The Seer and the Scribe (22 page)

Volmar interrupted. “I heard from a pilgrim that Godfrey of Bouillon refused the presumptuous title of King, saying that no man should wear a crown where Christ had worn his crown of thorns; instead, he took the title Defender of the Holy Sepulcher.”

Matthias eyed the younger monk with a newfound respect. “Yes, and God-fearing Godfrey of Bouillon died the next year. His brother and successor, Baldwin I, was not so honorable. He had himself immediately crowned King of Jerusalem. I lived in opulent luxury in a
seized palace, my slaves were Arab aristocrats. We weren't going about God's business and spreading His Holy Word. Instead we became what all conquerors become, greedy occupiers and careless philanderers. We took whatever we wanted without opposition and hurt anyone who stood in our way. I've since learned that a rule of terror is no rule at all.”

“War is a human sickness, we must learn to rise above such human failings and stop assuming we know the mind of God,” Abbot Burchard murmured, clearly moved by this account.

“Father, I credit my survival to this Holy Relic. It has made me invincible. I do believe in its power and am fearful of the consequences should it fall into the wrong hands. That is why I am here and not in Rome, handing it over to the Pope. These are dubious times for the Papacy. I have been followed since leaving the Holy Land; believe me, I've left hastily in the dead of night many times.” Matthias paused, before adding, “All I ask for now is peace. I want to be free of this cursed relic and live a life untainted by its blood. I have grown tired. I want to return home to farm my own land and embrace my own wife and children, if they'll still have me.”

Volmar caught Abbot Burchard's eyes and did the calculation. “You've been living abroad for nearly fourteen years?”

“Too long by anyone's measure,” Matthias responded, with a catch in his throat.

“In all that time, did you ever meet a knight named Symon of Bermersheim?” Volmar ventured, having asked every returning knight from the Holy Land that he met this same question.

Coldly, the words came, before Matthias thought much about them. “I've heard the name—the devil incarnate, by all accounts. He climbed high in the ranks, a shrewd, heartless man. Apparently, he is Brother Gerard's most trusted confidant, eager, they say, to do all of his deceitful work. Why do you ask? Is he a relation of yours?”

“Yes, but that was a long time ago,” Volmar said, visibly distressed. “Please continue your story.”

“Well, I've heard many good things about your monastery. The villagers think highly of you, Father. They say you are a fair and wise man. It is said that the Holy Relic loses its power unless it is freely given. I am willing to turn over the Holy Spear into your care without any payment. Consider it my alms to the church. To outsiders, no one
knows what happened to the Lance at Antioch; it will be lost to history. Whether or not its legend is resurrected will be entirely left up to you and your conscience.”

“Your faith in my goodness is flattering,” Abbot Burchard said, watching as Matthias reached under the band of his wide belt and retrieved what appeared to be a soft black leather pouch from a hidden pocket. It measured slightly less than a man's foot and was about as thick.

“Father, may I have a word with you in private?” Brother Volmar said abruptly, interrupting the formal exchange from proceeding.

The Abbot studied the inscrutable face of his young scribe, curious as to why for once he showed so little emotion. He rose apologetically. “Of course. We will return momentarily, Matthias.”

Volmar led the Abbot to one side of the room, away from listening ears and in a low voice said, “Father, I suspect we're being watched.” He told him about his suspicions of Brother Rudegerus, insisting that they devise a simple plan before returning to Matthias.

“Well, Matthias.” Abbot Burchard spoke in a loud, firm voice as he moved to temporarily block Brother Rudegerus' view of the old soldier. “I do not make any important decisions on an empty stomach. I will have to discuss your terms with my superiors.”

Leaning down, Volmar whispered hastily to Matthias. “We fear we're being watched. When I drop my quill and bend down to pick it up, slip the Holy Spear into my hood.” Volmar dropped his quill and bent down in front of Matthias. He arose only after he felt the slight heaviness of the leather pouch drop into his hood, its folds concealing the relic according to plan. What Volmar hadn't expected was the sudden rush of excitement, something his more studious nature knew little of. Could these newfound feelings of exhilaration have something to do with the fact that he now possessed the Spear of Destiny and was its new caretaker? Even his surroundings had sharpened and became more distinct, as if he possessed a third eye. All of his senses seemed alert, more intense, his sense of smell, sight, even intellect. As he looked around the Infirmary, he could hear all of the conversations going on, even ones drowned out by the roaring fire at the end of the far wall. He found all the prattling intrusions equally undiminished and awe-inspiring!

Abbot Burchard continued. “Give me until tomorrow before I let you know what I have decided. Until then, sleep well, my friend.”

“Father,” Brother Paulus called out from across the room, “could I have a word with you before you leave?”

The Abbot waited patiently for Brother Paulus to approach. Volmar bowed to take his leave, eager to test his enhanced sensitivities. While his head was down, though, the reflection of a small metallic object caught his eyes. It lay just under the foot of Matthias' bed. Volmar bent over, pretending to adjust the straps of his boot and reached under the bed for what he realized was a small rosary, lying in a pool of red. A single letter was written beside it, the letter “S”. Volmar slipped the rosary into his pocket, rose and tuned in to the conversation the Infirmarian and the Abbot were having.

Brother Paulus had come closer. “It happened again last night, Father . . . you may stay, Brother Volmar. It is something you and I have already discussed at some length. This time, however, some peach pits were stolen; whereas, on the other nights burdock seeds, parsley, and the essential oils from sage, rosemary, and thyme went missing. I'm not sure what to make of our elusive nighttime Infirmary thief.”

Volmar, although attentive, was troubled more by his sudden act of secrecy. Here he had found an obvious clue and, for some reason, felt indifferent about sharing it with his two most trusted brothers. He stared back down at the floor. There were more red stains on the stone; not many, but enough to be seen by someone who was looking for them. He shifted it all around in his mind and kept his silence. The confusion was overpowering in and of itself. Let no one into your confidence, it kept insisting.

“Yes, and deeply troubling,” the Abbot added.

“Peach pits? What would anyone want with peach pits? It is far too late in the season to plant fruit trees,” Volmar muttered, forcing himself to return to their conversation.

“Precisely. The others I can understand.” Brother Paulus looked puzzled. “They are traditional remedies for a great many illnesses, including infections. However, peach pits can be highly poisonous. Fruit pits in particular hold the distinction of having such an ominous duality. The seeds of apples, cherries, plums, and peaches all hold within their pits the poison cyanide.”

Volmar suddenly remembered a passage he'd read while copying and translating Brother Paulus's codices, several years ago. It seemed as if it were only yesterday. “Didn't the ancient Egyptians soak peach pits in water to create a poison to give their enemies?”

“Poisons . . . break-ins . . . Oh dear, please stay alert and keep me informed, Paulus. Come along, Brother Volmar,” Abbot Burchard said, “we have much to discuss.”

“Please tell Sophie I'm sorry I missed her,” Volmar added, remembering how striking she had looked in Hildegard's clothes the night of the enclosure ceremony. He blushed. What was happening to him? Thankfully, neither man noticed his discomfort.

Paulus gave Volmar, then the Abbot, a worried look. “I haven't seen Sophie since before Compline last night. I meant to ask you, Volmar, where she might be today. It is so unlike her to leave without letting me know.”

“This is worrisome,” the Abbot concluded. “Please let us know if Sophie doesn't show up by this evening. For now, let us all keep our suspicions to ourselves.”

Window of the Anchorage at Disibodenberg Monastery

5
^th
of November, Before Nones

Outside the Refectory, Abbot Burchard turned from Rudegerus to Volmar and asked his young monk, with an imperceptible wink, “Is it not time for your lesson at the Anchorage, Brother Volmar?”

“My lesson at the Anchorage . . .?” Volmar repeated, taking a moment longer before catching on to the Abbot's plan. “Oh yes, in all the confusion of the past half hour, I forgot the time. I am truly late for our afternoon recitations. Please excuse me.” He bowed politely and turned from the Refectory's entrance.

Volmar hurried away, impressed by Abbot's Burchard's insightful thinking. Rudegerus wouldn't suspect a thing. No one would. An Anchorage
would be the last place one would think to look for a disputed, long sought-after Holy Relic. Matthias's hounds would likely sniff out the Abbot's belongings and his own meager dwelling in hopes of finding it, once they realized Matthias no longer had it. But who in their right mind would think of coming across it in an Anchorage, in the care of three young women?

Volmar could see his own breath. The temperature, he knew, was dropping and yet as he walked briskly through the cloisters, the cold did not seem to bother him. He'd never felt better. Samson bounded after him as he passed by the entrance to the store room at the Kitchens for the Poor and rubbed affectionately against his leg. “Found any rats?” the young monk chuckled, scooping up the cat with ease. Samson squirmed and wiggled free, jumping uncharacteristically from his arms and disappearing into the shade. How strange, Volmar thought, Samson had never turned down a petting before. It had been a day full of oddities: First Matthias's story, then Sophie's strange disappearance, and now this, Samson's unfriendliness.

Why wasn't he more worried about Sophie, or more eager to go off and find her? It was so unlike him to be careless about a friend's welfare. Was he suffering under the illusion of the Holy Spear's legacy, or was he actually being changed by it? Was this part of its entrapment, making him squirm and wiggle free from the bonds of attachments around him? Claiming his soul for its own, parsing it off from everyone else. Was the Holy Relic offering him freedom from the messy securities of relationships and responsibilities towards others? Its guiltless allure certainly was strong.

Volmar quickened his pace as he headed down the hill towards the Anchorage. Could he really have hidden in his hood the very spear that pierced his Lord's side? He tried to rein in his galloping thoughts. Hildegard was not expecting his return. In their parting words, they had settled on one morning lesson per day during the short winter hours of daylight. He felt assured that she would be able to care for this precious relic, at least until he and the Abbot decided its fate. But, was it wise to give such a powerful relic to a mere woman, and . . . what of its future? Such a renowned relic would bring travelers from the far reaches of the world to Disibodenberg. Surely these pilgrimages would bring the faithful closer to the Lord's teachings. Or would it? His thoughts were suddenly arrested by a gentle haunting melody, a
barely audible song, coming from the Anchorage. Volmar paused, allowing the music to surround and still his conflicted soul. He dreaded having to interrupt it.

“Sister Hildegard,” he called through the window. “It is I, Volmar. I am truly sorry to bother you at this hour; however, I have a request to make.”

The music from within stopped and a shadowy face, pensive and pale, looked out to where the young monk was standing. Volmar checked to make sure no one else was around before he slipped his hand into his hood and held the wrapped Holy Relic for the first time. He remembered how Matthias had said he felt invincible with the relic in his possession. He stared down at the unassuming pouch, thinking how its humble leather exterior belied its true significance. He knew legendary treasures were always protected by tests of worthiness. Was he a worthy caretaker? His mind was racing wildly with plans of stealing off into the night with this holiest of relics. He could leave Disibodenberg and become a great leader under the Holy Spear's influence. Who hadn't heard the legends of how Constantine and Charlemagne conquered their ancient worlds while in possession of this very Holy Spear? After all, it had been willingly given to his care. He was the rightful heir to its powers, was he not?

Then, just as unexpected, his mind's eye diverted his attentions to his past. For a brief and terrifying moment he relived that fateful night long ago, the sobbing of Anya, as the two clutched their lifeless mother, trying to find warmth in her cold arms. Anya's face was contorted in anguish. What was happening to him? It had been years since he had allowed that ghastly memory to intrude and surface. Could this mystical object also be stirring up all his dormant emotions?

Brazenly, Volmar looked down and gazed at Hildegard's upturned face, lit only by the single candle she held. He admired the soft curve of her chin and the delicate balance of beauty and wisdom etched in her features. His eyes wandered further to her neck and thoughts of how delicious it would be to trace its gentle curve with his lips intruded, and then . . . he smiled without shame.

Hildegard's graceful features hardened under Volmar's lusty look. The candle's flame flickered as if caught by the draft of her cold, knowing stare. When she spoke, her voice clamored for control over his wayward attentions and his thoughts of ambition, lust, and power.
“I will keep safe the Holy Relic, Brother Volmar. It has had a long and bloody history.”