The miller had brought his treasure to a hiding place in the forest.
He was about to stow it away when he was attacked and killed. If he was kneeling when the animal lunged at him, then his position in relation to the stream would be more easily accounted for, since a standing man would have been knocked much farther back. Exhilaration made him smile. His instincts had been right all along. Alric Longdon did have a purpose. When he knelt where the man must have knelt, all became clear. The yew tree was the object of the secret visit at dusk.
Ralph leaned forward to look into its hollow shell, but it was far too dark within. Once again his sword was used to reconnoitre and it met with something hard and solid deep inside the yew. He had to stretch both arms to reach the heavy lump that his fingers now encountered. Alric Longdon had chosen his hiding place well. It was safe and dark and well protected from the elements. No human being could stumble upon it and no animal could do it any harm. It was wedged so tightly in place that he had to apply some strength to heave it loose. Out it came with a shower of moss and wood lice dropping from it.
He was holding what felt like a large wooden box. It was wrapped up snugly in a sack whose floured whiteness proclaimed its origin.
The man had gone to some lengths to protect his treasure chest.
What was in the pouch was a generous haul for any miller. How much more would Ralph find when he inserted the key into the lock of the chest?
“God’s blood!”
The oath came out through gritted teeth. When the sack came off, the box he had felt turned out to be no more than a block of wood.
There was no chest, no money, no hoard of any kind. Had Alric Longdon put his life at risk to inspect a piece of timber from the forest? It did not make sense. The sound of approaching voices made him start. Gervase was giving him warning of their return. Ralph moved swiftly. The key and a few coins were slipped into the pouch at his own belt. The block of wood and the leather pouch were quickly rolled up in the sack and stuffed back into the tree. When Gervase and Brother Luke rejoined him, he was pretending to poke around in the bushes with his sword.
“Did you find anything?” asked Gervase.
“No,” said Ralph with mock annoyance. “It was a waste of our time.
This has been a wild goose chase.”
The abbot was the father of an abbey and the monks vowed obedience to him, staying in the same place for their whole lives as members of a Christian family. Love and tolerance of each other was an article of faith, and Abbot Serlo saw to it that his house evinced a spirit of mutual cooperation. All men were equal before God and all of his brothers were equal before Abbot Serlo. Close friendships nevertheless grew up between members of his community, and Prior Baldwin made a point of watching them carefully so that he was in a position to make use of them if the occasion arose or to pounce on them if the special relationship threatened to take on an intimate dimension.
The prior always knew where to go and to whom to speak. It was the reason that his steps took him into the sacristy that evening.
“What else did he say, Brother Peter?”
“Very little beyond that, Prior Baldwin. The boy’s head was so turned by this remarkable Gervase Bret that he could talk of nothing else. I am not sure that it was wise to let him converse so freely with a layman, especially one who was a novice himself until he succumbed to the temptations of life outside the cloister. This Gervase Bret is a fine model for the benefits of a sound education, but he is hardly a fit subject of study for a callow youth who is wavering.”
“Is he still so?”
“I fear me that he is.”
They were in the sacristy, where all the valuables of the abbey were stored. In addition to the vestments, linen, and banners, there were gold and silver plate, vessels of the altar, precious ornaments and other gifts from benefactors, together with a collection of holy relics that was envied far and wide. The bones from the right hand of St. Mary the Virgin brought in pilgrims from great distances, who also came to view the strands of hair from the beard of her beloved son, Jesus Christ, and a splinter of wood from the cross on which He perished at Calvary.
When the prior called on him, Brother Peter was happy at work, polishing a pair of silver candlesticks until he could see his reflec-tion in their gleaming surfaces. He had become the confidant of Brother Luke, who found the strictures of the master of novices far too harsh to bear at times. In Brother Peter, the novice discovered a gentle and unjudging friend who gave him succour when he most needed it and warm friendship when he did not. It was the sacristan who had helped him to get through the difficult early months and to shape his mind for service to God. The prior could easily understand why Luke had gravitated towards the sacristy.
“You are the perfect example for the boy,” he said. “He is tempted to go out into sinfulness and corruption, but you came to us in flight from them. Our sacristan was not born to monastic life as so many of us were. He sought us out as a refuge from the baseness and futility of common life.”
Brother Peter nodded ruefully. “Base and futile, indeed! And perfidious, too, in its workings. A man’s soul is greatly imperilled in such a world. Only here can it truly be lifted up unto the Lord.”
“Impress that point upon Brother Luke.”
“I have done so daily.”
“Use your persuasion with him.”
“My talents lie elsewhere, Prior Baldwin,” said the sacristan as he held up a candlestick. “When I made these for the abbey, I was inspired by a higher purpose. When I was a silversmith in the town, I thought only of working for gain and personal advantage.” He replaced the candlestick with loving care. “The abbey has given my life a meaning.”
“Implant that same meaning in Brother Luke.”
“He will stay with us, I think.”
“Not if he is led astray by this Gervase Bret,” said the prior sharply.
“I have spoken to the master of the novices to keep the boy well occupied. Do you likewise. If we turn his gaze within these walls, he will forget what idle charms may lay without.”
“Is the young commissioner to be forbidden further access to Luke?”
said Peter.
“If it were left to me, he would. But Abbot Serlo might take a more tolerant view of their association. I spy danger in it.” The prior narrowed his lips and hissed his command. “Should Brother Luke and this fallen novice chance to meet again, I wish you to be present.”
“I understand, Prior Baldwin.”
“They have come to try to take some lands away from the abbey,”
said the other in exasperation. “I will stop them there with the help of Subprior Matthew. If they fail to steal our land, I do not wish them to walk away with one of our novices. Fight for the boy. It is our Christian duty.”
Baldwin picked up another example of Peter’s craftsmanship. It was a large silver box embossed with an image of Christ, and it had taken months to fashion. When Baldwin pressed the catch, the lid sprung back on its hinge, revealing the abbey’s precious supply of frankincense. He inhaled the latent odour of sanctity for a moment, then reinforced his decree. “Do not let Brother Luke smell the foul stench of the outside world. Fight hard for him.”
“He will be saved,” said Peter. “I swear it.”
“Amen!”
Prior Baldwin snapped the lid of the box shut and the gleaming figure of Christ became their silent witness.
The hunting lodge was fitting accommodation for two men who were trying to track down a wolf and an act of criminality.