The Brothers of Glastonbury (20 page)

The old man who sat reading on the side of the bed glanced up, regarded me indifferently for a moment or two over his spectacles, then looked away again.

‘Blethyn Goode?’ I inquired tentatively, entering the cubicle.

‘Who wants to know? And who invited you to come in?’ was the chilling reply, all without the eyes being raised from the book.

‘My name’s Roger Chapman. Father Elwyn sent me to see you.’

This information did evoke some response. Blethyn Goode lifted his head and glared fiercely at me. ‘He’s always sending people to see me! I wish he wouldn’t.’

‘I-I’m sorry,’ I stammered, ‘but…’ My voice tailed away as I realized he was no longer listening. Vacillation, however, would get me nowhere, so I sat down beside him and untied the strings of the quarto, easing the parchment yet again from between its leaves.

Now that I was close to Blethyn, I could see that he was indeed extremely old, the skin stretched thinly across the bones and blotched with the brown pigment of the aged. Because of the day’s warmth he had removed the linen hood which he normally wore indoors, to reveal a narrow skull to whose dome there clung a few determined tufts of hair, white and as fine as feather fronds. The brown eyes were faded and rheumy, but his glance, like his mind, was as sharp as a razor.

‘Go away,’ he instructed without turning his head; but when I ignored him and continued to sit there, he slapped the leaves of his book together with an irritable sigh and looked towards me. Immediately, his eyes fell on the parchment I was holding. ‘What are you doing with that?’ he demanded. ‘That’s the property of Master Gildersleeve. There can’t possibly be two of them.’

‘He did come to see you, then? Peter Gildersleeve?’

‘Of course he did. You can surely work that out for yourself! I shouldn’t know anything about that piece of paper otherwise, now should I? Father Elwyn sent him to see me.’

‘You know that he’s disappeared? Master Gildersleeve, I mean.’

‘A whisper has penetrated our seclusion, yes. Probably gone off with some woman, a young, good-looking fellow like that.’

‘I don’t think so. He vanished very suddenly and mysteriously, almost in the twinkling of an eye.’ I tapped the parchment. ‘Father Elwyn thinks this to be the cause. He believes it to be some spell or incantation which has conjured up the Devil.’

Blethyn Goode stared at me for several seconds before breaking into a snort of laughter. ‘The man’s a fool,’ he hooted. ‘I’m sorry to say such a thing about one of my fellow countrymen, but he’s an idiot. You can tell him I said so if you like. I’ve translated that parchment. I know what’s in it.’

‘I’d much rather you told me what it says,’ I answered. ‘Can you remember after all these months?’

Again he snorted. ‘I don’t have to remember. I wrote it all down for Master Gildersleeve, but I also made a copy for myself. It’s over there, in that chest.’

Chapter Fourteen

From around his neck Blethyn removed a leather thong on which hung a key, and nodded once again towards the chest.

‘Open it,’ he instructed.

I did so, and inside found a woollen cloak, neatly folded, a pair of winter boots, a spare shirt and a dozen or so books, mostly quartos and octavos, thrown in higgledy-piggledy, one on top of the other. There were also several sheets of blank parchment, an inkhorn and pen, and a second pair of bone-framed spectacles, presumably a safeguard in case the first pair were lost. But of anything else I could see no sign, and said so.

‘Use your eyes, boy! Use your eyes!’ said the irascible voice behind me. ‘It’s there somewhere! Just keep looking.’

I did as I was told and, eventually, between the folds of the cloak, I discovered a sheet of paper covered in spidery writing. I held it up for confirmation.

‘That’s it,’ agreed Blethyn. ‘I told you it was there. Lock the chest again and give me back the key. Some of my fellow inmates have more curiosity than is good for them. In this place, you daren’t leave anything open or lying about that you want kept secret.’

When I had done as he bid, I sat down once more beside him on the bed and unfolded the paper.

He glanced sharply at me. ‘Can you read?’

‘I was once a novice at the abbey. The brothers taught me my letters.’

‘In that case,’ he declared, ‘you might as well take the thing away with you and leave me in peace to get on with my book. You can keep it if you like. I know what’s in it. I shan’t be wanting it again.’

‘I’d rather read it for the first time in your presence,’ I said apologetically. ‘There might be something I need to ask you, some point on which I should value your opinion.’

Blethyn grunted and pretended to be annoyed, but secretly, as I could tell, he was flattered.

‘Oh, as you please!’ he snapped, hunching one shoulder.

I settled myself more comfortably, heaving my bulk further on to the bed so that my back was resting against the wall, my long legs stuck straight out in front of me, whereupon, my unwilling host removed himself to the stool in high dudgeon, remarking that it was as though a second earthquake had struck that part of Somerset. I only laughed and held the paper up in front of my eyes, angling it until it caught the light from the cubicle’s open doorway.

It must, I judged, be mid-afternoon by now, but the rain clouds had passed and the sun had reappeared so that it was not too difficult to see, even without a candle. My clothes had dried sufficiently to be comfortable again, and I felt that, at last, one part of my mystery was about to be unravelled.

I began to read.

*   *   *

‘In this, the five hundredth year since Christ’s Nativity, I, Brother Begninus of the monastery at Ynys Afalon, or Ynys Witrin as it is sometimes called, have been entrusted by my superiors with the safe keeping of the most precious possession this abbey holds, before the Germanic tribes from across the northern sea finally overrun us for ever.

‘Five days ago, news reached us here that the Axe-Ones are advancing on us from both the east and the south, and many people are already fleeing northwards, across the great river and into the mountains beyond. Some of our own Brothers have also left, or are going soon. Tomorrow, Brother Percival and Brother Geraldus will start on the long and hazardous journey to their native Ireland. They will take this paper with them in case they should ever return to Ynys Afalon and I not be alive to greet them. For who can tell what the fate of those of us who remain will be at the hands of the pagan conquerors?

‘Therefore, dear Brothers in God, I say to you, as I have said to Father Abbot, that the Great Relic, brought here by the one who came from over the water, is hidden in the same place in which it was concealed two years since, when we thought the Axe-Ones to be almost upon us: amongst the hills, in the hollow places of the earth, on the altar by Charon’s stream.

‘God go with you both, dear Brothers, and may He keep you and watch over you until we meet again, either in this world or the next.’

*   *   *

I raised my head and looked across at Blethyn Goode. ‘Is this the whole of the translation?’ I asked. ‘There seems to be so little of it.’

He regarded me with indignation. ‘Why should I deceive you, pray? You’re as suspicious as Master Gildersleeve, so I’ll tell you what I told him. The Bethluisnion is a laborious way of writing and wasteful of space. What you read there is all that is written on the sheet of parchment which you have between the leaves of that book.’

Recollecting that Father Elwyn had said much the same thing, I had, perforce, to be satisfied with this explanation. After a moment or two I asked, ‘What do you think it means?’

Blethyn had resumed his reading again, but at my question, he closed the quarto with a furious slap of its covers and glared angrily at me over the rims of his spectacles.

‘Isn’t it obvious, even to your impoverished intelligence, what it’s saying? Surely you can work that out for yourself!’

I sucked my teeth thoughtfully. ‘In the year 500
AD
, one of the brothers of the early Celtic church here was empowered by his abbot to hide their chief relic before they were overrun by the Saxons. This he did, somewhere, apparently, where it had been hidden once before. He told his abbot what he’d done and, for good measure, wrote down the information for two brothers who were returning to Ireland the following day, not knowing what might befall the rest of the community at the hands of the invaders.’

‘Very wise of him,’ Blethyn interrupted nastily. ‘I don’t suppose you could trust the worshippers of Thor and Woden then any more than you can trust them today.’

I ignored this childish interruption and continued, ‘Which is how the original document came to be brought back here by Gerald Clonmel, the Irishman who was on his way to Canterbury, and who told Father Boniface of the family tradition that it was taken to Ireland by one of his ancestors. Which means that he was a descendant of either Brother Geraldus or –’ I consulted the translation – ‘or of Brother Percival. Some sects of the Celtic priesthood, I believe, were allowed to marry.’

‘And plenty of them, then as now, had children out of wedlock,’ Blethyn snarled. ‘Don’t you believe it, boy, when they tell you that holy men and women never have bastards. Conditions in our monasteries and nunneries have always been a disgrace! If the inmates don’t mend their ways, something terrible is going to happen. The earth will open and the Devil and all his cohorts will swallow them up!’

‘Oh, come!’ I protested mildly. ‘You can’t damn the whole Church because some of its foundations are inclined to be lax.’

Blethyn curled his lip. ‘The Church is too fat, too greedy, too lazy, too prosperous! One day – oh, maybe not in your lifetime, and certainly not in mine – someone is going to cast a covetous eye on all that wealth and want his share of it.’

I laughed and rightly dismissed the notion, returning to the matter in hand.

‘What do you think this precious relic was?’

‘How should I know?’ was the testy response. ‘There are so many in this world that it would be impossible to guess. Bones of the saints, girdles of the Virgin, pieces of the True Cross, bits of the Crown of Thorns! Every church of any size throughout the whole of Europe boasts of its relics.’

‘But the monks thought this one important enough to take special precautions with it, so that it didn’t fall into the hands of the advancing Saxons.’

Blethyn waved one gnarled hand in an airy gesture. ‘God’s toenails, boy! The church here wasn’t anything like as rich then as the abbey is today. Whatever it was, it was probably their only relic and had to be kept safe, especially if they were about to be overrun by heathens.’

I was not totally convinced by his argument, but common sense told me that it was most likely the correct one. For the moment, however, I let it go and moved on to my next query.

‘So where was this relic hidden?’ I tapped the translation and quoted, ‘“Amongst the hills, in the hollow places of the earth, on the altar by Charon’s stream.” Where can that be?’

Blethyn shrugged and started to tighten the iron rivet of his spectacles with one fingernail. ‘How in Heaven’s name do I know? It could be anywhere.’

‘No, not anywhere,’ I corrected him. ‘It must surely be somewhere within reach of the abbey.’

‘Do you think me a fool?’ he snapped. ‘Of course it’s within reach of the abbey! But on foot or on horseback? Either, but particularly the latter, would cover an enormous acreage of ground. North, south, east, west…’ He broke off, shrugging his shoulders.

I could see his point. ‘Do you know of any canal or brook or waterway in these parts known as Charon’s stream?’

‘God’s toenails, boy!’ he exclaimed yet again. ‘Of what possible interest can it be to us now? We’re talking about nearly a thousand years ago! Whatever was hidden won’t still be there, not after all this time! And that’s supposing the relic was left where it was hidden by this Brother Begninus. The chances are that it was recovered shortly afterwards and taken back to its rightful place in the abbey. The year of Our Lord five hundred was the year in which Arthur defeated the Saxons at the battle of Mount Badon, and so halted their advance from the east. Oh, it was only a temporary setback for them, I admit, but no one knew that at the time.’

‘There were Saxons advancing from the south as well,’ I reminded Blethyn, much to his annoyance.

‘All right! All right!’ he answered pettishly. ‘Perhaps it
was
left where it was hidden. We shall never know now. But what difference does it make? As I said before, it isn’t still there, waiting to be found! Apart from anything else, the landscape will have changed in a thousand years. And then there’s reference to an altar! That suggests to me a church of some kind, maybe a chapel or a wayside shrine. You won’t find that still standing, either. Your forebears weren’t the only invaders this island has seen. Since them we’ve had the Normans as well as the occasional marauding Dane. Not many of
them
though, hereabouts. Thanks to King Alfred,’ he added grudgingly, loath to speak kindly of one of my race.

‘But…’ I began, then changed my mind. There was no point in further argument with Blethyn, and in any case, he had pointedly opened his book again and resumed his reading. He was tired of the subject and was making it clear that it was time I was gone.

I slid off the bed and stood upright, the crown of my head brushing the cubicle’s low ceiling. I held up the translation. ‘You said that I could keep this. Did you mean it?’

‘I never say anything I don’t mean. Yes, keep it if you must, and show it to that fool Father Elwyn at Saint Michael’s on the Tor. Prove to him that it has nothing to do with spells and incantations, and that it couldn’t of itself have caused Peter Gildersleeve to vanish. But what good it’ll do you I’ve no idea! As I said, you won’t find any hidden relic now, even if you knew where to look for it.’

I was inclined to agree with him. Nevertheless there was no doubt in my mind that Peter Gildersleeve had believed he had stumbled upon some secret which the parchment held. Why, otherwise, would he have told Maud Jarrold that ‘if he’d interpreted it aright’ it was ‘valuable beyond price’? Well, that was something I should have to work out, if I could, for myself. Meantime, the best thing for me to do was to return to the house and reassure Dame Joan and Cicely that the black arts had had nothing to do with Peter’s disappearance. That might afford them some peace of mind at least.