‘The Upright Men,’ Athelstan murmured. ‘Where will they flee on the day of judgement?’ He looked at the rough, chapped faces of the brothers who stared stonily back. ‘Jerusalem,’ Athelstan added sadly, ‘will not be built on earth.’
‘But Babylon and its proud princes can be brought as low as hell,’ a lay brother retorted.
‘Like this,’ Athelstan pointed at the dead swan, ‘do you know what the great philosopher Anselm said? “Cruelty to God’s creatures comes directly from the evil one”. Leda was,’ Athelstan continued softly, ‘a manifestation of the glory of God.’ He stood aside. ‘Your Lord Abbot needs to be informed.’ Athelstan returned to Cranston, still standing in the porch, and told him what had happened.
‘Abbot Walter is a fool. Athelstan, please excuse me, I’ve other business to attend to. We’ll then meet and confront Abbot Walter and his Lady Purity.’ Cranston strolled away.
Athelstan watched him go and decided to visit the library. Immediately as he entered two of the monks sitting in their carrels swiftly rose. Courteous, gracious and welcoming, Athelstan sensed they were under strict instruction to keep him occupied, whilst a third brought Richer from the scriptorium. Athelstan informed him about the swan. The Frenchman raised his eyes and murmured a prayer.
‘I am sorry,’ Richer lisped, ‘but at the present I’ve other business to deal with. I will see Father Abbot in due time. I have decided,’ Richer gestured around the library, ‘much as I love it here, to return to St Calliste, as Lord Walter said, sooner rather than later, probably in the next few days.’
‘I am sorry,’ Athelstan shook his head, ‘that will not be possible.’
‘What do you mean – I’m a priest, a Benedictine, a citizen of France. I—’
‘Brother Richer, you could be the kinsman of the Archangel Gabriel. If the Crown of England decides that you must delay your return to France until this business is cleared up then that must be so. No harbour master will allow you out of this realm without proper licence. Now, do you have information here on the bloodstone, the Passio Christi?’
Richer, all flustered, waved the friar to a carrel under a window, further light being provided by a covered candle. Athelstan sat and patiently waited until Richer brought a book, a copy of a work Athelstan recognized from his own order’s library at Blackfriars, ‘The Book of Relics’, a compendium describing the great relics of Christendom and their location. Athelstan opened this and found the entry for the bloodstone, short and succinct, telling him very little more than he already knew. Athelstan stared at the entry and leafed through the pages. A bell sounded. The monks, busy over their manuscripts, paused, rose and filed out. Athelstan glanced down the library. The door to the scriptorium remained closed. Richer had not left. Athelstan extinguished the candles, closed the book and moved into the shadows, searching the shelf from where Richer had taken ‘The Book of Relics’. Athelstan was sure there must be more information than just a few lines in a general compendium.
So hidden in the darkness, Prior Alexander did not see Athelstan as he flung open the library door and hurried down, knocking at the scriptorium and entering even before Richer could reply. Athelstan edged out of the corner and softly approached as near as he could. The prior had not bothered to close the door behind him. He heard Richer ask if Prior Alexander had seen ‘that friar – more of a ferret than a priest?’ Athelstan smiled at that. Prior Alexander ignored the question and began a tirade, highly irate at the prospect of Richer leaving so soon. The prior lost all control, shouting at Richer, asking if he cared, and demanding he tell him the reason why? Athelstan felt guilty yet he stayed, listening to what was really a passionate lovers’ quarrel. Richer tried to defend himself, explaining how he had to go, but the prior was besides himself with jealous rage. The argument grew more heated. Athelstan braced himself as he heard a stool crash over, Richer yelled that the prior let go of his arm. Athelstan was about to intervene when the library door rattled. The friar hastily stepped back into the shadows. A servitor entered, clumsily slipping and slithering on the polished floor, loudly shouting how the Lord Abbot demanded the immediate presence of both his prior and sub-prior in his chamber.
The altercation in the scriptorium swifty subsided. Both monks left, followed by the agitated servitor loudly lamenting how the Lord Abbot was stricken at what had happened to poor Leda. Athelstan waited until they’d gone and stepped out of his hiding place. He was about to continue his searches when he heard Cranston shouting his name. Athelstan sighed and walked to the door. The coroner stood at the far end of the portico gallery which ran down to the library, patting the shoulder of the stranger standing next to him as he gestured at Athelstan to join them.