The Abbot's Agreement: 7 (The Chronicles of Hugh De Singleton, Surgeon)

by Mel Starr

  “Do you accuse Prior Philip of doing murder?”

  “Someone did murder,” I replied, “and if Brother Eustace speaks true the prior was the last abbey resident to see John Whytyng alive.”

  “Bah. Why would Prior Philip slay a novice?”

  “Because of what the novice knew,” I said.

  Brother Guibert did not immediately reply. He was startled, I believe. Men may die for what they know as well as for what they do.

  “What could a novice know which would cause Brother Prior, or any monk, to slay him?”

  Then, to Abbot Thurstan, Brother Guibert said, “I accompanied Brother Eustace to see that you were comfortable for the night. If there is nothing you need I wish to seek my bed. Vigils will come swiftly. I suppose when Prior Philip returns he may then deal with this heretic as you are unable to do so.”

  “I am well able to deal with heretics,” the abbot whispered, “and I will do so when I encounter them.”

  Brother Guibert stood and glanced askance at his abbot but said no more.

  “Master Hugh,” the abbot continued, “is in my service. You know now that he remains in the abbey, but no others do. I wish his presence here to remain hidden. If others learn he is within the abbey it must be because one of you has told. This I forbid. I command your silence. Winter will be a poor time to be upon a road to Scotland, but if you speak of this interview to any man you will find yourself transferred to Dunfermline Abbey.”

  Then, to me, with what remained of his strength, Abbot Thurstan said, “Have you done with these brothers?”

  “Aye, for now. I would like for Brother Eustace to seek the dormitory and send Brother Adam and Brother Herbert to us.”

  “Now?” Brother Eustace asked. “They will not be pleased to leave their beds.”

  “I will do so,” Brother Guibert said. “Brother Eustace has already been delayed upon his rounds.”

  “Nay,” I said. Then looking to Abbot Thurstan, I said, “I do not wish for Brother Guibert to have words with Brother Adam or Brother Herbert.”

  The abbot seemed to gather himself for the exertion of speech. “Do as Master Hugh requires,” he said. “And remember, say nothing of his presence here.”

  “What am I to tell Brother Adam and Brother Herbert?” Brother Eustace asked.

  “Nothing,” I replied, “but that their abbot wishes to speak to them of an urgent matter.”

  “All matters,” the abbot whispered, “are urgent for a dying man.”

  I nodded toward the door. Brother Eustace stood and with the infirmarer departed the chamber. When they were away I knelt beside Abbot Thurstan’s bed.

  “Are you in pain?” I asked. “There are other herbs which may be added to your physic. Lettuce seeds will help you sleep.”

  “I will soon sleep long enough. A month past I was content to die. Now I wish to live… long enough to see apostasy rooted from this abbey.”

  I sat upon the bench and Arthur joined me. “Want I should seek the novice-master an’ get oil for the other cressets? Reckon he’ll have some,” he said.

  “Nay. You’ll wake him and perhaps the novices. Darkness can be intimidating. A man cannot see where danger lies, so believes it might approach from any source.”

  “Oh, aye,” Arthur agreed.

  Perhaps Brother Adam and Brother Herbert slept soundly. They did not soon appear in the abbot’s chamber. Of course, the dormitory is opposite the cloister from the abbot’s chamber and they traveled the space in the dark. But ’tis a space they knew well. I believe they paused to consider why Abbot Thurstan wished their presence in his chamber on a cold November night.

  But monks obey their abbot, even one who is near death, so perhaps their arrival was not so tardy as I thought. I was impatient to learn what I could from these brothers.

  The abbot’s chamber door opened slowly, as if the man who pushed against it was unsure of his purpose. The single cresset provided little illumination, and when the monks entered the chamber I did not recognize either of them.

  Arthur and I did not await Brother Adam and Brother Herbert in a dark corner, but in the center of the chamber, near to the cresset. The monks looked from Abbot Thurstan to me and back to the abbot. I had not before seen these monks, but they knew me. One stared at me open-mouthed. Now four monks and the novice-master knew of my presence in the abbey. The secret would be impossible to keep. But with Prior Philip away perhaps concealment was no longer necessary – so long as I could prove a felon before he returned, and Abbot Thurstan lived a few more days.

  “Master Hugh,” the abbot said, “has been wrongly charged with heresy. I have examined him and find no substance to the accusation. He has questions for you. It is my command that you answer truthfully.”

  Abbot Thurstan had raised his head for these words, but now fell back upon the pillow. The speech had exhausted him. I wondered how many more times he could compel his weakening body to perform before it would fail him.

  The two young monks looked from their abbot to me, and as with Brother Eustace and Brother Guibert, I invited them to sit upon the bench. Arthur stood, arms folded, before the chamber door, assuming a grim countenance, which he likely thought would help wring truth from those who might otherwise think to deceive.

  Whoso had slain John Whytyng had, if Maude atte Pond spoke true, returned with another and the two had taken the novice’s corpse to the verge of the wood where Arthur and I and the birds had found him.

  I needed to question these monks, as I was then sure that Prior Philip had done murder, for he had reason and opportunity. I was also convinced that there must be others in the abbey who were of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit and that one or more of these had helped remove John Whytyng from the pond.

  It seemed also that a monk recently given the tonsure, and therefore acceptable to the prior, might be the assistant who aided in moving the slain novice to a vacant corner of the abbey grounds.

  “Nearly two weeks past, early upon a Thursday morn,” I began, “Prior Philip sought one, or perhaps both of you, to aid him in a private matter. ’Twas soon after vigils, I think. Which of you did he seek? Or was it both?”

  The monks turned to look at each other and even though the chamber was dim I could see in their faces that the question startled them. Here was an unwelcome discovery. At least one of the monks should not have been much surprised by the question.

  Brother Adam and Brother Herbert studied each other for a moment, then, finding no answer in each other’s eyes, Brother Adam turned to me and spoke.

  “Why is it Brother Prior is supposed to have needed our aid in the night? He did not seek me. I am under my blanket every night ’till lauds.”

  As Brother Adam concluded his protest he turned and faced Brother Herbert, as if challenging his brother monk to admit rising in the night at his prior’s request. Brother Herbert did not delay his reply.

  “Prior Philip has not sought me in the night. Why would he do so…? Ah, I see. ’Twas then John Whytyng disappeared from the abbey. You and your man found him. You believe Brother Prior had to do with John’s disappearance and death. That is what this question is about, is it not?”

  Both monks protested innocence in the matter and I had no way to demonstrate otherwise. I had, however, another weapon which might cause one or the other to reconsider their denial.

  “You have heard,” I said, “that there is heresy in Eynsham Abbey.”

  “Aye,” Brother Herbert replied. “Brother Guibert, ’tis said, heard you denying purgatory.”

  “That is not the heresy of which I speak. There is, among the brothers, an adept of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit.”

  The reaction I sought, and did not find, when I asked the monks which of them had been called to assist Prior Philip in the night, I now saw. Alarm flashed briefly across Brother Adam’s face and I saw him clench the plank of the bench so that, had there been light enough to see, his knuckles would surely have been white.

  Brother H
erbert did not seem so troubled. Perhaps he was more skilled at deception, or it could be that the cresset flame did not cast as much of its glow upon his face as upon Brother Adam’s. But I knew that my arrow had struck home, and so thought to unloose another.

  “You have heard of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit,” I continued. “’Twas thought that the heresy was confined to France and the Low Countries, and that sufficient of its adherents burned that the heresy died out… as would be expected of those who went to the stake.

  “But there is evidence that the heresy yet has followers.” As I spoke I glared at the monks with as much choler in my gaze as I could muster.

  “What has that to do with us?” Brother Herbert replied.

  “You know well, and matters will go better for you if you confess all to Abbot Thurstan and beg mercy of him.”

  I glanced from Brother Herbert to Brother Adam, and saw again Adam’s death grip upon the bench.

  “Do not think that Holy Church will not send a monk to the sheriff for him to work his justice,” Abbot Thurstan whispered.

  I said no more, but waited. The chamber was dark and silent but for the abbot’s labored breathing. The rattle in his chest seemed louder than I remembered. I was not alone in thinking so. All four in the chamber turned to the abbot’s bed.

  He saw this, and spoke again. “Aye, ’tis true. I may see the Lord Christ before lauds. But you must not think to keep silent until then, and assume all will then go well for you. Prior Philip has taken a letter…” Abbot Thurstan fell silent, too weak to continue. He waved a hand weakly to me, indicating that I should come close. I did.

  “I am too weak to explain matters,” he whispered. “You must do so.”

  “Prior Philip,” I said, “has taken Abbot Thurstan’s letter to Bishop Bokyngham. In the letter your abbot has nominated Brother Gerleys to succeed him, and gives cause why Prior Philip should not do so. Although, when the letter was written, Abbot Thurstan did not know of the full reason the prior should not be made abbot.”

  “But Prior Philip is second here only to M’lord Abbot,” Brother Herbert protested, “and of right must have the position.”

  “He has forfeited it,” I said.

  “How so?” Brother Herbert snapped. “And why does a heretic stand here in M’lord Abbot’s chamber and repudiate Brother Prior’s claim?”

  “Tell them,” Abbot Thurstan whispered. His words were faint, like a gasp, and then nothing more but the wheezing of his chest as it rose and fell.

  “I think I need not tell you why the prior is unfit to become your abbot,” I said. “It is for the same reason you are likely unfit to be brothers of Eynsham Abbey.”

  I knew that this was a leap, to impute apostasy where there was small evidence of the sin. I watched the monks intently as I spoke the accusation. Would guilt cloud their faces, or fear of the gallows did they not recant the heresy?

  The monks glanced toward each other again. Brother Herbert scowled darkly at his companion, and Brother Adam looked away, peering into a dark corner of the chamber as if seeking there some escape from this examination. He found none, and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Brother Prior…” he said, but before he could say more Brother Herbert delivered a smart blow with an elbow into Brother Adam’s ribs. Brother Adam nearly toppled from the bench.

  “Say no more!” Brother Herbert commanded, and stood, glaring down at his companion.

  “Why must he be silent?” I asked. What confession was he about to make? What was he about to tell us of Prior Philip?

  “Nothing a heretic need know,” Brother Herbert said.

  The monk’s fists were in tight balls. I thought him ready to strike, either me or Brother Adam. Arthur saw this also and stepped toward the angry monk.

  To Arthur I said, “Take Brother Herbert to the guest house and see he remains there while Abbot Thurstan and I hear what Brother Adam would tell us of the prior.”

  Arthur took Brother Herbert’s arm gently, but the monk twisted from his grasp. “Keep silence!” he shouted to his companion, and turned to the chamber door as if to flee.

  The bench was his undoing. He tripped over it and fell headlong. Arthur was upon him in an instant, while Brother Adam stood open-mouthed.

  Arthur hauled the protesting monk to his feet with one hand firm upon Brother Herbert’s arm, and the fingers of his other hand squeezing the tender place between the monk’s neck and shoulder. Brother Herbert’s belligerent attitude vanished. He gasped in pain, and when Arthur shoved him toward the chamber door he stumbled to the opening with no further protest.

  When Arthur and Brother Herbert were away, and the chamber door shut, I turned to Brother Adam and sat in Brother Herbert’s place upon the bench. ’Twas a time to befriend, not intimidate.

  “You said that Prior Philip did not seek you in the night a fortnight past. Do you wish to amend your reply?”

  “Nay, he did not do so.”

  “Did any other man wake you, to aid him or Prior Philip?”

  “Nay. No man has awakened me from my rest.”

  The monk seemed sincere. I could see no deception in his eyes or manner, nor hear falsehood in his speech. I have served Lord Gilbert Talbot as his bailiff at Bampton for three years. From this duty I have become skilled at discovering deception and falsehood. Perhaps Brother Adam was more proficient at prevarication than I thought, or it was too dark in the chamber to see what would be obvious in daylight. Or perhaps he spoke the truth.

  “What of Brother Herbert?” I said. “Has he spoken of being called to assist the prior in the night?”

  “Nay.”

  “What other friends does Brother Herbert have among the monks of this abbey? Who else might he tell of being summoned in the night for some task?”

  Brother Adam was silent for a few moments. “We took the cowl at the same time,” he finally said, “and were novices together before that. Brother Herbert has no closer friend than me, I think.”

  “If he would not tell a secret to you, you say, he would tell no other?”

  “Aye.”

  Here was more disquieting news. If Prior Philip had not sought one of these monks, who then had assisted him in removing a corpse from the fishpond and carrying it away? Were there other adherents of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit among the monks? Or was Henry Fuller wrong? Was Prior Philip opposed to Henry’s tonsure for some other reason? Was the presence of the cult here at Eynsham Abbey but my imagination?

  No. There was evidence enough that the heresy was here, and that the prior was a part of it. But if neither Brother Adam nor Brother Herbert had risen from a bed to help move a corpse in the night, who had done so?

  Could it be that Prior Philip did not slay John Whytyng? No, I was sure that he had done so. But to prove it so I must find the man who had helped the prior dispose of the novice’s corpse. If I could not, I would not likely see justice done for John Whytyng.

  “Have you ever burned a finger?” I asked the monk, changing the subject.

  Brother Adam’s brow furrowed as he attempted to follow this new path. “Aye,” he said. “Most men have done so.”

  “Indeed,” I replied. “The pain is great, even if but a small blister is raised. After such a mishap I have often wondered at the agony suffered by those wretches who are burned for their heresies. Some recant, but most go to the stake unrepentant. Such folk must be zealous in their error, to endure the torment they know is to come.”

  I watched Brother Adam carefully as I spoke, to see if there was in his expression some confession of the fear I hoped was in his soul. There was. I saw his adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed the bile which I suspect rose in his throat as he considered flames and faggots and chains and ill-mannered observers of such spectacles.

  “Why do you speak of this to me?” Brother Adam said between gulps.

  “I am troubled. You are in some danger of the gallows or the stake if what I have learned this day is true. We in England general
ly hang our heretics, but there are some who would prefer dealing with apostasy as the French do, with flames.”

  “What? Me? What man has betrayed me?”

  “Betrayed? Why do you speak of betrayal? An interesting word for you to choose. Is there some matter involving your deeds or opinions you wish to keep obscure?”

  “All men have such,” the monk said softly.

  “Aye, but if they are monks they confess such sins and do the penance assigned them. What have you failed to confess?”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Abbot Thurstan turn his head upon the pillow and gaze intently at the young monk. Brother Adam saw this also and quickly looked away.

  “Henry Fuller was denied the cowl some months past,” I said.

  The monk looked at me, puzzled at this new direction.

  “Prior Philip rejected him,” I said. “A few years past, when Brother Gerleys announced that you and Brother Herbert were ready to become brothers, he made no objection. Will you tell me why this was so? Do you know of the prior’s objection to Henry Fuller? Can you think of a reason for Prior Philip accepting you but not Henry?”

  “What has this to do with John Whytyng and heresy and men being led to the stake?”

  “I believe you know. And ’tis also my belief that Abbot Thurstan will require less penance from you if you speak of how all of these things are connected, than if I must explain all to you and him.”

  “What did Henry Fuller say?” Brother Adam said.

  “Why do you suggest that the novice might have had something to tell me?”

  Brother Adam did not reply.

  “Perhaps,” I said softly, “Henry told what you should have told, when Prior Philip gave you similar reason to speak.”

  “I could not,” the monk said suddenly, and his words were nearly a sob. “If Eynsham refused me I had nowhere else to go. My father is not wealthy. He was sorely taxed to provide a place for me here. There was no coin to find me another abbey if Brother Prior would not accept me here.”

  “Even though most abbeys see declining numbers in their dormitories?”

  “Even so. Prior Philip demanded I do his will or he would see that no other house would have me. What was I to do? I was to have no lands. My brother has received all.”