A Dangerous Energy Read online

  The coach-house-cum-chapel was set in a little patch of what was once garden; standing around this were the forces of orthodoxy – Tobias and twenty of the Dean Temporal’s Cathedral retinue under an officer. Despite expecting no trouble they had, by custom, come fully uniformed and armed. However, the musketeers stood easy – they knew there would be no demanding work today. Tobias was nominally in command of the detachment, being the senior operative of the Temporal Staff, but he was happy to let the foulmouthed officer (an ex-Marine) take charge. For once he felt dejected and stood staring morosely at the chapel door, taking no part in events which he would normally have found interesting.

  Some distance in front of the door, a trestle table had been set up and on this the Dean Spiritual and two acolytes were performing the rite of anathema popularly known as ‘bell, book and candle’. Several priests were dancing attendance. On the very perimeter of this exciting event was a contingent of Castle retainers whom Waith had provided, at the Bishop’s request, to maintain public order. With half-pikes they held back the gathering crowd of the curious, the morbid or the sympathetic. Haraldsson, despite his inclinations, was present, but he saw and recognised Tobias’ mood and steered clear.

  Dean Cocroft was drawing the ceremony to an end and in a loud if not very sincere voice (his gout was tetchy today), he called upon the heretics one last time to recant and flee to God’s protection.

  Five people, including an old man and his wife, availed themselves of this offer and rushed out of the chapel; a priest and several of the retinue took them to one side while they muttered hysterical confessions. From certain sections of the crowd a dismal howl went up, both disappointed and accusatory. Tobias shot them a baleful glance but they were too far away to see it.

  The Dean Spiritual rang the bell once to show that the anathema was complete and dipped his hands in a bowl of water held by an acolyte. He nodded to Tobias who instantly conveyed the signal to the retinue officer.

  Bales of straw had been piled all around the chapel save at the door. This gap was now plugged with more combustibles by two guards, and the officer lit a taper from a musketeer’s match-cord. Proceeding round the building, he lit the bales at strategic points. He looked at Tobias for approval.

  ‘OK, put ten men round the building to watch the windows, you and the rest come with me to the door.’ He indicated the space vacated by the Dean and his trestle table. ‘Right, prime and stand ready, wait for my word of command and mine only.’

  The fire was taking rapidly now and the straw was almost consumed. The chapel’s wooden structure was well ablaze. Even from thirty paces away, Tobias and the retinue-men could feel the heat. Obviously those inside could as well, for two young women and a young man leapt the fiery barricade at the chapel door and rushed out – shrieking incomprehensibly although their meaning was clear enough. One woman’s gown had caught alight during her escape bid.

  ‘Fire,’ Tobias said in an even voice.

  Most of the retinue men fired and the three figures slumped. The soldiers began reloading quickly.

  Soon afterwards a few shots sounded at the back of the building. From within the sounds of a hymn could be heard.

  At which point a familiar face appeared at the chapel door. Standing still with no intention of escape, James Cherry found and caught Tobias’ eye; he looked pained and scorched but still his message was unmistakable – ‘forgiveness’.

  This was intolerable and Tobias hastily drew both his pistols from his belt and fired at the chapel. One shot hit James neatly in the temple, more by luck than judgement, and he fell back into the building. Soon after, the flames leapt up too high to see the interior anymore and so the closing scenes remained thankfully obscured from view.

  The singing that could just be heard above the sound of the fire and the crowd’s mumbling ceased, and was replaced by screams.

  From behind him Tobias thought he heard raucous laughter and, turning, he saw a group of young apprentices who had come as near to the scene as they were permitted. He spoke to the officer of the retinue. ‘You and two men come with me – the rest of you fire at will until I return.’

  He led the three men near to where the dozen or so crop-headed apprentices were capering in their heavy boots. From this angle he could see the cause of their merriment – at one window a hand could be seen trying to prise open a shutter. However, by now, the metal frame and fitments were obviously intolerably hot and the hand would swoop, struggle and quickly withdraw, only to try again, equally fruitlessly, every few seconds.

  The lads stopped laughing as soon as they saw the priest and his three guards approach.

  Tobias pointed at one of them at random. ‘Officer, arrest that man, I distinctly heard him shouting heretical slogans.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The officer and one retinue-man bundled out the man they assumed Oakley had indicated, an under-sized, ill-favoured lout with fair hair. The others were too surprised to offer resistance even if they had been so minded. Tobias signalled to a Waith guardsman nearby and shouted, ‘Escort these filth away! Right out of earshot. Tell Haraldsson they should spend a night in the Castle lock-ups.’

  ‘Yes, Curate.’

  Tobias strode back towards the blaze and waved the Cathedral guard away. They were at a corner of the site, not directly visible from the Dean’s position, nor could most of the crowd view them.

  ‘Officer, I want you to take personal charge of this prisoner; if he tries to escape kill him.’

  A shot rang out at the front of the chapel.

  ‘I’m just going round to the chapel door to finalise things and I’ll send a man back to relieve you in ten minutes.’ He lowered his voice somewhat. ‘You know, looking at this man, I would not be in the least surprised if he tried to escape in the next ten minutes; do you take my meaning?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Good. Carry on.’

  Tobias walked along the building. The fire was past its peak now; in front of the door were a few new bodies, all badly burnt. Emma Cherry was not among them.

  The Church had no further business here and the Dean Spiritual’s group was preparing to head off. The Dean addressed Tobias, ‘We can do no more here, Oakley. The Bishop will want to see us both after lunch for a full report; I expect to see you then, just draw off half of the retinue and you’re free to go.’

  ‘Thank you, Dean – but I think I’ll stay here to supervise the burial detachment and crowd clearance. I want to see the job is properly done.’

  ‘Very well, then – until this afternoon.’

  Tobias turned and went back to the fire which was rapidly dying down now. Here death was everywhere and dominant, while life in the form of the crowd and retinue-men going for water was drifting away; and here Tobias felt at home.

  CHAPTER 10

  In which our hero’s advance is checked.

  I asked to see you simply to say that you will not be ordained as a full priest this year.’

  ‘I see … ’ said Tobias slowly. ‘Am I allowed to know why not?’

  ‘It is a matter of readiness, Tobias,’ said the Bishop. ‘Now, I don’t deny that you have proved yourself a very competent churchman. Indeed, the two Deans’ reports and your examination results confirm that. Nor do I doubt your magical ability – I hear your degree papers were very enthusiastically received at Canterbury and various members of my staff testify to your practical skills in this field – so you may well ask, what is the problem?’

  ‘Do you not think me a fit person to be a priest?’

  ‘Precisely. Frankly Tobias, I do not. You were once and you will be again, but at the moment – no. I’m sorry, lad; perhaps it’s through no fault of your own, but you’re not ready.’

  All of this was something of a bombshell to Tobias, for when he’d received the Bishop’s summons that morning he had anticipated only a pleasant chat concerning the impending ordination ceremony. Now, in this familiar and friendly study he felt his future slipping through
his fingers.

  ‘Could you be more specific, Bishop? Also, what do you plan regarding the continuance of my vocation?’

  ‘Your second question is easier to answer: I’ve arranged for you to spend a year at a monastery which is headed by an old colleague of mine. Under his guidance I hope you will find yourself again. At the end of that year, pending favourable reports, I will recommend your ordination, I promise you.’

  A weight of indecision flew from Tobias’ mind – so his ambition was not to be unrealised – merely postponed. Nothing, save time, was lost.

  ‘So it’s merely that you feel more time is required for me to reach the proper, considered condition for priesthood?’

  ‘Not exactly, my son. Time, in part – yes, certainly; but mostly I want to place you in a situation that is conducive to good in the broadest sense of the word. I feel, having followed your training extremely closely, that the events of the last year or so are not those which I would choose for you to have in your mind as the initial influence for your future career.’

  Tobias felt moved to protest at last. ‘But my Lord Bishop, I really do feel that nothing in my duties or actions over the last years has affected me in any adverse way at all.’

  ‘And that, my son, from your own mouth, is the reason why I have postponed your ordination.’

  CHAPTER 11

  In which our hero is given a new home and goes for a walk.

  ‘And this, Brother, is where you’ll sleep.’

  ‘I see,’ said Tobias. He did indeed – he saw a tiny cubicle of stone with a plank bed protruding from one wall. There was just enough space left for a tiny table and chair. The room was lit by a tiny window high up near the roof. What he would have liked to have said was, ‘You must be joking.’ But he was long used to making such honest comments only to himself. No cosy study and afternoon cups of tea here.

  ‘Of course you’ll only be here to sleep, morning and evenings will be occupied by religious observances and work; the afternoon, as you know, is your own and for that purpose we have decided to make the Abbey library free to you.’

  ‘Yes, Brother; the Abbot more or less outlined the terms of my residence when I arrived.’

  ‘Fine, fine, when you’ve settled in, come along to the refectory for a bite to eat. After that there’s a sung mass at six-thirty.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, I hope you’ll be happy in your stay here, Brother.’

  Tobias declined to reply and the monk scuttled away into the bowels of the monastery. Unpacking took scarcely a blink for most of his possessions were in storage at Rugby. He had brought only a carpet-bag of luggage: books, writing materials and various priestly gowns.

  This done, he sat down on the bench or bed and noticed several blankets and a chamber pot underneath it. Although it was May and the sun was bright outside, the stones of the cubicle seemed to radiate a chill of their own.

  He would have liked to lay back, calm and contented, having reconciled himself to a year of quiet introspection and research, but such a mood was far away from him. Tobias sat, his elbows on his knees, and glowered at the opposite wall three feet away. Outside he could hear birdsong and the mysterious, uninterpreted noises of the monastery population at work; the window was too high to see through.

  In his imagination and his arrogance he pictured all the monks hurrying along the corridors and paths of this building, all of them anonymous and indistinguishable in their innocence and weakness, while he sat perfectly still in one little room, a pinpoint of contained power and energy. He was a wolf among sheep and for a while he would have to bleat and answer the shepherd’s call like the rest: but the wolf would store his savage energies until his own good time.

  This vision was of little immediate comfort to Tobias as he rose and went in search of a meal that was, he discovered, of characteristic frugality.

  At first he threw himself without respite into his priestly and thaumaturgic studies, but in conjunction with the demanding monastic routine this made for an intolerably spartan existence. Tobias was unsure to what degree his afternoons were ‘free’ and, after a few weeks, bored beyond measure even with his beloved magic, he decided to put his liberty to the test.

  One of the benefits of monastic life was that possessions, few as they were, could be left unattended and so he merely tidied up his library desk and resolutely strode out, leaving behind his notes and manuscripts neatly stacked.

  The few monks present that afternoon, too old and infirm to work, looked up cautiously from their Bibles and works of devotion, saw that nothing dramatic was in the offing and resumed their half-slumber.

  Outside in the cloisters, Tobias could see and feel the sun and he began to have vague inklings of returning life. But this was not enough; passing the few old monks shambling round the walk he came to the gatehouse and, via this, the outside world. No one challenged him or rushed to report his ‘escape’, although it had not missed the beady eye of the gate-keeper.

  Like the feeling of release he had once felt on galloping out of Chichester, so now he felt instantly recharged. With no purpose at all (for once), he set off at a fast pace down the metalled roadway that joined the monastery of St John Wesley to the ancient main road between the somewhat less antiquarian towns of Royal Tunbridge Wells and East Grinstead.

  For a hundred yards or so around the monastery the monks had cleared the undergrowth and felled the trees, but at the outer extent Ashdown Forest began again with man-made abruptness. Although Tobias was by upbringing a country lad, he had never had to harden his hands with serfish agriculture and a large, unmanaged forest was a novelty to him. He had seen some suggestion of its extent on the morning the stage-coach had delivered him. One road alone crossed it and settlement was sparse; hence, presumably, the monastic house.

  He walked along the old Roman road for a while and peered into the forest. Wild, in the sense that it’s left alone, he estimated, but probably not wild as in dangerous.

  The South of England had long been the most prosperous and cultured part of the island. It was here antiquarians presumed that man first set foot in the isles sometime shortly before the Romans arrived. (For the Bible proved that the creation took place in 4004 BC and Adam’s descendants therefore had little time in which to drift from Eden to this less idyllic land.) Tobias had always been taught, that refugees from the fall of Troy had first colonised Britain and he saw no reason to doubt it. And it was here, despite the coughs and splutters of impending industrialisation elsewhere, that most of the population was gathered. Accordingly, over the centuries those forces in the area inimical to man were gradually displaced and exterminated. Ashdown Forest might shelter a few wolves or boars, perhaps even a bear or two, but it was unlikely that anything more than a small nest of ‘demi-demons’ remained. In the nineteenth century, at papal command, vast numbers of yeomanry and armed citizens had combed the deep forests of civilised western Europe (thereby earning grace at a level deemed equal to crusading) and had dealt a heavy, if not mortal, blow to the forces of darkness, Nature’s first-born. In the North and more primitive areas, however, it was a different story and in some parts control was contested with man on an equal basis.

  Not in safe and civilised Sussex; even so, in memory of older times the monastery still maintained a store of weapons and armour; to the ungodly ones no other cheek would be turned.

  At any rate, Tobias felt entirely at ease and after a while he decided to strike off the road and enter the forest proper. A convenient track offered itself for this purpose and he took it – presumably beaten by foresters, it wound on and on probably without objective. In a similar frame of mind Tobias followed. At both Southwark and Rugby there had always been tremendous demands on his time and energy as well as his own private commitments to pursue – a book to be read, a woman to be seen. Now, in his afternoons he could study or he could not; there were no alternatives to make him feel uneasy and guilty about inactivity. It was the bizarre and parado
xical freedom of the prison or asylum, but refreshing for all that. For the first time Tobias felt the faint stirrings of hope that there might be something to be gained from this year.

  For a while his way dipped and was shaded despite the pruning which revealed that the path was obviously used on a regular basis. In the furrows muddy water collected, quite deeply in parts, and Tobias had to skirt the track completely; then suddenly he came upon a steep hill and puffed his way up it to find himself in a clearing created by the foresters. To one side, vast pyres of prepared timber were weathering or perhaps awaiting collection. In the centre the ground was uncommonly lumpy and Tobias supposed it betokened one of the old Roman iron-working sites which the monks assured him littered this area of the Weald.

  He wondered whether the path carried on at the opposite side of the clearing and ambled over. It did not. Nevertheless his curiosity was rewarded by a beautiful view. On the far slope of the hill there must have been a quarry at some time or perhaps the ground just folded naturally. The dramatic depression in the slope meant that the trees on that side were sufficiently low to allow a panorama of the countryside below to be seen and Tobias could see back towards the road, a grey ribbon stretching left and right. Two houses were visible, set off the road in their own clearings and linked to the world of man by private tracks. There was no village or hamlet in these parts, not till Hartfield some four miles off where the woodsmen mostly lived. Such population as there was lived in lonely and often grandiose houses such as these two. Here the wealthy and the solitary were wont to retire. Tobias had been told there was an almost equal presence of elderly nobility and persons of evil reputation.

  He could see no clues as to the occupants of the houses below him; one, the further, was a plain squat block of the type popular at the turn of the century – suitable both for defence and habitation. It looked empty.

  The second house showed signs of life; what looked like ducks and chickens were wandering round in front of it, and several chimneys were smoking. The house itself was multi-period but contentedly so, time having reconciled the tastes of different centuries from the fortifications required in Reformation times to the more relaxed possibilities of the present. Once it had no doubt been set in extensive gardens painstakingly wrestled from the forest, but now only a small cultivated area was discernible; incipient jungle claimed the rest.