Traveller Manifesto

Aengland – 11th Century.

Holy kisses were exchanged and the monks bowed to receive the blessing of Abbott George. In their hands they bore two priceless tomes of scripture and the casket, at which the Abbott stared hungrily.

But before anything could be finalised, Michael stepped forward. “Brother Horsa, we must step outside. We will return, never fear, but I must discuss an issue of great import.”

The Abbott looked up in irritation, but Michael turned and led the group from the building. With reluctance and a murmur of apology, Horsa and the monks followed. They would never deny Lord Michael a rare request. As they closed the door on their exit, Brother Bronson looked scandalised.

“Lord Michael, what is needed?” gasped Brother Horsa, who was aghast at their disrespect. The other monks looked on, mystified. They knew better than to question the mysterious Lord Michael.

“The Abbott,” murmured Michael, his anger barely restrained. “The Abbott was the monk, Brother Earconberct, who tried to steal from us, from Eadric and me. That was when we visited Abbott Anna. He also stole from the monastery.”

Brother Horsa stopped mid-complaint and looked confused. “But, how? Are you sure it is him?”

Eadric nodded in agreement. “Yes. It is the thief. I remember him well.” He grimaced, at a loss as to what to do. The occasion had become uncomfortable.

Horsa voiced their confusion, “But the relic, and the scripture, what shall we do?”

Michael looked to Tatae, who shrugged. She had no love for the religion of the monks, but accepted the monks from their village were at least sincere. “You’ll have to decide, Prior,” he suggested, using the title to remind him of his responsibility, not only to himself, but to the other monks who crowded around him. “What does your heart tell you?”

Horsa nodded and thought a moment. He then abruptly turned and opened the door to the Abbott’s dwelling. There stood Abbott George and Brother Bronson, who watched the entry of their guests with bemused frustration. The monk strode forward and bowed. “Dear Abbott. We have a dilemma. On our last visit to Snotengaham, when we were given the sacred scripture and the most Holy Relic of Saint Edmund by the holy Abbott Anna, we experienced the low acts of one called Brother Earconberct. He was a thief, it seems. We ask if you know of one such as him.”

Abbott George pursed his lips in thought, which confirmed what Michael already knew. As he watched, the Abbott looked at Michael and Eadric and, despite their new scars and Eadric’s thick moustache, the sudden brightening of his eyes suggested recognition.

Michael turned to Brother Bronson. “Brother, it might be best that you leave us for a moment.”

The monk looked confused and turned to his Abbott, indignant that he should be ordered out by a low creature such as this warrior stranger. But Abbott George nodded. Brother Bronson frowned in his confusion as he reluctantly walked to the exit and, with a parting look of naked concern, opened the heavy door and stepped outside.

The Abbott stood fearfully and then shrugged. “Please, sit,” he gestured to benches as he waited uncomfortably. “Yes, I know you.” He sighed and took a seat, suddenly deflated. Michael noticed that he had lost weight and his jowls sagged. “I was different then,” explained Abbott George. “I was from a wealthy, influential family and was used to having my way. As the youngest son, my father gave my life to the church and it was a choice I was not inclined to honour. After some years I found there were advantages. My family had power and the Abbott was kin. With the arrival of the Danes I was certain that my station would permit me an honoured reception.”

The Abbott looked desolate and placed his hands over his face. Michael watched carefully for any duplicity.

“I was not well received. With the few other monks who made supplication for peace, we were thoroughly beaten, even though there were Christians amongst the marauders. They swept upon Snotengaham in a horde none could stop. Thanks be to God, they were merciful and only a few were slain, for the thegn of our town was as one of their kin. Abbott Anna prayed mightily with many of the other monks and, for a while, the Danes let him be. I believe some even feared him. But there were others angry at the deaths of their kin at the hands of our people those years past and, before our very eyes, they marched to the monastery, slew Abbott Anna and many of the monks, then burned the buildings to dust.”

Abbott George gave a small sob of despair.

“It was God’s will that I suffered. I suffered for my pride and for my lust for material possessions and power. I sometimes wished the Danes killed me. At least then, I could join the martyrs on the right hand of the Lord. Eventually, only after the last ounce of pride was ground from my unworthy soul, I knew the only solution was to serve the people. It was my revelation, you see, that we gather together to become a strength unto the Lord, that my brothers would unite and support each other in the faith. As the few remaining local monks knew, I was kin to our fallen Abbott so, unworthy as I was, I was asked to lead them. Gradually, we found favour with our conquerors, so were permitted to rebuild the church. The Lord softened the hearts of our new masters and more land was given, so we continually praise God and maintain our miraculous progress.” The Abbot looked up tearfully. “For is this not a miracle? Many brothers from throughout the land have now gathered and we have been able to do His work better as we increase in the strength only God the Father and his most holy Son can provide.”

He sighed. “My struggle was great. Oh yes, I knew I had to change, in my heart and in my soul. Mine was a most challenging path. I spent long nights on my knees seeking the Lord’s guidance and, in an act that was also a miracle, I heard a whisper of Prior Horsa in the forgotten distant forests of Giolgrave. Having recalled their blessed mission to care for the sacred relic and the most Holy Scripture, I sought that they would join us. Together, we can build again.”

“Forgive me for doubting,” interrupted Michael. “The relic is known for its miracles, but is also known as a source of great wealth.”

Abbott George nodded in acceptance. “Yes, it is a source of mighty miracles and inspires and unites the common folk. What the people need now, more than ever, is a return to their normal lives. They need to hope again, to know their brothers in God are here for them and believe the Lord’s good graces can be upon them. They need to see that humanity can change for the better, that the dark times can pass, that they can build their homes and be happy again. The sacred relic will allow this to transpire. Knowledge that the Holy Relic of Saint Edmund is returned will cause great joy to be had amongst the people. They have lost so much.”

The Abbott looked up and his eyes pleaded. “The people must forget their trials, build their families, and find joy again. The Danes now work with the thegns to bring order to the land under the young King Cnut, whose seat of power is to be in Winchester. There has been too much slaughter,” he exclaimed in obvious distress, his hands clasped together as if in fervent prayer.

Michael stared at the former thief in thought. Had he indeed changed his ways? Time and trial can change a person, that was true. He considered of his own life, at how he had transformed over the past years. The Traveller was surprised to feel a softening of his anger. Recalling the sly demeanour of Brother Earconberct, he was forced to concede that the man looked to have changed with his name. Perhaps he could be the spiritual leader the people needed. He still didn’t fully trust him, but conceded that the strategy to consolidate and grow was wise. Yes, Abbott George, with his flaws, might now be sincere.

Horsa looked to Michael for guidance. No doubt the wealth of the Brothers would grow with the presence of the relic. Yes, the Brothers from Giolgrave would enjoy more productive lives here in Snotengaham than in their distant village in the deep, brooding forests.

Michael sighed and nodded. The Abbott sagged in obvious relief.

Their final parting was tearful, but Brother Horsa looked hopeful and revitalised. If all went well, their move would provide renewed purpose for each of the Giolgrave monks. They gazed in wonder at the great building works as if they were in Heaven itself, for none of them had known anything but the forests and the wilds.

Theirs would be a great work that would consume their lives, but they were now parting from the only life they had known. The Brothers wept as they bid farewell and the remainder of their small band turned back to the low walls of Snotengaham.