Ellis Peters - The Holy Thief

The Holy Thief

Ellis Peters

The Nineteenth Chronicle of Brother Cadfael

EBook Design Group v2 HTML February 07, 2003

CONTENTS

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Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Prologue

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In the height of a hot summer, in late August of1144, Geoffrey de Mandeville, Earl of Essex, deferred to the heatof the sun, and made the final, fatal mistake of his long andopportunist career. He was engaged, at the time, in planning thedestruction by siege of one of the circle of improvised buteffective fortresses King Stephen had thrown up to contain andcompress the depredations of Geoffreys host of outlaws,rebels and predators in the Fen country. For more than a year, fromhis elusive bases in the Fens, Geoffrey had so devastated thecountryside as to ensure that not a field should be safely plantedor reaped, not a manor properly tended, not a man with anything ofvalue to lose should be left in possession of it, and not one whorefused to surrender it should be left with even a life to lose. Asthe king had wrested from him all his own relatively legitimatecastles and lands and titles, none too legally if the truth betold, so Geoffrey had set to work in defiance to do as much toevery man, poor or rich, who got in his way. For a year, from theborders of Huntingdon to Mildenhall in Suffolk and over much ofCambridgeshire, the Fens had become an enclosed robber kingdom inspite of King Stephens head, and though his hasty ring ofcastles had done something to prevent its further enlargement, ithad not hampered the earls movements greatly, or brought himto the battle he was expert at avoiding.

But this strong-point of Burwell, north-east of Cambridge,irritated him because it was beginning to interfere with his supplylines, almost the only thing vulnerable about him. And on one ofthe hottest days of August he was riding round the offending castleto view the best possibilities for attack. Because of the heat hehad discarded his helmet and the curtain of fine chain mail thatguarded his neck. An ordinary bowman on the wall loosed a shot athim, and struck him in the head.

Geoffrey laughed at it, the wound seemed so slight; he withdrewto allow a few days for healing. And in a few days he was burningwith a fevered infection that pared the flesh from his bones andbrought him to his bed. They carried him as far as Mildenhall inSuffolk, and there awoke to the knowledge that he was dying. Thesun had done what all King Stephens armies could not do.

What was impossible was that he should die in peace. He was anunabsolved excommunicate; not even a priest could help him, for inthe mid-Lent council called the previous year by Henry of Blois,bishop of Winchester, the kings brother and at that timepapal legate, it had been decreed that no man who did violence to acleric could be absolved by anyone but the Pope himself, and thatnot by any distant decree, but in the Popes veritablepresence. A long way from Mildenhall to Rome for a dying man interror of hellfire. For Geoffreys excommunication had beenearned by his seizure by violence of the abbey of Ramsey, and hisexpulsion of the monks and their abbot, to turn the convent intothe capital of his kingdom of thieves, torturers and murderers. Forhim there was no possible absolution, no hope of burial. The earthwould not have him.

There were those who did their best for him, frantic in defenseof his soul, if they could not help his body. When he grew so weakthat he ceased to rave and sank into stupor, his officials and menof law began feverishly issuing charters in his name, restoring tothe Church various properties he had seized from her, including theabbey of Ramsey. Whether with his goodwill or not, no one stoppedto ask, and no one ever knew. The orders were carried out, andrespected, but they did not avail him. His body was refusedChristian burial, his earldom was abolished, his lands and officesremained forfeit, and his family disinherited. His eldest son wasexcommunicate with him, and partner in his rebellion. A younger,and his namesake, was already with the Empress Maud, and recognizedby her as earl of Essex, for what such an acknowledgement was worthwithout lands or status.

On the sixteenth day of September Geoffrey de Mandeville died,still excommunicate, still unabsolved. The only remaining mercy wasshown to him by certain Knights Templar who were in Mildenhall atthe time, and took his coffined body back with them to London,where for want of any Christian relenting they were forced to lethim lie in a pit outside the churchyard of the Temple, inunhallowed ground, and even so a step beyond what was permitted bycanon law, for by the strict letter he should not have been laid inthe earth at all.

In the ranks of his motley army there was no one strong enoughto take his place. The only thing that held them together wasmutual self-interest and greed, and without him their dubiousalliance began to fall apart, as the encouraged forces of the kingmoved in upon them with renewed resolution. Parties of outlawswithdrew discreetly in all directions to look for less frequentedpastures and more impenetrable solitudes, where they could hope tocontinue their lives as beasts of prey. The more reputable, orthose of more regarded birth and with more to proffer, wentroundabout to make their peace and retire into safer alliances.

To everyone else the news of Geoffreys death gaveuniversal satisfaction. It reached the king quickly, relieved himof the most dangerous and implacable of his enemies, and instantlyeased him of the necessity of immobilizing the greater part of hisforces in one region. It was carried from village to villagethrough the Fen country as the raggle-taggle marauders withdrew,and people who had lived in terror emerged cautiously to retrievewhat they could of a plundered harvest, rebuild their burned homesand reassemble their families and kinships. Also, for death hadbeen more than usually busy in those parts, to bury their deaddecently. It would take more than a year for life to get back intoany kind of normality, but at least now it could take the firstwary steps.

And before the years end it reached Abbot Walter ofRamsey, with the deathbed charter that gave his monastery back tohim, and he gave due thanks to God, and set about sending the wordon to his prior and sub-prior and all his scattered brothers, whohad been forced out penniless and homeless to find shelter wherethey could, some with their kin, some in other hospitableBenedictine houses. The first and nearest hurried to answer thesummons home, and entered a total desolation. The monasticbuildings were a mere shell, the lands untilled, the manors thehouse had formerly possessed handed out to thieves and vagabonds,all its treasures stripped away. The walls, they said, bled forvery grief. Nevertheless, Abbot Walter and his brothers set to workto restore their house and their church, and sent out the news oftheir return to all those monks and novices who had had to go longdistances to find a shelter during their exile. Being members of awider brotherhood, having all the Benedictine Order as kin, theyalso sent out an urgent appeal for help in alms, material and laborto speed the work of rebuilding and refurnishing the sacredplace.

In due time the news, the invitation and the need arrived at thegatehouse of the abbey of Saint Peter and Saint Paul, atShrewsbury.