Sacred Virtues (Sins of the Sacred #2)

Chapter 1

THEOBALD

“Father! Father Abbot!”

I turn at the shouting and see Brother Godfrey rushing down the path towards me, his corpulent form swaying from side to side and his sandals flapping on the flagstones.

Not for the first time I wonder if I should curtail some of his rations, but he comes from a wealthy family who pay handsomely for us to keep him here, including an amount for additional victuals.

He catches up with me and stands doubled over for a minute, panting hard.

“A man has come,” he gasps and then heaves in another breath. “He brought this.” Brother Godfrey holds out a scroll, clutched tightly in his fleshy hands. I take it from him, recognising the royal seal immediately, and I stow the scroll in the pocket of my robes.

His message delivered, Godfrey straightens.

I can see the dampness forming on his brow and his pate above his tonsure.

He dabs at the sweat with the sleeve of his black robe, and I suppress a wince at the action.

There’s a damp stain under his arm. It’s been an unseasonably warm day for April, and my stomach starts to feel bilious at the thought of the smell a hundred brothers who’ve been working hard all day will make in the refectory later.

I make a mental note to ask Brother Sean to put down more lavender rushes.

They’ll at least go some way to mitigating the stench.

“Thank you, Brother Godfrey.” I turn to resume my walk.

“Aren’t you coming to see him? Brother Kennard said it was urgent.”

I’m sure he did.

“Where is the visitor now?”

“Brother Kennard put him in your sitting room.”

That will do well enough for now. Abel will make sure he’s served refreshments and there’s not much he can do there. I turn to go again.

“But . . .” Brother Godfrey starts, and I swivel back to face him.

His mouth closes and he swallows under my glare.

I almost pity him—almost—but he has yet to learn not to question a senior brother, let alone the head of the monastery.

Brother Godfrey is only no longer a novice due to the length of time he’s been with us, not for any achievement of his studies.

“Piety, humility, charity, and chastity. These are the virtues our order rests on. The foundational pillars of our order. And we practise them through prayer, work, study, and routine. This is my time for quiet contemplation, to be closer to God so I can best serve him and our community here.”

I cease my short lecture and walk away, pleased he doesn’t attempt to follow me.

In truth it’s one of the few times a day I can enjoy some peace without something or someone vying for my attention.

It’s my time and I guard it closely. A fact Brother Kennard knows well.

I sigh as I take the walk towards the river, almost wishing I’d gone that way earlier so it would’ve been harder to find me.

I find being the abbot of Larchdown Abbey satisfying.

I worked hard for the position. But it must be difficult for Brother Kennard, ten years my senior, to have to settle for being my second in command, a disappointment he likes to exercise in petty actions.

Apart from that he’s a good monk, is invested in the community work we do, and is excellent at teaching the novices.

I pass under the sweeping branches of the large weeping willow tree on the river bank.

Here, where I’m cut off from the rest of the world, in my own sanctuary, I withdraw the scroll from my pocket and break the seal.

I have an idea what it contains. The news is unwelcome but not a surprise.

The king’s determination at decimating all the holy houses was bound to catch up with us at some point.

I’m almost surprised that it’s not come before now.

Nearby Abingdon and Burford fell last year with Eynsham surrendering just a few months ago, so it was only a matter of time before it became our turn.

I scan the Latin quickly and my stomach sinks. It’s worse than I thought.

It claims there have been reports of corruption and debauchery based on a report carried out by Cromwell’s men.

I remember them; they turned up one day six months ago.

They stayed not upwards of an hour before they moved on.

They asked to see the food stores, the treasury, and the church, and hardly wrote a word of what they saw. Better that they hadn’t visited at all.

I march back to the abbey and to the quarters afforded me as the abbot. Maybe the King’s envoy can be reasoned with. Maybe I can find a way to make sure this doesn’t happen—a powerful patronage, perhaps.

As I reach my sitting room I see Abel exiting. A man of few words, which is why I chose him to tend to me, he nods as he passes. It’s enough to let me know that the visitor has had refreshments and is comfortable enough. I open the heavy wooden door and slip through.

I take a few seconds to view the visitor before he sees me.

He’s a young man. Much younger than I was expecting.

He has a line of hair on his lip and a smattering of blond down dusting his chin.

The flush of youth clings to him, giving his cheeks a rosy glow that’s very alluring.

His sparkling blue eyes are as pretty as the harebells that grow in the meadows.

Something deep and long forgotten stirs within me.

He notices me and stands awkwardly as if he has yet to gain control of his gangly body.

“Are you the abbot?”

“The Right Reverend Abbot Theobald Murdac.” I give him my full title. “And who might you be?”

He stands a bit taller and puffs his chest out a little. It would be endearing if he wasn’t here to take everything away from me and everyone within my care.

“Emmett de Selcey and I’m here in the name of the king to negotiate the terms of your surrender.”

“Aren’t you rather young to be a commissioner?

” I’m certainly in no mind to make his job any easier.

He frowns but he can’t hide the blush that rises up from his neck.

I turn away and walk towards the fireplace, ignoring the effect he has on me.

He’s my enemy and I need to remember that, even if I must be cordial to him.

“I am twenty-one,” he says in a haughty manner, and I give him a slight smile to show he proved my point exactly.

“Please sit, Emmett de Selcey.” I indicate the chair he rose from, and he sits. His glowering darkens those pretty blue eyes of his. I perhaps shouldn’t antagonise him, but if he’s going to be so easily goaded, then it’s a sport that might amuse me while I prolong the inevitable.

I’m well aware of what happens to those who do not surrender.

The charges, however false they are, have already been stated.

If I resist too hard, they could be escalated, and I have no wish to be dragged from the abbey, to be killed and quartered in front of the community I’ve been serving for years.

Just then the bell rings, as I knew it would.

“Please excuse me. It’s time for Vespers and I have to lead the prayers.” I don’t, Brother Kennard could and often does when I’m otherwise engaged in abbey administration. But he doesn’t know that.

“Yes, of course,” he says, as if it’s not his job to bring about the end of our routine, our prayer, and our home. I give him the most pious and humble look I can, bowing low as I exit the room.