part0058

Martinus looked up from his forge, forcing a smile as the village priest approached with another man, clothed as a simple monk. His chest tightened as he thought back on the young man who had died in this very home several months ago. He had done his duty, informed everyone of the man’s demise, and helped bury him. Father Marellus had been given a full account upon his return, lest one thing.

No mention was made of the Bible.

In the two weeks before the vile man had returned, word had reached the town of the party of monks having been slaughtered mercilessly, and talk had turned to the Bible.

Then several uncomfortable questions had been posed of him.

Who was this monk that had died in his home? Why had he come there of all places? Was he a survivor, or someone else who had stumbled upon the attack?

Then the most disturbing of all, posed by a wretch who enjoyed stirring up trouble.

Where were you when they were attacked?

It wasn’t the question that had disturbed him the most, it was the others that had gathered agreeing that the question should be asked.

His wife’s grip on his arm had tightened, and he knew she was as terrified as he was at the turn of events. “He came the same morning he died, asking for his horse to be watered. I tended to his horse while my wife fed him, as any good Christian would, then he left. He must have been attacked along with the others, then the horse carried him back to where it had last been fed. There’s no mystery here, you fool. You saw his wound. It was a miracle he lasted as long as he did. We all know who did this. It was those men that arrived that same morning, looking for them. To Hell with any of you who would think I had something to do with it!”

That had silenced them all, and he had returned home with his wife.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“What can we do? If we tell them of the Bible, it’s only our word that it is another copy.”

“But it isn’t ours. We can’t keep it.”

“But if we reveal that we have it, they’ll think I killed those monks and stole it. We’ll be hanged for sure, if not worse.”

“We should burn it!”

He gasped. “That would be blasphemy! The eternal damnation of Hell will be our reward in the end.”

She sighed. “Then what do we do? We can’t keep it here. What if someone finds it?”

“We must hide it.”

“But where? If they get suspicious, they might search the house.”

He thought for a moment, scratching his chin. Then smiled. “I know exactly where it will be safe, and no one will ever find it.”

He shook the memories as Father Marellus and the monk approached him. His foot scraped against the base of his forge as his wife emerged from inside to greet their guests, their newborn daughter in her arms. The monk bowed to them.

“I am Brother Olin from Wearmouth-Jarrow Abbey in Northumbria. I understand a monk died here several months ago?”

Martinus nodded. “Aye, he did. It was a most troubling experience, I can assure you.”

“I have no doubt. To die is one thing. But to die under such circumstances is an entirely different matter. I take some comfort in knowing he did not die alone, and that he died with strangers as kind as you, and apparently familiar to him.”

“We did have the privilege of having him as our guest that morning. He was a very pleasant man. An excellent Christian, and a fine representative of your abbey.”

Olin bowed deeply. “You humble me with your kind words.” The man hesitated. “Did he mention anything that, well, in retrospect might have seemed curious?”

Martinus tensed. “Such as?”

“Well, I’ll try to be delicate here. A letter was found on the person of our abbot, who was murdered with the others. It made it to us only a month ago. It made mention that Brother Arledge was carrying something of importance. If you had found it on his person, I have no doubt that as good Christians you would have informed the Father here. But since you didn’t, then I must assume he did not have it with him.”

Martinus tensed. “He had nothing but the clothes on his back when he died, I’m afraid. Everything else was on his horse, which I turned over to Father Marellus as soon as he returned from Paris.”

Marellus took a step closer. “This is true. He was at my door almost the moment I returned. He had tended to the horse as if it were his own, and kept your brother’s possessions in good order, as I showed you.”

“Yes, and the item I’m looking for was not among those items, unfortunately.”

Martinus cleared his throat, hesitant to say more than was necessary, yet a thought had occurred to him that might help divert any suspicion away from him and his wife. “If he were killed by the same men that murdered those other monks, perhaps they stole whatever it was you seek?”

Olin’s head bobbed, a frown creasing his face. “Yes, that unfortunately is the conclusion I’ve come to as well. I was hoping against all logic that perhaps he had been able to hide it somewhere, and had made mention of its location to you in his dying moments.”

“I’m afraid he was too weak by the time he reached us. He said nothing of anything hidden.”

Olin eyed him. “But he did say something?”

Martinus cursed himself for the poor choice of words, and his wife stepped closer, wrapping an arm around his.

“I’m afraid the poor boy was delirious. My husband carried him from the horse and into our house. He lay him on the bed, and within moments he was dead. All he managed to say was something like, ‘they killed my friends,’ or some words to that effect. He was dead so quickly, there was nothing anyone could do. His robes were soaked in his own blood. I think the Good Lord wished him to be among familiar faces when he died, rather than alone on the road.”

Olin smiled. “With him so far from home, the kindness you had shown him that morning would have made you the closest thing to friends he would have in these parts. I am pleased his final moments were spent among good Christians such as yourselves, as opposed to the end of the blade as wielded by the heathens that committed the atrocity that day.” He bowed. “I wish you well. You will be in my prayers tonight.”

They both returned the bow. “You are too kind,” said Martinus. “You and your brothers will be in ours.”

Olin and Father Marellus left, and Martinus began to shake. He eyed the base of the forge.

“Control yourself, you fool!” hissed his wife as she hauled him inside the house, a few of the nosier having gathered around the periphery during the exchange.

He sat in his chair, steadying his nerves. “I think we have to get rid of it. Leave it somewhere if we’re not going to destroy it.”

“Are you insane? We can’t do any such thing. And besides, no one will ever find it where it is. That much is certain. Not with the effort we had to go through in order to hide it.”

He sighed, closing his eyes, thinking back on that night. He had dug a deep hole in the dark, then lined it with stone, placed a wood box inside, then the Bible inside that, wrapped in sheep’s skin. He had buried it, then used the horses to pull the heavy base of his forge enough to cover their secret. It would never be found as long as that forge stood, and that would be for as long as he could swing a hammer. Then what happened after that, after he and his wife were gone, and their children had moved on, was of no concern to him.