64
It was twelve years since Godwyn and Philemon had visited the cell of St.-John-in-the-Forest. Godwyn remembered being impressed by the neatness of the fields, the trimmed hedges, the cleared ditches, and the apple trees in straight lines in the orchard. It was the same today. Evidently Saul Whitehead had not changed, either.
Godwyn and his caravan crossed a checkerboard of frozen fields toward the clustered buildings of the monastery. As they came closer, Godwyn saw that there had been some developments. Twelve years ago the little stone church with its cloister and dormitory had been surrounded by a scatter of small wooden structures: kitchen, stables, dairy, bakery. Now the flimsy timber outbuildings had gone, and the stone-built complex attached to the church had grown correspondingly. 'The compound is more secure than it used to be,' Godwyn remarked.
'Because of the increase in outlawry by soldiers coming home from the French wars, I'd guess,' Philemon said.
Godwyn frowned. 'I don't recall being asked for my permission for the building program.'
'You were not.'
'Hmm.' Unfortunately, he could hardly complain. Someone might ask how it was possible for Saul to have carried out such a program without Godwyn's knowledge, unless Godwyn had neglected his duty of supervision.
Besides, it suited his purpose now for the place to be easily closed to intruders.
The two-day journey had somewhat calmed him. The death of his mother had thrown him into a frenzy of fear. Every hour he remained in Kingsbridge, he had felt he was sure to die. He had got just enough grip on his emotions to address the meeting in the chapter house and organize the exodus. Despite his eloquence, a few of the monks had had misgivings about fleeing. Fortunately, they were all sworn to obedience, and the habit of doing as they were told had prevailed. Nevertheless, he had not begun to feel safe until his group had crossed the double bridge, torches blazing, and headed off into the night.
He still felt close to the edge. Every now and again he would be mulling something over and would decide to ask Petranilla what she thought, then he would realize he could not ask her advice ever again, and panic would rise like bile in his throat.
He was fleeing from the plague - but he should have done it three months ago, when Mark Webber died. Was he too late? He fought down terror. He would not feel safe until he was locked away from the world.
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present. There was no one in the fields at this time of year, but in a yard of beaten earth in front of the monastery he saw a handful of monks working: one shoeing a horse, another mending a plow, and a small group turning the lever of a cider press.
They all stopped what they were doing and stared, astonished, at the crowd of visitors approaching them: twenty monks, half a dozen novices, four carts, and ten packhorses. Godwyn had left nobody behind but the priory servants.
One of those at the cider press detached himself from the group and came forward. Godwyn recognized him as Saul Whitehead. They had met on Saul's annual visits to Kingsbridge, but now for the first time Godwyn noticed touches of gray in Saul's distinctive ash blond hair.
Twenty years ago they had been students together at Oxford. Saul had been the star pupil, quick to learn and agile in argument. He had also been the most devoutly religious of them all. He might have become prior of Kingsbridge if he had been less spiritual, and had thought strategically about his career instead of leaving such matters to God. As it was, when Prior Anthony had died and the election was held, Godwyn had easily outmaneuvered Saul.
All the same, Saul was not weak. He had a streak of stubborn righteousness that Godwyn feared. Would he go along obediently with Godwyn's plan today, or would he make trouble? Once again Godwyn fought down panic and struggled to remain cool.
He studied Saul's face carefully. The prior of St. John was surprised to see him, and clearly displeased. His expression was carefully composed into a look of polite welcome, but he was not smiling.
During the election campaign, Godwyn had made everyone believe that he himself did not want the job, but he had eliminated every other reasonable candidate, including Saul. Did Saul suspect how he had been hoodwinked?
'Good day to you, Father Prior,' Saul said as he approached. 'This is an unexpected blessing.'
So he was not going to be openly hostile. No doubt he would think that such behavior conflicted with his vow of obedience. Godwyn was relieved. He said: 'God bless you, my son. It is too long since I have visited my children at St. John.'
Saul looked at the monks, the horses, and the carts loaded with supplies. 'This appears to be more than a simple visit.' He did not offer to help Godwyn down from his horse. It was as if he wanted an explanation before he would invite them in - which was ridiculous: he had no right to turn away his superior.
All the same, Godwyn found himself explaining. 'Have you heard about the plague?'
'Rumors,' Saul said. 'There are few visitors to bring us news.'
That was good. The lack of visitors was what drew Godwyn here. 'The disease has killed hundreds in Kingsbridge. I feared it might wipe out the priory. That's why I've brought the monks here. It may be the only way to ensure our survival.'
'You are welcome here, of course, whatever the reason for your visit.'
'It goes without saying,' Godwyn said stiffly. He felt angry that he had been nudged into justifying himself.
Saul looked thoughtful. 'I'm not sure where everyone's going to sleep...'
'I shall decide that,' Godwyn said, reasserting his authority. 'You can show me around while your kitchen is preparing our supper.' He got down from his horse unaided and walked into the monastery.
Saul was obliged to follow.
The whole place had a bare, scrubbed look that expressed how serious Saul was about the monkish vow of poverty. But today Godwyn was more interested in how readily the place could be closed to outsiders. Fortunately, Saul's belief in order and control had led him to design buildings with few entrances. There were only three ways into the priory: through the kitchen, the stable, or the church. Each entrance had a stout door that could be firmly barred.
The dormitory was small, normally accommodating nine or ten monks, and there was no separate bedroom for the prior. The only way to fit twenty extra monks in was the let them sleep in the church.
Godwyn thought of taking over the dormitory for himself, but there was nowhere in the room to hide the cathedral treasures, and he wanted to keep them close. Fortunately, the little church had a small side chapel that could be closed off, and Godwyn took that for his own room. The rest of the Kingsbridge monks spread straw on the stamped earth floor of the nave and made the best of it.
The food and wine went to the kitchen and the cellar, but Philemon brought the ornaments into Godwyn's chapel-bedroom. Philemon had been chatting to the St. John monks. 'Saul has his own way of running things,' he reported. 'He demands rigid obedience to God and the Rule of St. Benedict, but they say he doesn't set himself up on a pedestal. He sleeps in the dorm, eats the same food as the others, and in general takes no privileges. Needless to say, they like him for that. But there's one monk who is constantly being punished - Brother Jonquil.'
'I remember him.' Jonquil had always been in trouble while a novice at Kingsbridge - for lateness, slovenliness, laziness, and greed. He was without self-control, and had probably been drawn to the monastic life as a way of getting someone else to enforce the restraint he could not impose on himself. 'I doubt that he will be much help to us.'
'He will break ranks, given half a chance,' Philemon said. 'But he doesn't carry any authority. No one will follow him.'
'And they have no complaints about Saul? Doesn't he sleep late, or dodge unpleasant chores, or take the best wine for himself?'
'Apparently not.'
'Hmm.' Saul was as upright as ever. Godwyn was disappointed, but not very surprised.
During Evensong, Godwyn noted how solemn and disciplined the St. John men were. Over the years, he had always sent problem monks here: the mutinous, the mentally ill, those inclined to question the church's teachings and take an interest in heretical ideas. Saul had never complained, never sent anyone back. It seemed he was able to turn such people into model monks.
After the service, Godwyn sent most of the Kingsbridge men to the refectory for supper, keeping only Philemon and two strong young monks behind. When they had the church to themselves, he told Philemon to guard the door that gave entrance from the cloisters, then ordered the youngsters to move the carved wooden altar and dig a hole beneath where it normally stood.
When the hole was deep enough, Godwyn brought the cathedral ornaments from his chapel, ready to be buried beneath the altar. But before he could complete the job Saul came to the door.
Godwyn heard Philemon say: 'The lord prior wishes to be alone.'
Next came Saul's voice. 'Then he may tell me so himself.'
'He has asked me to say so.'
Saul's voice rose. 'I will not be shut out of my own church - least of all by you!'
'Will you offer violence to me, the subprior of Kingsbridge?'
'I will pick you up and throw you in the fountain, if you continue to stand in my way.'
Godwyn intervened. He would have preferred to keep Saul in ignorance, but it was not to be. 'Let him in, Philemon,' he called.
Philemon stepped aside and Saul marched in. He saw the baggage and, without asking permission, opened the neck of a sack and looked inside. 'My soul!' he exclaimed, drawing out a silver-gilt altar cruet. 'What's all this?'
Godwyn was tempted to tell him not to interrogate his superiors. Saul might have accepted such a reproof: he believed in humility, at least in principle. But Godwyn did not want to let suspicion ferment in Saul's mind, so he said: 'I've brought the cathedral treasures with me.'
Saul made a face of distaste. 'I realize that such gewgaws are thought appropriate in a great cathedral, but they will seem out of place at a humble cell in the forest.'
'You won't have to look at them. I'm going to hide them. There's no harm in your knowing where, though I intended to spare you the burden of that knowledge.'
Saul looked suspicious. 'Why bring them at all?'
'For safekeeping.'
Saul was not so easily reassured. 'I'm surprised the bishop was willing to let them be taken away.'
The bishop had not been asked, of course, but Godwyn did not say that. 'At the moment, things are so bad in Kingsbridge that we're not sure the ornaments are safe even at the priory.'
'Safer than here, though, surely? We are surrounded by outlaws, you know. Thank God you didn't meet them on the road.'
'God is watching over us.'
'And over his jewelry, I hope.'
Saul's attitude amounted almost to insubordination, but Godwyn did not reprimand him, fearing that an overreaction would suggest guilt. However, he noted that Saul's humility had its limits. Perhaps after all Saul did know that he had been hoodwinked twelve years ago.
Now Godwyn said: 'Please ask all the monks to stay in the refectory after supper. I will address them as soon as I have finished here.'
Saul accepted this dismissal and went out. Godwyn buried the ornaments, the priory charters, the relics of the saint, and almost all the money. The monks replaced the soil in the hole, tamped it down, and put the altar back in its place. There was some loose earth left over, which they took outside and scattered.
Then they went to the refectory. The little room was crowded now, with the addition of the Kingsbridge men. A monk stood at the lectern, reading a passage from Mark's gospel, but he fell silent when Godwyn walked in.
Godwyn motioned the reader to a seat and took his place. 'This is a holy retreat,' he began. 'God has sent this terrible plague to punish us for our sins. We have come here to purge those sins far away from the corrupting influence of the city.'
Godwyn had not intended to open a discussion, but Saul sang out: 'What sins in particular, Father Godwyn?'
Godwyn improvised. 'Men have challenged the authority of God's holy church; women have become lascivious; monks have failed to separate themselves completely from female society; nuns have turned to heresy and witchcraft.'
'And how long will it take to purge these sins?'
'We will know we have triumphed when the plague dies away.'
Another St. John monk spoke up, and Godwyn recognized Jonquil, a large, uncoordinated man with a wild look in his eyes. 'How will you purge yourself?'
Godwyn was surprised that the monks here felt so free to question their superiors. 'By prayer, meditation, and fasting.'
'The fasting is a good idea,' said Jonquil. 'We haven't got much food to spare.'
There was a little laughter at that.
Godwyn was worried that he might lose control of his audience. He banged the lectern for quiet. 'From now on, anyone who comes here from the outside world is a danger to us,' he said. 'I want all doors to the precinct barred from the inside day and night. No monk is to go outside without my personal permission, which will be granted only in emergency. All callers are to be turned away. We are going to lock ourselves in until this terrible plague is over.'
Jonquil said: 'But what if - '
Godwyn interrupted him. 'I haven't asked for comments, Brother.' He glared around the room, staring them all into silence. 'You are monks, and it is your duty to obey,' he said. 'And now, let us pray.'