‘It is beautiful,’ he said, admiring the simple poetry of the words. ‘And you are right: he should not be exiled for following his conscience.’
For a while, both men were silent. Wilfred took the prayer and read it again, while Geoffrey stared towards the high altar, aware of the peace and stillness. It was a lovely building.
‘But I brought you here to admire my work,’ said Wilfred suddenly, making Geoffrey jump. ‘Not to stand here praying. Come with me.’
He led the way down the nave towards the rood screen, against which leaned a precarious piece of scaffolding. Pots and brushes were arranged neatly on a table nearby, and sheets had been spread across the floor.
‘It is a depiction of Judgement Day,’ explained Wilfred. ‘And to make it more terrifying for my flock, I have included local features. You can see Rhydygors at the top, being burned by a fire-breathing dragon, and the abbey is at the bottom, inviting the Devil in.’
‘ Mabon is inviting the Devil in,’ corrected Geoffrey.
Wilfred rubbed his chin. ‘So he is. I had better wash him off and insert Ywain instead. It is one thing attacking the living, but it is unfair to tackle the dead, who are not in a position to appreciate it. Do you recognize any familiar faces among the souls burning in Hell at the bottom?’
‘God’s teeth!’ muttered Geoffrey, as several jumped out at him. ‘Is that legal?’
Wilfred sniggered. ‘What are they going to do about it? Besides, I am doing them a favour. They should be thinking of their immortal souls, and I am reminding them of what will be in store if they do not do what the Church – me, in other words – demands.’
‘Is that William?’ asked Geoffrey, pointing to a bright figure that was winging its way upwards, away from the rest of Kermerdyn’s hapless residents.
Wilfred nodded. ‘He was a holy man, and it was a pity he died young. Still, we have Hywel now, who is just as valiant and honourable. I have been blessed with those at Rhydygors.’
‘I understand William had a vision,’ probed Geoffrey.
Wilfred nodded. ‘He was always rather cagey about it, although I did inform him he should tell me about the experience, because I am a bishop.’
‘And did he oblige?’ asked Geoffrey.
Wilfred grimaced. ‘Only on his deathbed, when he was not in control of his wits – and then I was obliged to listen for days before I had the full story from him. He claimed it happened when he was bathing in the river, and that it entailed the Blessed Virgin.’
‘He told Abbot Mabon much the same.’
Wilfred’s expression hardened. ‘Did he? Well, he went further with me. He claimed she said some very nice things about Wales, and that she was carrying a sword – although I may have misheard the last bit. She also advised him to eat wisely and stay away from mandrake juice, which has a tendency to make men see things that are not there.’
Geoffrey stared at him. Wilfred’s testimony contained elements of all the theories that had been repeated to him on the journey from England. He could only suppose that the Bishop had been more assiduous at listening to a dying man’s ravings than the others and had come away with a more complete picture.
‘Did he ever mention a statue?’ he asked.
‘Not to me, although he did have a penchant for them. He donated every one of the carvings you can see in this church.’
Clever William, thought Geoffrey, looking around in awe. The man had known that concealing his secret might mean it could be lost for ever, so he had hidden it in plain sight – among the scores of other icons he had bought to keep it company.
‘I do not suppose he had a favourite, did he?’
Wilfred seemed startled by the question. ‘Well, yes, he did, as a matter of fact, although no one has ever asked me about it before. Would you like me to show you?’
Geoffrey nodded, and the Bishop led him to the Lady Chapel. It was a small, intimate place, and the worn stones on the floor suggested it was also a popular one. Geoffrey understood why. It exuded an aura of tranquillity and felt sacred, even to a man normally immune to such sensations.
‘That one, in the niche above the sedilla,’ whispered Wilfred, pointing upwards. ‘He was always in here praying to it. Well, it is of the Virgin, so I suppose it was not surprising.’
Geoffrey stared at one of the most beautiful carvings he had ever seen. It showed a woman in flowing robes of purest alabaster; the only colour was the sapphires of her eyes.
Geoffrey gazed at the statue for a long time before he spoke. In his imagination, he could almost see William kneeling by the altar, lifting his eyes towards it.
‘William’s secret,’ he whispered.
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Wilfred irritably. ‘Have you been listening to local gossip? There was a tale that William had acquired a secret that made him turn his back on his sinful ways to live a godly life, but it was nonsense. It was his vision that changed him.’
‘You seem very sure.’
‘I am sure! A vision is religion, but a secret is superstition. Surely, you see the difference?’
‘Not really.’
‘Of course,’ Wilfred went on, not interested in his reply, ‘this was one of the first statues he brought to us, and he insisted on carrying it here himself, despite the fact that it is heavy. The others were delivered by his soldiers.’
‘Did this happen soon after his vision?’
‘Very soon.’ Wilfred gaped at him. ‘Are you saying those tales were right? That the Blessed Virgin did give him something to remember her by, and it was this statue? But it is a worldly thing, and when I came to clean it, there were bits of river weed behind her eyes.’
‘I suspect what happened was that William went swimming and he saw this statue in the water,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘We will never know whether it really spoke to him, but he certainly believed it did, and it changed him. He brought it here, of course; what better place for something he believed to be holy?’
‘But if you are right, then why did he not tell everyone his secret was this statue? Why stay silent and let all those silly rumours take hold?’
Geoffrey shrugged. ‘I cannot answer that.’
‘But I can,’ said Wilfred thoughtfully. ‘People gave him a lot of cloying attention once they thought he was holy, and he hated it. If this carving really is the essence of his vision, then he may well have wanted to protect her from self-serving petitioning.’
It seemed as reasonable an explanation as any.
‘This statue has never performed any miracles, though,’ Wilfred went on. ‘And she has been in here for nigh on ten years.’
‘Well, there is a good reason for that,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Namely that it is not the Blessed Virgin.’
Wilfred gaped at him a second time. ‘How do you know?’
‘My liege lord, Tancred, hails from Italy, and I lived there for several years. I know the carvings of the ancient Romans. This is Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Wilfred dubiously. ‘She looks like the Blessed Virgin to me.’
‘Quite sure. There are several just like it in Rome. Moreover, I think you will find that blessed virgins do not smile in quite such an alluring manner.’ Geoffrey produced the little statue he had found in Lanothni. ‘Here is another.’
‘You carry them around with you?’ breathed Wilfred, shocked. ‘What are you – a heathen?’
‘I found it two days ago,’ explained Geoffrey. ‘Kermerdyn was a thriving Roman settlement once – they would not have invested in such enormous walls had it been small and insignificant – so it is not surprising that their treasures appear from time to time.’
Wilfred took it from him. ‘They are identical! It is a pity you were not here seven years ago. You could have confounded all these silly tales and prevented needless speculation. You might even have saved a good man’s life, because I am sure William was murdered.’
‘I do not suppose you know by whom?’ asked Geoffrey hopefully.
