The Forest Laird(94)

I walked with them to the gates after we ate, and on the way we came within two paces of Antony Bek, who nodded to us as we passed, then returned to his discussion with the men around him.

“Learn a lesson from Bek,” Will said to me at the gates. “People see what they expect to see, rather than what is truly there to be seen. Be good, young Jamie, and when ye’ve become a seasoned priest, come and see us in the forest.”

I promised I would, and my two oldest friends strode away, and then I went back into the Abbey to begin my new life as a priest.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

1

The remainder of that year, 1293, may have been uneventful for most of the realm of Scotland, but for me it was a hectic period, spent adapting to the practical reality of living daily as a priest. My new principal and superior, Bishop Wishart, was then the senior prelate of Scotland, and he went out of his way, from the outset of our relationship, to ensure that I became familiar with, and stood prepared to deal with, all the political developments that affected our lives, not only within the realm but even more dramatically in the closely associated circles of the Church in England as well as Scotland. It was an exhaustive field of activity, particularly in the early days, and he plunged me into it directly after my ordination, going so far as to provide me with a well-lit office cubicle so that I could study more effectively and apply myself to the tasks he set me without being interrupted.

Callow, inexperienced, and newly minted as I was, I knew nonetheless that I was being accorded extraordinary treatment for a tyro, and I braced myself to raise the matter with the Bishop, to discover why he should be at such pains before I even had a chance to prove myself to him.

But it was he himself who raised the matter. Soon after I had moved to Glasgow, exchanging my home in the Abbey for the new and ornate but yet unfinished cathedral there, he told me he had seen a talent in me years earlier, an ability that had impressed him sufficiently to ensure that he would keep a close eye on me thereafter. I must have looked truly perplexed.

“I don’t understand you, my lord,” I said. “Forgive me, but what are you talking about?”

“Your gift for reading people,” he said. “It’s quite amazing. I’ve never seen the like of it in one so young.”

I laughed aloud, at a loss for words.

“Don’t laugh, Father James,” he said testily. “If I wished to be amusing I could find more beguiling topics with which to entertain you. You have a gift, God-sent. A talent, lodged deep within you and thrusting itself forward despite your own wishes. God has granted you a rare capacity to look at men and see through all the artifices they present to mask them from the world. You do it without even being aware of it, and you see straight to the heart of whomever you are dealing with at any time. That, Father, is a capability so rare as to be priceless to a man like me, who has to treat from day to day with people whose main concern is to conceal their own true motives.”

He saw me begin to raise a hand in protest and swept my interjection aside before I could voice it. “Believe me, I am no fool babbling into my wine cup. I saw this in you years ago. And once I had noticed it, I watched for it increasingly, and I never saw it fail. But even then, I did not trust my own perceptions. I enlisted the help of others, telling them what I suspected and then bidding them observe you as I had, and they all concurred.”

This time I did stop him. “Forgive me, my lord, but who are ‘they,’ these people you set to watch me?”

“No one who would do you harm or wish any ill upon you, Father James. Your cousins, Father Peter and Brother Duncan, were glad to assist me, as were both the Abbot and Sub-abbot of Paisley, and all of them agreed that this ability of yours, whatever its source, is real and strong.” He shrugged. “So what would you have me do with such knowledge, holding as it does the certainty that your abilities can make my task as bishop and pastor much less arduous? I have no choice but to foster your talents, because I believe that once you have learned to direct and control them, they will be of immense value, not merely to me but to the realm itself.”

I tried to argue with him, claiming that he had misjudged me and overestimated my supposed abilities, but he was adamant. Much to my own surprise, I quickly came to love the challenges involved as he instructed me patiently on how to assess the records and reports, some written but most of them oral, of men’s past deeds; to look meticulously at their backgrounds and their previous activities for indications of their beliefs and motivations; and then, in face-to-face encounters, to look beyond their outer, public facades to divine their true motivations and intent.