The Dunce Chapter 4

There was a fine drizzle as the small party made their along the River Teviot to the site of the Franciscan friary of Roxburgh. Two long, low buildings stood with a small space between them beneath the walls of the town and facing the river across an open green space. Opposite the travellers was a stand of ancient deciduous trees, chestnuts, oaks and yews. In the open space, the Grey Friars had planted medicinal herbs which gave off heady scents in the rain. John Duns could make out Rosemary, Thyme, Sage and Lemon Balm. He rubbed the leaves of a sage plant between his fingers then smelt the soothing aroma. This was the Friary established by donations from his own great-grandfather. The party were to spend the night here.

The party comprised John and his Uncle Elias, Brother Godric, a friar from Dumfries, and two servants of John’s father, Ninian, who had come along to secure a safe journey for the men of God. Elias and Godric were known to the friars of Roxburgh who were also pleased to welcome John as descendent of their main benefactor.

They ate well that night with the Roxburgh Franciscans but did not overindulge. Franciscans were not given to the excesses of some of the other orders. Their gardens were well managed. Beehives provided honey for eating and for the production of mead. Fine cattle and sheep were reared on the rich, grassy glebes. The meal was probably better than usual as the Roxburgh brethren sought to honour Scotland’s senior Franciscan.

After dinner it was time for Compline. John had been involved in communal prayers when he was at school in Haddington. He could recite the Latin perfectly. Now it was different. He was leaving behind his schooling, boyhood and family and starting his physical and vocational journey to a life in the Church. After Compline, John was shown to one of the guest rooms. He was tired after the journey and soon fell sound asleep. After what seemed like only a few minutes another call to prayer sounded through the compound. John’s body desired more sleep but he had made the decision to follow the disciplines of monastic life so he rose and went to the chapel where he joined the rest of the order in prayer.

At daybreak John and his companions left Roxburgh and travelled up Teviotdale to Hawick where they spent their second night on the road. This time they stayed in an inn that paid its feus to the great abbey of Jedburgh. After a plain but nourishing meal and a good night’s sleep the five travellers set off again hoping to make Langholm by nightfall. The sky was bright and the air cool as they set off on the third leg of their journey. There was heavy dew on the grass and the Teviot sparkled in the early autumn sun. John felt good to be alive and understood as he often had done before Brother Francis’s recognition of God in the beauties of nature.

The rolling hills and broad meadows of the Duns and Kelso areas had given way to hill lands often tree-covered. In some places the trees came right down to the track by the river. At the hamlet of Teviothead, the travellers left the river and turned south towards a pass through the hills where they would join the Ewes Water, a stream that flowed to the south and west unlike the east flowing Teviot. This would take them to Langholm where they would spend the final night of their journey before heading to Dumfries with its Friary.

After stopping for prayers and a simple lunch near Linhope, John’s group entered a steep-sided valley where they were forced to stick closely to the stream. They had only travelled a few hundred yards into the valley when suddenly but silently they found themselves surrounded by a group of men brandishing daggers and swords. The two servants drew their own swords but were quietly instructed by Elias to put them away. This was sound advice partially given because Elias wanted no part of a fight but even if he had done the two servants were more used to wielding scythes than swords and would have been no match for these men who clearly knew how to handle their weapons.

A stout man with a grey beard and long hair stepped forward. “What have we here then? Two priests, a lad and a couple of farm hands. What are you doing travelling these dangerous roads?”

“Roads hold no danger for those who trust in the Lord,” Elias answered. “We are travelling from Duns to Dumfries. My nephew here is entering the Franciscan order.”

Greybeard laughed. It was not an unpleasant or mocking laugh but open and confident. “The Lord helps those who help themselves,” he retorted. “Those look like nice big sacks of meal on the horses. They’ll keep many a jolly lad from hunger for a good few weeks.”

“Take the meal sacks and let us be on our way,” Elias replied.

“Now that would be right inhospitable. Taking meal from monks and not offering anything in return. No. You’ll come with us. We need your services as well as your food but we’re not savages. You’ll come to no harm with us.”

“Very well” agreed Elias, “We’re in your hands”.

Greybeard turned and led his men, who went both before and behind the travelling party, up the hill along a path through the trees. There was no need to have any guards to the sides of the travellers. The trees and undergrowth grew so thickly that escape would have been impossible. Anyway, John trusted Greybeard and his uncle also seemed to be relaxed about following the stranger. Godric and the two farm servants appeared to be much more reluctant to travel deeper into the forest.

The path climbed for about a mile zig zagging up the hill then it followed the brow of the hill for a further two miles rising and falling with the shape of the land until it turned north again descending steeply into a sheltered valley. At the foot of the slope was a wide clearing surrounded by wattle and daub dwellings next to penned goats, sheep and horses. In the middle of the clearing was a large fire where food was being prepared.

Men were working at various tasks, cleaning weapons, feeding animals and tending the cooking food, but they stopped what they were doing as the party entered the clearing. Out of one of the huts appeared a tall, slender man, clean-shaven with a terrible scar down one side of his face. He held out his hand to Elias.

“Welcome, Brother. I’m sorry to have interrupted your journey but as you see, we have no resident priest to hear our penance and administer to us. I hope you will do us the honour of spending the night with us and putting us once again in favour with the good Lord.”

“You are outlaws?” enquired Elias.

“Yes but nevertheless men of honest and pious hearts who served our Lord in lands far from here.”

“You were in the crusades?” Elias further asked.

“Twice we served with the saintly Louis IX of France in the East, the first time over thirty years ago now. Giles was with me then. The others are all younger. They served with us on Louis’s final crusade. We were with him when he died in Tunis. They say our quest was a failure but a least we secured trading rights and the right for monks to live in the holy lands. It’s hard to believe 10 years have passed since then. This is my reminder.” The man touched the scar on his face. “I was getting too old and slow and the scimitar is a sharp and heavy weapon. I was lucky I only lost my good looks and not my life.”

“What was Louis like? I have heard much of him but have never met anyone who knew him”

“As I said he was truly a saintly man. Once he took us into the chapel he built to house the crown of thorns and a segment of the true cross. It’s a building most close to heaven. One can almost feel the angels standing beside one. To hear the sacred chants there is to hear the sounds of paradise. The ceiling is so high that the cadences ring sound and true. The glass in the windows is exquisitely coloured and when the sun shines through beautiful lights are cast all around. Louis spent a fortune on La Sainte-Chapelle but even more on securing the holy relics.”

John marvelled to hear a man who’d served in the crusades; who’d been with Louis of France when he died; and who’d entered the sanctuary of the crown of thorns. What was the link between that man and the outlaw who stood before him?

The man interrupted John’s thoughts. “But enough of me, I’m forgetting my duties as a host. Cedric, bring water for our guests to wash with and ale for them to drink.” He turned to Elias. “When you are refreshed I would like you to lead us in the sacrament of penance. It is almost a full year since we made our confessions”

“That I can deny no man. Not even an outlaw,” Elias replied.

“Good. Then after we’ve made our peace with God, we’ll eat”.

Elias assisted by Godric prepared and administered the sacrament of penance to the group of outlaws. Each man publicly confessed his sins both mortal and venial. Elias pronounced the words of absolution.

Deus, Pater misericordiarum,
qui per mortem et resurrectionem Fílii sui
mundum sibi reconciliavit
et Spiritum Sanctum effudit
in remissionem peccatorum,

per ministerium Ecclesiae
indulgentiam
tibi tribuat
et pacem...

Et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis
in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.

John was surprised by the obvious devotion of these men who were beyond the pale. Any freeman could kill an outlaw without any risk of being brought before the law because outlaws, as their name suggested, were beyond the protection of the law. It was now late afternoon and rough tables and chairs were brought out and set round the fire. The travellers were given prominent positions next to the outlaw leader and Greybeard or rather Giles as John now knew him to be named.

As they were eating John could hold his curiosity no longer. “Sir, you are clearly well-bred and have served kings on earth and the king of heaven. How do you find yourself in such circumstances, living outdoors as an outlaw?”

“John, mind your manners,” rebuked his uncle.

The outlaw leader held up his hand. “No, the lad is right to ask. I would have done the same at his age. All is black and white to the young. I will answer truthfully. You deserve nothing else.”

“I am an Englishman. My name is Robert Laurel, or rather it is now. I was baptised Robert L’Oriel and come from a knightly Norman family. When I was serving with King Louis in Tunis, my father died and a wealthy neighbour saw his chance to take over our family estates by marrying my mother. He was certain that I’d been killed in the crusade. He wasn’t far wrong.” Laurel again ran his hand down his cheek, feeling the scar. “When I recovered from my wound, Giles, the men and I sold our services as mercenaries in Italy on our way home. We were five years in returning to England. When I returned to our estates my mother’s new husband was not well pleased. He put it about that I had lain with my sister which was a sick lie. However, once the gossip started it could not be laid to rest. I had a choice. I could wait for the travelling assizes when as a knight I could opt for trial by battle with my step-father. This would have caused my mother a great deal of pain since she could either lose a husband or a son. I could opt for trial by water but since my reputation was so besmirched by the lies of my stepfather and his allies, I could have been outlawed even were the result favourable. Clearly an unfavourable result would have resulted in my death by hanging. I therefore opted for the relative freedom of becoming an outlaw and my companions joined me. We came to Scotland but this is no refuge now from English justice. We live as best we can robbing rich travellers but trying to be honourable as befits a knight and his followers.”

“Yours is truly a sad tale sir” said Elias.

“It is but I am grateful to have once again received absolution through your services. I thank you for that kindly Friar. In the morning we shall see that you are safely put on your way to Dumfries. As for now let’s have some music. Giles, bring out your harp.”

Giles went to one of the huts and returned with a small harp. He plucked it and clear pure notes rang out across the clearing. Then he started to sing:

Worldes blis ne last no throwe; it went and wit awey anon.
The langer that ich hit iknowe, the lass ich finde tharon:
For al it is imeind with care, mid sorwen and mid evel fare,
And ate laste povre and bare, it lat man, wan it ginth agon.
Al the blis this heer and thare bilucth at ende weep and mon.
And so it went on for a further four verses, describing the transitory nature of earthly joy, the foolishness of over-reliance on the gifts of this life and the need to rely on the price paid by Christ to redeem mankind. The haunting melody and the melancholy nature of the words appealed to John although he did not quite see life in such a bleak and uncompromising manner.

After Giles had finished his song there was silence for a moment or two as each man contemplated his situation then two of the outlaws took up bagpipes and one turned the handle of his hurdy gurdy in a cheerful dance tune. The spirit was lifted immediately and most of the other outlaws got up and had a merry dance round the fire. John looked up and saw the stars shining brightly. What a blessing he thought to be here at this time with these men who’d been through so much, who’d lost so much yet managed to live a live of openness and piety.

The next day was once again clear and dewy when Elias, Godric, John and the servants left the outlaw camp and headed on there way to Dumfries. John was sorry to say goodbye to men he’d only known for less than a day but who’d taught him a great deal about justice, truth, and the gap between God’s law and men’s legal systems. The outlaws had tried to return the bags of meal to Elias but Elias insisted that they kept them. In the end a compromise was reached in which each group got a bag.

The next day the travellers reached the Friary in Dumfries and John started his noviciate preparatory to entering the Franciscan order. Several weeks after arriving at the Friary, John and another young novice went in to Dumfries to collect some rents from tenants in friary properties. They walked along chatting about a passage in Peter Lombard’s Sentences. As they approached the bridge John’s companion stopped mid-sentence. John looked up and was almost sick. There on a pole with a terrible grimace was the head of Giles. From the other side of the road the scarred face of Robert Laurel looked down. Despite his scar Robert looked at peace. All along the bridge on poles were the heads of men with whom John had enjoyed a pleasant evening earlier in the month. The words of the final verse of Giles’s song came back to John.

Shal no good been unforsolde ne no quedhed ne wurth unbout;
Wane thu liste, man, under molde, thu shal haven as thu hast wroute.
Bithinc wel forthi ich thee reede, and clanse thee if ech misdeede,
That he thee help and tine neede that so dreere hath thee about,and to heven-blis leede that ever last and faileth nout.

‘No good shall go unrequited’. The outlaws were dead but surely they would be led to ‘heaven’s joy that endures forever and does not fail’. So prayed John.