“Gervase is no serpent,” protested Luke.
“Choose wisely and choose well!”
Peter’s unaccustomed asperity jolted the novice. The sacristan was normally the soul of affability and he was possessed of almost unlimited forbearance. Yet the young commissioner had somehow caught him on the raw and brought out a more waspish side to him. Peter saw his friend’s obvious dismay and patted his leg reassuringly.
“You are wrong,” he said in a gentler tone. “I do not dislike this Gervase Bret. I found him a charming young man with an intelligence far greater than that of his blunt companion. But he represents a temptation. Look at the world through his eyes and you will drift towards damnation. View it through mine and you will serve God gladly for the rest of your days.”
“I am still sorely vexed.”
“Ponder anew.”
“I do nothing else.”
“Remember St. Augustine’s trials.”
“Chastity and continency, but not yet!”
“Subdue all fleshly inclination.”
“How, Peter?” wailed the other. “How? ”
“Brother Thaddeus will teach you the way.”
A visible shudder ran through Luke as he saw the brawny ploughman at work with his birch twigs. Thaddeus could beat the desire out of anyone, but it was a martyrdom that had no appeal for the novice.
There had to be another way to come to terms with the promptings which were turning his nights into long and uneasy assaults upon his virtue. Peter had given him food for thought which he could digest when he was next alone. Time was running out and he would soon have to return to his studies. Another subject now called for discussion and it brought a fresh burst of remorse from the novice.
“I am deeply troubled by death,” he announced.
“So are we all, so are we all.”
“I speak of Wulfgeat,” explained the other. “We are forbidden to visit the mortuary chapel, but I could not keep myself away and I saw what the wolf had done to his poor body. How can any man deserve that, Peter? What happened to Alric Longdon was harrowing enough, but this sight turned my stomach. Wulfgeat was eaten alive. Why?
Why?”
“Stay calm and I will instruct you.”
“Abbot Serlo speaks about justifying the ways of God to men. Is it possible to justify such butchery?”
“I believe it is.”
“Wulfgeat was a good man by all account.”
“Even good men have a streak of badness in them at times,” said Peter evenly. “Whenever you meet with horror or disaster, look for a sign. It is always there if you know where to find it. God is the fount of all joy, but he is also the engine of retribution.”
“Alric and Wulfgeat were killed by a stray animal.”
“Who put that animal in Savernake?”
“It fled from its pack.”
“Who drove it out?”
“The other wolves.”
“At whose behest?” When he saw Brother Luke hesitate, he supplied his own answer. “God arranges all things. Alric and Wulfgeat died violent deaths that others might be warned.”
“But what did they do, Peter?”
“They threatened the existence of this abbey.”
“Could a simple miller do that?”
“Alric was by no means simple,” corrected Peter. “He had low cunning and enough education to be able to read and write. It was he who summoned these commissioners here and brought this Gervase Bret to cloud your thoughts. I do not know the full details, but Prior Baldwin has told me that Alric posed a serious threat to this foundation. How and in what precise manner, I may only guess, but I accept the prior’s word without question.”
“What of Wulfgeat?”
“Likewise. He, too, sought to challenge Bedwyn Abbey through the agency of these commissioners. Can you not discern a connection here, Luke? Two men set themselves up against a house of God and they are struck down by Him.”
“Is that the sign of which you made mention?”
“It is. Could it be any clearer?”
“So Alric and Wulfgeat were victims of the Almighty?”
“He fights at our side,” reinforced Peter. “Stay with us and He will always guard you. Leave the abbey and you will lose His protection.”
“But what of the commissioners?”
“The commissioners?”
“They are here to confront the abbey.” Brother Luke swallowed hard.
“Will they be slaughtered, as well?”
Peter smiled. “No, my friend. It is not needful. They are birds of passage who will soon be gone from this place. Gervase Bret and his colleagues are no longer a source of jeopardy for this house. Prior Baldwin has seen to that. He assures me that God has guided him in his disputations. He vows to send the commissioners on their way at once.”
The afternoon session at the shire hall was the most lively and contentious so far. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret had barely resumed their seats alongside their colleagues when the abbey delegation sailed in with a new buoyancy. Prior Baldwin had the unassailable self-assurance of the truly blessed and the doleful Brother Matthew, weighed down though he was with a large satchel of documents, had found a sombre smile to wear upon his face. Beaten men when they last left the hall, they were returning as smug conquerors. Without being invited, Baldwin lowered himself into his chair; without being asked, Matthew flung the satchel down upon the table as if delivering the Ten Commandments to a wayward people. He, too, sat back with unruffled calm. For a few minutes, the commissioners were quite dumbfounded.
Ralph Delchard was the first to locate his voice.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“You have our documents,” said Baldwin, flicking an eye at the satchel. “Show us yours.”
Matthew continued. “Every charter before you is legal and binding.
It will stand the closest scrutiny. We must now examine your evidence of a counter-claim. Let us see it.”
“Let us see it,” asserted the prior, “or let us go. We have played your little games far too long as it is.”
“They are not games,” rumbled Canon Hubert. “The abbey is under suspicion because of an irregularity. The charter relating to a specific piece of land is a forgery.”
Baldwin preened himself. “We are told that it is a forgery by our young friend here, but the only person who could weigh the document fairly in the balance is the scribe who wrote it out, and Drogo, alas, is no longer among us. We rest our case on custom and usage. The terms of this charter reflect what has happened to those two hides over the last twenty years. Those terms will stand in any court of law unless you can produce a counter-claim which negates them.”
“We have such a counter-claim,” said Ralph.
“It predates yours and is genuine,” added Hubert.
“Then where is it?” said Matthew tonelessly.
“We have a right to see it,” said Baldwin. “If our abbey is accused, we wish to see the face of the accuser. Give us this charter so that we may peruse it with care and answer its monstrous impudence. Our integrity has been put in question and we demand the opportunity to vindicate ourselves.” His eyes blazed. “Where is your charter?”
Ralph’s temper flared. “It is we who are empowered to call for evidence and not you, Prior Baldwin. The abbey is on trial because it has overreached itself out of sheer greed. We have taken statements from many witnesses and all attest that the abbey seized that land shortly after Abbot Serlo was brought here from Caen.”
“You dare to impugn the name of Abbot Serlo!” exclaimed the prior.
“He is a saint.”
“Then others have done his dirty work for him.”
“God will punish you for such blasphemy!”
“He has already done so,” moaned Ralph, “by making me sit on this commission and listen to such holy nonsense as you keep thrusting upon me.”
Canon Hubert intervened. “Abbot Serlo is above reproach,” he said.
“Nobody can meet such a man without being aware that they are in the presence of someone who has been touched by the hand of God.