The Guardian (5 page)

One evening, he was whining about how he had almost been killed on some bridgewalk and how unfortunate he was that all the world seemed set against him despite his desire to be left alone. I had been trying to ignore his self-pitying monotone when my cousin Will’s name snapped me from boredom to eager attentiveness and left me frustrated that I had not been listening more closely, but I could do nothing to interrupt Gaptooth’s drone or induce him to begin all over again.

Having heard his story once, though, and despite being unable to remember most of it at the time, I knew that God had sent me to this place for a purpose: to hear and heed Harald Gaptooth’s tale of woe. And so I waited, with all the patience I could muster, until the wires were removed from my jaw and I could speak clearly enough to ask him to tell me again the story of his last night in Lanark. He was more than happy to repeat his tale, this time with more frowning thought and effort and far more detail, while I asked questions and soaked it all in like a sponge, knowing that one day soon I would write it down.

I erred greatly in my estimation of when I would write it, however, because forty-six years were to elapse before I did.

After hearing his story for the second time, I experienced mounting feelings of anger and frustration over my own inability to do anything useful. That recollection will be familiar to anyone who has ever undergone a prolonged period of convalescence, when one’s mind and spirit are improving measurably from day to day but the physical capacity to express oneself adequately lags far behind. On one such day, when I was feeling at my lowest, the prior himself, Richard of Helensburgh, came to visit me, carrying a sheaf of paper much like the paper on my table today, along with some slender, sharpened sticks of charcoal. The mere sight of him—his friendly
smile and the way he raised what he was carrying, brandishing it for my approval—did more for my well-being than anything that had happened since first I woke up and recognized where I was. That had been weeks before, but it felt like years, and now the sight of his gift, which I understood at once would give me back the power of communication, brought tears to my eyes. He noticed them and nodded, as though in commiseration, then laid the paper and charcoal gently on my cot and went to pull the small room’s only chair to where he could sit on it beside me.

Most of my pain had finally died away during the previous few days, save for the unrelenting ache and tightness of my face. The padded wooden braces that framed my head had only recently been removed, finally permitting me to move it from side to side, and only a few hours earlier a pair of monks had raised me up to a halfsitting position for the first time—no simple feat, since my entire torso was heavily braced with splints that were tightly bound in place—and I had at last been able to look cautiously about me.

Gaptooth, whom I saw clearly then for the first time, appeared shocked to see me gazing at him, for he himself was not yet fit to do anything but lie on his back and talk. Clearly jealous of my increased mobility but also gratified that I was yet unable to speak, he had been ranting on ever since in his incessant, grating whine. The unheralded appearance of Prior Richard, though, had stricken him mute, and I felt a smile at his discomfiture, despite my inability to move my mouth. The prior, having placed his chair beside my cot, nodded courteously to my companion and then turned to me before Gaptooth could say a word.

“They told me you were better, Father James,” he said to me in Latin, “but I am deeply pleased to see you looking so well. You had us sorely worried for a time. Thanks be to God, we have a veteran Knight Hospitaller in our fraternity, a man who learned the art of healing broken bodies in the Holy Wars against the followers of Muhammad. His name is Dominic of Ormiston, and though he remains a Knight Hospitaller he is now
our
hospitaller, being too old to remain with his companions in the order. Now he tends to our
few needs and to those of the local populace. He it was who examined your wounds and reset and wired your jaw until the bones could heal.”

That was a revelation, for I had believed that my jaw had been irreparably shattered and was therefore locked and useless. I was convinced that the tightness and pain I felt—along with the necessity of being fed with a tube of sheep intestine through the gap where teeth had been knocked from my mouth during the beating— would be a lifelong burden that I must endure as a penance for my sins. Now I blinked in disbelief and raised my hand slowly to my face, fully expecting to feel the knotted ends of wires protruding through my skin. I felt a heavy beard instead, and blinked again in surprise, for I had never been a hairy creature, and the sparse covering I had grown on my cheeks had always been light and carefully trimmed, a minor vanity that had never concerned me greatly.

“The beard surprised you,” Prior Richard said through his smile. “Well, it is small wonder, if you but think on it. You have been here now for a month, motionless, your body encased in splints, your arms restrained for your own protection and your head locked in a vise throughout that time. You may not have been aware of the passage of time, for you have slept long and deeply most of the month, thanks to the infusions Brother Dominic fed to you in your broth and milk. Are you comfortable now, this minute?”

I made a humming sound and raised one thumb.

“Excellent. That is a blessing.” Prior Richard inhaled sharply before continuing to speak. “Word came to me mere hours ago that you were better and your arm and head restraints had been removed, and I came as soon as I could. I also thought to bring you some gifts.” He waved a hand towards the paper and charcoal. “These will permit you something of a voice again.”

I reached towards them, but they were too far away to grasp, and seeing my clutching fingers, Prior Richard quickly bent forward and handed them to me. I propped the pile of papers against one raised thigh while I selected a charcoal stick and examined it carefully, unaccustomed to the flimsy weight of such a thing and knowing,
from experience, how fragile charcoal could be. This batch, however, was of superior quality, dense, smooth, and hard. I cautiously set the point against the whiteness of the paper.

Wonderful charcoal
, I wrote in Latin.

Prior Richard smiled. “Better than ink for much of what we do,” he said. “We have a gifted charcoal burner nearby, a true craftsman, and he uses only the finest wood for this particular purpose because he knows we use it for writing—not for anything permanent, of course, but it serves wondrously well for drafting copies and it saves much precious ink.”

I wrote again, my hand trembling slightly from lack of custom with the charcoal.
May I have ink later, as I grow better?

“Of course. But parchment might be difficult.”

No need of it, but why difficult?

That prompted a wry twist of his mouth. “Because we have no ready source. We are a small priory in Lanark, not a cathedral in Glasgow.”

I was growing more confident by the moment.
How will they unwire me, when the time comes?

Another smile. “By precisely reversing the manner in which your jaw was shut.”

Will your Hospitaller do it? Is he here?

“He will, but he is not here today. He has been gone for several days on his regular visits to the people in the surrounding countryside. He has told me, though, that it would take six weeks or so for your jaw to mend, given no further complications.”

So two weeks remain?

The prior nodded.

Then he will undo the wires?

“He will. He says the removal will be straightforward. He will simply snip the wires and pull them out. The holes will heal quickly and should not even bleed when we remove the wires. Silver wire, by the way, in case you are thinking of rusty iron.”

Will I be able to speak afterwards?

“We believe so. Your jawbone was cleanly aligned and set and
you have been healing well. So yes, you should be able to speak as well as you did before.”

I hesitated, thinking of when I had first met Prior Richard. He had been travelling through Selkirk Forest with visiting religious dignitaries on their way from England, prime among those John le Romayne, Archbishop of the Holy See of York, when they’d been ambushed by Will and his forest outlaws. I had been there with my cousin that day, having delivered instructions to Will from Bishop Wishart of Glasgow to intercept the English party on the road. His Grace of Glasgow had been forewarned by another bishop in England that the English archbishop was abusing his episcopal immunity and flouting the laws of God and Scotland’s realm by smuggling coinage north from England under the spurious auspices of the Church to pay the English garrisons in Scotland. Will, acting in the sovereign name of King John Balliol, had found and confiscated the hoard the archbishop had been transporting.

“This man, John le Romayne, Archbishop of York,” Will, prompted by me, said in front of scores of witnesses, “has betrayed his conscience, his brethren, and his vocation, abandoning his vows to the King of Kings in Heaven to win favour of a king on earth, Edward Plantagenet.” He waved towards the pile of money chests in the bed of the wagon. “All men, from this day forth, will know that priests are as open to corruption as any other man, their holy orders notwithstanding. No priest has ever been molested in this land while on his churchly business. No priest has ever had his good faith or his goodwill questioned. But no priest will ever again enjoy the privileges this man here has abused. The impiety and treachery of John le Romayne, Archbishop of York, will be commemorated forever by that irreversible loss of an ancient religious privilege.”

I saw that Prior Richard was looking at me expectantly, waiting for my next question, and so, without another pause, I asked it, my handwriting strong and confident.
What can you tell me about my cousin Will?

He read my question and frowned slightly. But instead of
answering, he turned to Harald Gaptooth, who lay watching us. “Are you comfortable, Master Gaptooth? Is there anything you require?”

Only when I saw the look of bafflement on Gaptooth’s face did I realize that the question had been in Latin and that the other man had likely understood no word of it beyond his own name.

“Wha—? What’s that ye say?”

“Your pardon,” the prior said, switching to English. “I merely asked if you are comfortable.”

“Aye, like enough,” Gaptooth answered, his voice as truculent as ever. “I’m fine, save for listening to the two of you jabbering like heathens.”

“I am glad to hear that, though I am the sole speaker and hardly heathenish. Forgive me for speaking Latin in your presence but, as you no doubt know, that is the way of priests.” He smiled apologetically. “We find it so much easier and more precise to speak the Church’s language in dealing with one another, but I will soon be leaving and will bother you no longer.”

He turned back to me and smoothly reverted to Latin. “I had to be sure our friend here understood nothing of what we were saying before I answered your question. I fear, though, that I have little good to tell you—and even less of substance, since we hear little of the world outside our walls.” He inhaled softly, his eyes gazing into nothingness as he thought about what to say next. “That said, though, I will tell you what little I know.” A deep frown marred his wide brow. “You are aware, I hope, that your cousin lost his wife and children?”

I wrote quickly, anxious to relieve him of his doubts.
I was there, at the start of it when they were taken. That is when I received these injuries. Later, before they brought me here, one of Will’s men told me they were all dead—and how they had died.

“And you have heard nothing since then, obviously.” The frown on his face had not abated, and his eyes flickered around the tiny room. “We hear rumours here, largely unconfirmed. Some things, however, appear to be true, at least in part … Much has changed
here in southern Scotland since that time. An English knight was killed within days of the murders, and I have been given to believe he was in command of the people responsible for the outrage of those tragic deaths. The word was that your cousin himself had slain the man in retribution for the deaths of his family. The English sheriff of Lanark was struck down, too, at about the same time. His name was Hazelrig and he had led a small army—almost the entire garrison of Lanark town—into Selkirk Forest to stamp out Wallace and his outlaws. But he died there instead, with all his men, overcome in their camp in the dead of night.”

And then? The raid on Lanark?

His eyebrows rose. “How did you—? Ah!” He glanced again at Gaptooth, who lay glaring at us as he fought uselessly to understand what we were saying. “Our uncouth companion told you, did he?”

I nodded.

“And did he tell you that he is the sole survivor of the English garrison?” He watched my reaction and dipped his head, satisfied that I had not known that. “Unsurprising. I’m sure he himself is unaware of it …”

I waited, but the prior’s thoughts were far away, and I reached again to write.
Will?

He inhaled sharply. “The last I heard was that he had gone south after taking Lanark, leaving it undefended in order to march into Douglasdale, where Sir William Douglas was leading a full-scale attack on the English in his territory.” He did not need to tell me of his dislike for Douglas, whose reputation for violence, lawlessness, and turbulence was notorious. “But that is all I know and it is no more than rumour.”

“Hmm.” That sound, at least, I could pronounce.

“I think it best we get you up and well and back to Glasgow as soon as possible.” Prior Richard hesitated. “You yet remain on Bishop Wishart’s staff, do you not?”

I dipped my head gently, not entirely certain that was still the case, but he nodded, too, looking slightly relieved. “I had hoped so. I wrote to the bishop with word of your arrival here and the condition
in which you had been brought to us, but I have heard nothing in return. Does that surprise you?”

I smiled and shook my head cautiously.