Edward Marston - The Owls of Gloucester

‘I wanted a quiet word with you,’ began Serlo.

‘As many as you wish, Father Abbot,’ said Hubert.

‘First, let me say how pleased I was to see both you and Brother Simon at the funeral service yesterday. I know that you have pressing duties in the shire hall, yet you found time to pay your respects to poor Brother Nicholas.’

‘We were honoured to be part of the congregation and, though it is hardly a subject for congratulation, I must commend you on the way you conducted the service. It was most impressive.’

‘And very moving,’ said Brother Simon.

‘You handled a difficult situation with the utmost tact,’

continued Hubert. ‘Your whole treatment of this wretched business has been quite exemplary.’

‘Thank you, Canon Hubert,’ said the abbot, ‘but I do not feel that I have behaved in an exemplary manner. It is a novel predicament for me and I am not entirely sure how to cope with it. But prayer and meditation have taught me this. We must explore every possible means of tracking down the man who killed Brother Nicholas.’

‘I agree, Father Abbot.’

‘That is why I value a moment with you now. Something has come to light, something so disturbing that my first instinct was to keep it from you because it reflects badly on the abbey and hence on me.’

‘I refuse to believe that.’

‘So do I, Father Abbot,’ endorsed Simon.

‘Hear me out.’ Serlo cleared his throat then spoke rapidly.

‘Brother Frewine, our Precentor, as wise a man as any here, felt that the sheriff’s officers may have missed something in their search of Brother Nicholas’s cell and, prompted by some inner conviction, he requested permission to carry out his own search.

Certain that he would find nothing, I was proved horribly wrong.

Concealed behind a stone in the wall was a bag of coins, amounting to a substantial amount.’

‘Saints preserve us!’ murmured Simon.

‘This is a grim discovery,’ said Hubert. ‘Do you or the Precentor have any idea where the money came from?’

‘None, Canon Hubert. I need hardly tell you that personal wealth is anathema within the enclave. And before you ask me,’

said Serlo as a question formed on the other’s lips, ‘we do not believe that it was a stolen portion of the abbey rents. The leather pouch contained new coins, all minted here in Gloucester. Our tenants would not pay with such money. It came from another source, I fear, but what could that source be?’

‘And is it in any way connected to Brother Nicholas’s death?’

‘That is the question with which I have been wrestling.’

‘Quite rightly, Abbot Serlo. But you must acquit yourself of any blame here. It is wrong to hold yourself responsible.’

‘The fault lies with Brother Nicholas,’ suggested Simon.

‘Answerable to you, of course,’ said Hubert, ‘but capable of independent action over which you had no control. The nature of his work is crucial here. Spending so much time outside the abbey, he was beyond your ken, vulnerable to unholy impulses, drawn into some kind of corrupt practice. Thank you for confiding in us, Father Abbot. Though it is disturbing news, it is also an invaluable clue and I will pass it on to the lord Ralph as soon as I may.’

‘This mystery grows murkier by the day,’ said Serlo with a hand to his brow. ‘I do hope that someone can solve it before too long.’

‘So do we,’ said Hubert solemnly. ‘But tell us more about Brother Nicholas’s work as a rent collector. How far afield did he go and was he absent from the abbey for any length of time? Why was he assigned to the work in the first place? It is a position of such trust …’

It was a dull morning when Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret set off from the castle, the overcast sky reflecting the former’s mood.

He was churlish and preoccupied and Gervase knew better than to attempt any conversation on their ride. Hoping to take out his irritation on the posturing reeve, Ralph was annoyed to see that he had sent a deputy in his place, a polite young man, too obliging to merit any reproach and too eager to deserve the torrent of abuse Ralph intended to unleash on his master. The bell for Prime was ringing as the commissioners took their places in the shire hall beside Canon Hubert and Brother Simon. Ralph ordered that Abraham the Priest be summoned before them, deciding to release his bile upon the Archdeacon of Gwent instead.

As soon as the archdeacon and the monk who accompanied him entered the shire hall, Ralph began his attack.

‘You were instructed to be here yesterday!’ he accused.

‘We know, my lord,’ said Abraham gently. ‘We regret the delay.’

‘Regret is not enough. I demand an explanation.’

‘Then you will have one as soon as you have the grace to explain to whom the explanation is being given.’

‘To royal commissioners.’

‘Do they possess names?’

‘Damnation! Tell us your paltry excuse.’

‘Are we allowed to sit while we do so, my lord?’

‘Sit, stand or turn somersaults. But stop prevaricating.’

‘There is no prevarication here, my lord,’ intervened Hubert,

‘and I do think it best that the archdeacon and his companion take a seat.’

He waved them to the front bench, performed the introductions and imposed a calmer note on the proceedings. Abraham was a tall, dignified man in his fifties, with a head supremely suited to a tonsure and a manner which combined spirituality and worldliness in the correct proportions. Brother Tomos was younger, plumper and distinctly more anxious. He had none of the archdeacon’s composure. Lacking his master’s command of Norman French, he was struggling to understand what was being said.

Impressed by the archdeacon’s bearing, Gervase sought to make him feel more welcome and to prevent further browbeating from Ralph.

‘We are pleased to see you here at last,’ he said with a smile,

‘and we are sure that only a serious mishap could have held you up.’

‘It was more of a blessing than a mishap,’ said Abraham.

‘Was it?’

‘Yes, Master Bret. We set off in plenty of time but our journey took us through a village where a young woman was with child.

No sooner had we arrived than she went into labour. We could hardly leave her.’

‘Did you linger in order to baptise the child?’ said Ralph.

‘No, my lord. In order to deliver it.’

Ralph was startled into silence, Hubert paled with embarrassment and Brother Simon began to gibber incoherently.

The very notion of childbirth was deeply upsetting to the scribe.

To have it raised so easily by the archdeacon caught him completely off guard.

Gervase was fascinated. ‘You delivered the child?’

‘Of course. Who else would take on the office?’

‘Was there no doctor? No midwife?’

‘None within call,’ said Abraham. ‘The child came slightly ahead of time and took them all unawares. As Tomos will tell you, the mother was in great distress. We heard her cries as we entered the village.’ Simon added to them with an involuntary howl. ‘I could hardly abandon her in her hour of need. She lives in my diocese. That means I must turn doctor, midwife, nurse or anything else on occasion, even if it means putting my shoulder to a plough.’

Hubert gaped. ‘A plough was involved in this delivery?’

‘No, Canon Hubert. I was simply trying to explain that I will become what is needed at any particular moment to relieve those in my care. A midwife was called for and that is what I became.’

‘Was it a safe delivery?’ wondered Gervase.

‘Do not tell us!’ cried Simon.

‘Why not?’ asked Abraham. ‘Is it not always a moment of joy when we bring a new Christian into the world?’