Devil's Acre

by Stephen Wheeler

  ‘Good evening, father. May I introduce myself. I’m -’

  ‘Brother Walter of Ixworth,’ the man beamed. He held out his hand for me to take. ‘Father Ralf. I’m the chaplain here.’

  The hand felt cold and limp like a dead fish. ‘How, erm, did you know?’

  ‘Your name?’ He smiled. ‘Saint George’s is a small community. We don’t get many visitors. Your arrival has been the main topic of gossip among the nuns for a week.’

  ‘You’ve known of our arrival for a week?’

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘Well, yes I am - a little.’

  The woman servant now returned and began describing the various dishes to the priest and where they were located on the table.

  Father Ralf frowned irritably. ‘Yes yes, that’s fine Jane. Don’t fuss.’

  ‘You’ll be complaining in a minute when you can’t find anything.’

  ‘Well if I can’t Brother Walter here will help me - won’t you brother?’

  ‘Yes of course I will.’ I smiled at the woman. She frowned crossly back at me and bustled off again.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive Jane,’ Ralf apologized. ‘She’s very protective. I’m lucky to have her. At least she doesn’t shout at me.’

  ‘Why would anyone shout at you?’

  ‘People do. They assume because I have lost one sense I must have lost them all. In fact my other senses are better than most since I have fewer distractions. I hear the mice scratching in the walls. I know that this dish to my left is fish, and this one to the right is spiced apple, and this -’

  ‘Oops!’ I said just saving a water jug that he nearly knocked over in his enthusiasm.

  ‘Ah well,’ he smiled. ‘Perhaps not everything.’

  ‘You can be forgiven for not smelling water, father.’

  Beside me the prioress was clearing her throat and tapping the bench with her fingers. When she had silence in the room she said in a loud voice:

  ‘Father Abbot, would you be so kind?’

  Samson rose grandly to his feet and solemnly intoned the Grace:

  ‘Benedic, Domine, nos et dona tua, quae de largitate tua sumus sumpturi, et concede, ut illis salubriter nutriti tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus, per Christum Dominum nostrum.’

  To which we all joined in the final Amen.

  That done, we settled down again to begin the meal in earnest. And I must say I was looking forward to this. I was even starting to be grateful that it was me Samson had chosen to accompany him on this trip after all. The sights and smells of the spread before us were enticing. Unfortunately I was to partake of none of it for it was then that the disaster happened. I was just reaching for a plate of sliced ham when beside me there came a crash and I turned to see that Father Ralf had knocked over that water jug again, only this time I was not there to save it and it had gone crashing to the floor where it smashed into pieces and sent water cascading everywhere. In itself this was no great matter - accidents will happen. And Ralf’s ever-attentive servant Jane was already mopping up the mess and clearing it away. What stopped us both was Samson’s reaction. He seemed to explode with anger.

  ‘You damn fool!’ he bellowed down the length of the table at the priest. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’

  The room instantly fell silent. I looked around at the startled faces staring up at us and wondered for a moment if perhaps I had stumbled into some kind of entertainment. Was it a joke? Was I supposed to laugh?

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ mumbled Ralf barely audibly. ‘It was clumsy of me.’

  ‘Clumsy?’ Samson bellowed. ‘Clumsy you say? You’re not fit for decent company!’

  My jaw dropped open. Whatever was the matter with him? It was a water jug, for heaven’s sake, nothing particularly valuable and easily replaced. Samson’s words seemed out of proportion to the crime - if “crime” was the right word. I had never seen him so angry over something so trivial. I turned to Mother Odell willing her to intercede on the priest’s behalf as she had on mine earlier but this time she seemed reluctant to do so and remained silent with her eyes cast down.

  The eyes of Ralf’s servant Jane were, however, anything but cast down. They burned with indignation. She glared first at Samson, then at Odell, then all around the rest of the room. Finally she crashed the shard of pot she had been holding hard onto the table and stormed out of the hall.

  Her departure was at least something of a catharsis. Fortunately the excellent Sister Benjamin was on hand to take command of the situation. She clapped her hands together and servants appeared from nowhere to quickly mop up the remainder of the mess and to bring some order back into the proceedings. Samson had sat down and was already talking animatedly to the prioress as though nothing had happened.

  I was astonished. I shook myself wondering if the accident had really happened or perhaps I had just dreamt it. My natural inclination was to speak to Ralf now to offer some words of reassurance, but I didn’t really know what to say. I was, as it were, already in the enemy camp. Not that I felt that way. My sympathies were entirely with him. I was furious with Samson for embarrassing us both over such a trifling matter. But there was nothing I could do except sit out my discomfort in silence with Ralf inches from me.

  After a few moments he rose quietly from his seat and started to make his way to the door tapping his staff before him as he went. By now I too had lost my appetite so after another moment or two I got up and followed him out.

  I found him sitting alone on the porch bench gazing out into the freezing blackness of the night. At my approach he turned to me smiling.

  ‘Well brother, did you enjoy your meal?’

  ‘I er…no, I can’t say I did.’

  He shook his head. ‘Me neither. For me it was the oysters.’

  ‘The oysters?’

  ‘Do you not find they are an acquired taste? I like them but they do not always like me. These tonight I thought tasted a little metallic.’

  I was incredulous. The man talks about oysters after what had just occurred?

  ‘No Father, I didn’t have any oysters. I didn’t have anything to eat as a matter of fact.’

  ‘That’s a pity. The nuns put on a good spread for guests.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Father, I’ve come to apologize.’

  He smiled vaguely in my direction. ‘For what?’

  ‘For the abbot’s behaviour tonight. It was unforgivable.’

  ‘Why should you apologize? It was not of your doing.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, ‘but Abbot Samson is my superior.’

  ‘Please brother. Put it out of your mind.’

  I must say I was impressed by the man’s stoicism. I’m sure if I had been treated so abominably I should have been spitting fury. But he seemed to have survived the encounter all right.

  ‘I admire your capacity for forgiveness, father. It does you credit. But, if you are certain you are not harmed…?’

  ‘Quite sure. And thank you for your concern.’

  I shrugged. ‘Very well.’

  I can’t say I was sorry to drop the subject. Perhaps he was right and it would all blow over as quickly as it arose, although I fully intended tackling Samson about it later and let him know exactly what I thought of what had happened. But if Ralf wished to forget the matter, so be it. I looked out into the icy darkness with the frosted snow glistening in the moonlight and shivered.

  ‘Are you waiting for your servant to fetch you home, father?’

  He shook his head. ‘I shan’t see Jane again tonight. She’ll be off sulking somewhere - in the church I imagine.’

  She did seem upset - more so than Ralf. ‘Then would you allow me to take you?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but there is no need. My feet know their own way home without direction - one more compensation for the loss of my eyes. I am just sitting here for a few moments to catch my breath before venturing out.’

  ‘Please,’ I said rising. ‘It is the least I can do.
’

  He shrugged. ‘Very well. If it will make you feel better.’

  I gave him my arm but he staggered a little as he stood up. Perhaps the water jug incident had affected him more than he was admitting.

  ‘Have you long had this trouble with your breathing, father?’

  ‘It’s nothing. The air is raw. It will pass.’

  We waited for a moment and when he was ready we started walking, but slowly.

  ‘Tell me brother, are there many stars out tonight?’

  I looked up at the sky. ‘Indeed. There must be a hundred thousand up there.’

  He chuckled. ‘As many as that?’

  ‘You think there are less?’

  ‘I think there are many more. I myself once counted half a million before I had to give up - when I still had my eyes, of course.’

  ‘Have you not always been blind then, father?’

  ‘My blindness is my own doing. The sin of pride, I fear.’

  ‘How does pride blind you - other than metaphorically?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘When I was young I thought I knew all: the meaning of life and God’s purpose for man in it. It is the eternal arrogance of youth. Then it happened one day that I fell into argument with another. The dispute ran for days - months. In the end it could only be settled by one-to-one combat.’

  ‘A duel. You’re saying you lost your sight a duel?’

  He screwed up his face as though the memory were painful. ‘Not exactly. I am almost too embarrassed to tell you. The truth is I discovered to my disgust that I was a coward. I did not have the confidence to win by fair means so I chose to do so by foul.’

  ‘You mean you hired a champion to fight for you?’

  He shook his head. ‘No no, I did my own fighting - I wasn’t so much of a coward. I prepared thoroughly. I honed my skills. I was more than ready for the coming battle. The odds were in my favour for I was the better man. But chance wasn’t enough for me. I wanted certainty. So I swore on the sacred shrine of Saint Edmund that I would give all I possessed to the abbey and become a priest if only I should win.’

  ‘You tried to bribe the blessed Edmund?’ I guffawed. ‘I can’t imagine him agreeing to that. I take it that you lost.’

  ‘On the contrary, I won a famous victory. My opponent conceded defeat and left the field blooded.’

  ‘He was injured too?’

  ‘Let us just say he survived the encounter - as did I or I should not be here retelling the tale. But neither of us came off lightly. I received an injury too - look.’ He pulled back his hair and showed me a scar high up on his left temple.

  My next question was obvious but I took a deep breath before I asked it: ‘Father tell me, it was Abbot Samson who was your opponent in this duel, wasn’t it? Is that the cause of his outburst tonight? The fact that he lost?’

  He frowned. ‘These things are best left in the past, my son.’

  ‘Well then answer me this at least: did you keep your word to the saint? Did you give away all your possessions?’

  He shook his head. ‘That is why I say I was a coward. I couldn’t do it. When it came to it I found I loved money more than honour. I convinced myself that it was by my own prowess that I won and the Saint Edmund had nothing to do with it. Pride, you see? It is the very worst of sins. But I was justly dealt with. Shortly after the duel Saint Edmund appeared to me in a dream. He reminded me of my promise and asked me why I had not kept it. I had no answer for him and the next morning I awoke as I am now.’

  ‘You blame the martyr for blinding you?’

  He shook his head. ‘I blame myself.’

  ‘Father, I understand your distress and commend your devotion to the blessed martyr. But I am also a doctor used to dealing in practicalities. Do you not consider that your head injury might be the cause of your loss of sight?’

  ‘No,’ he insisted vigorously. ‘It was the saint. I could not see the truth, therefore I should see nothing else. A just punishment. One form of blindness for another.’

  ‘Yet here you are a priest.’

  ‘In the end I did fulfil my promise - that part of it at least. But I still have a debt to repay.’

  ‘And so far Saint Edmund has not relented? He never restored your eyesight.’

  ‘I live in hope, brother.’ He had stopped at the entrance to a modest dwelling. ‘Well, here we are. Thank you for accompanying me, it was a kindness. I have enjoyed our little chat. I bid you a good night.’ He started towards the door.

  ‘Erm, I was hoping we might speak more, father.’

  He frowned. ‘I am very tired.’

  ‘May we speak, then, tomorrow when you are rested?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  So saying, he disappeared into the priesthouse.

  As I trudged back to my lodging I tried to visualize the abbot and the priest locked in mortal combat and found the notion preposterous. Even though it all happened so long ago I couldn’t imagine Samson fighting a duel - even less how this slight bird of a man could overpower the bull that must have been Samson of Tottington in his prime. And despite Samson’s apparent loathing for the man, Ralf didn’t seem to reciprocate the ill-feeling. Indeed he seemed to admire the abbot. It didn’t really make sense. I was sure there was more to this story than Ralf was saying and resolved to tackle him again in the morning before we left. Unfortunately I never got the chance.

  Chapter 6

  AN UNTIMELY DEATH

  ‘Dead? What do you mean he’s dead?’

  ‘What do you think I mean? He is no longer alive.’

  ‘But I was talking to him only last night. We walked back to the priesthouse together. He was perfectly all right then.’

  ‘Well he isn’t anymore.’

  We were in my room at the guest lodge. Samson had come across specifically to tell me the appalling news. I sat down heavily on the bed trying to take it in.

  ‘Ralf dead? I still can’t believe it. How did he die, do we know?’

  ‘Peacefully in his sleep as far as one can tell. You have to understand he wasn’t a young man or in the best of health.’

  I recalled Ralf having breathing difficulties the previous night. He said it was due to the coldness of the night air.

  ‘Who found him?’

  ‘His housekeeper.’

  ‘You mean Jane, the servant woman we saw him with last night?’

  ‘Jane, yes.’

  I shook my head. ‘The poor woman. It must have been awful for her. She was devoted to him.’

  Samson sat down next to me on the bed. ‘You do know she wasn’t just his housekeeper don’t you?’ he said quietly.

  It took me a moment to understand what he meant. When I did I put my head in my hands. ‘Oh dear God!’

  Samson patted my shoulder. ‘These cases are always difficult. We mustn’t blame him. A man in Ralf’s condition needing constant care like that. Not that one condones such arrangements, of course.’

  ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I don’t for certain. I’m assuming. Perhaps unjustly. However, this morning Jane was very distraught. And these things happen.’

  I suddenly had a thought. ‘That wouldn’t be the reason for your outburst last night, would it father?’

  He looked offended. ‘You know me better than that. Good God, half the vicarages in Suffolk would be empty without these…housekeepers. As long as they are discreet about it, one tries not to notice.’

  ‘Well then what was the reason for your anger? I’m assuming it wasn’t the broken water jug.’

  Samson grimaced. ‘It all happened a very long time ago.’

  ‘So Father Ralf said.’

  ‘Did he? Well, best forgotten now. Speaking ill of the dead and so on - never a good thing.’

  ‘Clearly not forgotten by you.’

  ‘This is not the time, Walter. Be advised by me. It will do no good raking over old cinders.’

  I supposed he was right although I couldn’t help wondering if the upset hadn’t co
ntributed in some way to Ralf’s death. If we hadn’t come would Ralf still be alive?

  I sighed. ‘What do you want to do? Someone will have to take the committal service. Under the circumstances I suppose it had better be me.’

  ‘Ah, well now. That might be a bit of a problem. The prioress would prefer it if he were not buried inside the convent grounds.’

  ‘You’ve already spoke to Mother Odell about this?’

  ‘I had to.’ He hesitated. ‘Actually it’s Jane. Well you’ve seen her. Not the most tactful of women. She will want to visit the grave.’ He shook his head. ‘We can’t have that. Living quietly in sin is one thing. Advertising the fact to the world is quite another.’

  ‘But surely some out of the way corner could be found? And a faithful servant visiting the grave of her master shouldn’t raise too many eyebrows.’

  ‘The other nuns would know. Anyway, I’m not sure Ralf would want to be buried here. Thetford was never his real home.’

  ‘Where was his real home?’

  ‘Tottington.’

  A faint alarm bell started ringing in my head. ‘Isn’t that your home village, father?’

  ‘Yes it is. It’s on our way so it will be no trouble.’

  I frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow you, father.’

  ‘Didn’t I say? We’re taking the body with us.’

  My jaw dropped open in amazement. ‘You want us to take Ralf’s body with us when we leave here?’

  ‘Only to Tottington. It’s not far, just up the road really. His family’s there. It’s the best option. Don’t worry, Jane will still be able to visit him.’

  ‘That’s hardly the point, father. We can’t go ferrying dead bodies around the countryside.’

  ‘Why not? Monks do it all the time. Cuthbert of Northumberland, William of Norwich. Our own dear Edmund was moved thrice before he found his final resting place in the abbey.’

  ‘That was different. They were saints.’

  ‘Who’s to say Ralf isn’t? Anyway, it’s not open for discussion. It’s what Mother Odell wants and I’ve agreed.’