Free Pagan in Exile by Catherine Jinks

sword into his place, for those that take the sword shall perish with the sword’.’
    No reply from Aribert. I don’t think he’s even conscious.
    ‘My lord Abbot, this man needs care.’ Roland’s still trying to keep things civilised. ‘I don’t know who did this to him, and I’m not going to ask, but if he’s to undertake any travelling –’
    ‘Travelling? Oh no. He isn’t going anywhere.’
    ‘My lord, this man is under my father’s jurisdiction –’
    ‘He is not.’
    Roland takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. ‘My father,’ he says, with grinding patience, ‘has judicial rights over every man, woman and child at Lavalet. Just as you, my lord, have judicial rights over servants such as Clairin. Now, I know my father is quite satisfied that you should pronounce judgement on Clairin, as long as he is compensated for the wood Clairin has stolen. But you must allow my father the right to pronounce judgement on Aribert, for his crime.’
    The Abbot scowls.
    ‘Clairin is a victim,’ he says, ‘not a criminal.’
    Oh, right. And my Auntie Eleanor was the Queen of Persia. What a dunghead.
    ‘Lord Abbot.’ Roland’s beginning to get annoyed. He actually clears his throat. ‘Lord Abbot, if it hadn’t been for Clairin’s own actions –’
    ‘There is no proof that Clairin did anything to deserve such an assault!’
    ‘My lord, this was clearly an act of revenge –’
    ‘Nonsense!’
    God preserve us. The expression in Roland’s eyes! Suddenly he looks just a little bit like Galhard.
    ‘Abbot Tosetus,’ he says stiffly, ‘I would appreciate it if you would adopt a respectful tone when you speak to me.’ (Every word chipped from a block of granite with a blade of Damascus steel.) ‘There is no need for discourteous behaviour.’
    Gulp. Heads down, everyone. The Abbot mumbles 75 something, and coughs. Esclaramonde stares. A handful of monks actually cross themselves.
    ‘My apologies,’ the Abbot finally remarks, wheezing and gurgling like a water mill. ‘I am not well, as you can see. You may tell your father, Lord Roland, that I will examine this matter regarding Clairin’s alleged trespass. And if any wood was taken, then Lord Galhard will receive it back in full measure.’
    ‘Thank you.’
    ‘Providing that Lord Galhard also returns the two dozen sheep which his men have stolen from me.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘Perhaps, when the sheep have been returned, I will consider restoring this criminal to your father’s jurisdiction.’
    Oh God. Worse and worse. Glancing at Roland. What’s he going to do? Grab the old bog-brain and shake some sense into him?
    But no, of course not. If there’s one thing that doesn’t rule Roland, it’s his temper. He simply clenches his teeth, folds his arms, and thinks for a moment. At last he finds his voice again.
    ‘You are an old man and a sick man, and for this reason I can find the heart to forgive your gross ill-breeding and unreasonable prejudice,’ he announces. ‘I cannot, however, allow this matter to rest. If the Bishop will not bring his authority to bear, I will go to the lords of Montferrand. I believe they have rights of jurisdiction over this Abbey. I also believe that they have a proper understanding of the responsibilities attached to such rights. You, it seems, have forgotten all the understanding you ever possessed.’
    (That’s telling him.)
    ‘Many years ago, I regarded this Abbey as a place of truth, and virtue, and piety,’ Roland continues. ‘Now I see that it has been cast down from heaven unto earth, like the daughter of Zion. And I grieve for its desolation.’
    He straightens his back; turns on his heel; heads for the door. Looks as though we’re leaving.
    Esclaramonde hesitates.
    ‘Let’s go.’ Touching her arm. Come on, Mistress, before they decide to keep us here after all.
    ‘Yes! Go! Get out!’ The Abbot waves his walking stick. It’s a pretty feeble gesture. He can hardly lift it off the ground.