A Cruel Courtship (6 page)

2

Hearing of the English force moving north towards the border, Father Andrew crossed himself and prayed for God’s help in finding a way to get word to William Wallace. His disgust with himself for blindly obeying his abbot’s orders in support of Edward Longshanks had led to his defiant act of going to Edinburgh Castle on behalf of his sister Maggie, and thus to his abbot’s condemning him to the post as confessor to the English troops that camped at Soutra on their arrival in Scotland. As a Scotsman hearing the confessions of the enemy he would never be allowed to escape, nor would his own countrymen trust him if he managed to do so. But he kept despair at bay by telling himself God had a purpose in bringing him to this English camp, and he believed it was for this – to pass information about the strength of the companies to Wallace.

It felt as if it had been long ago that Andrew and his servant Matthew had arrived at Soutra, but in fact they’d made the journey but four months earlier. They had approached the gate of the spital to the sound of their horses’ breath, the clop of their hooves on the stony road. The wind had funnelled beneath Andrew’s mantle as if urging him to fly. He remembered the bitter cold.

In the spital’s forecourt the soldiers had hovered close to a crackling fire. Though the high walls created a windbreak, it was still very cold on the height. Several large tents took up most of the courtyard. Andrew was taken aback, wondering how many English resided here that the guest house and infirmary were not enough.

‘I had not expected so great a company,’ he’d said to his servant.

‘Where will we sleep?’ Matthew asked.

‘I’ll propose that we sleep in the canons’ dormitory.’ Andrew was determined to keep the lad with him, for Matthew had volunteered to accompany him into this exile. ‘They would not bed soldiers there.’

The dormitory – Andrew wanted nothing more than to go straight there to lie down, but a servant greeted them with the news that the master of the spital wished to meet with Andrew at once.

‘Go with the groom,’ he told Matthew. ‘See that the horses are well rubbed down and then have him show you to the kitchen.’

The servant led Andrew past the soldiers’ tents, the infirmary, and the kirk, to a half-timbered house of imposing size. A clerk greeted him at the door and led him through a hall in which several men lounged, all with the presence and expensive clothing of nobles, and on into a windowless chamber monopolised by a large table with intricately carved legs. A leather-backed chair stood behind it, a hide-covered bench before it. Three oil lamps illuminated the table, the doorway and the chairs. Andrew settled on the bench. Presently a servant arrived with wine, a bowl of fragrant soup and a chunk of brown bread.

‘Master Thomas invites you to take some nourishment and assures you he will not come so hastily that you need hurry.’

Andrew was not acquainted with Master Thomas. He wondered whether he should be pleased by the courtesy or whether he should prepare himself for a long delay. It irked him that he might have taken some rest in the dormitory after all. But the soup warmed him, the bread filled him, and the wine soothed him.

He would like to know the lie of the land before speaking with Master Thomas. According to Abbot Adam, Master Thomas had been vague about precisely why he required an additional priest, particularly one well versed in diplomacy. It was to be assumed that King Edward trusted Master Thomas or he would have replaced him; therefore
he would share Abbot Adam’s rather than Andrew’s political affinity, at least officially. Andrew must trust to his own skill at divining the man’s heart, a difficult task with a stranger. He bowed his head and prayed for God’s guidance.

Approaching voices brought him to his feet. The door opened and a large man in a dark gown quite tight about the middle paused, his head turned away, still summarising orders to a clerk. When he dismissed the clerk, he closed the door behind him and leaned against it, bringing short-fingered, dimpled hands to rest on his belly.

‘Father Andrew Kerr, at last.’ The voice was nasal despite a hawk-like nose that should have provided sufficient breath for more resonance. Master Thomas had deep-set eyes, heavy brows, fleshy lips, several chins and ears with oddly elongated lobes. His grey hair was clipped short about his tonsure and oiled.

Andrew thought him an exceedingly ugly man. ‘
Benedictie
, Master Thomas.’

The master sniffed. ‘We expected you a week ago. I pray it was not misfortune that delayed you.’

‘I am surprised that my coming was so long in the planning as you imply. I learned of it but a few days before departing.’

Thomas’s expression was unreadable as he motioned Andrew to sit. Moving around the table to the chair behind, he walked heavily and with a pronounced limp.

As he took his seat Thomas frowned and shook his head, jiggling his many chins. ‘I find myself in a parlous position, Father Andrew. I have gathered all my wits about me and keep them well honed.’

Andrew thought this an odd beginning.

Thomas blotted his flushed, sweaty face with a cloth. ‘I am not a doubter by nature, so I blunder.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the table, stubby hands folded. ‘War kills courtesy. So I ask you frankly, where is your heart in this matter of the king of Scots?’

Although surprised by the man’s abruptness, Andrew had prepared for this question. ‘My mission is to serve God and to obey my master. Whether I hear the confession of an Englishman or a Scotsman, I keep the sanctity of the confessional.’

‘I inquired about your heart, not your head.’

‘I do not think about it.’

‘You still answer with your head. You are a man, you must feel one way or another.’

‘I mean no disrespect, but you are wrong that a man must take sides in this. My ultimate Master is God, the Pope his mortal representative, and he is neither an Englishman nor a Scotsman.’ Andrew bowed his head, praying that the man would be satisfied.

Thomas sighed and fidgeted with his ring, the blue stone catching the light. He rose with effort and stood for a moment with his back to Andrew. ‘No doubt you wonder why I insist on your answer.
The brethren here have begun to bicker among themselves. Some are supporters of John Balliol, others think Robert Bruce would have taken a firmer stand against the English, a few see good coming of King Edward’s interest, some pray only for peace. What were once irritations now grow to arguments, feuds.’

‘Surely not among those who wish for peace?’

Thomas did not answer at once, but tilted his head, as if considering what to say. ‘Is that your wish? For peace?’ he said at last.

Andrew was startled into saying simply, ‘It is.’

Thomas turned to him. ‘Then you are welcome here. I assure you I am most grateful you have arrived. I need another confessor for the English soldiers, and a man who takes no interest in the conflict is the ideal man for that task.’

Or one who supports the English. Andrew wondered what Master Thomas knew about why Abbot Adam had chosen him to come. ‘They have no confessor?’

‘Father Obert is their confessor, but with so many men, and so many fearful of dying without confession, he is exhausted. He is no longer young and needs assistance.’

‘Surely there are others here who might have shared the burden with–’ Andrew stopped.

Thomas was shaking his head. ‘Abbot Adam told me that you were a man whom I might trust not to reveal anything you heard in confession.’

‘No priest may break the seal of confession.’

‘Few are tested as you might be, Father Andrew.’

‘I understand.’

‘It was good of you to agree to come.’

In keeping with his stance of neutrality, Andrew did not contradict Thomas. He had not expected to be able to pretend he had agreed to come; he had expected Abbot Adam to have made him doubly damned by revealing that he knew this was a severe punishment and cursed the abbot for it.

‘You will be my guest in this house,’ Thomas said.

Doubt teased Andrew with this news. He wondered whether this invitation was a gesture of trust, or a way to watch him closely. But he must not appear uneasy. ‘I thank you for that. I’ll of course require my servant to bide here with me.’

Thomas spread his hands. ‘Of course. And now I bid you goodnight. You are weary. A servant will show you the way. Go to your rest and sleep as long as you wish tomorrow.’

Thinking back to that first night Andrew remembered how he had despaired about being able to sleep, and yet had fallen almost at once into a deep, exhausted slumber.

On Andrew’s second day at Soutra he had been summoned to Master Thomas’s chamber to meet Father Obert. He’d expected a doddering, milky-eyed priest. He found a small man sitting at Master Thomas’s table, long-fingered and delicate hands
steepled before him. He was bald of pate, although his sharp eyes were crowned by long and wild white eyebrows.

‘Father Obert?’ Andrew said.

The priest inclined his head. ‘
Benedictie
, Father Andrew. I thought we should talk before we dine with the English captains.’ He lisped, as he was missing a number of teeth. ‘They are uneasy regarding your being their confessor, of course. Anyone might be an enemy, even a priest.’

‘They are wise to be cautious,’ said Andrew. ‘How did you gain their trust?’

‘I was born and raised in York. They take comfort that my family still resides in the country about that fair city.’ He flattened his hands before him, as if getting down to the point. ‘Tell me about yourself. You were born in Perth?’ Obert cocked his head, but his eyes remained on Andrew’s.

‘Melrose. But I was brought up in Perth.’

‘I understand you are the eldest son of a merchant. Why did you take vows?’

‘It is what God wished, Father Obert.’ Andrew fought to keep his gaze steady and his body still despite his impatience with this questioning.

Obert responded with a quizzical lift of the brows.

God’s blood but the man was nosy. ‘I was called.’ Andrew immediately regretted how his words snapped with irritation. More softly he added, ‘I cannot remember when I did not know that God called me to serve Him in the Kirk.’

Obert’s smile seemed guileless. ‘It is good when a priest has a sincere vocation.’ He adjusted his sleeve, a fussy gesture. ‘Abbot Adam sent you here as someone Master Thomas could trust in this circumstance – the English using this as their camp and spital. Do you favour King Edward’s claim over John Balliol’s?’

‘I strive to be indifferent.’

‘You say that as if it is virtuous.’

‘You would counsel me to represent myself as devoted to King Edward?’

‘I would counsel you to tell the truth.’ Obert’s gaze held Andrew with such intensity he felt like wood.

Yet who was Obert to speak to him in such wise? ‘Abbot Adam and Master Thomas have chosen me to assist you. Do you question their choice?’ Andrew spoke quietly.

Obert sat back with a play of horror. ‘I see I have touched a wound. Or at least a tender scar. But I meant my comment as advice.’ He rose, revealing a crooked back, and reached for a stick to assist his walk. ‘It is time for introductions in the hall.’

Andrew reached out to halt the old priest. ‘Why do you distrust me?’

Father Obert did not raise his head at once. He seemed to consider his reply. Then his sharp eyes met Andrew’s. ‘You are Abbot Adam’s secretary, the one he trusted to gather the treasures of this country from the abbeys and kirks. Tell me I am being unjust and I shall believe you.’