  The abbot waved the blade at her in annoyance.

  "More than six thousand years. I love my brother. I've done nothing but care for him. The tree can't survive without him and he can't survive without the tree. I was cursed so that I could never grow anything again. Only the blood of my brother would nourish the tree."

  "Urgh," said Nerys, seeing the rusty stains around the top of the watering can in a fresh and unpleasant light. She was filled with a powerful sense of dread and loathing.

  "You kept him alive. An invalid. Bleeding him like a vampire because… what? You’re lonely."

  "He’s my brother," snapped the abbot. "He’s family. Don’t I deserve a little comfort? A little companionship?"

  "But you died," said Clovenhoof. "Your house fell on top of you."

  "That didn't kill me," said Ambrose. "Nothing can kill me. I carry this mark, this curse."

  He pulled off his wig to reveal the mark on his forehead in the shape of a peacock's tail. Nerys decided she preferred the tapestry version, as this one had an ugly, scaly texture to it.

  "Immortality. If anyone does me harm then they will receive seven times that harm from the vengeance of God."

  Clovenhoof conveyed, by performing a short childish mime how frightened he was of the vengeance of God.

  "So those tapestries out there. That's the story of you and your brother. All of those people were really you?"

  "Yes," said the abbot. "The Wandering Jew, that was me. Joseph of Arimathea didn't come to England. That was me as well. The legend of the magical thorn tree that flowered all year round was a garbled recollection by someone that saw the apple tree."

  "Not the only legend that's down to you," Clovenhoof said.

  "No," said Ambrose. "The whole Arthur and Merlin business got a bit out of hand, to be honest. I blame Geoffrey of Monmouth who spiced up a few rumours he heard from some rather excitable monks. King Arthur and Merlin Ambrosius. Arthur got around a little better in those days, but his health was failing all the time and we could see that we needed somewhere secluded to live. I found this island for us. We came here to our Avalon, this isle of apples and built a glass house for the tree, and for Arthur."

  He looked around the orangery, and Nerys realised he was saying goodbye to a place that had been a part of their lives for countless years.

  "We were taken for religious hermits, and that was the very best thing that could have happened. A monastery was the perfect place for us. Men of religion and humility have proven to be ideal companions. They accept our eccentric ways and provide us with practical support. I like to think that we've created a small community here."

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Michael ran up every stair and burst out through the ancient door and into the cloisters. He was barely out of breath. Ten hours in the gym each week for the past six months might have mostly been an excuse to hang out with Andy, but it had not gone to waste.

  He grinned in the blade’s light.

  Oh, yes. Here he was, an angel in his prime. He had a flaming sword in his hand and, within his reach, the answer to a holy mystery. If this wasn’t going to please the Almighty, he had no idea what would.

  Jessie barked.

  "Let’s go then," said Michael and they ran, along the wall, round the corner and through the orangery door. The room was not unoccupied.

  Clovenhoof and Nerys whirled as Michael barged in.

  "Fuck me!" exclaimed Nerys, staggering back from the fiery sword.

  Clovenhoof appeared annoyed more than anything else.

  "Where did you find that?" he snapped peevishly.

  "Remember it, do you?" Michael smiled.

  "It’s not yours," said Abbot Ambrose, standing beneath the twisted apple tree.

  "I’d beg to differ," said Michael.

  "It’s on fire!" Nerys squeaked. "Hasn’t anyone noticed?"

  Michael swung his blade to point straight ahead.

  "It’s the Tree," he said. "The Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, the Tree of Life."

  "We know," said Clovenhoof.

  Michael’s victorious grin faltered.

  "What do you mean, you know?"

  "We know. We worked it out. Well, Nerys did. Well, it was me mostly because I’m the clever one."

  Michael’s sword arm drooped. The sword clanged flatly against a planter box.

  "You worked it out?"

  "He’s Cain," said Clovenhoof, indicating the abbot.

  "Er, Michael?" said Nerys.

  "Cadfan, Veracius, Merlin," said Clovenhoof. "He’s all of them. He’s even been mistaken for Joseph of Arimathea. He’s had more name changes than I’ve had fresh underwear."

  He counted them off on his fingers to check and nodded.

  "Michael?" said Nerys.

  "And the prior?" said Michael, looking around for the prior’s bath-chair.

  "He’s Abel."

  "Abel’s dead."

  "Magic, life-restoring tree," said Clovenhoof.

  "Michael!" snapped Nerys.

  "What?" said the archangel.

  "Your sword."

  Michael looked down. His sword had charred its way through the wooden planter box and now the thing was on fire.

  "Oh, silly me," he said and lifted his sword away.

  The fire had reached the bone-dry ferns in the planter box and they crackled as the fire leapt between them.

  "Best put that out," said Michael and leant the sword against the curtains by the door so he could use both hands to heap soil on the fire. "Soon have this out," he said, as the curtain material burst into flame.

  Clovenhoof nodded.

  "Now, when I start a fire people usually scream."

  "Do something!" said Nerys and propelled Clovenhoof forward.

  "Right," said the Fallen One, grabbed the burning curtain and yanked it off the wall. It landed on another planter box where it burned merrily.

  Michael had almost buried the original fire but it had raced out of his reach and was beginning to lick playfully at the flaky paintwork on the orangery’s wooden window frames. Smoke was quickly filling the air.

  "Here!" said Nerys and thrust a plant mister into Michael’s hand.

  Michael looked at it and then gave a little squeeze. The puff of water droplets evaporated before they even reached the flames.

  "Little help over here!" called Clovenhoof.

  Michael looked up and immediately saw two things. Firstly, inexplicably, Clovenhoof had managed to spread the curtain fire further. More than a dozen plants, three wooden chairs and a significant section of the orangery woodwork were aflame. The second thing...

  "Where’s the abbot?" shouted Michael. "Where’s Cai
n?"

  Nerys and Clovenhoof looked round but it was clear that the old man – the very, very old man – had gone.

  ~ooOOOoo~

  Bardsey was not a large island. As they walked, Jayne could see that with an hour’s walk they would circumnavigate the whole thing. She hoped that they wouldn’t be walking quite that far. Her wedding shoes were less than perfect on the island’s stony tracks and the hem of her wedding dress was probably picking up more than a little muck as they walked.

  "So, is international travel the only thing we’re going to argue about?" said Ben.

  "Lord, no," said Jayne gently. "Married couples argue all the time."

  "Really? I don’t think I’ve ever heard my parents argue."

  "I’m not sure that’s necessarily a good thing," said Jayne and then took a deep breath. "It’s not about travel, really, is it? It’s not about holidays."

  "No?"

  "It’s about two viewpoints. It’s about striking out on new adventures versus settling down."

  "I… I think I’ve had enough adventures in my life," said Ben.

  "Oh? So what’s marriage? Isn’t this a brand new adventure?"

  "Interesting point." Ben kicked at a stone as they walked and watched it roll down the island’s sloping side towards the sea. "Getting married is just one of those things that I thought I’d always do. Go to college, buy a house, get married, have kids. Tick, tick, tick, tick," he said, ticking them off on an imaginary clipboard.

  "Tick?" said Jayne.

  "You know… tick."

  "Oh, I got the mime, Ben. Marcel Marceau couldn’t have done better. I’m a bit perturbed that I’m something to be ticked off on a list."

  "Not you per se…"

  "You are such a trainspotter!"

  "I don’t think I’ve ever been a trainspotter. I went through a phase of writing down number plates but-"

  "Is there no passion in you at all?" said Jayne.

  Ben frowned.

  "I think that’s a bit, well, insulting. I can be passionate when the mood takes me."

  Jayne pulled a face.

  "I’m not talking about your animal urges, Ben. I mean passion, drive, spontaneity."