CHAPTER V
The Year 1119
The Road to the Abbey
“Thus we differ, my most devoted cousin. You are a goose, and I am a fox. I can jump over boundaries I cannot even see, while all you can do is go forward in a straight line or backwards.”
Stephen of Blois held his tongue. He had learned long ago it was folly to argue with Robert of Gloucester.
Robert continued, “That is why I always win when we play fox and geese.”
“Pray enlighten me further,” Stephen said. He thought his cousin could be a real ass sometimes. Stephen knew Robert better than anyone. Everyone thought Robert was so charming and so saintly, the bravest knight in the realm, but when he let down his guard his arrogance was astounding. Still, for all his superciliousness Robert was brave and brilliant. Stephen loved him in spite of his faults. Robert had saved his neck on more than one battlefield. And when it came to ladies, by following his charming cousin’s lead, Stephen seldom slept alone.
Robert laughed. “The fox has the advantage in the game because he has the position, ability, and power to do what the goose cannot. He can use his influence, his power, and his caste by way of law, status, and title to overpower the opposition.”
“Are you speaking of the fox in a game or yourself, Robert?”
“My dear Stephen, do you not see that the majority of men are geese? There is no reason why you cannot empower yourself to be able, strong, and fit to be a ruler. You can have all the power of the fox if you use the law, your position, your name, and your property as if you were a king.”
Stephen reined in his horse. “Robert, I believe we have passed this same tree four times now. I think we are lost.”
The king’s son frowned. “Is it possible the legend of the forest is true, that all who come seeking the abbey go astray?”
“Well, we certainly have,” Stephen said. “This was a bad idea to begin with. Why did I let you talk me into going to visit William in a confounded abbey? You know how much I hate the church and its priests.”
Robert pointed to a path that led off from the main road. “Shall we try that way? You are an odd one, Stephen. Priests are harmless.”
Stephen shook his head. “I disagree. Priests are far from harmless. The church has too much power. If they wanted to, the priests could even overthrow a throne. Kings are meant to rule, not be puppets whose strings are pulled by popes and bishops. If I were king, I would throw the lot of them in the dungeon and let them rot.”
“I think you exaggerate, cousin. Ah yes, if you were king indeed. Who knows but that one day under the proper fortuitous circumstance you could be. After William you, Stephen, bear a legitimate claim to the throne.”
“There are times I think you mad, Robert.”
Robert laughed heartily. “If it makes you so uncomfortable, when we finally find this infernal abbey, you can wait outside. I imagine you will get cold when darkness falls. The forest floor makes for a hard bed when we could be comfortable in the abbey guesthouse. But if you wish, you are welcome to sleep in the woods and provide a tasty breakfast for wolves.”
“I would rather face a den full of wolves than an abbey full of priests.”
“You will have nothing to fear from the priests if we do not find the blasted abbey. Listen. Is that chanting?”
The monks’ song seemed to come from all directions at once. Robert leaned over in the saddle peering through the trees. “The abbey is nowhere in sight.”
“You see?” Stephen said. “The wicked priests have cast an enchantment on this accursed forest. That is why we are lost.”
Robert waved his hand to silence his cousin. “There is a clearing up ahead. I hear someone whistling. Come on.”
They rode into the clearing where stood an ancient oak. A staircase made of tree branches wound around the massive tree like a great vine. In the uppermost branches rose a stone tower with a roof shaped like an acorn with a cross on top. A smaller apsidal tower was attached, with a slender chimney rising between the two acorn roofs.
At the foot of the tree sat a stout monk on a three-legged stool whistling a tune while he whittled a piece of wood. Beneath the stool a small dark cat with large ears slept curled up with its tail over its nose.
Stephen of Blois pointed to the tree. “What on earth is that?”
“Good morrow,” said the monk. “Welcome to my humble dwelling. I am Dom Christopher.”
“I beg your pardon, good Dom,” Robert said. “Can you direct us to the abbey? We have lost our way.”
“All who seek the abbey lose their way at first.”
“So we have heard. Apparently the statement bears some truth.”
The monk continued to whittle. “The abbey is not far from here. I will be happy to direct you for a price.”
Stephen said, “What? You dare charge a toll for giving directions in the king’s forest?”
“I ask merely for your time, good sirs. I spend so many lonely hours in the hermitage of my tree that I welcome news of the world beyond the forest. Pray, join me for a jug of wine?”
“Well then,” Robert said smiling, “if that is your price we shall gladly pay it.”
They dismounted. Robert bowed. “Allow me to present myself. I am Sir Robert of Gloucester, son of King Henry of England and Normandy, and this is my cousin, Stephen of Blois.”
Dom Christopher smiled. “Forsooth, this is quite an honor.”
Stephen walked around the tree where he discovered a chapel with a statue of the virgin on a small altar built into a hollow. “I have never seen anything like this,” he said.
“And you never will again,” the monk said proudly. “It is without a doubt unique. This oak is one of the biggest and oldest trees in all of France, growing here since the dawn of time. It has withstood the invasions of the Romans, the Vikings, and the Saxons.”
“How on earth did you get those towers up in the top of that tree?” Stephen asked.
“Very carefully,” the hermit replied. “Pray come upstairs, gentlemen. My home is modest, but I am honored to offer you my hospitality.”
Each tower housed a room, one a living space with a bed of straw, a table, and shelves filled with small statues lining the circular stone walls. An internal arched doorway led to the second tower which served as a kitchen and larder. The hermit used a clever open hearth in the center between both rooms to cook his meals and warm his chamber.
“Why, this is delightful!” Stephen exclaimed. He eyed the shelves curiously. “What are all these statues?”
Dom Christopher ducked through the doorway to the second tower room, rustled around, and returned with three wooden cups, a large jug of wine, and a small board of sliced apples and cheese. He shooed a squirrel from the table and pulled up a stool and two chairs fashioned from tree branches.
“Pray be seated. Those are my saints. I carve them and sell them to pilgrims.”
Stephen turned a statue over in his hands. “You are an artisan, good monk. This is most skillfully carved. Look, Robert, I think you will find this interesting.”
Robert studied the carving and nodded. “Indeed, sir, you have a talent. This is better than some work I have seen in the king’s court.”
The hermit poured the wine. He raised his cup for a toast. “I offer you the king’s health!”
“To the king!” the men repeated. They drank thirstily.
Robert wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “By Our Holy Lord’s beard, this wine is delicious. I am much obliged, good sir. We have been riding for some time, mostly lost.”
The hermit grinned. “The forest will do that to you.” He refilled their cups. “Perhaps you would like me to choose a saint for each of you?”
“Ah,” Robert said. “Now the real price of finding the abbey comes to light.”
The monk shrugged. “You are under no obligation. I assure you my saints are quite reasonable.” He glanced out the door. “It will be dark soon. The forest can swallow a man in the dark.”
Stephen drew his mantle lined with fox fur closer around him and said, “I like your saints. I shall buy one. This statue looks interesting. Who is he, an apostle?”
Dom Christopher shook his head. “That is Saint Medard. If it rains on his feast day it will rain for forty days. That is why they call him ‘the Great Pisser’.”
Robert hammered his fist on the table. “Give that one to my cousin. It was made for him.”
The hermit pushed the jug across the table. “Have some more wine, good sir.” He rose and took the saint from Stephen’s hands. “That is not the saint for you.” Dom Christopher searched the shelves, moving saints around. “You are welcome to Saint Medard, of course, but perhaps you would prefer Saint Mathurin instead. I believe he better suits you, Milord.”
He handed the young man a saint dressed in the garb of a jester. Stephen studied the statue. “Why, this one is charming. He makes me smile. Yes, Dom, I shall take your Saint Mathurin. How much do you want for him?”
Dom Christopher shrugged. “Any donation you wish, my son. I can see by your fine mantle, those cowhide boots, the jewel in your cap, and your healthy white teeth that you are a wealthy man. Of course, it is of no consequence to me personally. The money goes to help rebuild the ancient abbey.”
Stephen reached into the money pouch he wore at his belt and drew out two pieces of gold. “Worth every farthing,” he said, placing the coins on the table.
Dom Christopher grinned. “Are you sure you want that one? Saint Mathurin is the patron of fools, clowns, and idiots.”
Robert choked on his wine.
Stephen glared at Robert. “I like the jester. I find him amusing.”
“And now you shall find me a saint!” Robert cried.
The hermit studied Robert’s eyes carefully.
“What are you doing?” the young man asked.
“I want to be sure I choose the saint who will be most fitting for you,” the monk replied. He searched the shelves, picked out a statue, and handed it to Robert. The saint held a bell in his hand. A whimsical little pig sat at his feet looking up at him.
“Who is this?” Robert asked.
“That is Saint Anthony the Great.”
“Perfect! As the son of a king I should get a great saint.”
“Anthony lived in Egypt. You have heard of Egypt?”
“Of course I have. Do you think me an uneducated fool?”
“Not at all, my son, I can see you are a clever man. This Anthony, as I said, lived in the arid land of Egypt in the shadow of the great pyramid. He battled constantly with the devil, and so I think do you.”
Robert looked uneasy. “Can you see into my soul, hermit?”
“Your soul reveals itself within your brooding eyes, my son.”
“Tell me more about this saint.”
“Saint Anthony the Great lived one hundred and five years.”
Robert smiled handsomely. “Ah, that is a good omen indeed. I plan to live forever myself. I shall take him.”
Robert tossed three pieces of gold on top of Stephen’s two.
“That is very generous, Milord. I thank you.”
Stephen said, “This has given me a brilliant idea!”
Robert quipped, “There is a first time for everything.”
“Take care, cousin, lest the patron of swine be proven all too suitable a choice for you.” Stephen turned to the monk. “My cousin William, Robert’s half brother, is going to be married in June.”
The hermit nodded. “I know of Crown Prince William Atheling, heir to the throne.”
Robert poured another cup of wine, splashing some on the table. He downed it like water.
“That wine will sneak up on you,” warned the monk.
Robert smiled. “I hope so.”
Stephen replied, “Yes. We are on our way to visit the crown prince in the abbey where my uncle has sent him to be educated. I have long pondered a gift for William and his bride, and now fortune has brought me to you. I would like to commission you to make their wedding gift.”
“What do you have in mind, young man?”
“A chess set. Prince William is fond of chess. And his bride loves fables. I have heard that Reynard the Fox is one of her favorites. Can you carve a chess set based on the Romance of Reynard in a month’s time? I will make it worth your weight in gold.”
Dom Christopher laughed. He patted his ample belly. “That is a lot of gold, my son, enough to buy a fine window for the abbey. Very well, I love a challenge. I will accept your commission. Return here in a month’s time and I shall have the chess set ready.”
Stephen clapped his hands. “Splendid!”
Robert’s face grew dark.
“What troubles you, cousin?” Stephen teased. “Are you jealous you did not think of it first?”
“Do not be a goose Stephen,” Robert snapped.
The hermit said quietly, “Jealousy is a deadly sin. “To entertain envy destroys one’s own heart.”
Robert rose. “It is time to go,” he said.
Stephen stood up, stretching. “So, good Dom, will you direct us to the abbey now?”
“Follow me,” Dom Christopher said. He led them back down the winding stairs to the foot of the tree. He pointed up the path. “The abbey is right around the bend of that hill.”
Robert said, “What! Do you mean we were this close all the time?”
“When you are lost in the mists of the forest,” the hermit replied, “the object of your quest, however near, always seems far away.”
Robert and Stephen mounted their horses.
“Thank you for the saints,” Stephen said.
“And you for the company,” replied the monk. “I knew your father, young Stephen of Blois. He was a good man and a martyr to the Crusade.”
Robert bowed to the hermit. “Good day, sir.”
“Godspeed, gentlemen. You should reach the abbey just in time for supper.”
“I like the hermit monk,” Stephen declared as they rode away.
Robert laughed. “I thought you hated priests.”
“He is not like a priest. He is a hermit, a rebel if you will.”
“At last I see the walls of the abbey!” Robert cried. “Do you not wish you could be a rebel sometimes, cousin?”
Stephen shrugged. “I never thought about it. I am not sure I would have the stomach for rebellion. Intrigue makes me nervous.”
Robert laughed heartily as they approached the abbey gate. “You should have taken that first saint, Stephen, the one who makes it rain. Sometimes you really are a pisser.