Edward Marston - The Wolves of Savernake

Busy as he was, Peter sensed the greater needs of his young charge and put his work aside instantly. He sat Luke down and let him pour out his troubles at will, hearing of qualms and fears that he himself had experienced when he first entered the abbey. He told the novice how he had wrestled with them and finally overcome all reservation.

“Do you have no regrets, Peter?”

“None at all, save one.”

“And what is that?”

“I wish I had been a postulant at your age.”

“Truly?”

“The world coarsened me, Luke.”

“But how?”

“It dragged me down; it snared me in temptation. It gave me a trade-

I practice it here, as you see-but my life was empty and wasted. It had neither form nor direction until I came here. Abbot Serlo was my salvation.”

Brother Luke winced. “I feel he is my gaoler.”

“Our holy father is a blessed man.”

“You may say that, Peter, because you have come through the torment, but I still suffer it. I still yearn for my freedom. I still toss and turn at night.”

Peter shook his head. “You are wrong. There is torment here still for me and I must endure it.” He glanced in the direction of the abbot’s quarters. “I have an audience with Abbot Serlo soon and he will take confession.”

“But you have no sins on your conscience.”

“Indeed I do, Brother Luke.”

“May I know what they are?”

“You see one right in front of you.”

“This workshop?”

“I serve the Lord in my own way but neglect my other duties. I have missed services in church and been lax in the sacristy of late. Brother Paul, the subsacristan, has hidden my misdeeds and made excuse for my absences, but someone else has reported me to Father Abbot.”

Luke was shocked. “You will be punished?”

“Severely. I deserve no less.”

“But you are sacristan.”

“Then I should dignify my office, not let it slip.”

“No brother in the abbey labours more than you.”

“It is true,” agreed Peter, “but my work conflicts with my allotted tasks. I come here instead of to the sacristy. I leave the dormitory at night to find more time at my bench.”

“For what reason?”

“Shall I show you?”

The boyish face lit up. “You are making something?”

“My finest piece of work.”

“Let me see it. Please let me see it.”

“Nobody else must know.”

“I can keep a secret, Brother Peter. Trust me.”

Peter closed the door in case anyone should chance to pass, then he took a key from his scrip to unlock a drawer in the workbench.

Something large and heavy was lifted out with reverential care and laid down on the wooden service where it could catch the morning light through the window. The object was wrapped in an old sheet, and Peter lifted back the folds with delicate movements of his hands.

When Brother Luke finally beheld it, his eyes moistened with emotion.

“A crucifix!”

“Silver-plated, with an enamel Saviour.”

“It is beautiful, Peter! Such workmanship.”

“Wait till it is finished.”

“Abbot Serlo will not correct you for making this,” said Luke ear-nestly. “He will fall to his knees and give thanks for your goodness.”

Peter smiled soulfully. “I think not.”

The silversmith put the crucifix away and locked the drawer, then he took the novice on a walk around the garden to let him voice his disquiet once more. When Luke finally left his friend, his anxieties had been stilled and his faith rekindled by what he had seen in the workshop. Brother Peter was indeed a fine example for the boy.

Abbot Serlo disagreed. When he had heard confession an hour later, he rolled his bulging eyes with disapproval at his erring sacristan.

Obedience to the rule had been flouted and that could never be ignored or forgiven.

“You have sinned, Brother Peter.”

“I know it, Father Abbot, and do confess it.”

“Others rely on you and they were sorely let down.”

“I was led astray by my work.”

“You are a monk first and foremost,” chided the other. “That fact must guide your every waking thought.”

“And so it did,” said Peter, “until this month.”

“You are guilty of neglect and deception,” Abbot Serlo adjudicated,

“and Subsacristan Paul did you no favours by concealing your short-comings. They were bound to be revealed in good time and bring you to my sentence.”

“I accept it willingly, Father Abbot.”

“Serious offences call for serious punishment.”

“Pronounce upon me.”

Abbot Serlo stared down at the wayward monk and took time to consider his fate. Peter’s record at the abbey had been blameless until now and brought him promotion to the office that he held. To deprive him of that office would be a humiliation, and Serlo stopped short of that. What was needed was a painful shock to awake the sacristan to the pre-eminence of his duties. The abbot might be destined for sainthood, but that did not absolve him from making stern decisions while he still remained on earth. He cleared his throat noisily, his jowls vibrated, and his eyes threatened to leave their sockets entirely.

Brother Peter took a deep breath and braced himself for the verdict.

Abbot Serlo was succinct.

“Here is work for Brother Thaddeus.…”

Four hours of unremitting tussle with Prior Baldwin and with Subprior Matthew left them feeling exhilarated but tired. It had opened up all kinds of possibilities. The prelates had limped away to report to their abbot and to cover their disarray. As they left the shire hall, the commissioners were pleased with their prosecution of the case. They had won a resounding victory at the first skirmish, but the battle was far from over. Baldwin and Matthew would soon be back with other weapons and other forms of defence.

Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret rode back alone towards the hunting lodge, choosing the route which took them along the river as it bordered Savernake. Both had been impressed by the role that Canon Hubert had taken that morning.

“He roasted the prior over a slow fire,” said Ralph with a chortle.

“He led him along by the nose before he struck. Our canon is no mean fighting man, Gervase.”

“Brother Simon was his bait.”

“That was why he left him alone with Baldwin at the abbey. Simon knew only what we wanted him to know.”

“Yes,” said Gervase with a grin. “When he told the prior the truth, he really believed it himself. He did not realise it was only part of the truth, fed to him on purpose so that it could be wheedled out of him.”

“Innocence is a blessed thing.”

“It has its uses.”

The sky was overcast now and there was a hint of rain in the wind. Savernake Forest looked overgrown and surly. It was certainly in no mood to yield up the secret which still tantalised them. Ralph had given it much thought.

“Alric Longdon kept his hoard in the yew,” he said, “and he was about to add to it the day he was killed. But someone else found his hiding place and took his treasure chest away.”

“Before or after his death?”

“Who can say?”

“Why was it kept there and not in his mill?”

“For the sake of safety,” said Ralph. “The mill had many visitors and there was a wife and son to consider. Alric concealed his bounty even from them. Besides,” he continued with a grim chuckle, “had he left it in the mill, any thieving prior might find it when he let himself in to search for a missing charter. I now believe that the charter, which we all seek, is locked away in the treasure chest as well and may be worth more than all those silver coins together. The widow should have a rich inheritance.”

“It is as well she has left the abbey.”