HOLY THORN AND HOLY CHURCH
In South Morgraunt stands Holy Thorn, more properly the Abbey of Saint
Giles of Holy Thorn, a broad and fair foundation, one of the two set up
in the forest by the Countess Isabel, Dowager of March and Bellesme,
Countess of Hauterive and Lady of Morgraunt in her own right. Where the
Wan river makes a great loop, running east for three miles, and west
again for as many before it drives its final surge towards the Southern
Sea, there stands Holy Thorn, Church and Convent, watching over the red
roofs of Malbank hamlet huddled together across the flood. Here are
green water-meadows and good corn-lands, the abbey demesne; here also
are the strips of tillage which the tenants hold; here the sluices
which head up the river for the Abbey mills, make thunderous music all
day long. Over this cleared space and over some leagues of the virgin
forest, the Abbot of Saint Thorn has sac and soc, tholl and theam,
catch-a-thief-in, catch-a-thief-out, as well as other sovereign
prerogatives, all of which he owes to the regret and remorse of the
Countess Isabel over the death of her first husband and only lover,
Fulk de Bréauté. Further north, in Mid-Morgraunt, is Gracedieu, her
other foundation--equally endowed, but holding white nuns instead of
white monks.
Now it so happened that as Prosper le Gai entered the purlieus of
Morgraunt, the Countess Isabel sat in the Abbey parlour of Saint Thorn,
knitting her fine brows over a business of the Abbot's, no less than
the granting of a new charter of pit and gallows, pillory and tumbril
to him and his house over the villeins of Malbank, and the whole fee
and soke. The death of these unfortunates, or the manner of it, was of
little moment; but the Countess, having much power, was jealous how she
lent it. She sat now, therefore, in the Abbot's great chair, and before
her stood the Abbot himself, holding in his hands the charter fairly
written out on parchment, with the twisted silk of three colours ready
to receive her seal. It was exactly this which she was not very ready
to give, for though she knew nothing of his villeins, she knew much of
the Abbot, and was of many minds concerning him. There was yet time;
their colloquy was in secret; but now she tapped with her foot upon the
stool, and the Abbot watched her narrowly. He was a tall and personable
man, famous for his smile, stout and smooth, his skin soft as a
woman's, his robe, his ring, his cross and mere slippers all in accord.
At length, says he, "Madam, for the love of the Saints, but chiefly for
Mary's love; to the glory of God and of Saint Giles of Holy Thorn; to
the ease of his monks and the honour of the Church, I beseech your
Ladyship this small boon."
The clear-cold eyes of the Countess Isabel looked long at him before
she said--"Do I then show love to the Saints and give God honour, Lord
Abbot, by helping you swing your villeins? Pit and gallows, pillory and
tumbril! You go too far."
"Dear lady," said he, "I go no further, if I have them, than my Sisters
of Gracedieu. That hedged community of Christ's brides hath all these
commodities and more, even the paramount privilege of Sanctuary, which
is an appanage of the very highest in the Holy Fold. And I must
consider it as scarcely decent, as (by the Mass) not seemly at all,
that your Holy Thorn, this sainted sprig of your planting, should lack
the power to prick. Our people, madam, do indeed expect it. It is not
much. Nay!"--for he saw his Lady frown and heard her toe-taps
again--"indeed, it is not much. A little pit for your female thief to
swim at large, for your witch and bringer-in of hell's ordinances; a
decent gallows a-top for your proper male rascal; a pillory for your
tenderer blossom of sin while he qualify for an airy crown, or find
space for repentance and the fruits of true contrition; lastly, a
persuasive tumbril, a close lover for your incorrigible wanton
girls--homely chastisement such as a father Abbot may bestow, and yet
wear a comely face, and yet be loved by those he chasteneth. Madam, is
this too much for so great a charge as ours? We of Holy Thorn nurture
the good seed with scant fortune, being ridden down by evil livers,
deer-stealers, notorious persons, scandalous persons. A little pit,
therefore! a little limber gallows!"
But the Countess mused with her hand to her chin, by no means
persuaded. She was still a young woman, and a very lonely one; her
great prerogatives (which she took seriously) tired her to death, but
the need of exercising them through other people was worst of all. Now
she said doubtfully, "I have no reason in especial to trust you, Abbot."
The Abbot, who knew better than she how true this was, bit his lip and
remained silent. He was a very comely man and leaned much to
persuasion, particularly with women. He was always his own audience:
the check, therefore, amounted to exposure, almost put him to open
shame. The Countess went on to ask, who in particular of his villeins
he had dread of, who was turbulent, who a deer-stealer, who notorious
as a witch or wise woman, who wanton and a scandalous liver? And here
the Abbot was apt with his names. There was Red Sweyn, half an outlaw
already, and by far too handy with his hunting-knife; there was
Pinwell, as merry a little rogue as ever spoiled for a cord. There were
Rogerson and Cutlaw; there was Tom Sibby, the procuress. Mald also, a
withered malignant old wife, who had once blighted a year's increase by
her dealing with the devil. Here was stuff for gallows, pit and
pillory, all dropping-ripe for the trick. For tumbril, he went on
(watching his adversary like a cat), "who so proper as black-haired
Isoult, witch, and daughter of a witch, called by men Isoult la
Desirous--and a gaunt, half-starved, loose-legged baggage she is," he
went on; "reputed of vile conversation for all the slimness of her
years--witch, and a witch's brat."
He looked sideways at the great lady as he spoke of this creature, and
saw that all was going exactly as he would wish it. He had not been the
Countess' confessor for nothing, nor had he learnt in vain the story of
her secret marriage with Fulk de Bréauté, and of the murder of this
youth on Spurnt Heath one blowy Bartlemy Eve. And for this reason he
had dared to bring the name of Isoult into his catalogue of rogues,
that he knew his woman, and all woman-kind; how they hate most in their
neighbours that which they are tenderest of in themselves. Let there be
no mistake here. The Countess had been no luxurious liver, though a
most unhappy one. The truth is that, beautiful woman as she still was,
she had been a yet more beautiful girl, Countess of Hauterive in her
own right, and as such betrothed to the great Earl Roger of March and
Bellesme. Earl Roger, who was more than double her age, went out to
fight; she stayed at home, in the nursery or near it, and Fulk de
Bréauté came to make eyes. These he made with such efficacy that Isabel
lost her heart first and her head afterwards, wedded Fulk in secret,
bore him a child, and was the indirect means of his stabbing by the
Earl's men as he was riding through the dark over Spurnt Heath. The
child was given to the Abbot's keeping (whence it promptly and
conveniently vanished), the Countess was married to the Earl; then the
Earl died. Whereupon she, still young, childless so far as she could
learn, and possessed of so much, founded her twin abbeys in Morgraunt
to secure peace for the soul of Fulk and her own conscience. This will
suffice to prove that the Abbot had some grounds for his manoeuvring.
The breaking of her troth to the Earl she held to make her an
adulteress; the stabbing of Fulk by the Earl to prove her a murderess.
There was neither mercy nor discernment in these reproaches. She
believed herself a wanton when she had been but a lover. For no sin,
therefore, had she so little charity as for that which the Abbot had
imputed to his candidate for the tumbril. Isoult la Desirous it was who
won the charter, as the Abbot had intended she should, to serve his end
and secure her own according to his liking.
For the charter was sealed and seisin delivered in the presence of Dom
Galors, almoner of the Abbey, of Master Porges, seneschal of High
March, and of one or two mesne lords of those parts. Then the Countess
went to bed; and at this time Prosper le Gai was also lying in the
fringes of Morgraunt, asleep on his shield with his red cloak over him,
having learned from a hind whom he met on the hill that at Malbank
Saint Thorn he would find hospitality, and that his course must lie in
such and such a direction.