The Abbot's Agreement by Mel Starr

realized that we had returned he soon appeared and we broke our fast.
    While we consumed maslin loaves I told Arthur of the abbot’s accusation against Prior Philip.
    “Don’t surprise me none,” Arthur said. “That prior’s not a man to be content with second place.”
    While I finished my loaf I thought of what Maude atte Pond had said of John Whytyng’s last words. “I will never do so,” he had said. What was it he would not do? Who had authority enough that they could make a demand of the novice? Did his reluctance cause his death?
    What might a man of the town want John to do, or what might a monk or lay brother wish of the novice? Whatever it was, he would not do it, and for this unwillingness he was apparently slain.
    Maude was near the age when the banns might soon be read for her and some swain. Sir Thomas Cyne was certainly taken with the lass, and likely several others. She would not bring much land to a knight like Sir Thomas, but a pretty face may supplant half a yardland or so, and some land was better than none at all.
    It would not do to ask the reeve what men had shown interest in his daughter. I must discover possible suitors in some other way. I thought that Brother Gerleys might be of some help. Not that he would know of village gossip, but he might direct me to one who would.
    Arthur followed me to the novices’ chamber. We found the place empty, which was not surprising. The chapter, meeting after lauds, would be long this morning, the brothers having many questions about the future leadership of the house.
    We waited nearly an hour before voices in the corridor indicated the arrival of Brother Gerleys and his charges. “Littleenough punishment for such a sin,” the novice-master said to Henry as he entered the chamber. He saw me awaiting him and was silent.
    “I wish to speak to you privily,” I said.
    Brother Gerleys turned to his novices and instructed them to seek the kitchener and ask what service they could be to him this morn.
    The lads obeyed and soon their footsteps could no longer be heard. The monk closed the door to his chamber, pointed to the table and benches in the center of the room, and said, “Be seated. What is it you wish of me?”
    “Did Abbot Thurstan’s clerk read out a message from the abbot at chapter this morning?”
    “Aye, he did.”
    “Did the message cause controversy in chapter?”
    “Some. Prior Philip and his cohort would see you away from the abbey.”
    “The prior has opposition in this matter?”
    “Aye. There are those who believe John Whytyng’s death requires a more thorough explanation than Prior Philip would deliver.”
    “Are you among these?”
    “Aye.”
    “Abbot Thurstan said privily to me that there are among the brothers many who wish to see you elevated to the abbacy above Prior Philip.”
    “’Tis not a post I seek.”
    “And the prior does? Likely your reluctance explains the regard your brother monks have for you. But that is abbey business, and none of mine. If I wanted to know the gossip of the town, to whom would I go?”
    “Ah… that would be Adam Skillyng, keeper of the ale house.”
    “His ale loosens men’s tongues?”
    “Just so. The man serves good ale, so his patrons drink too much of it.”
    “Unlike the abbey’s ale.” I could not resist the comparison.
    “Aye,” he laughed. “Holy Scripture says we all must take up our cross and follow the Lord Christ, and Brother Gervase, who brews the abbey ale, sees to it that we swallow splinters when we consume his ale.”
    The ale house, for inn or tavern it could not be rightly called, was a little more than one hundred paces from the abbey gatehouse. The establishment was but a house with an enlarged bay, where villagers whose wives could not or would not brew the household ale might meet and drink. The place was empty when Arthur and I entered, and dark. On such a day little light penetrated the old, yellowed skins which covered the windows.
    The proprietor