“We are doing our best, Your Grace,” said Prior Henry.
“It is inadequate.”
“If you say so, Your Grace.”
“If heresy thrives, we are all inadequate. This man has been prosyletising at the very gates of the cathedral and we did not detect him until it was too late. How many has he led from the paths of righteousness? How many has he shown into the valley of sin?” His voice croaked. “How many has he debauched?”
“Too many, Your Grace,” said Canon Hubert.
“One is too many. One reproves our vigilance.”
“Philippe Berbizier is very cunning.”
“Heretics always are.”
Prior Henry nodded in agreement and Hubert quickly followed suit but Prior Gregroy stood motionless between them, his features grey with a swirling anguish and his pugnacity drained completely away. Lanfranc toyed with the ring once more as his reminiscences flowed.
“When I was at Caen,” he began, “that dear, beautiful abbey which I loved so much, there were faint rumblings of heresy in Rouen. Members of a sect were caught, practising some fearful rituals in a wood. Fire was involved. And bestiality of a kind I dare not mention within this hallowed place.” His jaw tightened.
“When I was asked to determine whether it was unorthodoxy or witchcraft, I argued that it might be some hideous mixture of the two, for heresy and necromancy have always gone hand in hand like illicit lovers, proud of their lasciviousness. I examined him.”
There was a long pause. Canon Hubert and Prior Henry were eager to hear more. Prior Gregory remained subdued and detached.
The recollections started up again.
“I do not remember his name,” said Lanfranc. “But he was their leader and their unholy priest, just as Philippe Berbizier is-the two, I imagine, hewn from the same tree of falsehood. I examined him closely but his answers were guileful. He hid behind such a shield of words that I could scarce get at him. The man was like a veritable serpent which more easily eludes the grasp the more tightly it is held in the hands.”
“What happened, Your Grace?”
“God came to my aid. He gave me the strength to wrestle with the serpent until I squeezed a confession out him.” He mimed the action then became peremptory. “We must treat this serpent of our own with the same show of might!”
Henry and Hubert agreed in unison. A monk interrupted the audience to bring a whispered message to Lanfranc. The archbishop snapped his fingers and the monk scuttled away to fetch in Gervase Bret. Canon Hubert seized on the opportunity to ingratiate himself with Lanfranc by introducing his fellow commissioner. Gervase was poised but humble in the presence of the archbishop. Lanfranc’s reputation towered over ecclesiastical affairs, as solid and massive as the cathedral he had rebuilt in Canterbury. Even at his advanced age, he exuded an awesome intellectuality.
“Canon Hubert has spoken well of you, Master Bret.”
“I am flattered, Your Grace.”
“You are a lawyer like me, I hear.”
“A poor replica of one beside Your Grace.”
“There is a beauty and a logic in the law which has always appealed to me. Order. Purpose. Symmetry. Just like the heavens themselves as created by the Almighty.” He saw the defensive look in Gervase’s eye. “No, Master Bret. I have not brought you here for a legal confrontation. Though Canon Hubert stands beside you as your companion on the tribunal and though Prior Henry and Prior Gregory contest the respective rights of cathedral and abbey, this audience will not concern itself with a minor property dispute. Especially when it no longer exists.”
Prior Henry was startled. “No longer exists?”
“I cede the land in question to the abbey.”
“But it is ours, Your Grace.”
“Say no more, Henry. My decision is made.”
The prior bowed and backed slightly away, dismayed by a decision in which he had no part and which he strongly opposed. Gervase was pleased to hear that days of wrangling in the shire hall had now been obviated and he expected Prior Gregory to be showing the satisfaction of a victor. All that Gregory could raise, however, was a mild interest. Instead of wishing to race back to the abbey with the glad tidings, he looked as if he might forget to mention them.
“It is a gesture of goodwill toward the abbey,” explained Lanfranc.
“I look for a reciprocal gesture.”
They all knew what he meant. In return for the right to retain the controversial land, the abbey had to reconcile itself to their new abbot. Prior Gregory was dismissed with a gracious smile and bowed to the archbishop before leaving the chamber. Hubert sensed an archiepiscopal reprimand.
“Prior Gregory was unusually quiescent, Your Grace.”
“We discussed his future, Canon Hubert.”
“His future?”
“He has been such an effective prior at the abbey that I felt his abilities could be put to excellent use here. Needless to say, it will be in a less-exalted office, as we already have a prior.” He indicated Henry. “I am sure that Gregory will soon learn the ways of Christ Church Priory and give us the loyalty he has shown to St. Augustine’s Abbey.”
The soft plausibility of Lanfranc’s voice disguised the ruthlessness of his action. Because the abbey opposed his wishes, he removed its recalcitrant prior. Invited to discuss heretics with the archbishop, Gregory found himself treated like one. He had been examined, reproved, stripped of his monastic rank and removed summarily from the abbey. Gervase was chastened by the sight of such chilling brutality.
Archbishop Lanfranc appraised his young visitor.
“I wish to talk to you about Harbledown,” he said.
“Harbledown, Your Grace?”
“A place so green and tranquil that I chose to build my own palace there. But its grass has been stained with blood and its tranquillity has been violated. You, I believe, know the exact spot where the poor young girl was found.”
“I do, Your Grace.”
“And it was you who first saw the fallen body of Brother Martin at the hospital of St. Nicholas. Is that not so?”
“It grieves me to recall it, Your Grace.”
“Accompany Prior Henry to the scenes of both these crimes.
Show him, if you will, what you revealed earlier to Canon Hubert.
There is a sound reason for this request.”
“No reason is needed, Your Grace,” said Gervase with a polite nod. “Your request justifies itself. I had thought to visit Harbledown again on my own account. My journey now has a double purpose and value.”
“I am ready to leave instantly,” said Prior Henry.
“Then I am at your service.”
“Thank you, Master Bret,” said Lanfranc. “We are indebted to you. The scourge of heresy must be burned to cinders. Help us to light the torch that will do it.” He rose from his chair and held his arms wide. “My blessing goes with you.”
Gervase and Prior Gregory bowed, then moved toward the door.
The archbishop’s voice made them come to a brief halt.
“Abbot Guy is due to arrive here tomorrow,” he said. “I want him to come into a city that is cleansed and purified.
What will he think if he discovers that Canterbury is a den of heresy? When he rides over Harbledown Hill, he must not hear the hiss of this vile serpent. Two innocent people have been killed already. I do not wish to welcome Abbot Guy with a third dead body lying near my palace.”
Gervase thought at once of Golde and his resolve stiffened.
“That will not happen, Your Grace,” he promised.
“Deo volente!” added Prior Henry.
Patience did not come easily to Ralph Delchard. When it was forced upon him by a turn of events, he was even less likely to embrace it. Strutting up and down the solar at the house in Burgate Street, he cursed royally and banged one fist into the palm of his other hand.
“There must be something I can do!” he insisted.