most venerable and holy foundation. I have also listened many times, with the most profound humility and respect, to the words of your predecessor, Father Cyprien, may God have mercy on his soul.’
‘ Gloria Patri. He was a grievous loss to us.’
‘I can imagine. A most worthy servant of Christ, most dutiful and devout. His guidance was always a blessing.’
‘He that handleth a matter wisely shall find good; and whoso trusteth in the Lord, happy is he.’
‘Amen.’
Ho hum. What a bore. Glance at Esclaramonde: her head is bowed, her hands are folded. She looks exactly like a nun.
‘Lord Abbot, you must forgive us for this intrusion, but my father felt that we should settle a certain matter which affects many people, including yourself.’ Roland’s treading carefully: there’s no emotion in his voice at all. ‘It concerns a man called Clairin; I believe he is a resident of this Abbey?’
‘We have a servant by that name.’
‘Only the one?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘And does he often enter my father’s forest at Lavalet, to collect wood?’
The Abbot stiffens.
‘Never,’ he declares. ‘This Abbey has no right or claim to any produce from that land.’
‘Then I must tell you that Brother Clairin appears to have dishonoured your authority, and assaulted a free man known as Garnier of Lavalet, while collecting wood in my father’s forest.’
There. That’s done it. No more compliments. No more courtesies. Now we’re getting down to business.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ the Abbot retorts. ‘Have you any proof of such a thing?’
‘My lord, this woman lives and works in the same community as the injured man. She has seen his wounds. She has spoken to his son, who witnessed the assault, 64 and who identified Clairin.’ Roland gestures towards Esclaramonde. ‘I believe there may be grounds for some sort of inquiry.’
The Abbot’s face puckers. His jaw begins to move. His fingers twitch on the head of his cane.
‘I do not agree,’ he snaps.
‘My lord Abbot –’ ‘This . . . this woman . . . ’ (Scowling at Esclaramonde.)
‘This woman, or should we say demon, is a false witness and a foul perverter of the truth. Her tongue is polluted. Her house is the way to hell. This woman is like the whore of Babylon, drunk with the blood of saints, and no good Christian should bear witness to her filthy deceits.’
Uh-oh.
‘My lord Abbot –’
‘Go back to your father, Lord Roland, and tell him not to defile himself, but to shut his ears to the profane counsel of Lucifer, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and whose tongue is a sharp sword.’
‘ I am not a liar. ’ Esclaramonde leaps to her feet. ‘I am not a liar. I am not a false witness. You are unjust.’ Her dark eyes blazing, her voice sharp and strong. ‘You are like Saul, when the evil spirit came upon him!’
God preserve us. The Abbot tries to speak, but his words are swallowed by a fit of coughing. Esclaramonde turns to go. Roland grabs her arm, and pulls her back.
‘Sit down,’ he hisses.
‘You are like Jezebel!’ (The Abbot’s found his breath, again.) ‘You are like the beast with seven heads and the names of blasphemy on them! You have defiled this house with your corruption, and filled this man’s ears with lies!’
‘I will not stay here!’
‘No, you will not stay here. You will leave the Abbey grounds at once. You are an evil woman, not welcome in this holy place.’
And off she goes. As fast as a flea. ‘Pagan! Stay with her!’ Yes, my lord, that’s just what I was thinking. She’s so hampered by the length of her skirts that she doesn’t get far before I’ve caught up. Barely manages to clear the first corner.
‘Wait. Hold on. Don’t run away, Mistress.’ Catching her arm. ‘I know it wasn’t pleasant, but he’s probably senile.’
‘He is unjust!’
‘I know, I know he is. And incontinent too, I’ll bet.’
She can’t help laughing. It’s a reluctant kind of laugh,
‘ Gloria Patri. He was a grievous loss to us.’
‘I can imagine. A most worthy servant of Christ, most dutiful and devout. His guidance was always a blessing.’
‘He that handleth a matter wisely shall find good; and whoso trusteth in the Lord, happy is he.’
‘Amen.’
Ho hum. What a bore. Glance at Esclaramonde: her head is bowed, her hands are folded. She looks exactly like a nun.
‘Lord Abbot, you must forgive us for this intrusion, but my father felt that we should settle a certain matter which affects many people, including yourself.’ Roland’s treading carefully: there’s no emotion in his voice at all. ‘It concerns a man called Clairin; I believe he is a resident of this Abbey?’
‘We have a servant by that name.’
‘Only the one?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘And does he often enter my father’s forest at Lavalet, to collect wood?’
The Abbot stiffens.
‘Never,’ he declares. ‘This Abbey has no right or claim to any produce from that land.’
‘Then I must tell you that Brother Clairin appears to have dishonoured your authority, and assaulted a free man known as Garnier of Lavalet, while collecting wood in my father’s forest.’
There. That’s done it. No more compliments. No more courtesies. Now we’re getting down to business.
‘I find that hard to believe,’ the Abbot retorts. ‘Have you any proof of such a thing?’
‘My lord, this woman lives and works in the same community as the injured man. She has seen his wounds. She has spoken to his son, who witnessed the assault, 64 and who identified Clairin.’ Roland gestures towards Esclaramonde. ‘I believe there may be grounds for some sort of inquiry.’
The Abbot’s face puckers. His jaw begins to move. His fingers twitch on the head of his cane.
‘I do not agree,’ he snaps.
‘My lord Abbot –’ ‘This . . . this woman . . . ’ (Scowling at Esclaramonde.)
‘This woman, or should we say demon, is a false witness and a foul perverter of the truth. Her tongue is polluted. Her house is the way to hell. This woman is like the whore of Babylon, drunk with the blood of saints, and no good Christian should bear witness to her filthy deceits.’
Uh-oh.
‘My lord Abbot –’
‘Go back to your father, Lord Roland, and tell him not to defile himself, but to shut his ears to the profane counsel of Lucifer, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and whose tongue is a sharp sword.’
‘ I am not a liar. ’ Esclaramonde leaps to her feet. ‘I am not a liar. I am not a false witness. You are unjust.’ Her dark eyes blazing, her voice sharp and strong. ‘You are like Saul, when the evil spirit came upon him!’
God preserve us. The Abbot tries to speak, but his words are swallowed by a fit of coughing. Esclaramonde turns to go. Roland grabs her arm, and pulls her back.
‘Sit down,’ he hisses.
‘You are like Jezebel!’ (The Abbot’s found his breath, again.) ‘You are like the beast with seven heads and the names of blasphemy on them! You have defiled this house with your corruption, and filled this man’s ears with lies!’
‘I will not stay here!’
‘No, you will not stay here. You will leave the Abbey grounds at once. You are an evil woman, not welcome in this holy place.’
And off she goes. As fast as a flea. ‘Pagan! Stay with her!’ Yes, my lord, that’s just what I was thinking. She’s so hampered by the length of her skirts that she doesn’t get far before I’ve caught up. Barely manages to clear the first corner.
‘Wait. Hold on. Don’t run away, Mistress.’ Catching her arm. ‘I know it wasn’t pleasant, but he’s probably senile.’
‘He is unjust!’
‘I know, I know he is. And incontinent too, I’ll bet.’
She can’t help laughing. It’s a reluctant kind of laugh,
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