The Abbot's Agreement (16 page)

“Aye. Said the reeve give his consent.”

“What of Sir Thomas?” I asked.

“Don’t think folks in the manor house are fond of each other. Ralph didn’t want to speak of Sir Thomas.”

“You persuaded him?”

“Bit of a tug on ’is arm an’ more weight on me knee an’ he got right gabby. Seems Sir Richard ain’t pleased that ’is lad is chasin’ a reeve’s daughter. Wants ’im to wed a maid of… Didcot, I b’lieve it was. Father’s a knight of that place… Sir somethin’, didn’t catch the name.”

“Squire Ralph may have been in some discomfort when he spoke the name.”

“Aye,” Arthur smiled. “Somethin’ like that. Sir Richard is pleased that Ralph is seekin’ the maid’s hand, so Ralph said. Wishes ’im well, an’ is tellin’ Sir Thomas regular like to get himself to Didcot, or failin’ that back to Swindon, an’ find a lass there with lands an’ a father with ‘sir’ before ’is name.”

“Did Squire Ralph think that was likely?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t think to ask. But with ’is arm coiled up behind ’is shoulder ’e was willin’ to tell of what I’d not asked.”

“Such as?”

“Sir Thomas and ’is brother don’t get along.”

“Why not? Did he say?”

“He didn’t say all, but Maude atte Pond is one of the reasons.”

“Sir Geoffrey is wed.”

“He is that, but got a wanderin’ eye, has Sir Geoffrey. So Ralph says. Sir Thomas knows of it, an’ has told ’is brother to leave the maid alone. Many times, if Squire Ralph is to be believed.”

“And has Ralph said the same to Sir Geoffrey?”

“Didn’t say. But Sir Geoffrey’s sure to know what Squire Ralph intends.”

“Does Sir Richard know of Sir Geoffrey’s improper interest in the lass?” I asked.

“Sir Richard won’t care, so says Ralph, what Sir Geoffrey does, as he’s already wed to Lady Hawisa. Maude atte Pond’s face or lands ain’t gonna change that. Sir Richard is only troubled about Sir Thomas.”

“With Squire Ralph’s face in the straw, did you think to ask of John Whytyng?”

“Aye. Claimed he’d never ’eard of the lad.”

“That may be true. Novices don’t likely leave the abbey much. Of course, it may also be,” I said while thinking aloud, “that he knew of Maude’s interest in a novice of the abbey but did not know the lad’s name.”

“Oh, aye. Shouldda tweaked ’is arm a bit more.”

“Perhaps another time.”

Arthur pursed his lips. “Another time I’ll be more watchful… an’ even after all Squire Ralph was willin’ to say when I’d got ’is arm behind ’is shoulder, seems like there was more to learn from the fellow. Can’t say why. Wish you’d have been there to think of the proper questions to put to ’im.”

“You’ve done well. We know more than before you received your fat lip and purple eye.”

“Small price to pay,” Arthur smiled crookedly.

The closet door had remained open during this interview, so Abbot Thurstan heard all. I heard him whisper but before I could approach, the chamber door opened and Brother Gerleys entered. I was relieved to see him, as the other frequent visitor to the abbot’s chamber was Brother Guibert, and he was surely the prior’s man.

The novice-master closed the door behind him, then approached his abbot. “Henry is ready to make his vows and take the tonsure,” he said to Abbot Thurstan.

“Prior Philip is away,” the abbot replied. “And this is why you speak to me now, is it not?”

“Aye. Prior Philip had no cause to reject him at Corpus Christi. He has been a novice here for more than a year.”

“And when Prior Philip returns the cowl will already be Henry’s,” the abbot murmured.

Brother Gerleys did not reply. It was not required. The abbot spoke what both men knew to be true.

Here was interesting business. Apparently Brother Gerleys had set Henry forward as prepared to take his vows and become a full member of the community, but Prior Philip had rejected the youth. Now, with the prior away, Brother Gerleys sought to see his charge made a monk of the abbey before Prior Philip could return to again veto the lad’s advancement.

“Why did Prior Philip oppose Henry?” I asked.

The novice-master jerked his head in my direction, as if he had forgotten my presence. Perhaps he had, being so concerned about Henry taking his vows.

“Don’t know,” he replied. “Brother Prior seemed to turn against the lad about Easter. All seemed well enough ’till then.”

“Have you asked Henry of this? Did the novice do or say something to raise the prior’s ire?”

“Henry claims not to know.”

“Claims? The word you have chosen tells me that you think otherwise.”

“’Tis but a manner of speech. Of course I believe Henry. Would I set him forth as ready to join the community if I thought he was untruthful?”

Here was another question which required no comment.

“I would like to have Arthur speak to the lad… I would speak to him myself, but such a thing is not possible. When will he be received, if Abbot Thurstan agrees?”

“We will begin on the morrow, after terce.”

“Three days are required; is this not so?”

“Aye,” the novice-master replied.

“And this is why you must begin the process promptly,” I said.

Brother Gerleys nodded, and looked to Abbot Thurstan. The frail abbot withdrew a hand, white and trembling, from under his blanket, raised it briefly, and said, “I do approve your recommendation. I never understood Prior Philip’s objection to the lad. I cannot attend chapter tomorrow. Brother Wakelin and you must see to the matter.”

I learned later that Brother Wakelin was the precentor.

“Why do you wish Arthur to speak to Henry?” asked Brother Gerleys. “He must spend this night in prayer and meditation in the church.”

“Does he know that you have approached the abbot on this matter?” I inquired.

“Aye. He awaits the decision in the novices’ chamber.”

“What is his opinion of Prior Philip?”

“’Tis not meet for a novice to voice an opinion of a superior.”

“Of course not, but his behavior will speak when his words will not.”

“He was disappointed to be denied.”

“Only disappointed? Not angry?”

“You have met the lad. He is of mild temperament.”

“Did he not ever ask you why the prior barred his advancement?”

Brother Gerleys thought on this for a moment, then replied: “Strangely enough, he never did so.”

“That seems odd, that he would not ask this of you. As if he knew why he was blocked… you think?”

The novice-master pursed his lips, then spoke. “’Tis as I have said. Henry is a calm lad, and not imaginative. That Prior Philip had reasons to reject him may have never entered Henry’s mind.”

“Perhaps. But I would like to have Arthur speak to the lad before you send him to the church.”

Brother Gerleys peered at me with furrowed brow. “This is important to you, I think. Why so?”

“Someone disliked a novice so passionately that they plunged a dagger three times into his back. Now you tell me of another novice who has somehow angered the prior of this abbey.”

“You cannot think that Brother Prior did murder? That he opposes Henry completing his vows does not speak of anger. Prior Philip may but believe him unsuited for our life.”

“Mayhap.”

I turned to Abbot Thurstan and said, “Is it time for Brother Gerleys to know the truth of your fall?”

The abbot looked up at me and nodded imperceptibly.

“Abbot Thurstan did indeed stumble upon the stairs. But when he put out a hand to steady himself Prior Philip grasped it and pushed him down the stairs. Now he lays abed with a broken hip, awaiting death.”

The novice-master’s eyes grew large, and he turned to the abbot. “This is so?” he asked.

Abbot Thurstan nodded and whispered, “Aye.”

“The presbytery stairs are dark,” Brother Gerleys said. “A man might grasp the arm of another and no one see. You believe a man who would do such a thing to Abbot Thurstan might slay a novice?”

“It has entered my mind,” I replied. “Maude atte Pond heard John Whytyng say, ‘I will never do so,’ before he was slain. What had been asked of him? Had the same question been asked of Henry? And had he also refused whatever request was made of him?”

“Such a thing is troubling to think upon,” Brother Gerleys said. “All know that Prior Philip wishes to become abbot… but to send Father Abbot down a stairway to hasten the day…”

The novice-master did not complete the thought. He had no need to do so. He found it difficult to accept such evil in a place where men were to seek to know the mind of the Lord Christ. But men are sinful creatures, no matter where they spend their days.

“What is it Arthur should ask of Henry?” Brother Gerleys finally said.

“Do not ask him what he may have done to offend the prior. He will likely claim that he does not know, and that may be so. But I doubt it. Rather, ask the lad what Prior Philip wanted of him. He should assume that you know something was required of him. If ’twas the prior who met John Whytyng by the fishpond and asked of him something he would not do, there is a chance that he asked the same question of Henry and received the same answer, and so used his authority to bar Henry.”

“If Prior Philip murdered John, why did he not also slay Henry… if the lad refused him about some matter?” Brother Gerleys asked.

“Perhaps he had no opportunity. Or whatever John refused him he also threatened to make known,” I said, “whereas Henry did not.”

“’Twould be best, I think, if you did not accompany Arthur to this interview,” I said to Brother Gerleys. To Arthur I said, “Return to the guest house. Brother Gerleys will send Henry to you. The lad may speak more freely if he knows that no other monk will hear his tale, and he will join the community regardless of what he may say.”

“If Henry feared the prior at Eastertide, will he not yet fear him, and so refuse to answer?” Arthur asked. “Prior Philip may yet be his next abbot. Surely he will worry that it may be so.”

“Tell the lad that Abbot Thurstan has this day sent a letter to Bishop Bokyngham, recommending Brother Gerleys be elevated to the post,” I replied. “The news may loosen his tongue.”

A
rthur and Brother Gerleys departed the abbot’s chamber. I do not know if Abbot Thurstan heard this discussion or not. I looked down upon him when the others were away, and saw that his eyes were closed. Perhaps he slept. If so, I would not disturb him.

I trusted Arthur, but would have preferred to speak to Henry myself. I waited impatiently for Arthur to return, and had nothing much left of my fingernails when he did.

’Twas nearly time for vespers when Arthur reappeared. As before, I heard the abbot’s chamber door open and close, and waited silently to learn who might have entered. Through the closet door I heard Arthur greet the abbot and announce his presence. I bade him enter the closet.

The small window in the abbot’s prayer closet was nearly black, so the only light was from the cresset Abbot Thurstan had in the past used to light his devotions. Arthur’s purple eye was visible, dark against his pale cheek and forehead.

“What have you learned?” I asked.

“Not sure,” he replied, “not bein’ a scholar. But there’s much amiss in this abbey.”

“You learned this from a novice?”

“Aye. ’Twas like ’e was carryin’ a great burden, an’ when ’e knew there was some matter between ’im and the prior what was near to discovery, decided to tell all. ’Course, I don’t know what it all means… but what I do understand is trouble enough.”

“So my guess was correct? Prior Philip asked something of Henry, the novice refused, and for that the prior barred his taking the cowl?”

“Aye, think so.”

“What was it the lad refused to do?”

“Join some secret body.”

“Here? At the abbey?”

“Must be.”

“Did the prior name this group?”

“Henry said ’twas called the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit. Never heard of ’em.”

I had, and told Arthur so.

“Why did Henry not report this to Brother Gerleys, or to Abbot Thurstan?”

“Said Prior Philip told ’im if he did so he’d not be believed. The prior said none would believe a novice rather than a prior, an’ did Henry speak of this he’d tell the abbot ’twas Henry an’ Osbert who was the heretics.”

Heretics may hang, or burn, and many Free Spirits had had their charred corpses left chained to posts as a warning to folk who were intended to see the result of heresy and abjure such errors so as to avoid a similar fate. Not all that Holy Church calls heresy is so, but some is. The Brotherhood of the Free Spirit is, but I thought the teaching had died away, and was much surprised to hear it named as present in Eynsham Abbey.

“Who are the Free Spirits?” Arthur asked.

“Heretics,” I replied.

“What is it they believe?”

“It would take all night to explain. But, in a nutshell, they follow the teaching of Amaury de Bene, a teacher at the University of Paris.”

“Frenchman,” Arthur scoffed. “What did ’e say that vexed the bishops?”

“God is in all… His spirit is in all things.”

Arthur stared at me, silent, his forehead furrowed.

“That got ’em burnt?” he finally said.

“Aye. If their teaching is believed, then original sin is nonsense, and redemption is unnecessary, and all men will see heaven.”

“How so?”

“If God’s spirit lives in all things, in all men, how can God’s spirit be evil or sent to hell?”

“Oh,” Arthur said. I believe he was yet unsure of the matter.

“So there can be no such thing as eternal punishment for sinners,” I said. “In fact, the only sin those of the Free Spirit recognize is a man’s failure to understand his own divinity, and so to wrongly believe that other forms of sin exist.”

“You spoke true,” Arthur said. “’Twould take all night for me to understand. But,” he said thoughtfully, “if there’s no sins, what’s to stop them folk from doin’ all sorts of mischief?”

“Nothing. Rather, they teach that sins and felonies and suchlike are good things. Doing evil is a step toward freedom of a man’s spirit. Only foolish folk live by obedience to Holy Writ.”

Arthur scratched his head in wonder. “So the more wickedness a man does, the better, an’ them who submit to kings an’ bishops an’ such is wrong?”

“Aye. Men who succeed in perverting virtue and persuading others to do likewise are called ‘adepts,’ and followers are to obey them.”

“Like I’m to obey a bishop if ’e tells me to do a thing, or not do some other?”

“Aye. I heard it said that followers would do murder, or fornication, if an adept demanded it of them.”

“You think Prior Philip might be one of them adepts?”

“I don’t know what to think. When I learned of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit while a student at Baliol College I was assured that the heresy was most often discovered in France and the Low Countries, and had died out. It seems this may not be so.”

Arthur and I were speechless for a moment, considering what each had learned from the other. During the silence I heard a soft rapping sound coming from the abbot’s chamber. I looked through the open closet doorway and saw Abbot Thurstan hitting the side of his bed with his knuckles. He was so weak that he had been unable to make himself heard over our conversation, but when it ceased the tapping could be heard. I approached the abbot’s bed, and when he saw me he beckoned with a bony finger for me to bend low. He began to
speak, but ’twas all he could do to gather breath enough to be heard.

“I heard your man,” he said. “Prior Philip has been a puzzle to me since he came here as a novice. Now much is clear. His words and behavior were often mystifying.”

“How so?” I asked.

“In chapter he would never confess any but the most trivial sin. A monk who confesses to no sin in chapter is considered guilty of two sins: that which he will not confess, and the sin of refusing to admit to sin.” Here Abbot Thurstan fell silent, gathering his waning strength.

“So,” he continued, “Prior Philip always confessed to something in chapter… he once confessed to desiring flesh in the refectory. But I do not remember him ever disclosing any but venial sins. He never spoke of lust or theft or fornication or the temptation of such things.”

“Other monks did?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” the abbot whispered. “Monks are but men. Prior Philip, if he truly is of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit, owns to no sin, so his confession at chapter was another sin. A lie.”

“What will you have me do?” I asked.

Abbot Thurstan was silent, his eyes closed. I looked closely at his blanket to see if it yet rose and fell. I thought for a moment that Arthur’s report might have dispatched the aged monk, shocking him from this life to the next.

The blanket moved, and shortly he opened his eyes and spoke. “The heresy must be rooted out of Eynsham Abbey,” he said, with as much force as he was able. “This may be my last service to the Lord Christ while I yet live… but so long as I live I will see it done.”

My mind went back to the interview with John Thorpe, and the words of his wife which he abruptly stifled. Was this what the woman was about to say? Would Sir John protect his brother from a charge of heresy?

“When did Philip become prior?” I asked.

“Four years past. The year the French king died. He was sub-prior before that.”

“Does a sub-prior have power to reject a novice?”

“Nay. Not at this house. Only an abbot or prior may do so.”

“Has Prior Philip disallowed any novice, other than Henry, since he assumed the office?” I asked.

Abbot Thurstan lay silent for a moment. “Martin,” he said. “Martin Glover.”

“What reason did Prior Philip give for spurning the fellow?”

“’Twas three years past. Not long after Philip was made prior. I don’t remember his objection.”

“What became of Martin? Did Prior Philip eventually relent?”

“Nay. Martin’s father sent him to Winchester. To St. Swithin’s Priory. He is a brother there.”

“St. Swithin’s saw no reason to reject the novice?”

“Nay. His father’s a prosperous merchant of London. St. Swithin’s was pleased to receive a plump endowment, I’m sure.”

“Did the lad’s father settle an endowment upon Eynsham Abbey?”

“Aye, he did.”

“Were you required to return it?”

“Nay,” Abbot Thurstan said. “We did not force Martin away. He chose to depart after Prior Philip rejected him.”

“If you had sent him away you would then also have had to return his father’s coin?”

“Not if we had good cause. Such a dispute, when it occurs, always provides employment for the lawyers.”

“How many novices have taken vows since Philip became prior, and are now brothers of Eynsham Abbey?”

“Three. Not so many as should be, but all abbeys, unless they are wealthy and of great renown, suffer as we here at Eynsham for a lack of new brothers.”

“Is the infirmarer one of these?”

“Brother Guibert? Aye, so he is. He took his vows but a few months after Philip became prior. Was much interested in
the well-being of his brother monks, so I made him assistant to Brother Anselm, infirmarer at the time. Brother Anselm was full of years and of wisdom. When he died last year ’twas Brother Guibert who was best suited for the obedience.”

Abbot Thurstan again fell silent. Whether from fatigue or thought I knew not.

“Why did you conclude that Brother Guibert was new to the abbey, since Brother Philip became prior?” he said finally.

“He shows the prior much deference,” I said.

“Aye. Many of the younger brothers do so. Philip is a scholar, and with wit like a bodkin. He is ever ready to puncture youthful notions.”

“Only youthful opinions? Does the prior never dispute with older brothers?”

“Rarely. There is little time for idle chatter here. All must be silent in cloister, refectory, and during Holy Office.”

“What of Brother Gerleys?”

“He came to us as a novice but a few years after the great pestilence first struck. Has been novice-master for ten years or so. The obedience requires a man of patience, with the wisdom age does impart.”

“You said three novices have taken vows since Brother Philip became prior. Who are the other two?”

“Brother Adam and Brother Herbert.”

“Do these show deference to Prior Philip as does Brother Guibert?”

“Surely. But ’tis as should be,” Abbot Thurstan said.

“Aye,” I agreed. “Any young man should show honor to his superior. But do these venerate Prior Philip more than might be needful?”

The abbot was again silent. Arthur shifted uneasily upon his feet. Finally the abbot answered.

“You believe Prior Philip may be their adept? Brother Guibert and Brother Adam and Brother Herbert?”

“There must be some reason that the prior accepted those three but disallowed…”

“Martin,” the abbot whispered.

“Aye, Martin. Perhaps Prior Philip’s reasons were laudable, but perhaps not.”

“As with young Henry,” Abbot Thurstan said softly.

“Has Prior Philip a fur-lined coat?” I asked.

“Aye, he has. Why do you ask?” the abbot said.

I told him of finding a tuft of fur upon a thorn between the abbey and the place where Arthur and I had discovered John Whytyng’s corpse.

“Does any other brother own such a garment?” I asked.

“Nay. We have strayed far from the Rule, I fear, we who are abbots and priors. ’Tis why the Cistercians view us so reproachfully. But the sainted Benedict did not live where winters are so severe. Abbots and priors are often aged men, and the cold settles in our bones. ’Tis no great sin, I think, to be warm, nor a virtue to be cold, else we should all remove to Scotland.”

I was becoming convinced of Prior Philip’s guilt in the matter of John Whytyng’s murder. He resented the novice’s family; the mother for rejecting him, and the father for succeeding where he had failed. Henry Fuller was not already a brother because he had refused the prior’s requirement that he join the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit – if Henry was to be believed. Maude atte Pond had heard John Whytyng say, “I will never do so,” to some man. Then, a few moments later, the novice was struck down. Did he say these words to Prior Philip? Was this his reply to an invitation to enter the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit?

Prior Philip, with a monk named Eustace, was responsible for seeing the abbey secure each night. Maude said that she had met with John Whytyng in the night several times. Did the prior see John let himself out of the abbey using the key he had fashioned? This seemed likely. The novice would find himself in a compromised position, there by the fishpond, at midnight. Prior Philip may have thought that this was a lever he could use to pry John to his will. If the novice would not become his disciple in the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit, the prior would tell the chapter
of John’s meeting Maude in the night and his dismissal from the abbey would be sure.

What the prior did not know was that John Whytyng had already purposed to abandon a monastic life, so the prior’s threat would have been hollow.

Maude had said that most of the conversation in the night there by the fishpond had been whispered. She had heard only what was said when voices were raised in anger. Had Prior Philip threatened John Whytyng with discovery in this hushed discourse? If so, John might then have disclosed his intent to return to his father. He might even have threatened Prior Philip, to inform Abbot Thurstan against him. The prior would then understand that he had no hold over John, and ’twas the novice who held the upper hand over him. All monks own a knife, but would a prior own a dagger? And would he think to take it with him to such an encounter? Surely he would not think himself threatened in the night.

All of these thoughts passed through my mind, and another also. “I would like to speak to Brother Eustace,” I said to Abbot Thurstan.

The abbot’s brow furrowed in puzzlement.

I explained. “He serves with Prior Philip as explorator, does he not?”

“Aye,” the abbot whispered, and I saw understanding in his eyes. His body might be near to death, but his wit was unimpaired. “Perhaps Brother Eustace knows of matters he has kept concealed… seen things of which he has not spoken.”

“For fear of Prior Philip,” I suggested.

“Just so. But if you face Brother Eustace you will place upon him a great burden. The brothers all know that you stand accused of heresy, have escaped Brother Guibert’s cell, and are now being sought.”