Abbot's Passion (2 page)

‘Your presence in particular will be useful,’ he interrupted, a sardonic smile curling his lip. ‘Do not imagine that I do not hear the cynicism in your voice,
maître
Walter. No doubt that is the result of some of your more doubtful associations.’

I felt a trickle of ice form on my neck. ‘My doubtful associations?’

Eustache bent to hear another whispered message from his dwarf clerk. He nodded and straightened up again.

‘You have a brother, I believe. A Jew.’

I stiffened, not because of the word but by the way it was delivered. I was so surprised to hear Joseph being mentioned at all in the present context that for a moment I couldn’t think how to reply.

‘Well?’ Eustache urged.

My mouth opened and shut wordlessly. Seeing my confusion Jocelin leapt to my defence:

‘If you are r-referring to Joseph, f-father abbot, he isn’t really Walter’s b-brother. That is, they have d-different fathers. And m-mothers. A-and Joseph is only h-half Jewish as a m-matter of f-fact. That’s right, isn’t it Walter?’ he blushed.

I glared at him.

‘Indeed?’ sniffed Eustache. ‘And the other half?’

‘A-arab - er, I b-believe,’ stammered Jocelin blushing even deeper.

‘In which case he is doubly a heathen. Nevertheless, he may be helpful to us.’

‘Helpful?’ I managed at last. ‘In what way?’

Eustache consulted again with his clerk.

‘He is an
apothecary,
non
? He has a shop in the town?’

‘I don’t see what relevance that has.’

Eustache sighed patiently. ‘All Jews lend money,
mon frère
. In your brother’s case to other traders - market traders. He can use his influence to convince them of the rightness of our cause.’

I snorted. ‘I doubt he will do any such a thing.’

‘Then you will persuade him. I don’t need to remind you,
mon frère
, that England is still a Christian country despite appearances. Those of other faiths are welcome to live here, of course, but occasionally they need to demonstrate their loyalty. This will be a good opportunity for your brother to do just that. It would be a pity if some doubt were to arise that might cause his position to be reviewed. And your first duty is naturally to your church, which is now your true family, rather than this
faux
brother.’

I could feel the blood boiling in my veins. This was no idle threat. As a non-Christian in such a resolutely Christian town as Saint Edmundsbury, Joseph’s position was always precarious. Like all Jews he was here on sufferance with very few rights. He’d already been evicted once a decade earlier when Samson banished all Jews from the town for being, in his memorable phrase, “not Saint Edmund’s men”. They had only recently been let back in again largely because Samson realised he could not do without Jewish business acumen - or their money. In the intervening years Joseph’s apothecary business had been all but ruined, his shop vandalized, his goods stolen, and it was only just recovering. Now it was being threatened again. I shot a glance at Samson but to my intense annoyance his eyes were cast firmly on the ground.

I turned back to Eustache. ‘I’m not sure I would be of much help to you, father abbot. Like all monks when I entered the cloister I cut my ties with my earthly family for, as you rightly pointed out, my new family in Christ. And as Jocelin has also helpfully pointed out, Joseph was never my true brother. I don’t have much influence with him these days. I’m not sure I can remember the last time I even visited him.’

‘Three days ago,’ said Eustache glancing down again at Brother Fidele who nodded confirmation. ‘And that was the third...?’ Fidele held up four stubby fingers ‘...no, fourth time in the last month.’

Now I really was angry. ‘Have you been spying on me, father abbot?’ I said glaring at the little toady by his elbow.

‘
Spying
brother?’ Eustache smirked. ‘The apostolic legate does not
spy
. As your spiritual superior and guide I have a duty to ensure your constancy. The Devil is at all times and in every way trying to pervert the path of the righteous. A Jew - and especially an atheistic Jew - is dangerous company indeed. I’m sure Father Abbot would agree.’

We both looked at Samson who was still finding the floor a far more interesting place to look than at either of us. Eustache had clearly come well prepared - or rather, his clerk had.

He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Very well. You know what you have to do. All three of you will accompany me to the market - immediately after terce if you please. There we will begin God’s work - with the permission of the
père abbé
, naturally.’

He gave a final curt bow to Samson before turning on his heel and abruptly leaving with Brother Fidele scurrying in his wake.

Chapter Two

WAR-WAR

The
abbot-legate was barely out the door before we pounced on Samson. He held up his hands defensively:

‘I know, I know, I don’t like it any more than you do.’

‘Then why do you put up with it, father?’ said Jocellus with exasperation. ‘You are the Baron of Edmundsbury, not this
Frenchman
.’

‘Because, brother cellarer, this Frenchman has the pope’s ear. And I may be the Baron of the Liberty but I am still a servant of the church. Abbot Eustache is Pope Innocent’s personal envoy.’

‘That’s not the impression you gave earlier,’ I said.

‘It’s called diplomacy, Walter. The art of getting things done. And you are not helping by deliberately antagonizing the man.’

‘All that f-father abbot means, Walter,’ said Jocelin speeding to his hero’s defence, ‘is that His Excellency the Papal Legate is an important p-personage representing the hierarchy and thus the s-s-stability of the church. Where would we be if we were all to question our superiors and b-betters all the time? God has decreed each of us our rank. “Man devises his way, but the Lord directs his steps”. Is that not so, father?’

‘Not quite,’ sniffed Samson, ‘but it’ll do.’

I wasn’t convinced. Samson of Tottington is no tame circus bear that rolls over at its master’s behest. When it comes to the governance of Bury I’ve seen him wrestle kings to the ground if he thought his authority was being undermined. No, there was more to his meekness than he was admitting.

‘Besides,’ Samson went on in more conciliatory tones, ‘what does it matter which day the market is on? Sunday, Tuesday. One day is much like any other.’

‘If you believe that you don’t understand markets, father,’ said Jocellus. ‘It isn’t simply a matter changing days. Traders have circuits - here one day, somewhere else the next. If they have their routine disrupted will simply go elsewhere. You can’t expect every other market to adjust to suit us.’

‘Bury is Suffolk’s greatest market,’ said Samson sourly. ‘If there’s any adjusting to be done it will be by others.’

‘It isn’t the market that concerns me,’ I said.

Samson nodded. ‘Your brother Joseph. Yes, that was unfortunate. But you may take it from me, Walter, the abbot-legate has no jurisdiction over our Jews. That is not within his remit. On that you have my word.’

‘What I c-can’t understand,’ said Jocelin, frowning, ‘is how the abbot-legate could know so m-much.’

‘Not Eustache,’ said Samson, ‘his clerk. Fidele is a highly competent secretary - none more so. You saw the way he kept prompting the abbot-legate. What Brother Fidele doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing. I suppose when you stand no higher than another man’s navel attention to detail helps you to see just that little bit further.’

We all chuckled a little at that.

‘Let us be serious for a moment. Abbot Eustache is a determined man and is not above using any leverage he can to achieve his objectives. We must all be on our guard. But he won’t be here for ever. In a few days he’ll be gone. But while he is here let us all try not to alienate him. With God’s good grace we will get through his visit unscathed.’

‘Well, if I’m to trawl around the marketplace there are things I need to arrange,’ said Jocellus. ‘Father, with your permission?’

‘Yes, you go,’ agreed Samson. ‘You too, Jocelin. Walter, stay a few moments longer if you will. I have another matter I wish to discuss with you.’

‘Is it your usual problem, father?’ I said when we were alone. ‘I noticed you shifting on your cushion.’

‘What? No no, nothing to do with that. Something altogether more painful. Close the door.’

I did so and then sat down on the chair opposite.

‘This business over the market,’ he said quietly. ‘It couldn’t have come at a worse time.’ He looked at me. ‘What does the name “Lakenheath” mean to you?’

I had to think for a moment. ‘Not much. It’s a village over to the west of the county, isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘North-west to be precise. Now look at this.’

He reached under some parchments on his desk and produced a rough, hand-drawn map. On it was marked a cross with “Bury Abbey” written next to it, and another cross with “Ely Cathedral” written beside it. Connecting the two was a wiggly black line which I took to represent the road. Another line, red this time, divided the page from top to bottom. At a point on the road between Ely and Bury was marked a large red letter L.

‘For Lakenheath?’

He nodded.

‘And the red line?’

‘The boundary between the Bishop of Ely’s land and our own. What do you notice about it?’

I studied the map again. ‘Well, assuming the map is accurate, Lakenheath is closer to Ely than to Bury.’

Samson smiled. ‘Very good. Anything else?’

‘Lakenheath is on our side of the red line.’

‘Which makes it ours. Except Bishop Eustace is claiming it as his.’

I sat back to think. ‘The limits of Saint Edmund’s Liberty were established over a century ago, weren’t they?’

‘Correct. But the bishop’s claim goes back further, to Saxon times. And it’s true the Bishops of Ely were Lakenheath’s lords once upon a time.’

‘But not anymore?’

Samson shook his head. ‘Not for a hundred years. But that hasn’t stopped Bishop Eustace trying to claim the village back. And now the monks of Ely wish to open a market there.’

‘Can they do that? Isn’t there something in our charters that forbids any market being established within a day’s march of Bury? Lakenheath is barely half that distance.’

‘Indeed there is, and I’ve written to the bishop to explain it.’

‘But?’

Samson sighed. ‘It seems they have a charter of their own. A new one, from King John. It is in direct contrariety to ours and cannot be allowed to stand. But saying so is one thing. Achieving it is quite another.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve tried to be reasonable as you’d expect. I’ve even offered to reimburse Bishop Eustace the fifteen marks he paid for the charter in the interests of harmony between our two great houses. But so far his grace has declined.’

‘Can you not petition the king? Get him to revoke this new charter?’

‘Oh, I’ve done that too.’ He gave a sardonic smile. ‘It seems King John had forgotten where Lakenheath was. It’s cost me forty marks to jog his memory. Now that he has remembered he’s written to the justiciar ordering that the market be discontinued. Justiciar Geoffrey in turn has written to the sheriff instructing him to implement the king’s command. But the sheriff has no jurisdiction in Ely, so he’s referred the matter back to me. Result: impasse.’

I sat back thinking. I knew that there had been a long history of bad relations between Samson and the bishops of Ely. There was the famous occasion when the present bishop’s predecessor asked Samson for some trees to be felled on Bury land in order to provide timbers for some major construction work in Ely town. Not wishing to offend the bishop, Samson had agreed - albeit grudgingly. But when it was discovered that the bishop’s agent had got the name of the wood wrong Samson hastily had all the trees chopped down before the mistake could be rectified. I could see that this slight to his predecessor might have contributed to Bishop Eustace’s present intransigence.

‘This wouldn’t be why you gave the abbot-legate such an easy ride this morning?’ I asked. ‘To garner his support in your dispute with Bishop Eustace?’

Samson contrived to look offended. ‘How could you suggest such a thing, Walter?’ He shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘I admit there may be a modicum of
quid pro quo
in this - we are, after all, allies. Abbot Eustache doesn’t like the idea of a market at Lakenheath any more than I do.’

I guffawed. ‘Abbot Eustache doesn’t like the idea of markets at all by the sounds of things.’

‘And he’s quite right. Markets are a form of usury, one man profiting from another man’s needs. It’s immoral.’

I would have laughed if it didn’t hurt my mouth so much to do so. This was Samson of Tottington speaking, the most commercially savvy churchman in the kingdom.

‘You don’t really believe that, father.’

‘What I believe is neither here nor there. I can’t afford to upset the abbot-legate just when I’m in the middle of a struggle to defend the rights of Saint Edmund and the abbey. Better to have him on the inside pissing out than on the outside pissing in.’

‘If you say so, father,’ I sighed. ‘But why are you telling me all this?’

‘Because I want you to go to Ely and speak to the bishop, get him to see sense. Now don’t pull that face. I’d go myself but I can’t leave Bury with the abbot-legate here. And Prior Robert is too ill to go. There’s no-one else I can trust.’

I should have seen that coming. ‘I’m not at all sure I’m up to it either, father,’ I wriggled. ‘I really do have the most dreadful toothache. Surely there’s someone could do a better job than me. Jocelin for instance.’

He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Jocelin’s too accommodating. You’ve seen what he’s like with authority figures. Bishop Eustace would have him spinning like a top before he managed to stutter the words out.’

‘Meaning I wouldn’t?’

‘Meaning you’re more...combative.’

‘I strongly resent that imputation, father. I’m the least combative person I know. I don’t argue with anybody.’

‘Yes you do.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘You do, you’re doing it now. You can’t help yourself. You did it with the abbot-legate.’

‘That’s what pain does for you, father,’ I said rubbing my jaw again. ‘It makes a person short-tempered.’

‘Exactly. Which is why I think you’re the ideal man for this job. Pain will stiffen your resolve. You won’t stand for any of the bishop’s nonsense. And it’ll keep you out of what little hair Abbot Eustache has left for the next few days.’

‘Really, Father Abbot, I’d rather I didn’t.’

‘Really, Brother Physician, I’d rather you did. So it’s settled. You’re going.’

He went to the door and held it open for me to leave.

‘Take young Gilbert with you,’ he said brightly. ‘I doubt he’s been further west than Risby. You can impress him with your local knowledge of the area. You’ll enjoy that.’

‘So I’m to be nursemaid as well as messenger-boy?’

‘Why not? It may even teach you some humility. Now off you go, there’s a good chap, or you’ll be late for your appointment in the marketplace. And you wouldn’t want to keep the good abbot-legate waiting, would you?’

So now you see why I say it was my toothache that drew me into the events I am about to unfold. How often have you heard it said that orators speak best with a full bladder and that the most accomplished negotiators are the ones with thorns inserted between their toes? It is discomfort that encourages a man to speak with force - or so thought our esteemed father abbot. But things were about to become a lot less comfortable, and not just for the Bishop of Ely.