The Abbot's Agreement (17 page)

“Who will Brother Eustace tell?”

“Ah, he would come to me. I sent Prior Philip away,” he smiled. “Speak to him here, in my chamber, before me. I will demand of him that he tell no other of your presence, or of what matters you ask of him.”

“Will he obey, do you think, or is he the prior’s man?”

Abbot Thurstan thought on this for a few moments before he replied.

“I chose him for the duty. Prior Philip did not, nor did he seem much pleased with my choice. Brother Godfrey had served as explorator with Prior Philip and the priors who served before him, but he was advanced in years, and often stumbled in the night, so asked to be relieved of the obedience.”

“Why did you choose Brother Eustace, when the prior might have desired another to assist him on his rounds?”

Abbot Thurstan pursed his lips. “’Twas not that Prior Philip said that he preferred another. And before my selection the two seemed to live in harmony… as they do yet. But when I told Prior Philip of my choice there was a brief scowl which flashed across his face. I wondered at this at the time. But nothing came of it. I thought ’twas perhaps my imagination.

“’Tis nearly time for vespers,” he continued. “Brother Guibert will visit before the office with wine and herbs to help me sleep. I will tell him to send Brother Eustace to me after vespers. You should return to the closet. Brother Guibert may appear soon.”

I motioned to Arthur to follow me to the closet, and when I shut the door behind us I extinguished the cresset so that the infirmarer would see no glimmer of light escaping from under the door. The closet was dark, only starlight from the window and a sliver of illumination under the door from the cressets lighting the abbot’s chamber gave faint light to the place.

We had not long to wait before the abbot’s chamber door opened and we heard Brother Guibert greet his abbot. As before we could hear no response from Abbot Thurstan, but through the infirmarer’s words could follow the conversation.

Brother Guibert offered wine and crushed hemp seeds, and silence followed as the abbot consumed the draught. When he had finished he must then have asked a question of Brother Guibert, for I heard the monk say, “All of the brothers esteem Prior Philip, I think.”

Silence followed, in which the abbot must have asked another question. I heard the infirmarer say, “Nay, he has never done so.” More silence, then with some agitation Brother Guibert said, “Nay, M’lord Abbot, there is nothing hidden in the abbey. You have surely been deceived.”

Another silence. Then, “I will do so. But you must not trouble yourself,” the infirmarer said, “with worry of apostasy among the brothers.”

There was no more conversation. I heard the chamber door open and close, and but a few heartbeats later I heard the sacrist ring the bell for vespers.

A
bbot Thurstan must have asked a pointed question of Brother Guibert about the faithfulness of his brother monks. When I heard the infirmarer’s denial I was at first displeased that the abbot had given Brother Guibert cause for suspicion if he was of the Brotherhood of the Free Spirit, and Prior Philip was his adept.

But as I thought on the matter I decided that perhaps ’twas a good thing to poke the hornets’ nest and see what might flee from it. I tapped Arthur upon the shoulder, squeezed past the bulky fellow – the closet was tiny – and opened the door. No need to fear discovery. The monks were at their office.

Brother Eustace would likely prefer to see to his duties as explorator, then crawl under his blanket ’till vigils, rather than attend his abbot. I waited, with Arthur, upon a bench in a dark corner of the abbot’s chamber. One of the cressets which lighted the room was extinguished, its oil consumed. Brother Eustace was prompt. And he was not alone. The chamber door opened and two monks entered. The first I did not recognize, the second was Brother Guibert. I had not expected the infirmarer to appear with Brother Eustace, else I would have awaited the explorator in the closet.

The infirmarer closed the chamber door behind him and with the first monk approached the abbot’s bed. Neither man peered into the dark corner where Arthur and I sat, nor made any sign that they had noticed our presence. But if either of us moved we would surely be seen. I remained still.

“I am come,” said Brother Eustace, “as you asked. How may I serve you?”

Abbot Thurstan struggled to raise himself upon an elbow, failed, then spoke. “Brother Guibert, I wish to speak to Brother Eustace alone.”

The infirmarer turned, saw our shadows in the corner, and stopped, peering into the dark to see who it was in the abbot’s chamber. “You!” he said, and I knew I was found out.

“Brother Guibert,” the abbot said, “you must tell no man who is here this night. I expect your obedience.”

Then, to Brother Eustace, Abbot Thurstan said, “Here is a man who wishes to speak to you of grave matters. I am your abbot, and I command you to answer truthfully all that he asks of you.”

The abbot then twisted so as to turn his gaze toward me. Brother Guibert backed away, as if to make for the door, intending, perhaps, to seek some brawny lay brothers to remove me again to his cell.

Abbot Thurstan saw this, and with as much volume as he could muster, cried, “Halt!” Brother Guibert obeyed.

“’Twas not my wish,” the abbot whispered, “that you return with Brother Eustace. But as you are here you must remain ’till Master Hugh has done with you.”

I have learned in similar circumstances in the past that altitude can be an advantage in prodding answers from those who might otherwise be reluctant to satisfy my curiosity. I told Arthur to bring forward the bench upon which we had recently sat, told the two monks to sit upon it, then requested of Arthur that he stand before the chamber door.

Brother Guibert sat with his arms folded, in an attitude of hostility, but Brother Eustace seemed more curious than antagonistic, wondering what this encounter was about. I began with him.

“How many times, when you made your rounds to secure the abbey for the night, did you see John Whytyng leaving through the north porch of the church?”

Brother Eustace’s mouth dropped, and even though their habits were black and the chamber was dark I saw Brother Guibert extend an elbow into the explorator’s ribs.

“John…?” Brother Eustace stammered. “The novice?”

“Was there another John Whytyng about in Eynsham?” I said.

“Uh… novices retire to their beds after compline,” he said quickly, “and are not required to rise for vigils.”

“That I know. I did not ask you of a novice’s schedule.”

I waited, and the room fell silent. This allowed the explorator time to consider what I might know. I wished for the monk to believe that I knew more than I did. Abbot Thurstan finally spoke, his whisper easily heard in the stillness.

“Answer Master Hugh,” the abbot commanded.

“Thrice,” the monk said softly. I saw a look of scorn pass across Brother Guibert’s face.

“Why did you not report these transgressions to your abbot?” I said.

“Prior Philip was present. We together saw the lad. He said he would report to M’lord Abbot. Did he do so?”

“He did not,” Abbot Thurstan said. “It is surely time for me to meet the Lord Christ. I have failed to rule the abbey as I should have done. My wit has been as clouded as my eyes. Truly, even had I not plunged down a stairway, I would no longer wish to live, to see daily the failure of my duty.”

“Not so, M’lord Abbot,” Brother Eustace said with muted vehemence. “You have governed us wisely and well.”

“There are matters about which you, I think, are ignorant,” Abbot Thurstan replied. “And for this you should be thankful.”

Brother Eustace’s only response was a puzzled expression, but I saw alarm in Brother Guibert’s eyes.

“John Whytyng went missing in the night nearly two weeks past,” I said. “’Twas a Wednesday evening he was last seen. Did you and Brother Prior see him leave the church through the north porch that night?”

Brother Eustace was silent – considering, I think, which reply, truth or falsehood, would do him most harm.

“Aye, we did so. Brother Prior said we should wait in the shadows to see if he came that night.”

“What hour of the night was this?”

“Soon after vigils.”

“And the other times that you saw him leave through the
door in the north porch, was it the same hour?”

“Aye.”

“Had you and Prior Philip lain in wait for the novice on other nights, or was Wednesday the first time?”

“After the second time we saw the novice leave the abbey we waited in the porch to see would he do so again. Prior Philip said that before he told M’lord Abbot of this he wished to know where the novice went after leaving the abbey precincts.”

“When the novice left the church, what then?”

“Brother Prior told me to complete the rounds alone. I was to leave the door to the north porch of the church unlocked, so Prior Philip could re-enter after he had followed John Whytyng.”

“You did so?”

“Aye.”

“Did you again see Prior Philip that night?”

“Nay. Not ’till I left my bed for lauds.”

“The prior was then in his accustomed place? He had not sought you in the night?”

“All was as customary. Prior Philip said nothing of following John Whytyng. I had no opportunity to ask of him.”

“When the novice was discovered missing, did you not then wonder what Prior Philip had learned in the night as he followed the lad?”

Brother Eustace was silent for a time, then said, “I thought that if Brother Prior wanted me to know what he had found he would tell me. ’Tis unwise to meddle in Prior Philip’s business.”

“Even when you did rounds to secure the abbey for the night in the days after the novice disappeared, you asked nothing of Prior Philip? Not even after John’s corpse was found?”

“Nay.”

“And you told no one, not even Abbot Thurstan, that the last monk to see John Whytyng alive was the prior?”

“Nay.”

“Why not?” I asked. If he had done so my work at the abbey would already be completed and I would not be sought as a heretic. So I thought.

Brother Eustace looked to the bed where his abbot lay, listening. “All know that M’lord Abbot is near death, and Prior Philip may succeed him.”

The monk said no more, so I finished his thought. “You wished to save yourself the embarrassment of asking awkward questions of the next abbot of Eynsham Abbey?”

Brother Eustace dropped his gaze and replied, “Aye.”

All this time Brother Guibert had sat immobile, arms crossed, lips drawn tight. Now he spoke.

“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.