The weather had not improved. An ominous greyness had descended over the abbey, befitting the mood of the community. Soon the bell would toll the little hour of sext, and about us monks sought refuge in the comfort of daily affairs. To the scriptorium, or the stables, long, sombre figures moved. Everywhere monks would raise their cowls a little to steal glances at one another, perhaps seeking recognition and justification for an anxiety felt, but never expressed. My master and I sought out the infirmarian. We knew that he had left earlier in the direction of the infirmary. As we walked with quick steps past the graveyard, I saw two monks digging Ezekiel’s grave, its dark depths contrasted starkly with the purity of the snow. Tomorrow, after the office of the dead, the old man’s mortality would be immersed in the cold ground, to sleep the eternal dreamless sleep in which the silence of divinity resides in the chalice of peace, and I pondered on the words of Job, ‘Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery’, and I was caught between despair for the monastery, and a grave fear of the antichrist.
We entered the infirmary where there was a good fire in the hearth, and as we stepped across the threshold, we saw that Brother Asa was hurriedly replacing something of large proportions in a velvet pouch.
‘Preceptor . . . you have been injured . . .’ he said, frowning a little, holding the pouch behind him. ‘I see that you have dressed the wound.’
‘Just a little graze. I should be more careful getting out of bed,’ he smiled, fixing the infirmarian with one of his silent stares until the man began to look about him nervously.
‘I wanted to tell you, but . . .’
‘What did you want to tell me, Asa,’ he asked him, ‘about Brother Samuel’s death? That you saw him dying, but did nothing?’
‘How do you mean?’ The infirmarian became distressed.
‘At the inquiry you said Brother Samuel was found in the church, gasping for air, but when we spoke to Brother Daniel, he said that when he found the monk he was already dead. So logically we must assume that you came across the poor man before Brother Daniel. Am I right!’
The man fell to his knees, ‘No! I . . . that is, I did not . . . you have to believe me!’ he cried.
‘That you did not kill the brother? Or that you were the first to see him and did nothing to save his life?’
‘I will tell you . . .’ Asa sobbed into one hand, but my master did not wait for him to regain his composure, and pressed him to go on by helping him roughly to his feet.
‘I went to see Brother Ezekiel,’ he pleaded, ‘on the matter of a book. Being the translator and possessing a very good memory, Brother Macabus suggested that I see him. I was told that prior to nones he was always to be found at the foot of the Virgin, so I went there, but he was not alone. He was having a heated argument with Brother Samuel. Lord forgive them, they were raising their voices in the Chapel of the Lady of our sorrows. Not wishing to intrude, I waited in the ambulatory.’
‘What you mean to say is that you waited in the shadows, hoping to hear their argument.’ The man was silent, lowering his eyes, and my master waved him on.
‘For the most part I did not understand their conversation,’ he continued, ‘then I heard something which drew my interest.’
‘Yes?’
‘They were discussing something . . . they called it a ‘final conclusion’. Brother Samuel said he must go down, and see for himself, Brother Ezekiel disagreed vehemently, saying that it was not the right time, he was not sure that any of them were pure enough . . . that it would depend on the others . . . I do not know what he meant by this . . .’ he shrugged his shoulders. ‘Brother Samuel then said that Daniel had given him the formulas.’
‘What were they discussing? Tell me!’ my master cried, his eyes ablaze.
‘I don’t know, I swear to you!’
‘Now you swear!’ There was a pause. ‘What is this place they should not visit? The tunnels, perhaps?’
‘I don’t know, but I do know it has something to do with the boy.’
‘The boy?’
‘The novice, they mentioned him.’
‘What novice, Anselmo or Jerome?’
He looked surprised, even shocked. His lips began to quiver and a faint perspiration appeared on his brow. ‘No, not them, but another . . .’
We were both bewildered. ‘What other . . .? Tell me about him.’
‘I cannot . . . I don’t know . . . no one has seen him, not since he has fallen ill.’
‘Tell me who he is.’
‘He came to this monastery as an oblate of no more than seven. But no one has ever seen him. They say he is down with the ghosts, but no one goes there! No one! It is forbidden.’