Murder most holy

gestured to Cranston and Athelstan to do the same.
    ‘He was seen outside the church just after Vespers.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘You were the next to see him, hanging from that tree in the orchard.’ He held up a hand. ‘And, before you ask, nobody admits speaking to him or meeting him or anything else. It’s as if he was spirited away.’
    ‘And you searched the cells of both Brother Alcuin and Callixtus?’
    ‘Nothing,’ the prior replied. He started sifting amongst the parchment on his desk. ‘Nothing, except two pieces of parchment. One in Alcuin’s cell, the other in Callixtus’s. Each bore the same name.’
    The Prior handed the pieces of parchment over. Athelstan studied them curiously. Written in different hands, both bore the same name repeated a number of times: Hildegarde.
    ‘Who is she?’ Athelstan asked.
    Anselm pulled a face. ‘God knows! That was the only thing untoward that I noticed. The only thing which links the death of one of our brothers to the disappearance of another.’
    Cranston , half-dozing beside Athelstan, shook himself awake.
    ‘Always a woman!’ he announced, smacking his lips. ‘Where there’s trouble, always a woman!’
    ’Sir John, you are not implying...’ Anselm gazed angrily at the coroner. ‘Both Brother Callixtus and Alcuin were good men, faithful priests, hard-working members of our brethren. There was never a hint of scandal, even the merest tittle-tattle of gossip about them! They were senior members of this order, and sound theologians.’ His glance fell away. ‘They deserved a better death.’
    Cranston apologised profusely as his secretarius just stared at the two pieces of parchment.
    ‘You look tired, Athelstan,’ Anselm commented, now becoming embarrassed by Cranston ’s repeated apologies. ‘Leave this matter. Brother Norbert will serve you from the refectory. I suggest you have an early night, a good sleep.’
    Athelstan agreed. ‘But tomorrow, Father Prior, after Nones, I need to meet you and the other members of the Inner Chapter.’ He tapped the pieces of parchment in his hand, a faint idea beginning to form in his mind, a loose line of thought which he would follow when he was more refreshed. ‘Tell no one of this, Father, for the moment. Keep it quiet.’
    Athelstan and Cranston returned to the guest house, where they both washed and sat for a while in the kitchen, Cranston smacking his lips over a jug of mead whilst his companion stared at the flickering flames of the fire Brother Norbert had built up for them. The young lay brother brought across their meal from the refectory kitchen: rich veal cooked in a pepper sauce under a thin golden layer of pastry, and a dish of lightly cooked vegetables from the monastery garden. Cranston fell to with gusto. Athelstan, tired, his stomach still uneasy after the wine, ate more sparingly. Only when he was on the point of finishing did he notice the small, neatly rolled scroll tied with green silk set on a stool in the far corner of the kitchen. He went across and picked it up.
    ‘What is it?’ Cranston barked between mouthfuls of veal.
    ‘A copy of Brother Henry of Winchester ’s treatise: “Cur Deus Home — Why God became man”.’
    ‘I’ll let you read that,’ Cranston said. ‘If God had meant us to know his ways, he wouldn’t spend most of his time keeping as much distance between himself and us as possible!’ Athelstan smiled, sat down, and in spite of his tiredness, began to study the treatise. He was still reading when Cranston , who had finished both his own supper and the rest of Athelstan’s, lumbered off into the buttery for more refreshment.
    The treatise was written on pieces of parchment neatly sewn together. The clerkly hand, the fresh ink and lucid presentation made Athelstan shake his head in wonderment. Brother Henry’s treatise was a jewel of theological analysis as he carefully overturned the accepted dogma of the church. He argued Christ’s Incarnation to have sprung from God’s desire to share the divine beauty with man rather than the usual tired line of ‘redemption from sin’ or ‘atoning for man’s evil’. In Brother Henry’s treatise, God was presented as a loving mother or father and Christ as a physical expression of that love, rather than God as some angry judge grudgingly accepting Christ’s death as atonement for man’s sins.
    Cranston returned, mumbled something and slowly clambered the stairs to the bedchamber. Athelstan read on.