The Medieval Murderers - The First Murder

The only canon capable of interrupting the prior did so at this moment. He was Brother Sylvanus, and had stood for election as prior against Wigod three years earlier. The previous prior, who had died of a fever, had been quite severe in his sense of duty, and Sylvanus looked to carry on his stern discipline. Unfortunately for him, the twenty-five canons who were in a position to vote on who became prior – the lay brothers being excluded from this process – had expressed a desire for a gentler approach to the praise of God. Wigod had been elected, and the defeated candidate had never let him forget the perceived snub. Sylvanus questioned every proposal and every decision that Wigod came up with. This time it was concerning the language of the pageant. With a sneering tone in his voice, Sylvanus made his position clear.

‘I hope that the text to be spoken by the canons will be in Latin, Brother Wigod.’ He alone called the prior by his name rather than using his title.

Wigod smiled wearily. ‘The liturgy will of course be in Latin, as will the psalms and songs. For example, at the end of “The Fall of the Angels”, the choir will sing “ Te deum laudamus: te dominum confitemur ”.’

Sylvanus smirked, believing he had cornered the prior. ‘I think I hear the sound of “however” hovering over your exposition.’

The prior was undeterred. ‘Indeed you do, Brother Sylvanus. The stories will be told in the vernacular. One of the purposes of our order is to preach and teach to the populace. How are we to do that properly unless we speak to them in their language?’

He looked across the sea of nodding tonsured heads, knowing that most of the canons agreed with him. Only Sylvanus’ head went from side to side but, seeing he was outnumbered yet again, the disgruntled brother merely satisfied himself with a hiss of disapproval. He seemed to have contented himself with the knowledge that his day would surely come. And almost in the prior’s next breath, he saw it had. Wigod, as was his nature, had the inspiration to seek some reconciliation with Sylvanus, and made an offer.

‘I would like you, Brother Sylvanus, to select which of our brethren will enact which scenes, and the characters they will portray. I am sure you will be able to match the abilities of each with the person they will represent.’

Sylvanus grinned wolfishly, seeing a way immediately to ruin Wigod’s plans.

‘I will indeed undertake the task you suggest, Brother Wigod, if I can also instruct those I select in their roles. And I will allocate the parts according to the zeal and piety of our fellow canons.’

That was not what the prior had intended, having thought more to match each canon’s personality with the part as he had written it. He had drafted the words spoken by Noah with Roger the cellarer in mind, because he was vague and uncertain at crucial times. And the spare and sinuous frame of Brother Alfred made him eminently suitable for the part of the Serpent in ‘The Fall of Man’. But his decision had been made, and he could not now rescind it. With an inward sigh, he accepted his former rival’s plan.

‘I am content to leave it all in your capable hands, Sylvanus.’

The prior was so occupied with meeting Sylvanus’ cold stare, that he didn’t notice the disappointed look on Brother Wilfred’s face. With Sylvanus in charge of selecting which brothers were going to take part in the play, Wilfred saw his chances of being involved slipping rapidly away. His standing in the eyes of the strict disciplinarian, who had been novice-master in the days of Wilfred and Paul, was as low as it could be. The pious Paul would be selected first, and then most of the other twenty-three canons well ahead of Wilfred himself. He sighed and slumped in his seat, hardly listening to the rest of the prior’s announcements.

He was greatly surprised, therefore, when he felt a restraining hand on his arm as later he shuffled out of the chapter house to his general duties of the morning. He looked round, and saw the beaming face of Sylvanus with a strange look on it.

‘I have you in mind for a part in the pageant, Brother Wilfred.’

Wilfred gasped at this unexpected turn of fortune. ‘Of course, Brother Sylvanus. I hardly expected such an honour, but I will be delighted to help in any way I can.’

‘Then you shall have the part of Cain. The… prior…’ Sylvanus managed to squeeze the offending word out somehow, despite his displeasure, ‘… is even now going to the scriptorium to have the best scribes write out the words for each part in his play. You will have only your words, and the word that will prompt you to say your lines. The whole text is far too long to allow a copy of it all for everyone.’

There was a suggestion in Sylvanus’ tone of the play being overlong and wordy, but Wilfred didn’t care about the politics of the priory. Let Sylvanus undermine the prior all he wished, he had a part in the Easter play. He thought he understood the principle of the performers’ scripts, and hoped he could cope.

‘Yes, Brother. I will not let you down.’

It was only after Sylvanus strode away to speak to Brother Paul that Wilfred had a niggling doubt about the part. Was his selection to play the part of Cain some reflection on Sylvanus’ opinion of Wilfred’s attitude to God? Did he think Wilfred somehow impious? But whatever his fellow canon’s opinion, it didn’t much matter. He would be in the Easter play.

It was three days before Sylvanus handed Wilfred the single sheet of used and scraped vellum that had his words on it. He peered at it, the minute and ragged script looking as though a spider had stepped in ink and scurried across the page.

‘Who wrote this?’ he complained. ‘It is too small to read, and the lines are not level.’

Sylvanus’ mouth turned down in a sneer. ‘Wigod has the best scribes making copies of the whole play cycle. Therefore he had the novices trying their skill at writing the actors’ pieces. I am afraid Alcuin has proved he is not cut out for the scriptorium. The only merit of his hand is the smallness of his text. At least it has not been wasteful of precious vellum.’

Wilfred was about to point out that the palimpsest he held had been so often scraped that its greyness made the text barely legible. Its worn nature meant it could hardly be said to be precious material. But he kept his mouth shut, fearing that Sylvanus might change his mind and give the part of Cain to someone else. He looked at the line and a half of Abel’s first speech that gave him his cue.

Come, brother Cain, I would we went

With hearts full blithe.

He guessed that the last word of this speech was probably rhymed with ‘tithe’. Abel’s tithe being more acceptable to God was the cause of the fight between the brothers, which had tragic consequences. Reading on, he mouthed his own words.

‘What? Where to now? In wastelands gone?

You think I wish this town to leave?’

He looked at the older canon, eager to get it right from the beginning. ‘A m I to be argumentative, then? Or do we just read the words solemnly?’

Sylvanus shook his head impatiently. ‘You are to put your heart and soul into the part. Don’t you understand? You are to be Cain, the first murderer on earth, slayer of his brother.’

‘And who is to be Abel?’

A sly grin replaced the sneer on Sylvanus’ face.

‘Why, have you not guessed? Brother Paul, of course.’

Sylvanus had selected Paul for Abel almost as quickly as he had settled on Wilfred for Cain. When he had suggested to the prior that he not only select the canons to play each part, but also instruct them in their preparations, he had thought he could ruin Wigod’s idea with ineptness. So he had chosen the lazy and feckless Wilfred immediately. Later, he had seen the possibility of being more subtle in his undermining of Wigod’s plans. Unwittingly, he had selected a person, in Wilfred, who suited Cain down to the ground. It became clear he should then oppose him as Abel with the most irritatingly pious canon in the form of the ‘careful’ brother. Paul was Wigod’s greatest advocate, and had been rewarded for siding with him in his election as prior by being appointed the toller of the daily warning bells. Sylvanus was therefore Paul’s natural enemy, and he sought any way he could to denigrate him. His direction of the pageant of ‘The Story of Cain and Abel’ would be an exercise in revenge.