It was an apple out of which one large bite had been taken.
CHAPTER NINE
Canon Hubert was profoundly disappointed by his visit to Canterbury, and he was left with the uncomfortable feeling that his hopes had been ridiculously high. Having regaled Brother Simon with more or less continuous anecdotes about Archbishop Lanfranc all the way from Winchester, the boastful canon fully expected to be summoned into the presence of his erstwhile friend within a short time of his arrival at Christ Church Priory.
Instead, he was kept at arm’s length by the archbishop and treated to a highly unsatisfactory interview with Prior Henry, whose barbs were wounding and whose cold Italian charm was a poor substitute for Lanfranc’s glowing benignity.
There was a second blow to Hubert’s self-esteem. When his ecclesiastical status was not given the recognition that he felt it deserved, he at least had a role as a royal commissioner by way of compensation. In the judicial arena of the shire hall, he and his colleagues were able to weigh the competing claims of cathedral and abbey in the balance. It was an important role and Canon Hubert played it with a dignified enthusiasm, savouring in particular the chance to gain some mild revenge on Prior Henry when the latter was called before the tribunal. Now that the activities of the commissioners had been suspended, Hubert’s position of power had temporarily vanished and he was thoroughly jaded.
Brother Simon, by comparison, was suffused with joy.
“We are blessed, Canon Hubert. Truly blessed.”
“In what way, Brother Simon?”
“Being sent here to Canterbury. I had doubts at first, I must confess, but your prophecy was so accurate. This is indeed the Heavenly City made manifest.”
“I would never use such florid language.”
“Is it not all that you envisaged it would be?”
“In some respects,” said Hubert grudgingly. “In others, I have to register a sense of slight disillusion.”
“With Canterbury?”
“With our reception here.”
“When we have had such a cordial welcome?”
“It was not untinged with reservation.”
“I have no complaint whatsoever,” said Simon with a pious smile. “Events have so fallen out to our advantage. Now that the work of the commission has been postponed, we may stay here in the enclave to share in the life of this wondrous community.
Is this not a gift from God?”
“Most certainly not!” scolded Hubert. “Those events which you portray as beneficial to us include the murder of an innocent young girl and the poisoning of one of the obedientiaries here.
Are we to profit from the misfortune of others, Brother Simon? Is that a Christian attitude? Two people lie dead and we are to rejoice at the advantage it brings to us? Shame on you!”
It was shortly after Sext and they were ambling side by side around the cloister garth. While one was beginning to see the priory as a form of prison, the other was wholly liberated by it.
The cruel irony was not lost on Canon Hubert. While he had talked about seeking the new Jerusalem in Canterbury, his companion had actually found it.
Brother Simon squirmed under the stinging criticism.
“Do not misunderstand me,” he begged. “I am as appalled as anyone by these terrible murders. I have prayed for both victims and will continue to do so as fervently as I may. Especially for Brother Martin.”
“Why? The girl equally merits your petition to God.”
“I agree, Canon Hubert, but the other tragedy has more resonance for me. A holy brother, cut down in the very church where he ministered to the unfortunate souls of Harbledown. A place of sanctuary turned into a slaughter-house. It does not bear thinking about.”
“But it does,” argued the other. “It is a most fit subject for meditation. It reminds us that Canterbury is not quite the hallowed retreat you seem to think it. The spirit of evil hovers over this city and its corruption has been seen at the heart of this enclave.”
“You are right as ever,” apologized Brother Simon.
“Put your own selfish desires aside.”
“I will do so henceforth.”
“Think of the girl who was buried this morning and the holy brother who lies in the morgue. God rest their souls!”
“Amen!”
They walked on in silence. Brother Simon was completely subdued by the reprimand and looked down at the flagstones but Canon Hubert remained watchful, still hoping that his stay at the priory might be redeemed by a summons from the archbishop.
When a figure suddenly came out of a doorway and hurried toward them, Hubert’s spirits rose. Had Lanfranc finally found a moment in a crowded calendar to embrace his old friend?
Hope turned instantly to irritation. The man approaching them was no dutiful messenger but a disgruntled Prior Gregory. He accosted them with a truculent stare.
“Good day to you both!” he said.
“And to you, Prior Gregory,” replied Hubert. “What has brought you away from St. Augustine’s Abbey?”
“Archbishop Lanfranc sent for me.”
“Oh,” gulped the other, trying to control his envy.
“He sent for me,” said the prior angrily, “he kept me waiting, then he decided that he did not have time to see me, after all. I was summarily dismissed.”
“I am sure that was not the case.”
“I have just come from him, Canon Hubert.”
“No disrespect was intended to you. Archbishop Lanfranc is much preoccupied with the murder of Brother Martin. You must have heard of this disaster.”
“Heard of it and suffered the consequences.”
“Consequences?”
“The abbey wanted an early settlement of our dispute with the cathedral,” explained Prior Gregory. “Our case is stronger and we have the charters to support it. Because of these shocking crimes, your work at the shire has been suspended until further notice.”
“That was not my decision.”
“Whoever made it, we are the losers.”
“Why?”
“Delay favours the cathedral. Abbot Guy is due to arrive in the city any day now. We will resist him hard but the archbishop has the power to override our wishes. What hope do we have that Abbot Guy will take up this fight for us against the very man who consecrated him?” He thrust out a combative chin. “We need a judgement now! ”
“I cannot give it to you here,” said Hubert tartly, “and it is most improper even to discuss such matters outside the shire hall. You will have to wait, Prior Gregory.”
“At least take note of his latest strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“Dragging me all the way here from the abbey and making me wait outside the archbishop’s door like a naughty schoolboy.
Insult and intimidation are combined here, Canon Hubert. We were winning the battle in the shire hall.”
“The issue is unresolved.”
“We were,” asserted the prior. “That is why Archbishop Lanfranc summoned me today. To remind us of his superiority. To put the abbey firmly in its place.”
“This is lunacy!” warned Ralph Delchard. “Throw it away!”
“No,” said Gervase. “It could be important.”
“A rotten apple from a festering leper?”
“I see something rather different, Ralph.”
“And what is that?”
“A clue.”
They were sitting astride their horses outside the parish church of St. Mildred’s, waiting to see its priest. Gervase studied the apple which had been given to him by Alain, certain that it must have some significance. Ralph was equally certain that the gift was dangerous.
“It is probably riddled with disease, Gervase.”
“Then why is it so carefully wrapped up?”
“He gave it to you as a gesture of contempt.”
“Had that been the case, he’d have hurled it at me.”
“Get rid of it!”
“Before I have divined its meaning?”
Gervase turned it over then held it close to sniff it.