The Serpents of Harbledown

EPILOGUE

Ceremonial was very dear to Archbishop Lanfranc. It lent dignity to an occasion, it rendered it memorable and it raised the visibility of the Christian Church. He lost no opportunity to sanction a legitimate procession through the streets of Canterbury and would-if the event merited his presence-take part himself in his archiepiscopal robes and mitre. Ceremonial had another function. Lanfranc could use it as a huge, colourful curtain to draw across the squalor and misery from which every city inevitably suffered.

The procession that afternoon had a twin purpose. It was a celebration of the Church’s triumph over heresy and it honoured the installation of Abbot Guy as the new father of St. Augustine’s Abbey. Lanfranc abhorred delay. Though Guy had only arrived in the city that morning, his consecration as abbot followed the same afternoon. Having quelled rebellion at the abbey, Lanfranc was determined to close down the space in which it could flare up again. Abbot Guy was more than happy to comply, believing that his obedientiaries should feel the smack of firm control at the earliest possible time.

A muscular young monk led the way, bearing a large cross at the end of a long heavy pole. Its shadow fell across all whom it passed and baptised them softly. Archbishop Lanfranc himself came next, moving slowly in his sacerdotal array and raising a tired hand to acknowledge the crowd with almost papal authority.

Prior Henry was on his left, proud of his role in helping to combat heresy and gratified that Philippe Berbizier was now fettered in a dungeon. On the archbishop’s right hand was Abbot Guy, a thin, shrewd, ascetic man with a reputation for strictness and a disdain of easy popularity.

Monks from Christ Church Priory formed the body of the procession, walking in pairs and raising their voices in a hymn of joy, their mellifluous chant blending with the peal of bells from the cathedral. The procession left the precinct and swung left up Burh Street, which was already lined by the curious populace.

On through Burgate they went, at the leisurely pace of the great and the good. When they came to the abbey, they expected its doors to be flung open wide to welcome their new abbot.

Instead, they remained defiantly closed. Only one monk was waiting to greet the august assembly and he was no longer a member of the community. It was Gregory, the deposed prior and erstwhile leader of the dissenting brothers. He had been authorised to communicate a dread message.

“They are adamant, Your Grace. They refuse to obey.”

Abbot Guy stiffened, Prior Henry turned puce and Archbishop Lanfranc fumed with controlled rage. Lest he be seen to be part of the resistance, Gregory gave a humble bow and, smiling inwardly at the general discomfiture, moved to join the end of the column as one of its dutiful members.

Lanfranc sent a monk to pound on the abbey door. It opened to reveal the entire community, standing shoulder to shoulder as they awaited the primate’s response. It was loud and menacing.

Lanfranc showed that he would brook no mutiny.

“He that will not obey his archbishop,” he announced, “let him depart this place at once.”

There was a momentary hesitation, then the monks filed out with a purposeful stride. They went past their new abbot without even a glance. The exodus continued until there were no more than a handful of monks inside the abbey. Old, weak, fearful or unable to defy their archbishop, they formed a poor congregation for such an important occasion.

Archbishop Lanfranc was not to be baulked.

“Come, Abbot Guy,” he said. “You will be enthroned.”

The scandal was still raging the following morning and it afforded Ralph Delchard endless amusement. He and Gervase Bret had arrived at the shire hall to recommence their work as commissioners. Even though it had shifted decisively away from their own arena, the battle between cathedral and abbey could not be ignored.

“By all, this is wonderful!” said Gervase. “Each new day brings a fresh delight. Two nights ago, we met an amorous priest with a forbidden wife. Yesterday, the monks of the abbey rebelled against the archbishop. And today, some of those same brave fellows are still barricaded inside St. Mildred’s Church, saying that they would rather starve to death than accept Abbot Guy.” He shook with mirth. “When the Church can make me laugh so much, I almost begin to take it seriously.”

“It is not really a subject for ridicule,” said Gervase. “Have you any idea what will happen to those monks who still resist Archbishop Lanfranc?”

“Yes. They’ll do what all the others did. Hunger is a cunning advocate. They will not find starvation quite so attractive a road when they have staggered a little way along it. I believe they will soon come out and kneel to the archbishop.”

“And then?”

“He will scold them roundly and send them back.”

“No, Ralph,” said Gervase. “Those who have held out will never enter the abbey again. They will be dispersed to other monastic foundations with letters from the archbishop to explain that they are in disgrace. As for their leader, he is to be stripped, tied to the door of the abbey and flogged.”

“Who told you all this?”

“Canon Hubert.”

“Flogged in public?”

“Mercilessly. And then evicted from the Order.”

Ralph was shocked. “Lanfranc has decided this?”

“Yes.”

“But Hubert told us the man was a saint.”

“Even saints can lose their temper at times.”

“I am sorry for the leader of this revolt,” said Ralph, “but I am heartened to know that there is steel in the good archbishop. If this is how he treats his own monks, imagine how much more ruthless he will be towards Philippe Berbizier and his accomplices.

Flogging would be too light a sentence for him. I would happily be his executioner.”

“Leave him to the rigour of the law and the condemnation of the Church,” suggested Gervase. “We have done our share.

Bertha’s death is answered and her father can die in peace.

Brother Martin’s murder has been solved and the church of St.

Nicholas is once again unpolluted.”

“Golde’s sufferings have been avenged as well. She is now free to help Eadgyth in a pressing task.”

“Looking after the baby?”

“No, Gervase. Finding a new doctor.”

Canon Hubert sailed in with Brother Simon. Both wore stern expressions and gave only muted greetings. It was evident that they were deeply embarrassed by Lanfranc’s difficulties with perverse monks. Ralph spread a little early-morning unease.

“What is your view of clerical marriage, Hubert?” he said.

“It is expressly forbidden,” said Hubert.

“Do you support that edict?”

“To the hilt. A priest should be pure and unsullied. Like myself and Brother Simon here.”

“But what of a priest, for the sake of argument, who fell in love before Archbishop Lanfranc made his decree? Imagine his plight.

He is betrothed at an early age and wants nothing more than to share his life, his work and his bed with his beloved. Then along comes this ruling from above and he learns that he is divorced before he is even married.”

“He must renounce the girl.”

“Supposing he is not willing?”

“His duty is simple. He has no choice.”

“He can resign his ministry,” noted Gervase.

“There is a third way,” said Ralph mischievously. “What if he were to remain a priest but marry in secret?”

“An abomination!” exclaimed Brother Simon.

“He would not be able to serve God properly.”

“But he would be able to serve his wife.”

“My lord!” blustered Hubert.

“I merely put a case to you.”

“If you know of such a one, he must be reported to the archbishop forthwith. Carnal knowledge is unbecoming in a man of God. Do you have a priest in mind?”

“No, Canon Hubert,” said Gervase, jumping in quickly. “Ralph is teasing you. In any case, would Archbishop Lanfranc really have time for such a minor malefactor when he has so much else on his hands? Heresy in the city and dissension at the abbey will keep his mind occupied for some time.”

“That is true, Gervase.”

Osbern the Reeve appeared at the door to await orders. They took their seats and brought out documents from their satchels to set on the table before them. As Hubert put some charters in front of him, he noted the neat repair in the sleeve of his cowl.

“I am deeply grateful to your wife, my lord.”

“Golde insisted on sewing up your sleeve herself. I got it slashed while trying to save her. Your cowl had many exciting adventures while I wore it.”

“I am glad that it has been restored to me.”

“Even though you may think it contaminated?”

“By what, my lord?”

“The very thing you spoke of just now. Marriage.”

“I do not understand.”

“When I rescued Golde, I did so as Canon Hubert. She was so relieved to see me that she embraced me warmly. A dagger is not the only thing which touched your cowl. It has felt the true warmth of marital passion.”

Brother Simon was outraged and Canon Hubert began to pat himself all over as if he had a wasp inside his cowl. Ralph rocked with laughter. Having thoroughly upset the pair of them, he signalled to Osbern to bring in the first witness. Then he turned to nudge Gervase.

“Do not fear,” he whispered. “I would never betray our wanton priest. Every man is entitled to keep one big secret.”

Gervase thought of Alain at the leper hospital.

“Yes,” he said. “Just one.”