‘Do they really dislike each other so much?’ asked Wilfred, a little stiffly after the Abbot’s backhanded compliment.
‘I am sure they would kill each other, given the chance. For clerics, they are uncommonly vicious. Indeed, Dunstan’s servant is ill, and claims that Gerald has poisoned him.’
‘And has he?’ asked Wilfred uneasily.
‘No, the fellow is malingering because he does not want to go to Wales. It is unfortunate, because Dunstan has asked us for a novice to replace him.’
‘Not a novice,’ said Wilfred immediately. ‘Send Robert. I am sure he would love to go.’
‘I cannot leave Oseney!’ cried Robert, horrified. ‘I am cultivating friendships and contacts that will stand me in good stead for when I am abbot. A journey would ruin-’
‘A journey might teach you some humility,’ interrupted Hugh sharply, shocked to learn that his post was coveted by such youthful eyes. ‘Wilfred is right to suggest you go.’
Wilfred allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as the lad stamped away. That would teach him to make disparaging remarks about The Play of Adam!
That evening, Abbot Hugh was obliged to entertain the guests in his private hall, although he confessed his reluctance to do so to Wilfred. With the air of a martyr, Wilfred offered to help, waving away Hugh’s relieved gratitude. The truth was that Wilfred did not mind at alclass="underline" fine wine and expensive sweetmeats would be on offer, which would be a lot nicer than a crust in the refectory and compline in the church.
Unfortunately, the guests were disagreeable company, and although Wilfred was not usually averse to being entertained by spats, even he found the constant sparring tedious. Moreover, Robert was there on the grounds that he was now a member of Dunstan’s party. The boy’s eyes shone with malicious glee as the arguments swayed back and forth.
‘You will never be bishop, Gerald,’ said Dunstan, for at least the fourth time. His pale goat-eyes were hard. ‘So you may as well save yourself a journey and go home to Wales. You are Archdeacon of Brecon, are you not? Why not be content with that?’
‘Because I was born to be Bishop of St Davids,’ replied Gerald coldly. ‘My father is Norman, but my mother hails from Welsh stock, so my dual heritage will unite an uneasy nation. Moreover, I am familiar with Court, I have three decades of experience in the Church, and I am a scholar of some repute. There is no man better qualified than me.’
‘None more modest, either,’ murmured Wilfred to himself. Unfortunately, wine made him speak more loudly than he had intended, and the three Welsh priests glowered at him when Dunstan roared with spiteful laughter. Wilfred gulped when he saw he had made enemies of the St Davids men, and was glad they would be leaving in the morning.
‘You tried to be bishop twenty years ago, Gerald,’ said Dunstan when he had his mirth under control, ‘and you were rejected then, too. You should have learned that you are not wanted – not by the Crown, not by Canterbury and not by Rome. You are even less popular with our new King than you were with his father, and should abandon your claims while you can. Only a fool irritates John.’
‘I am not afraid of John,’ said Gerald contemptuously. ‘And I despise anyone who is.’
‘Yet sometimes it is wise to be wary,’ said kind-eyed Foliot quietly. ‘John is not a man to cross, because he bears grudges.’
‘I will not sit at a table where treason is spoken,’ said Norrys the Hospitaller, standing abruptly. His loutish face was flushed with anger. ‘Calling the King vengeful is-’
‘Prior Dunstan tells me you were once Constable of Carmarthen, Norrys,’ interrupted Abbot Hugh, diplomatically changing the subject while the scholarly Luci grabbed Norrys’s arm and tugged him back down. ‘That must have been pleasant.’
‘It was pleasant,’ agreed Norrys, while his scowl suggested this was not a topic that pleased him either. ‘But I was ousted in favour of Symon Cole, a dull-witted youth who had distinguished himself in battle with acts of reckless bravado.’
‘It was not just his courage that impressed King Henry,’ said Luci quietly. ‘He married a Welsh princess, who provided an alliance with powerful native rulers.’
‘But the old King is dead,’ said Norrys sullenly. ‘And the new one has intimated that he would like Cole out of Carmarthen and me in his place. He does not care who is related to whom in Wales.’
‘That particular Welsh princess is my cousin,’ said Gerald icily. ‘On my mother’s side. So Cole is my kin, too. Did I hear you call him a dull-witted youth?’
‘He was a dull-witted youth when he took over Carmarthen,’ Norrys smirked, and his expression became challenging. ‘Now he is a dull-witted man.’
‘I take exception to-’ began Gerald angrily.
‘Enough, please!’ cried the abbot. In desperation, he turned to Wilfred. ‘Perhaps you will tell our guests about The Play of Adam. I am sure they will be interested.’
‘Well,’ began Wilfred, pleased to be the centre of attention. ‘It was-’
‘There is a section about Cain and Abel,’ interrupted Robert eagerly. ‘But it has never been performed at Oseney. It is a pity, because I would make an excellent Cain.’
Wilfred glared at him, glad he had persuaded Hugh to send the boy away. With any luck, he would never return.
‘I have a gift for you, Robert,’ he said, forcing himself to smile. ‘To remember me by when you trudge the long and dangerous road west.’
Robert snatched the proffered package in delight, but his happy expression faded when he saw what he had been given. ‘A copy of The Play of Adam,’ he said flatly. ‘How lovely.’
It was the one Wilfred had forced him to make himself, and by giving it back to him, Wilfred was effectively saying that he did not value his work. Abbot Hugh took it from him.
‘I see it includes the section about Cain and Abel,’ he mused. ‘It looks innocuous enough. Why do you always omit it, Wilfred?’
‘Because it is dull,’ replied Wilfred shortly. ‘And I decided long ago that it was not worth an audience’s time, although we have rehearsed it on occasion.’
‘You have?’ pounced Hugh with obvious relief. ‘Good! Then summon your actors and put it on for us now. And when it is finished, it should be time for bed.’
‘I would rather not,’ said Wilfred shortly. ‘There is some suggestion that this particular section may bring bad luck, and we-’
‘Bad luck?’ interrupted Gerald in lofty distaste. ‘I would remind you that we are men of God – we put our trust in the Lord, not in heathenish superstition.’
Wilfred opened his mouth to object, but a spitefully gleeful Robert was already moving tables while the abbot was hastily assuring the company that heresy had no place in Oseney. Wilfred grimaced when he saw he was to have no choice, and itched to wring Robert’s neck.
‘May I play God?’ asked Prior Dunstan, once the preparations were complete. ‘I do not know the words, of course, but I can read them, and I have always wanted to act.’
‘No,’ said Wilfred, more curtly than he had intended. ‘That role is mine.’
Dunstan said nothing, but Wilfred was taken aback by the venomous glare he received. Clearly furious, the prior spun round and marched away.
‘You should not have annoyed him,’ said Secretary Hurso, watching him go. ‘He may look harmless, but he is clever and determined, and will make for a dangerous enemy. Gerald should watch himself, too.’
There was no time to ponder the remarks, because the abbot was signalling to tell him to start. Wilfred shoved his first player onto the makeshift stage, and ‘The Story of Cain and Abel’ began.