The Lost Abbot by Susanna Gregory Page B

has put about a tale that the executed criminal Oxforde gave all his stolen money to the poor,’ replied Clippesby, assuming the remark was addressed to him. He held an enormous grass snake in the air. ‘This gentleman has just told me. It explains why none of his hoard has ever been found. Yet I am sceptical: felons are not usually generous.’
    There was immediate consternation as the monks, not unreasonably, objected to the presence of a serpent at their breakfast table. Some thought it was an adder and flew into a panic, while others simply did not like creatures that slithered. Clippesby was bewildered by the fuss, as his Michaelhouse colleagues had grown used to him producing animals when the fancy took him, and no longer reacted. Bartholomew watched the commotion thoughtfully, finding the various responses revealing.
    Welbyrn and Nonton surged forward with daggers, proclaiming their intention to kill the creature; as monks were supposed to forswear violence, Bartholomew wondered why they had armed themselves, particularly in a refectory. Yvo climbed on the table wailing about the snake crawling up his habit, while Lullington grabbed the sacrist and forcibly placed the man between himself and the source of danger. Appletre and the lesser officials struggled to restore calm, and Henry’s head was bowed in prayer. Meanwhile, Ramseye looked on with an expression that was difficult to gauge.
    When Nonton seized Clippesby roughly in his determination to reach the snake, Bartholomew intervened. He helped the Dominican carry the now-agitated reptile outside, aware that Welbyrn and Nonton were watching its release with eagle eyes, no doubt with a view to dispatching it later.
    ‘It is a good thing he is holy,’ said Yvo, when everyone was back in his place and peace reigned once more. ‘Because otherwise I would have to ask you to find other lodgings.’
    ‘He
is
holy,’ asserted William, loath to lose the Benedictines’ luxurious hospitality quite so soon. ‘And his eccentricity is proof of it.’
    ‘I am not—’ began Clippesby in alarm.
    ‘There is a barn owl looking for you,’ interrupted William quickly. ‘Outside. You had better go and see what it wants. Hurry now.’
    Clippesby regarded him askance. ‘Are you sun-touched, Father? A barn owl would not be looking for me. What a peculiar notion!’
    ‘Oh,’ said William, painfully aware that he was now the one who looked addled.
    ‘Not at this time of year and in daylight,’ Clippesby went on, to William’s profound relief. ‘It must have been some other bird. A hawk, perhaps. They often have things to say about excessive gluttony at the breakfast table.’
    At an urgent nod from Michael, William took the Dominican’s arm and hustled him away before any other remarks about their hosts’ lifestyle could be made.
    ‘Your Clippesby is an unusual man,’ said Yvo, pursing his lips as he watched them go. ‘Our own saint-in-the-making – a fellow named Kirwell – does not commune with serpents.’
    ‘Tell me about the election you plan to hold,’ said Michael, partly for information, but mostly to prevent questions being asked about their colleague that could not truthfully be answered. ‘Why are you determined to do it so quickly?’
    ‘Because it is not good for an abbey to be without a leader in this day and age,’ replied Yvo. ‘And the sooner I am in office … I mean the sooner we have a replacement, the better.’
    ‘But why?’ pressed Michael. ‘Some abbeys manage for years without a titular head.’
    ‘It is a dangerous time for us. Aurifabro is a deadly enemy, while Spalling urges our peasants to rebel. Why do you think Robert told Nonton to recruit the
defensores
?’
    ‘Spalling,’ mused Michael. ‘You should not allow him to air such radical views. He will have the whole shire ablaze if he continues unchecked.’
    ‘He has always held controversial opinions,’ said Yvo unhappily. ‘And we did excommunicate him for them, but