Father Henry's small house was behind his church on the other side of a garden. Entering it, the two men found a plate with cold meat, bread, and cheese, along with a pitcher of ale left by one of the women of the parish. They prayed over the food, ate it, prayed again, and went to bed. Both men arose several short hours later to say the Mass. Both heard early confessions and then broke their fast with a hot oat porridge brought in by one of the women of the parish. Then together they walked to Yorkminster to see Sister Mary Agnes. Inviting them into the archbishop's garden, she inquired as to what they had learned. "Was Lettice truthful?"
"She was indeed," Brother George replied. "This priest is a greedy fool, and the sight of gold was enough to convince him to do our bidding."
"You should have heard the tale my cousin told," Father Henry chuckled, and then went on to enlighten the nun. "At one point I almost believed him myself."
Sister Mary Agnes gave a little chuckle herself as she listened to Father Henry. "I would say you will go far in the secretariat of St. Andrew's," she observed.
"Should one not be as ambitious for God as others?" Brother George asked.
She reached out and patted his arm soothingly. "I do not criticize, Brother. I am actually admiring of your skills. In my convent we have several women like you. They will serve God in a far higher capacity than I ever will housekeeping for the archbishop. Some days I envy them, and then I pray to our Lord for his forgiveness for that sin."
"We all have our gifts," Father Henry murmured.
"You will serve God's greater good helping us to rid your master of this dishonest priest who eats like a poison at the holiness of York," Brother George said. "Can you aid us in gaining the archbishop's ear, Good Sister?"
"I can," she said, without hesitation. "Come with me."
They followed the nun through the beautiful garden, and as they rounded the corner of a tall green hedge they saw a man seated upon a small stone bench in seeming meditation. He wore a simple dark robe, but about his neck hung a large jeweled cross, the symbol of his office. Quietly they stood before him, waiting to be recognized, and then finally the archbishop of York looked up.
"Yes, Sister Mary Agnes, what is it?" he said in a quiet voice.
"Your Grace, this is Father Henry from St. Cuthbert's by the walls. And his cousin, Brother George. They need to speak privily with you."
"How is it you know these men?" the archbishop asked her.
"We are all cousins, Your Grace," the nun answered, simplifying the relationships.
The archbishop nodded his understanding, then said, "Very well, Good Fathers. What is it you need speak with me privily about?"
"There is a dishonest priest among those serving in your secretariat who has caused a great deal of difficulty for some and continues to do so," began Brother George.
The archbishop stiffened slightly. "You are a Scot," he said warily.
"I am, Your Grace, and I am in service to the bishop of St. Andrew's," Brother George responded with a polite bow. "Queen Marie requested a boon from my master, and I have been sent to York to expedite the matter."
The archbishop nodded. "Say on, Good Brother. As we all serve the same God, I will hear what you have to say. Would that James Kennedy understood that as well."
Brother George's mouth quirked briefly in a small smile, and then he went on to explain the problem between Sir Udolf Watteson of Wulfborn Hall, Malcolm Scott, the Laird of Dunglais, and Mistress Alix Givet. He concluded by saying, "My master knew you would never give such a dispensation, Your Grace. However, until Sir Udolf can be convinced otherwise, he continues to insist the laird's wife is his and causes great distress to both Malcolm Scott and his family. I have been given to understand the lady Alix does not dare to venture outside of her keep anymore for fear Sir Udolf will kidnap her again and carry her off to Wulfborn Hall. The lady is with child again, and should not be harassed so lest her offspring be harmed."
The archbishop nodded. "She has given her husband a son and now is expecting a second child?"
"Aye, Your Grace, and she is a good mother to his daughter from a first union," Brother George explained. "The lady Alix is the only mother the little lass can recall, and she lives in terror of losing her as she once lost the mother who bore her. And all of this unhappiness is being caused because a priest in your secretariat has solicited bribes from petitioners to Your Grace to issue dispensations of all sorts. This is only one case I bring to you, but there are surely others. And last night I offered this same priest a bribe to issue a declaration of divorce for a lord I claimed to represent."
"You will understand that before I act," the archbishop said, "I must be absolutely certain of this priest's guilt, Brother George. I will accuse no man without proof positive." He looked hard at the two priests.
"I would expect no less of Your Grace," Brother George said. "When this priest contacts us to turn over his false documents, we will send to you with the time and place so you may be there to see what transpires and catch this miscreant in the very act."
"Agreed," the archbishop replied. "I am disturbed by what you have told me, for who knows how many other false documents this man has issued in my name?"
"It is likely he has only preyed upon those he believed without other influence, as Sir Udolf Watteson. Men not clever enough to see through his ruse," Brother George said in an effort to calm any fears this high churchman might have regarding his office and most especially his reputation. "He is in actuality a petty thief."
"Indeed you are probably correct in your assumption, Good Brother," the archbishop replied, but his eyes still held worry. Then he gave them a brief smile and raised his hand in blessing. "Go with God, my sons, until we meet again."
Dismissed, they turned away from the great churchman, and led by Sister Mary Agnes, made their way from the cathedral gardens. She brought them to a small gate that opened onto the street.
Brother George turned to the nun to thank her. "I am most grateful for all your help in this matter. Without you my path to the archbishop would have been more difficult," he told her.
"If you are truly grateful, Brother George, then when you retrieve that gold coin you gave Father Walter, stop by St. Mary's Convent as you leave the city and donate it to my order," Sister Mary Agnes said with a small smile.
"I will, and gladly!" Brother George told her with an answering smile. "Were you a man, Good Sister, you would make a fine bishop."
"I have learned well from my master never to let an opportunity pass by," the nun told him with a little chuckle. Then, with a nod of farewell, she closed the gate behind the two priests, who walked off briskly down the narrow street.
"She would make a shrewd chatelaine for a rich man," Brother George noted to his priestly cousin. "She is a clever woman."
"She was her parents' younger daughter, and betrothed to a wealthy man," Father Henry explained. "But she always wanted to serve the church. When her betrothed husband died suddenly a month before the wedding she told her parents that it was obviously God's will that she enter the convent and not the marriage bed. Since their eldest son had been married the year before to the dead man's sister, she now became her father's heiress and nothing was lost. My cousin's elder sister was well married, and the younger brother pledged to a young woman of means. So they gave Mary Agnes her way, and let her enter the convent," Father Henry concluded.
"And yet she does for the archbishop much of what she would do as chatelaine of her own home," Brother George noted. "Nor do I find her particularly pious in her manners. How curious she should know and befriend a whore."
"I have always believed God places us where we are meant to be," Father Henry murmured quietly. "And many who claim piety do so only for others to see but in their hearts are as worldly as those outside of our calling."
Brother George thought a moment at this, and then he nodded. "True, Henry. True." he said.
Five days went by during which time the bishop of St. Andrew's messenger helped his cousin in the small church that was his domain. He celebrated the Mass. He heard confessions, and he ministered to the poor and helpless. And as he did he understood the sense of Father Henry's words, for this kind of priestly life was not at all to his liking. He far preferred being in the thick of things as he was in the bishop of St. Andrew's secretariat. And Brother George smiled to himself as this revelation unfolded itself to him. And, finally, on the sixth day a ragged urchin came into the church as the two clerics were snuffing the precious candles.
"Masters, which one of you is Brother George?" he asked.
"I am," the Scots priest said, stepping forward.
"I have a message for you," the lad said. "Didn't make sense to me, but the man who give it me said I just had to repeat it, and you'd give me a penny."
Brother George reached into his robe and drew out the pouch that held his coins. After extracting a silver penny from it, he restored the pouch and held the coin up for the boy to see. "And what is the message?" he asked.
"Same place, same time, tomorrow" the answer came.
"Same place, same time, tomorrow," Brother George repeated.
"Aye," the lad said, and his dirty hand shot out to catch the silver coin tossed to him. Then he ran from the church.
"We must notify His Grace," Father Henry said. "I will send to him."
"Send to Sister Mary Agnes lest the message is seen by the wrong eyes," Brother George suggested to his cousin, who nodded. "Tell His Grace to come here in disguise with two of his men-at-arms. We will go to the meeting together, and we will go before our dishonest friend gets there so His Grace may secret himself and listen to what is said. Father Walter will incriminate himself nicely before he is arrested."
"You are enjoying this," Father Richard said with a grin. "But then you always did like games when we were boys together."
"Indeed, and I did," Brother George admitted cheerfully with an answering grin.
Early the following evening the archbishop came with two of his men-at-arms. He was dressed in a heavy, hooded dark cloak. Together the men walked to the small disreputable tavern by the city's walls. Entering, they saw with relief that they were there before Father Walter. Brother George led them to the same table in the rear of the room where they had met first with Father Walter.
"This place is foul," the archbishop murmured, his eyes sweeping the tavern.
"It is a perfect place for a villain, Your Grace," Father Henry said quietly.
"God's foot! Is that man fornicating with the tavern wench?" the archbishop asked. He pointed discreetly across the room, where a rough-looking man was lustily fucking a barmaid he had pinned against a wall.
"Yes, Your Grace," Father Henry replied softly. "The wenches are for sale, as is the ale. But you and your men had best secret yourselves in the shadows here," he advised.
No sooner than the three men had done so a tavern maid came to ask what the two men at the table would drink. She did not notice the others. "Ale or wine?" she asked with what she assumed passed for a seductive smile. "We have both, Good Fathers."
"Ale," they answered in unison.
"And would either of you want a little futtering this evening? 'Tis only a ha'penny unless you want my asshole, and then it's a penny," the wench said. "You look like two big strong men who could give a lass a good fucking."
"Not tonight, dearie," Brother George said, reaching out to pat her bottom. "We're meeting someone on a matter of business. Bring three ales."
"Didn't I see you two the other night with Father Walter?" the wench inquired. She was not a striking girl, but pretty enough in the dimly lit room if a man was half-drunk. Her stringy hair was dark blond, but her skin was pockmarked, and she was missing one front tooth. But she had very large breasts.
"Aye, you did," Brother George said.
"If it's Father Walter you're meeting, then I'll be back later when your business is done. No one likes a good jogging like Father Walter. He's as randy as a billy goat," the wench said, and then she laughed heartily. "I'll get your ale." And then she flounced off.
"Turn your head and look," Brother George said to Father Henry. "The villain has just come in from the street. Ah, he sees us, and comes. He has papers with him."
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