by C. B. Hanley
Edwin considered the case against Benedict and put him to one side for a moment. He would not have needed to use a borrowed white robe, for he wore one already. Who else from outside the ranks of the choir monks needed to be considered? There was the question, which was only a question at the moment, of whether some form of swindling had been going on at the lay brothers’ grange with regard to the wool. That would bring into question both the choir monk who worked there – and Edwin didn’t know who that was at the moment – and also the lay brothers, particularly the one Martin had met, Sinnulph. Edwin would need to go there for himself to see if he could pick up on anything else. Suppose Brother Alexander had found out that the abbey was being defrauded and had threatened to tell the abbot. One of the lay brothers could have dressed himself in the robe and murdered him to stop him talking.
But how would the lay brother know about the cave in the cliffs? He wouldn’t likely be wandering around there when he had work to do at the grange, which was several miles away, and it was hard to see how he might have found it by accident for it was so well hidden. The only people who knew about its location were Brother Alexander himself, anyone he might have told about it, and the hermit Anabilia – although she didn’t know of its actual existence, only that Brother Alexander had somehow ‘disappeared’.
Edwin jumped as a bolt of wakefulness shot through him. Had he been dozing off in the quiet comfort of the office? What was it that had alerted him? Oh yes, there was one other who could have known of the cave: Sir Philip, the knight who had been awake and who Edwin thought had been listening when he and Martin were talking during the night. If he had learned of the cave he could have gone out there while Edwin and Martin were busy with other matters, for it had been many hours in the time between their whispered conversation and their trip out to the woods. Perhaps Sir Philip had murdered Brother Alexander and now sought to hide the means by which he had done it. But then why would he stay around? Surely if he had murdered a monk his safest course of action would be to get away as quickly as possible afterwards. And why would a knight want to murder a monk anyway? And what had that odd remark to Brother Helias meant? None of this made sense. However, he would keep it at the back of his mind in case it started to become clearer later on.
Brother Alexander had brought back treasure when he returned from the Moorish lands. But what was this treasure and who might want it? Monks were sworn to have no possessions, so Brother Alexander must have kept it against the rules, which was why he had hidden it. But what good would gold be if he could not spend it? And therefore what good would it do any of the other monks to have it? The monastery was prosperous, and although Edwin guessed that the abbot might not actually turn down any additional wealth which came his way, he was fairly sure he wouldn’t kill for it. He was a good man. And besides, if he had killed one of his monks, he would hardly have sent for Edwin, would he?
So had someone else crept into that cave and stolen the treasure? And had they done so before or after they killed Brother Alexander? He could have been murdered to stop him alerting anyone to the theft – although that would put him in an awkward position as he would have to explain why he had the treasure in the first place. So perhaps he had been killed by someone before the theft. If so then that someone had planned everything carefully: stealing a robe, sneaking into the abbey, murdering a monk in front of his brothers, leaving again, going to the cave, stealing the treasure and leaving the robe. No, wait, not leaving the robe, for that had not been done until later.
Edwin’s eyes were heavy and his head nodded towards his chest. Something important was nagging at the back of his mind. He’d just thought of it a moment ago; what was it? He searched … oh yes, that was it. Someone else might know the location of the cave if Brother Alexander had told him about it. And Brother Alexander spoke most often to Brother Richard. But the robe had certainly been hidden there in between Edwin’s two visits, for he was as sure as he could be that it had not been there the first time. And that meant that Brother Richard could not have hidden it there, for he was confined to the infirmary with a condition that was certainly not faked. Edwin wished he could speak to him again, but there seemed little hope of that, and he did not wish to cause the ill man any further pain, for he had seemed genuinely upset when he heard of Brother Alexander’s death.
But now the figure of Brother Alexander was stepping forward out of the shadows. As Edwin watched, he pulled back his hood. Edwin shrank back in horror, for the face was dead, the skin dark and rotting around the empty eye sockets and the bared teeth. Then the figure reached behind it and pulled out a bloody knife, holding it out, dripping, as it advanced on Edwin, crying out for revenge …
Edwin woke up. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel it in his mouth, and he looked around the office in horror. But there was no ghost, no corpse, no blood. He was alone. He was haunted. He needed to get more sleep.
He opened his dry mouth and stretched his stiff arms. He sat for a few moments before attempting to stand. And on top of all this, there was the abbot’s question to him – have you ever considered taking the cowl? He couldn’t give that proper thought at this point in time, but now that the question had been asked, now that it was a real possibility, it was going to weigh on him until he made a decision one way or another. For what was there for him in the outside world? A lifetime of being sent by the earl on difficult and dangerous missions, until the inevitable happened and one of them ended up killing him.
He was tired. But he was also hungry, so he stood to make his weary way back to the guesthouse. As he left the cellarer’s office he heard a noise behind him and turned, in case he hadn’t shut the door properly – just in time to see the edge of a white robe disappearing inside.
He should have ignored it and walked on, but some prickling of his neck, something about the way the man had moved into the building, made him stop. Perhaps it wasn’t Brother Helias? But what would anyone else be doing there?
Edwin concealed himself in the shadow between two other buildings and watched the office. No light was lit within, but there was still enough to see by in the dusk, so it would be unlikely that anyone would light a candle or rush if he was only going to be inside for a few moments. As indeed appeared to be the case: after a very short while Edwin saw the monk leave the building again, and he cursed himself for his overactive imagination – it was the young brother who was the cellarer’s assistant, and he was carrying a piece of parchment and a small sack. No doubt the kitchen had run out of something and he had been sent to fetch it and account for it on a list. Kitchen. Food. Yes. He made his way to the guesthouse.
Martin dumped the bag on the floor of the guesthouse in between his bed and Edwin’s. Nobody should need to walk past it, for theirs were the last two berths at the end of the room, but it looked a bit out of place and might arouse curiosity. Martin scanned around him for possibilities, and then picked up Edwin’s cloak. He draped it over the bag and kicked it all as close to Edwin’s bed as possible. It wasn’t hidden, but a casual observer might just think it was travelling luggage stacked untidily.
He stretched. The ceiling of the guesthouse wasn’t all that high and his fingertips brushed the rafters. Lord, when were they going to get out of here? He’d never felt so confined.
It wasn’t time for the evening meal yet, and he wasn’t about to stay cooped up in here any longer than he had to. He couldn’t really leave the precinct again, either, but he could head over to the stables and check on the horses, which hadn’t been ridden today. He cheered himself at the thought that he’d have a good excuse to get out somewhere tomorrow as they’d need some exercise.
The sun’s rays were slanting in through the open stable door, illuminating the dust in the air and the neat rows of stalls. The mute half-witted lay brother was just coming out of the one which contained Sir Philip’s horse, and he stood back with a bow as Martin pushed past him. Martin looked suspiciously at all three of his animals, but had to admit – grud
gingly – that they were being well cared for and that the place was clean and tidy. He doubted even that Arnulf, the long-serving stablemaster at Conisbrough, would have been able to find fault with anything. Not that he wouldn’t try, of course.
Martin stood for a while with his courser, glancing idly over the barrier at Sir Philip’s horse, and was still there when the knight himself came in. He cut off Martin’s greeting with a curt nod which clearly indicated that he should mind his own business and Martin turned away. As he unnecessarily brushed the coat of Edwin’s palfrey he reflected that Edwin had been right – as usual – when he pointed out that Sir Philip probably wasn’t well off. Now he’d had a closer chance to look at it, he could see that the horse, a courser no better than his own, was getting on a bit and wasn’t in very good condition. Except —
‘You there!’ Sir Philip was addressing the lay brother, who looked up enquiringly from the stall on the other side of the knight. ‘Get me some hot water so I can replace this poultice.’
The lay brother bowed and left the stable in silence, but not before Martin had seen him give a very sharp glance indeed at the knight.
Martin didn’t attempt to engage in any further conversation with Sir Philip. Instead he concentrated on the smooth, even strokes of his brush as he contemplated two things. The first was that perhaps the lay brother wasn’t as half-witted as he might seem. And the second was that, from what he had seen, Martin was as certain as he could be that Sir Philip’s horse was not lame.
Brother Amandus was his usual garrulous self as he ladled out bowls of food for his four guests. Edwin wondered how often he had the same people staying for so long – surely most of the men who stayed here would only be doing so for one night. He ate to try and give himself some strength and even mustered the energy to poke a thoughtful-looking Martin in the ribs. ‘Never mind. You’ll soon be back at the lord earl’s hall and eating as much meat as you can stomach.’
Martin stopped with his spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Why? Have you found something?’
Was it Edwin’s imagination or did both the other men at the table stiffen slightly?
‘Oh, no – nothing in particular, not since I saw you earlier. I just meant that you’ll be back within a few days whatever happens.’
Martin grunted and continued with his meal. Edwin finished his, and then pushed a piece of bread around the bowl for no reason. Nothing was getting any clearer. Just the opposite, in fact: the more he went on, the more confused he was getting. He needed something. He needed a sign.
Brother Amandus had been speaking with someone at the guesthouse door, and now he came over to Edwin. ‘Pardon me for interrupting, my son, but I have a message for you.’
Edwin’s curiosity was aroused. ‘For me?’
‘Yes. You were showing a particular interest in Brother Richard, I believe?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Is he recovering?’
Brother Amandus shook his head and spoke sadly. ‘I’m afraid not. A message has just come to say that he is dying, so the brethren are summoned to his bedside to pray. Brother Durand said that as you had spoken with him so recently, you might want to be there as well.’
Edwin put down the piece of bread and rose. ‘Of course, Brother.’ He looked at Martin, who was also half out of his seat, and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s all right, you don’t need to come. You’ve never met Brother Richard, and anyway I don’t want Brother Durand getting upset with you again. Why don’t you stay here and talk?’ He hoped that Martin would guess the implication of the slight emphasis on that last word, and draw the other guests into conversation to see if he could find out anything further about them. Martin had been giving him strange looks since he came in, anyway, but hadn’t said anything. He must make time to catch up properly. But first, he had to go to a deathbed.
Edwin sighed and wiped his hands on his tunic before belatedly realising there was a cloth on the table exactly for that purpose. Oh, never mind. He didn’t have time right now to be worried about what others thought of his manners. He followed Brother Amandus out of the guesthouse and around towards the infirmary, where a line of other monks was entering. The guestmaster talked without ceasing as they crossed the precinct, telling him all about the elaborate-sounding rituals they went through every time a brother lay dying and for once Edwin wished he would just shut up. He rubbed his eyes and felt grateful when Brother Amandus fell silent as they reached the door.
Edwin crept quietly towards the end of the infirmary, conscious that all the other monks were silent. The sick man, head still grotesquely swollen, lay prone, his skin pale and waxy. Candles had been set around the head of the bed and the screen moved out of the way so that there was more room. The abbot, the prior and some fifty or so other monks – all the ones who weren’t either too infirm themselves or too far away to be summoned, guessed Edwin – were gathered around the bed, kneeling, heads bowed. They began to chant a prayer. He hesitated.
Brother Durand saw him and beckoned him over. ‘We are praying to Our Lady, patron of our abbey, and to St Apollonia, patron of those who suffer from toothache. Please, join us. Brother Richard seemed to know you were there when you visited before, and that is the last time he seemed to be in control of his wits.’
Edwin dredged his memory for those long-ago lessons with the village priest. St Apollonia … she had been martyred by having all her teeth pulled out with pincers, one by one, before being beheaded. If any of the saints in heaven could sympathise with Brother Richard’s plight, she could. He knelt tentatively by the edge of the pushed-back screen, behind the monks, and looked at the abbot; when he received a nod he began to pray. He drove all other thoughts out of his mind and concentrated on the plight of the agonised and dying man. Please, St Apollonia, you must have suffered terribly, could you not intercede with the Lord to ask Him to save Brother Richard from this terrible fate?
Brother Richard opened his eyes and gave a groan, which rose in pitch to a wail. As Edwin watched, the left side of his throat, hugely distended, started to crack. Then, suddenly, as though it had been pricked by an awl, it burst and a mass of foul-smelling discharge poured out. The monks exclaimed and jumped back, all except for the abbot who raised his hands and his face to the heavens. ‘A miracle!’
Edwin looked from the ecstatic abbot to the man in the bed. The swelling was subsiding rapidly, his eyes, nose and mouth reappearing. Edwin’s legs felt wobbly, and he didn’t think he’d be able to rise off his knees if he tried. He had seen the mercy of the Lord.
Abbot Reginald and the monks were raising their voices in a hymn of thanks and praise. Then the abbot looked directly at Edwin. ‘A miracle indeed. God shows us His grace and delivers our brother from his suffering. And He does so the instant you begin praying. Today you have been the instrument of the Lord.’
Edwin’s legs were still shaking, but he scrabbled backwards in panic and managed to get to his feet. ‘I … er … I …’
He turned and fled.
Once he got back to the guesthouse he ran straight past the others, still sitting at the table, ignoring their looks and questions. He tried to stop his fingers shaking long enough to remove his boots, and then got into bed and pulled the blanket over his head. Today you have been the instrument of the Lord. That hadn’t really happened, had it? He had prayed and Brother Richard had experienced a spectacular recovery.
He heard the sounds of surprise from the others at the table, but thank the Lord nobody came over. Martin would know he wanted to be on his own. It was hot and airless under the blanket, but to put his head out of it again would mean re-joining the world, and he wanted to be apart from the world a little longer. He shifted the blanket to make a space for air to enter, making sure it was on the side which faced away from the table so nobody would notice.
He heard the sound of Brother Amandus returning, his exclamations to the others about the miracle he had witnessed, and how it had come about. He heard Aylwin and Sir Philip saying they would go out
for some air before they retired, and then them leaving. He heard Brother Amandus clearing the dishes and cups from the table. He heard Martin getting into his bed, and the creaking noise of the wooden frame as he did so.
What he did not hear was the voice of the Lord, telling him what to do next. He closed his eyes.
The following morning Edwin staggered bleary-eyed out of the guesthouse. Should he have told Martin where he was going? He couldn’t think straight. But Martin was asleep and he was only going out to clear his head for a while – he’d be back before Martin woke up. It was very early. The choir monks were probably up at some service or other, but the rest of the precinct had that first-thing-in-the-morning feel that he had sometimes encountered in the ward at Conisbrough when he’d arrived before everyone else was awake. He could hear birdsong, and the smell of baking bread wafted across from somewhere. The slight chill of the breeze helped him to wake and he wandered over to the footbridge which crossed the beck dividing the precinct from the outer court with its gardens and orchards. He leaned on the rail and listened to the birds and the sound of the water. He stared across at the outer court, the fishponds, the mill, and allowed his eyes to close.
After a while, he realised that the water didn’t sound right. He opened his eyes. Yes – instead of a kind of regular flowing and gurgling noise, there was a lot of splashing. Edwin looked over the upstream side of the bridge: the water was streaming down the beck and under the bridge as it should. He moved to the other side: the water was coming out much less fast than he would expect – a little more than a trickle, but nothing like the flow that was going in. There was a splashing noise coming from underneath, so he knelt down and leaned forward, tipping his head as far under the bridge as he could. There was something there – some object was in the water, blocking the stream. The incoming flow was hitting it, which was what the noise was, but very little was getting past it. Soon the water would back up around it and cause an overflow, which would be immediately noticeable, but right now you would really only notice if you were standing on the bridge.
