Twin Passions - 4. Chapter 4

The River Ouse slowly slips through the fertile fields of Yorkshire. The three people who followed it all felt different shades of the same feeling: ominous dread.

For Thomas Langley, there was a certain foreboding that felt like a nervous kitten purring in his stomach. The cat-like Langley never felt out of his element or overwhelmed, but he was on-edge when he came to York, and the cathedral he was meant to administer. He neither had the respect or admiration of the monks who lived there; but that wasn't what bothered him, he couldn't be bothered if the monks liked him or not, what irked him was that he was not running the cathedral. King Richard II had chosen him to be the Dean of York, but the Pope refused to enthrone him. That was what bothered Thomas, he felt like he should be in charge, yet he wasn't and Thomas Langley was not a man who was used to his perceptions not reflecting reality.

Roland’s apprehension came from a dog which was gnawing at his insides. He felt the normal worries that anyone feels when they go somewhere new. It might well have been his first appearance at the County Court or his first audience with the King. But the usual jitters of apprehension were coupled with a desire to prove himself. He had given a lot of thought to what Thomas Langley had said and Roland wanted to become powerful and influential. His experience in York was the first step on that journey. He had begun to formulate a plan in his mind: he would impress Archbishop Robert and, after being ordained a monk, be sent to Oxford to be educated in theology and law. He would then rise in the ranks at York, which was the second most powerful and influential diocese in England, and be appointed Dean to a lesser church where he would be promoted again to bishop and finally archbishop. If he could only become an archbishop of even a small diocese, he would have the power and influence that he sought. Roland was driven, and he liked to have a clear, delineated plan.

Robert's eyes looked forward; but he wasn't seeing anything. He felt like a startled stag; there was not a singular thought in his head. He was living in that moment after the stag hears a branch snap or the shrubs rustle and quickly looks up and, before he runs, tries to process what is happening; but doesn’t. He does not think, he just looks frightened and that was how Robert felt. He realised that he never could have made this journey on his own. For all his brave talk about letting Rollo stay at Auen – Robert knew he couldn't have come to York alone. Robert couldn't get over his profound sense of loss. He already missed Jack and the squires, and he would even miss the servants. He had come to like their addition and revelled in their admiration. He knew that he would make friends at York, but it would never be the same. He thanked God that Roland was there with him; but he didn’t tell Roland that he knew what had brought them both to the Church. He knew that Earl Ralph had given Roland the choice of remaining the heir apparent and allowing Robert to leave; but Rollo had rebuked his father and consequently affected his expulsion from Auen. For some reason, Robbie couldn't tell Rollo that he knew what he had done for him; he was so profoundly grateful that he could not put it into words.

The three men passed through the old Roman wall that surrounded York and went up the street that led to the cathedral. York was a massive city with a thriving economy. The streets were crowded and the pubs were rancorous. Because the street was the vein that pumped in customers and patrons, it was wide an expansive and led directly to a huge clearing where the Sunday market was held. Once a week, peasants and merchants came to the cathedral to sell their wares. It was the diocese's largest source of income as it collected taxes from everyone who wanted to come into the town to sell.

Roland and Robert had been to the York Market before, but this was different. That first time, they had been given some pocket money from their father; they had bought sweets and carved wooden swords. They past the spot where, all those years ago, the two had staged an elaborate sword fight in the street and a crowd had gathered to watch the athletic youths fence with their wide wooden weapons. The twins looked at each other and smiled. Without words, they knew that the other was replaying the scene in their mind.

As the three went further up the street, the cathedral loomed ahead of them and looked like a feather dancing in the wind. How could something so tall, so powerful, look so light and simple? The thin and delicate arches, with perfectly smooth curvature, gave York a dignified simplicity. The building seemed to touch the sky which was sharp blue and streaked with white clouds. The bright stone of the twin spires reached up through those clouds and into heaven itself. Of course the cathedral was built by men; but somehow it seemed that the structure was part of the landscape – as if it was meant, and had always been intended, to stand on that spot and reach up to God.

Thomas had told them they would not be stopping here and went straight through the city, pressing on to Bishopthorpe, three miles south of York.

When they arrived outside the Archbishop’s official residence, The three dismounted their horses; the twins more nimbly than the less adept Langley, and walked through the green grass courtyard. No one spoke, there was nothing to say and the boys shared the mixture of shock, apprehension and adoration as their eyes traced the smooth lines that ran around the arches.

The archbishop's residence was a different kind of structure than the cathredal they had just passed, but only slightly less impressive. The arches of the cathedral all come to beautiful points, a feature which allowed for the building to reach such lofty heights, whereas the curves of the archbishop's palace were wider and more voluptuous. The massive residence looked like three buildings put together. There was a two storey rectangle in the centre which was flanked by smaller, slightly narrower structures with their wide curves which came to three points on each side; there were two rows of large rectangular windows which ran the entire length of the building.

The three walked past the imposing wall, through the courtyard, around the stone statues and to the massive wooden door. Langley's fist landed on the ornate carved wood with a thud which reverberated across the surface, through the hinges and down the hall where a servant heard it and came to pull open the portal.

There are many people who lived and worked in York Cathedral. There were, of course, the Monks whose devotion and prayers were the salvation of the people. Each day, the monks prayed seven times – something a peasant or merchant could never do. It was for their sake that the monks existed in this beautiful testament to God's glory. The monks prayed whist the others worked, thereby ensuring that everyone would be rewarded after death. It was through the devout love and obedience of the monks that everyone else found salvation.

The labourers and masons and glazers and stone cutters all worked outside. The cathedral was almost complete, as it stood then, had began construction in 1220. In total it would take over 200 years to finish the structure; a small amount of time to the Lord.

There were scores of servants, of course. There were cleaners and cooks and stable boys; all of whom made sure the simper goings on of any large estate went on. And it was one of these servants who opened the door for Thomas Langley and the twin boys who stepped into the residence and were taken aback by its radiance. Long carpets covered the wooden floor; the boys had only seen a floor like this once before; in the castle of Duke of Buckinghamshire. Even Auen had only stone floors, nothing like these which glistened in the sunlight that streamed through the clear windows.

The servant led the group into the Archbishop's study room. The bright colours of the tapestries seemed to reflect the light which poured in through the windows and the bejewelled cross threw colours of various hues across the room in a plethora of patterns and shapes. Robert Waldby stood from behind his wooden table and greeted the party by nodding at the boys and casting a cold glare at Dean Thomas.

'Thank you for bring the boys, I am sure I can manage it from here.'

'Certainly,' Thomas said begrudgingly. It was too early to begin quarrelling with Waldby, especially over something as trivial as introducing the new novice monks. None-the-less, Thomas was apprehensive to allow the boys to be influenced by anyone else. A sculptor would not let another artist take his hand to work that didn't belong to him. Thomas felt the same way. He did not want anyone else to try to mould the twins – that was his job; to shape them as he saw fit. But there would be plenty of time for that and so, without another word, he left the room.

'Well now,' Archbishop Robert began, 'If I did not know you were coming, I would be concerned about seeing double. Is there anyway I can begin to tell you apart?'

'Of course, I'm called Robert and I am the better-looking one.'

Robert regretted his words the moment they left his mouth. The Archbishop's brow furrowed and his mouth tightened. The deep lines that craved into his visage seemed to deepen and his skin tinged red.

'Well, I shall always remember your name, Robert; but let us not forget that vainglory is a sin.'

The archbishop looked down at his desk and began to sort through some vellum sheets, looking for the land charter given by Earl Ralph as recompense for taking the boys.

Robbie looked gravely at his brother. His response had been automatic, that was what he always said when anyone made a comment about the twins looking exactly the same. Usually everyone laughed and it was a bit of a game between Rollo and Robbie as to who would say the 'better looking joke' first. Robbie had been so nervous about meeting the archbishop that he had forgotten that he was not a man renowned for his sense of humour. As always, Roland showed more tact and common sense than he did.

'That was a joke,' Roland said, ‘we look exactly the same.’

'Sorry,' asked the archbishop looking up from his papers.

'My brother is not vain, he was just making a joke.'

'Ecclesiastes 2:2 “I said of laughter, it is mad, and of pleasure, what use is it?”' The archbishop returned to his quest to find the document he wanted.

'With all due respect, please don't chide my brother for having a sense of humour. Proverbs 17: 22 “a joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” It is our first day here, in this new life, and I think a joyful heart is needed. And besides, no one can crush my brother's spirit.'

'“A glad heart makes a cheerful face, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is crushed.” You have only just arrived here and already you work to define me?'

'No, I mean no disrespect.'

'Then do not defend your brother when he has no defence. “Sorrow is better than laughter, for by sadness of face the heart is made glad.”'

'Ecclesiastes 7:3. But Ecclesiastes also says: “a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” Perhaps today, our first living here as monks, is a time to laugh.'

'That's enough,' The Archbishop said dismissively, 'I don't have the time or the will to debate theology with a boy.'

' “Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity,” 'Robbie said, speaking for the first time.

'What was that?'

'1 Timothy 4:12,' Robert said.

'I know where it comes from, boy. Why are you speaking when I have asked you not to?'

'Because you said that you do not have time to debate with a boy; but Timothy seems to disagree.'

'Insolent children, be quiet!' The Archbishop said, his skin flushing, ‘you will not pontificate to me and I assure you, it is futile to try to debate me.’

' “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.” ' Roland said, smiling at his brother. The two were starting to enjoy themselves as the man became more and more exasperated.

'Is that from James, Archbishop?' Robert asked in a childish tone, 'I can never remember. You remember what it is like to be young and forgetful. Or do you?'

'Stop talking and cease your insolence! It is a sin to do otherwise!'

'Didn't John say: “My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous?” I think he did, but please correct me if I am wrong.'

The boys were getting carried away and one some level they knew it; but they couldn't stop themselves. It was like all of their pent-up frustration and anger had found an escape and the boys couldn't help but revel in their antagonism of the old priest.

'No, you're right, Rollo, I am sure he did say that. So, I guess that means that Jesus Christ would support us in having this discussion, wouldn't he? Christ is on our side, Archbishop.'

'It does not mean that! You are twisting the Word,' The Archbishop said, his voice rebounding off the tapestry covered walls.

'Oh, no. Are you saying that Jesus won't forgive us? Are you saying he is not our advocate?'

'No, he can't mean that,' Robert said, 'I am sure the Archbishop is far too knowledgeable to make such a ridiculous blunder.'

'I should hope not; surely we can’t have a better command of the bible than yourself, Archbishop. As you say, we are just children.’

'You know that it is wrong to disobey me in my own cathedral,' the Archbishop said finally trying to regain control of the situation, ' “so whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.” '

The boys didn't say anything. The Archbishop took a moment to collect and compose himself. He was actually out of breath, he felt like he had run laps around the building. How could these youths have made him feel like this? How could they speak so quickly and cite arguments with such alacrity and uncanny accuracy? How could these boys have just made him look the fool?

'We will pretend that this exchange never happened. Your novitiate begins when you leave this room. You will be expected to do the same work as the monks. You will sleep in their dormitory and not expect special treatment. You are novice monks. You are not special any more. You are not high born, you are inconsequential. You will attend all services and give your absolute obedience to all monks. Do you understand?'

The boys remained silent, and nodded their consent.

'I have heard it said, by a man called Follet, that nobles make poor servants. You two are used to giving orders, and now you would find it very hard to be on the receiving end. All your life others have served you, and even now you feel in your heart of hearts that things should be arranged to please you. High born people make poor servants. They are disobedient, resentful, thoughtless, touchy, and they think they're working hard even though they do less than everyone else. You will do well to please me and be servants of God. Now leave and find the novice master, who I am sure will have his hands full dealing with the likes of you.'

Roland and Robert walked out of the room, over the slick wooden floor, through the massive door and into the cold crisp air outside the palace. After they were clear of the building and walking across the perfectly manicured courtyard.

‘You know,’ Roland said turning to look at his brother, ‘I don’t think he likes us.’

The two laughed uncontrollably.

They laughed until they fell to their knees.

They laughed until tears streamed from their eyes.

They laughed until their muscles were sore.

They laughed until they forgot, if only for the moment, how bleak their future seemed.

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