The Medieval Murderers - The False Virgin

At chapter, any brothers who had offended in any way were brought before their fellows and penances ordered where necessary by the prior or his sub-prior. Today, the usual dull routine had been broken by John’s weird behaviour, and the monks were eager to hear it discussed. From his chair facing the half-circle of benches where the brothers were sitting, Prior Paul began the proceedings, his face looking uncharacteristically drawn and sombre.

‘We need to consider what must be done about the affliction of our Brother John, who, I must remind you all, has been a faithful member of this community for more than thirty years. His mind is now obviously deranged, but the distasteful nature of his recent fantasies is such that we must seriously consider how we should deal with him.’

At this, Brother Luke, one of the older monks, stood up to ask a question.

‘Prior, we have only heard rumours of what John alleged this morning. Can you please tell us what he said?’

Paul looked very uncomfortable at this, but he had little option in the fraternal nature of their closed community. He cleared his throat.

‘It is a hideous blasphemy, which I am loath to repeat, but you will have to acknowledge that it comes from a diseased mind. Brother John, in his demented state, alleges that St Oswald of blessed memory had told him that our dear patron, Beornwyn, was not a pure virgin, but a fornicator who actually committed her sins in a house of God!’

There was a hiss of disbelief and a wave of muttering amongst the brothers, but it was cut short by the harsh voice of Matthew, sitting on a chair at Paul’s right hand.

‘Forgive me for interrupting, Prior,’ he snapped. ‘But I find to my horror that this is the most foul and terrible accusation that it has ever been my lot to hear! To malign and slander our beloved patron, who cannot answer for herself, is an injustice that has no equal in my memory.’

He was almost quivering with anger at this slur on his heavenly heroine, the virtues of whom he had always extolled to an extent that bordered upon an obsession. He was not finished yet and, red-faced with temper, addressed the prior directly.

‘I would advise that we should not proceed any further without John being brought before us to answer for his sin. It is always customary for brothers who have offended to be faced directly with their misdeeds before this chapter and I feel it even more necessary now!’

Everyone knew that the sub-prior was flexing the muscles of his ambition, laying further claim to succeeding Paul when the time came. He rarely lost a chance to qualify or even contradict the prior over any lapse of custom or procedure, to emphasise his dislike of the more lenient regime favoured by Paul.

This time, however, the prior dug his heels in.

‘All in good time, Brother! But first I wish to hear what others have to say about this unfortunate matter. We all have a right for our opinions to be heard.’

‘John claims that angels took him up to the Beacon where he met St Oswald?’ said Brother Arnulf, who was in charge of the guest-house.

‘I suppose that is not impossible, though it would indeed be a miracle! Are we to believe that part of his story, even if not the more scurrilous aspects?’

The sub-prior again jumped in to reply before Paul could answer. ‘Being taken up a mountain is not uncommon in religious history,’ he grated. ‘Was not the Muslim prophet Mohammed taken on his night journey by angels from Araby to the Mount of Jerusalem? And did not our own Lord Jesus Christ Himself go up to a mountain with Peter, James and John to meet Moses and Elijah?’

The prior’s smile came back fleetingly as he responded. ‘Indeed, Brother Matthew. And did not your namesake also record in his gospel that after forty days in the wilderness, Christ Jesus was taken to a mountain to be tempted and that angels then came to minister to him?’

The sub-prior nodded his agreement, but used the opening to come back at his superior.

‘As always, you are right, Prior. But on that occasion it was Satan who transported him to that high place! Can we be sure that the same has not happened to Brother John and that this was not possession by the Devil?’

There was a fresh bout of murmuring amongst the assembled monks, which the prior brought to end by raising his hand.

‘Then we will question our sick brother as he stands before us, as Matthew has suggested.’

He directed his secretary to fetch John from the penitent’s cell and there was an uneasy silence in the chapter house as the younger man went on his mission. The monks shuffled their feet and looked uncomfortable, sensing the antagonism between their prior and Brother Matthew, as well as their concern over John, who until the last few days, they had looked on as a harmless, if eccentric, old colleague.

Then the door jerked open and the prior’s secretary stood there, looking flustered. ‘‘He’s gone! The cell is empty!’

Paul jumped to his feet. ‘Gone? Where can he have gone? He must be somewhere in the priory!’

The irate Matthew strode towards the secretary and pushed him aside at the door. ‘Why was he not locked in?’ he snapped. ‘Do I have to check everything myself?’

He marched out, followed by Mark, then the prior himself at the head of a ragged procession of brothers.

‘When was he last seen, Mark?’ demanded the prior. ‘He can’t have gone far on those old legs of his.’

His secretary, feeling guilty for not turning the key, said that the last person to have seen him must have been the lay brother who took him some food, now several hours ago. The sub-prior was barking out orders, and within minutes all the monks and a number of lay brothers and servants were combing the various buildings in the inner and outer courtyards. It was only when a door-ward, disturbed by the commotion, stumbled out of a privy near the outer gate, that a sighting of the old monk was obtained.

‘He passed out onto the lane to the village about an hour ago,’ the porter announced in an aggrieved voice. ‘I didn’t know anyone was looking for him.’

The prior sighed. ‘John would try the patience of Job,’ he complained. ‘Mark, send a couple of servants after him – and go with them yourself, as you seem most able to calm his madness.’

Two of the ostlers quickly saddled up a trio of ponies and minutes later, they were jogging briskly along the track that joined St Oswald’s priory to the outer world. It passed through the handful of cottages that made up the village of Broomhill, almost all of whose inhabitants were dependent on the priory for their livelihood. As they passed, one of the ostlers called out to a woman who was tying her goat to the stakes of her garden fence.

‘Good-wife, have you seen an old monk passing this way?’

She waved a hand onwards. ‘Brother John went by less than an hour ago. Never so much as returned my greeting, neither. He’ll surely be past the crossroads by now.’

They kicked their ponies into a trot and soon reached the junction of the track with the wider road that came up from the Forest of Dean and led towards Worcester.

‘Which way now, Brother?’ demanded one of the servants.

Mark rapidly considered this and felt that, given John’s threat to report his fantasies to a bishop, it was more likely that he was aiming for Worcester. They turned left and within half a mile, they saw the old man limping ahead of them. When they caught up with him, Mark saw that John was exhausted, only his fanatical willpower keeping him on his feet.

‘John, John, what are we going to do with you?’ sighed the younger monk, as he gently helped to lift John on to his own pony.

‘I’ll be locked up this time, boy,’ croaked the old monk. ‘But St Oswald will find a way to get my news proclaimed abroad.’