Candace Robb: A Cruel Courtship

‘I strive to be indifferent.’

‘You say that as if it is virtuous.’

‘You would counsel me to represent myself as devoted to King Edward?’

‘I would counsel you to tell the truth.’ Obert’s gaze held Andrew with such intensity he felt like wood.

Yet who was Obert to speak to him in such wise? ‘Abbot Adam and Master Thomas have chosen me to assist you. Do you question their choice?’ Andrew spoke quietly.

Obert sat back with a play of horror. ‘I see I have touched a wound. Or at least a tender scar. But I meant my comment as advice.’ He rose, revealing a crooked back, and reached for a stick to assist his walk. ‘It is time for introductions in the hall.’

Andrew reached out to halt the old priest. ‘Why do you distrust me?’

Father Obert did not raise his head at once. He seemed to consider his reply. Then his sharp eyes met Andrew’s. ‘You are Abbot Adam’s secretary, the one he trusted to gather the treasures of this country from the abbeys and kirks. Tell me I am being unjust and I shall believe you.’

Andrew had done so, turning his head when the soldiers accompanying him beat those courageous enough to defy them in the name of their king, John Balliol. His cowardice in that time would haunt him to the grave. The old man had thrust right into Andrew’s deepest wound, baring his terrible shame. He could not trust his voice.

Obert rested both hands on his stick and straightened a little. ‘What is this? Remorse?’ His mouth was pinched, from irritation or pain, Andrew could not guess.

‘Might we talk?’ Andrew managed, though he did not know what he would say.

Obert inclined his head. ‘Later. There will be time to speak of many things.’

‘Now, I pray you,’ Andrew said, inexplicably desperate to explain himself, wanting Father Obert to believe in his decency.

Obert shook his head. ‘Master Thomas awaits us.’

The elderly priest led the way to the master’s hall. Master Thomas and several of the men Andrew had noted in the hall the previous day rose to greet them as they entered the room. They rose not for Andrew, but for Father Obert. All greeted him with respect. Then Master Thomas introduced Andrew.

Sensing this to be a significant gathering, Andrew worked to set aside his irritation with Obert so that he might concentrate on memorising each name. Sir Francis seemed uncomfortable in his finery, as would be St Francis of Assisi. Sir Marmaduke — the name was Irish, servant of Madoc — though the man’s accent was like Father Obert’s, that of Yorkshire. But he also dressed more simply than the others — servant, Marmaduke. And thirdly Sir Simon Montagu — this name was familiar.

‘Perth, did you say?’ Sir Simon studied Andrew closely as if he, in turn, thought he should remember him.

As Andrew’s memory found the connection, he tried to cover any sign of recognition with a simple, ‘A fine trading port, Sir Simon. I’ve always thought it deserved a cathedral — and an archbishop.’

The English made polite but amused noises. Scotsmen were always complaining of their lack of an archbishop.

Andrew tried not to stare at the thick-necked, broadly built man who had been the lover of Ada de la Haye. This was the man whose wealth had bought Margaret’s friend a house in Perth as well as some property in the west. Her family had arranged for her to meet him when he was an influential emissary between King Edward and the much mourned King Alexander of Scotland, whose untimely death without a male heir had led to the present troubles. Andrew did not need memory tricks to remember Sir Simon.

Indeed he knew his instinct had been correct that these were all important men and he doubted he would forget meeting any of them. It made him even more fearful for his life and he cursed Master Thomas for inviting him to sup with them. Fortunately, they did not need him to carry the conversation at the table.

But after dinner the Englishmen gathered round him to ask what he had seen on his journey. A hard rain as they’d departed Holyrood Abbey had forced Andrew to keep his hood up, blocking his peripheral vision, and he’d been so closely watched by his English escort that he’d noticed little once they rode out of the storm. But even with so little to report, by the time Andrew had broken free of them Father Obert had departed.

Again that night he’d surrendered to a deep sleep despite his unease. But in the months following he’d spent the bulk of his nights pacing back and forth in his room until his body insisted on rest.

Father Obert had suggested the pacing as an aid to sleep. ‘I prefer brandywine, but that is in such short supply it is not even given to those lying bleeding in the infirmary — only the landed nobility are its beneficiaries — and Master Thomas, of course.’ As always, his sarcasm was softened by a mischievous grin, but Andrew knew the words trumped the genial mask.

Determined to continue his interview with Obert, convinced that the priest had hinted at a disaffection with the English that might make him an unlooked-for ally, Andrew had hounded him for a few days, shadowing his pale, halting presence, until the elderly priest invited him to dine in his chamber.

‘I see that you’ll accomplish nothing until we clear your mind,’ said Obert after the servant had withdrawn. ‘I begin to imagine that Abbot Adam was glad to be rid of you if this is how you behaved with him.’

‘I avoided him,’ said Andrew. ‘Our parting lacked affection.’

‘That is interesting,’ said Obert as he thrust his knife into a piece of meat. He sat back, chewing it thoughtfully.

Andrew fell to the food. The meat was tough, overcooked, but the stew of vegetables was well seasoned and tasty, and good for softening the brown bread. He’d noticed the absence of oatcakes on the first night — in deference to the English, he supposed.

‘So there is a rift between the abbot and his secretary?’ Obert asked, breaking into Andrew’s reverie.

Andrew grabbed his cup and washed down a mouthful of bread and vegetables.

Obert chuckled. ‘There is no need to hasten through your meal. I’ll not send you off before you are satisfied.’ He was smiling when Andrew met his eyes. ‘Faith, I am most curious to hear what you are so driven to tell me.’ The pale eyebrows joined briefly, then separated as the old priest smoothed his brow and smiled genially.

Now that he held Obert’s attention Andrew found himself choked with doubt. Suddenly it seemed absurd that this venerable priest would wish to hear of his remorse and his resolve to help his people. Indeed, Andrew questioned the wisdom in confiding in Obert, doubting the perception that had drawn him to desire to do so.

Apparently sensing Andrew’s confusion, Obert busied himself with some food and ale.

Andrew was relieved that Abbot Adam apparently had not told Master Thomas of Andrew’s disobedience. It permitted him some dignity and made it possible for him to be accepted as a trustworthy confessor, which might eventually allow him to help his people with information. But that hope would be dashed if he was wrong about trusting Father Obert. Yet as he considered the pale old man Andrew sensed God shining through Obert, and the more he watched him, the more convinced he became.

Obert sat back in his seat, patting his belly, his hunger apparently satisfied. ‘Well? Have you found your voice, Father Andrew?’

He thought he’d found the courage, but now Andrew felt emotion welling up within to challenge his ability to speak intelligibly. ‘You were right about my blind obedience to Abbot Adam in his service to King Edward. What you do not know is how I have since cursed myself-’ As tears rose, Andrew looked away and breathed deeply. Obert did not comment. When Andrew could again breathe evenly, he continued. ‘I have since disobeyed the abbot, defied him in a matter concerning my family, and he no longer trusts me. That is why he sent me here. He knows that a Scotsman who has heard the confessions of English troops will never again be welcome among his people, nor will he be trusted to leave the English camp. This is my penance and my condemnation.’