The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

Of course, it could be nothing but the exaggeration of an overwrought boy, this talk of a play. For many years the canons of Oseney Priory, built on the southernmost arm of the water meadows close by the walls of the university town of Oxford, had included small dramatic episodes in the Easter liturgy. On Easter morning, after the third responsory of matins, two canons clothed in albs walked to where a wooden cross had been laid on the floor of the church just below the altar. It represented a grave, and they seated themselves there until three more canons carrying censers and representing holy women, joined them. At this point one of the seated canons in the guise of an angel asked the holy ‘women’, ‘Whom do you seek?’ The three canons answered, ‘Our Lord, Jesus Christ.’ The angel then gave the holy ‘women’ the message of the Resurrection, and told them to go forth and proclaim it. They then intoned the antiphon, ‘ Surrexit enim, sicut dixit dominus. Alleluia .’ Finally, the choir, as always, finished matins with the Te Deum.

So the rumour of a play to be performed at Easter could amount to nothing. On the other hand, if it were true, Wilfred had a desire to take part in it. Life at the priory was one of endless, dull repetition. He knew it was a state of existence that he should have realised before he committed himself to God, but when he was a novice it had all seemed so new and exciting. Now, the thought of doing something unusual, like taking part in a pageant, served to lift his spirits. He could not wait until the daily assembly in the chapter house. Perhaps the prior would make an announcement. Easter was only a matter of weeks away, and much would need to be done to prepare the scenes he had heard other priories and abbeys had performed as a way of teaching the lay community some of the key points in the Bible.

It was finally Wilfred’s turn to wash. He plunged his hands into the shallow runnel of icy water that trickled down the stone trough in the cloister, and splashed some on his face. He risked darting a quick look behind him to try to identify the novice who had broken the news of the play. From the reddened mark on his forehead, he saw it must have been Alcuin, a ginger-haired youth from Wales with big, ungainly hands and feet. The novice’s pock-marked face had a sour look on it that intimated he resented being humiliated by the novice-master. Wilfred wondered if he would last the course, and graduate into the order. He himself had had to contain his prideful anger on more than one occasion, and knew how the new boy felt. He tried a smile of sympathy on him, but Alcuin looked away in embarrassment. Wilfred shrugged and walked through to the refectory. There, the assembled canons ate the usual light breakfast of bread and ale standing up in silence, as was the custom. He groaned inwardly when, all too soon, he heard the ‘careful’ Brother Paul tolling the inexorable bell calling everyone to Mass.

Once Mass had been celebrated, Brother Paul hurried off to toll the bell calling the canons to the chapter house. His duty was hardly essential at these times, as the routine of the priory – indeed, of every religious house in England – was rigid and regular. Everyone knew to move from the church and into the chapter house at this time of day. The only times the sound of the bell was of use was late morning, when the canons had dispersed to carry out various tasks concerning the business affairs of the priory and needed to be called together for High Mass; and also for vespers. After dinner, the canons had a short rest period, terminated by the office of nones. Then there began the five-hour working day, which the canons spent in the gardens, fields, workshops, kitchens and storehouses of Oseney Priory. The vesper bell was essential to call them for evensong from their various allotted tasks in the scattered buildings and grounds of the ever-growing priory. But Paul took his task seriously at all times of the day, and even though he knew some canons grumbled about his zeal, that did nothing to dim his enthusiasm. The marking of the set points of each and every day with the sound of a bell was as important to him as his sevenfold daily praise of God.

As he was ringing the bell to call his brothers to the chapter house, he noticed that Brother Wilfred was for once at the head of those entering through the grand doors of the room on the east side of the cloister. This was most unusual. Wilfred was forever dragging his feet from one part of the priory to another, and from one task to another. Paul had tried more than once to rectify this, suggesting that Wilfred should show more enthusiasm as everything the canons did was in praise of the Lord. He had thought that Wilfred would have responded well, as they had been friends from the day they had arrived together as novices at the priory. But on the third occasion that Paul had chastised him – in the friendliest of ways – Wilfred had turned on him, and suggested he mind his own business. Paul preferred to forget the actual words, which had been, ‘Go kiss the Devil’s arse, Paul. Are you trying for early sainthood or something?’ He had put the outburst down to the fact that it had been Lent, and Wilfred, as were some of the other inexperienced canons, was always fractious when hungry. Paul himself relished fasting at Lent as it gave him a curious feeling of flying out of his own skin, and therefore closer to God.

Slipping quietly into the chapter house, Paul waited whilst a few brothers shuffled up along the stone bench that ran around the whole chamber, and then sat in the space made for him. The coldness struck through his vitals, and he silently praised God for his discomfort. He listened as Brother Martin finished the reading of the daily chapter of the Rule, and then the prior stood up.

His seat was set in the rounded apse at the eastern end of the chapter house, and stood at the top of three steps. So when Prior Wigod rose from his chair, he presented an imposing figure appropriate to his position. It had been said in the dormitory that morning that he had an important announcement to make. But Wigod still stuck rigidly to the proper procedure. His first words were to lead the canons in the praise for the saints and martyrs of the day.

‘Let us praise St Piran of Padstow, St Caron of Tregaron, and St Kieran of Ossory in Ireland.’

The assembled twenty-five canons and six novices intoned prayers and praise for the saints. It was as if the prior’s own words were echoing around the vaulted chamber. Next there came the prayers for the souls of the benefactors.

‘Let us pray for the soul of Robert D’Oyly, and his wife, Editha. She it was who saw a group of magpies chattering in the marchlands of Oseney Meadows and realised they symbolised souls in purgatory crying for prayers. In 1129, Sir Robert granted the lands on which our priory now stands. And so this is the twenty-fifth year since our founding.’ He paused dramatically. ‘And in order to celebrate that founding, and to further our purpose as canons regular, I have decided that a pageant or play will be performed outside the church doors on Easter Sunday.’

A murmur of excited comment rippled around the chamber, which on any other occasion would have been the cause of a severe reprimand from the prior. But on this special day he was pleased beyond measure at its occurrence, and let the lapse pass. He continued to explain his plans, ensuring the canons knew the source of the text.

‘The scenes I have written so far include “The Creation of the World”, “The Fall of the Angels”, “The Fall of Man”, “The Story of Cain and Abel”, and “The Deluge”. I shall complete the central piece of this Easter celebration shortly, with “The Nativity”, “The Passion” and “The Resurrection”. It will be called Ordo Representationis Ade – The Play of Adam .’