Stewart Binns - Anarchy

‘We have had no visitors here tonight, wounded or otherwise.’

Waleran was clearly unconvinced by the Abbot’s denial.

‘I need to search the Abbey.’

‘Do you doubt my word?’

‘It is my duty to hunt this man down. He may have gained entry without your knowledge.’

I knew the game was up: the Abbot could only deny entry to Waleran and his men based on an obstinate sense of territoriality, or because he had something to hide. As he had already denied that the man being sought was in the Abbey, his obstinacy was likely to cost him dear.

Then I was thrown a lifeline; one of the knight’s men appeared at the door.

‘Sir, their horses have been found tethered at the quayside by the river.’

I heard Waleran’s impatience in his voice.

‘Thank you, Abbot Gilbert. I am sorry to have troubled you at this hour; it looks like the villains have made off by boat.’

He then turned, shouted new orders to his men and was gone.

After a moment of silence, I heard the Abbot reflect calmly.

‘Clever, they must have secured their horses by the river before doubling back to the Abbey. Our guests are clearly used to the need for making clandestine contingencies.’

To the amazement of the Abbot – and to my intense relief – his anonymous visitor did not die in the night.

When the Abbot came to see me after morning prayers, I was very weak and pale, but still breathing. He sat with me for a while and offered some silent prayers for my recovery, all the time unaware of the identity of his mysterious visitor.

After a while, I felt able to open my eyes. I laboured to speak in a low voice.

‘Is it morning, Abbot?’

‘It is.’

I winced in pain as I tried to adjust my position.

‘I need to piss.’

‘There is a pot here.’

‘Pissing in pots is for old men.’

I tried to get up, but fell back, this time with a heartfelt grimace. The Abbot helped me to sit up and use the piss pot.

‘Not very dignified for an abbot.’

‘I’ve done worse. But when you need a shite, I’ll summon my infirmerer; that’s part of his job.’

‘My prospects do not seem too good at the moment.’

‘You have lost a lot of blood. Rest is the only cure.’

‘I cannot rest. There are things I must do.’

‘May I know your name?’

‘You may not. I know it seems ill-mannered, but I have my reasons.’

‘Would you like to purge your soul? It may be wise.’

‘You mean a spiritual shite? I suppose that’s your job. You may well be right, Abbot, and I thank you for the thoughtful offer. But although my sins may be legion and my need for divine cleansing greater than most, I am not quite ready to die.’

‘A young knight, Waleran of Northumbria, was here last night, looking for you and accusing you of murder in the name of Roger of Salisbury.’

‘He is right in part; I killed a man at Oxford, but it was not murder. There was a fight, and men die in fights. We acted not in the cause of Roger of Salisbury, but in the name of Empress Matilda. I heard you tell the knight that I wasn’t here. I am grateful, Abbot, but why did you lie on my behalf?’

‘I don’t know, but my instincts suggested I should protect you.’

‘You have good instincts, Abbot Gilbert. I am in your debt.’

‘You can repay me.’

‘How?’

‘Tell me who you are, and tell me about your amulet.’

‘I cannot give you my name but I can give you a clue. Coincidentally, my grandfather escaped to a new life from Gloucester quay a very long time ago. You will know his name. As for the amulet, it is the Talisman of Truth. I am its guardian, as were three previous generations of my family.’

‘Your answer only begs more questions. I have a distant recollection of a “Talisman of Truth”. Tell me more – at least, your grandfather’s name.’

‘That would be unwise. I’ve said as much as I can, I’m sorry I can’t say more.’

It was time to stir myself; I shouted to my men, who were waiting outside the door, as loudly as my condition allowed.

‘Eadmer, get the men organized, and saddle the horses! We’re leaving.’

I needed help to get to my horse. Three of my sturdy men-at-arms appeared and helped me towards the door. I was still in great pain and perspiring profusely. It was hard to disguise my discomfort as my men almost dragged me to the doorway. I looked at the infirmerer and his assistant, who were both looking on anxiously.

The shook their heads in unison.

‘Good knight, stay here for a while. You are giving yourself a death sentence by attempting to move.’

I stopped momentarily and turned to face Abbot Gilbert. I set my jaw firmly, determined to take my leave with all due courtesy.

‘I will always be grateful to you for what you did last night. My men will leave you a purse of silver to help with your work on the Abbey.’

‘Thank you, all contributions to support our important work here are gratefully received.’

‘You know that I am a supporter of the Empress Matilda–’

‘Are we not all fond of the late King Henry’s beautiful daughter?’

‘That’s not an answer. A war is coming, and you know what the conflict will be about. So I ask you now: do you support the Empress in her claim for England’s crown?’

I saw the Abbot hesitate at first, before deciding to respond candidly.

‘I have always thought that Matilda has a stronger claim to England. Indeed, her father, Henry Beauclerc, declared that he wished her to succeed him.’

‘I am grateful for your honesty, Abbot. You will be gratified to know that she will soon have her chance. Say nothing of this, or of my presence here. If you give me your word on that, and if circumstances permit, I promise to return one day. You can hear my confession – not that it will do me much good.’

‘You have my word.’

‘I hear you also oppose the power of the Knights Templar?’

‘I do, their influence has gone too far and their power is much too great. Their Grand Master now stands equal to cardinals and princes.’

‘Good men in the Church are rare – especially among the Norman hierarchy.’

The events of the previous night had proved that Abbot Gilbert was one such good man.

I knew now what I must do, and summoned Eadmer to bring the casket that had been entrusted to me by William of Malmesbury. He handed me the heavy wooden casket, locked by a large bronze clasp.

‘Please keep this with your reliquary. I trust this to you as a man of God; it needs to be protected on hallowed ground and far from the grasp of the Templars. Please don’t let me down.’

‘I will guard it as you wish. It will be safe with me. But you will understand if I say I am reluctant to take on such a responsibility for an anonymous man?’

I could prevaricate no longer. I adjusted my stance, with a frown of discomfort, and gave the Abbot the best answer I could muster.

‘You have done me a great service – and to England and its future Queen. You have put your trust in me; I think now I must trust you. I am Harold of Hereford, my father was Sweyn of Bourne, loyal servant to Edgar the Atheling and Duke Robert of Normandy. My grandfather was Hereward of Bourne, who fought with King Harold at Stamford Bridge and on Senlac Ridge and then led the defenders against William the Conqueror at the Siege of Ely.’

The Abbot was stunned for a moment. Searching for words, he made a shallow bow.

‘We are honoured to have you here in Gloucester.’

With that, our conversation was at an end.

Supported on either side by my men, I shuffled away, relying on Eadmer to supervise our departure from the Abbey.

I feared the spectre of death would soon have its way with me. But whatever lay ahead, I had fulfilled my promise to William of Malmesbury to guard his casket. Thanks to the intervention of Abbot Gilbert, it would now be locked safely in the crypt with the other relics of Gloucester Abbey.