Abbot Serlo would not see them again until Terce, the first service after daybreak, followed by Mass, during which lay people were admitted into the nave of the church.
It was in the space between Prime and Terce that the prior liked to insinuate himself if he had anything of special importance to discuss with the abbot. Decisions taken privately at this time between the two most senior prelates could be relayed in public during Chapter.
This was the daily meeting of the monks after Terce, when the temporal business of the house would be reviewed.
When Prior Baldwin called on Abbot Serlo after Prime that morning, he had one major issue to raise. It was not a matter in which he felt his word was sufficient without some reinforcement from above.
Brought into the abbot’s quarters to stand beneath the bulbous eyes, he explained his quandary.
“The commissioners have called upon us, Father Abbot.”
“But my understanding was that they passed the night as our guests.
Brother Hospitaller admitted them.”
“You speak of Canon Hubert and Brother Simon,” said the prior deferentially. “They are not only in the abbey but of it. Both attended Matins, Lauds, and Prime and took their place among us.” He gave a thin smile. “I speak of their two companions. They are here at the gatehouse even now with their odd request.”
“Wherein lies the oddity?”
“They wish to view the body of Alric Longdon.”
“Our dear departed miller?”
“They seek your permission, Father Abbot.”
“But why? What reason did they give?”
“It bears upon their enquiry.”
Abbot Serlo blinked dramatically. “A dead body must appear before the commission? It is not right, it is not just, it is not holy. Alric Longdon gives his evidence in heaven above. He is now beyond earthly jurisdiction.”
“They pressed the matter, Father Abbot.”
“Pressed?”
“They are here on king’s business.”
“What business has the king with a poor wretch who was killed by a wolf in the forest? There is something here I do not discern, Prior Baldwin. Some motive too subtle for my old brain. Can you enlighten me?”
“Refuse their request and the matter is closed.”
“How if they press it even harder?”
“I will dissuade them,” said the other firmly. “What motive they have, I do not know. But I felt mistrust. Alric Longdon has suffered enough, Father Abbot. We should not subject his corpse to prying eyes. Spare him that final indignity and let him rest in peace. This is the only answer that they deserve.”
Abbot Serlo perambulated around the room, his hands clasped together and held up to his chin. Though he had distanced himself from the commissioners and their work, he could not ignore this appeal to his person. An answer had to be given and it needed thought.
Acquiescence would allow laymen to prowl and poke into a hallowed place. While looking at a dead body, they might take the opportunity to see more. Refusal, on the other hand, might promote contention and antagonise the visitors. Bedwyn Abbey was already under investigation by the commissioners and it might be unwise to suggest that it had anything to hide.
“What manner of men are they?” said Serlo.
“The older is a Norman lord, a soldier who fought at Hastings and earned the gratitude of the king. Ralph Delchard is his name, from good family in Lisieux, a bold fellow who will stand his ground in argument and one who will be a stern commissioner.” Baldwin sounded a note of mild complacence. “Though I have no qualms about my ability to meet his every enquiry. The other is a young man of comely appearance, a Chancery clerk with a softer tongue and a more respectful manner. Gervase Bret is his name, learned beyond his calling. He speaks Latin, Italian, and every dialect of France. English is his native tongue, but he can hold a conversation with Dane or Viking.”
Baldwin wrinkled his nose in disgust. “He even has a smattering of Welsh. I take this young commissioner to supply the intelligence that is lacking in his blunt companion.”
“You know them well on such brief acquaintance.”
“I walked with Brother Simon as we left Prime,” said the prior with muted self-congratulation. “I drew him out. He was ready in his answers about his fellows, though I did not expect to meet them quite so soon.”
“A lord and a Chancery clerk,” mused Serlo.
“A brave soldier and a shrewd lawyer.”
The abbot clapped his hands lightly and pronounced.
“Let them view the body.”
“But they have no right, Father Abbot.”
“I give it to them. Alric Longdon has left us and his soul has gone to heaven. What they see is no more than a whole search party found and saw in Savernake. Brother Luke beheld it and I fancy it brought the boy a step or two nearer full commitment to his Maker. Perhaps it will do the same for this pair at the gatehouse.” The eyes vanished behind huge lids and a dismissive hand sent Prior Baldwin on his way. “Admit them to the mortuary forthwith. But have them accompanied each second they are within the abbey.”
Prior Baldwin hid his displeasure behind a nod of obedience and left the abbot’s quarters. He had hoped for the command to send the two visitors on their way, but he had been overruled. It made him smart. In his personal joust with the commissioners, he had just taken the first fall because Abbot Serlo had inconsiderably deprived him of his lance. He intended to be fully armed for the next encounter.
In the dark, dank mortuary chapel, Alric Longdon lay on a stone bier with flickering candles at his head and feet. His body had been washed and prepared for burial, but there was no way to disguise the gruesome nature of his death. Throat and neck and Adam’s apple had been eaten away, leaving the head to loll at an unnatural angle to the body. A rectangular strip of cloth covered the lumpen torso. Herbs and rushes had been scattered to sweeten the atmosphere, but the prevailing stench of decay could not be subdued.
Brother Peter had been given the task of bringing the visitors into the mortuary. He was a tall, slim man in his thirties whose hunched shoulders and clear intelligence suggested long hours spent in patient study over books and manuscripts. Brother Peter was the sacristan at the abbey and he had proved himself a competent and affable holder of that office. Ralph Delchard and Gervase Bret liked him at once.
He had none of the portentousness of a Canon Hubert and none of the cloying mildness of a Brother Simon. Nor was he inclined to the waspishness of a Prior Baldwin. He was there to guide them and he did so with polite confidence. His long, kind face clouded when he saw the corpse and his mouth tightened. Brother Peter had seen the hapless miller when he was first carried into the abbey, but he could still be moved and shaken. He turned away for a second and offered up a silent prayer.
Gervase recoiled from the sight of the ugly wound, but Ralph stepped in closer to pore over it. At Hastings and at subsequent battles, he had seen far too much death and disfigurement to be appalled any longer. He knew from bitter experience what lance, spear, sword, arrow, and dagger could do to a human body and he had watched that most fearsome weapon of all, the Viking ax, strike off the head of an oncoming horse. Wolves were vicious, but their weaponry was limited.
It was, however, all on display before him.
“The teeth took out his neck,” said Brother Peter quietly. “And the claws left their mark upon him.”
He pulled back the cloth to expose the upper chest of the corpse.
Two long red sets of parallel lines had been gouged into the flesh.
Gervase was able to look without too much revulsion this time, and Ralph bent even closer to scrutinise the scars.
“Where is the novice who found him?” said Ralph.
“On his knees in prayer,” said the sacristan. “Brother Luke did not get a wink of sleep last night for thinking upon it, nor will he easily forget this horror.”