“That cannot be!” The other monk was aghast. “By all accounts, Abelard is much revered around the cloister of Notre Dame.”
“Apparently, there had been some kind of a scandal. A love affair.” A sanctimonious note colored the first monk’s voice. “And he had already fallen from grace. Then his opponents at Soissons turned the synod into a veritable trial with the Archbishop of Rheims leading the charge.”
There was a moment of silence. I would have given a lot to see their faces. Then the second monk asked, “What did they find against him?”
“The judgment said that he had committed heresy by proposing to interpret the dogma of the Holy Trinity by means of reasoning rather than by acceptance and faith.”
“God protect us!”
“I wonder if he will be allowed to return to teaching—” He was interrupted by the abbot’s entrance. The gathering fell silent as Kuno took his seat at the table, flanked by Prior Helenger, Brother Ignatius, and Brother Odo.
During the opening prayer I could not help thinking about the famous philosopher from Paris who had been bold enough to challenge the men of the Church with new ideas. It was both frightening and exciting, and something told me I had not heard the last of him. But I made an effort to listen when Prior Helenger began reading out the report in a loud, self-important voice. He had been tasked with preparing it and to that end, had spoken with the town elders, with Volmar and his archers, and even with me. I grimaced at the memory of that brief and unpleasant interview, but the report was good—detailed and faithful to what had occurred.
“Thank you, Brother Prior,” the abbot said when Helenger rolled up the parchment. “We pray every day for the souls of the five men who lost their lives that our town and abbey might be saved.”
The monks lowered their heads. After a few moments of silence, Kuno spoke again. “I believe God sent us this trial as a warning. We must learn from it so we are better prepared next time, for despite the new concordat, we still live in uncertain times.” Heads nodded all around. “We do not have military leaders living within our precincts, but Volmar proved to be an able archer and commander. I asked him, therefore, to provide recommendations on how we may cultivate this skill at Disibodenberg.” He motioned him to speak.
Volmar stood up and turned to face the monks. There was a barely perceptible tremble in his voice, whether from excitement or nervousness I could not tell. “At Father Abbot’s request”—he nodded respectfully toward the table—“I consulted with the town elders, and we believe that from now on, archery should be more than a pastime. We must conduct regular drills for all the able-bodied men over the age of fourteen. The town has ranges set up for competition by the Glan, and I offer to conduct the training myself.” A slightly boastful note had entered his voice in a decidedly non-monkish fashion, and I had to stifle a smile. “We will also need to keep a store of arrows on hand. They can be purchased at fairs, but we should also have a resident fletcher. I offer to train him, as I learned how to make bows and arrows at my father’s house.” A murmur of admiration swept the rows of seats, and many heads nodded again. “Furthermore, we should consider training younger men in swordsmanship. I am not a swordsman myself, but there are former fighting men in the town, and they would be eager to share their expertise.”
“These are reasonable proposals,” the abbot said. “Does anyone care to comment?” He paused, but there was no response. “Good. Brother bursar will make a note that we need to find funds to support equipping the menfolk with bows and arrows and some swords, and pay those who will train them. And now”—he was eager to move on with the agenda—“I ask Hildegard to say a few words regarding our walls, as a sign of appreciation for her encouragement on the day we learned about the danger facing us.”
Sitting to his right, the prior had so far ignored me but now turned resentful eyes in my direction. I rose, and although I had treated many of the monks, they seemed uncomfortable and shifted uneasily in their seats. But there were a few curious faces too, and Bertolf’s was positively friendly as he gave me an encouraging nod.
“Brothers.” I inclined my head. “I have talked to pilgrims, merchants, and journeymen about the defenses they had seen elsewhere, and it has been very instructive.” I sought to inject an extra dose of assurance into my voice. “It appears that wooden walls are becoming obsolete, as towns are choosing stone as a longer-lasting and sturdier material, not to mention less prone to catching fire. I recommend rebuilding our walls in the same fashion.”
There was an eruption of voices from the tiered seats, and the abbot raised his palm. “Silence! If you have opinions or comments to offer, do so one at a time. Brother Ordulf?”
The matricularius stood up. “Wood is a perfectly good and time-tested building material and is available in abundance,” he said. “New Benedictine houses like the Laach priory have used it. We should mend and strengthen the existing walls instead of incurring the expense and nuisance of tearing them down and raising new ones,” he concluded, staring at me down the length of his nose.
“I agree.” Brother Ignatius, the treasurer, chimed in. “There are ongoing renovations that still need to be paid for.”
I saw that this was going to be about money and the vanity projects the abbey had under way. A lavish new chapel was being constructed, paid for by an endowment from a wealthy landowner. The treasurer was already salivating at the idea of the relics, precious vessels, and ornaments that would have to be acquired to fill it to the glory of
