The Prophecy - 4. Chapter 4

A week had passed and so far Simon had not found the door to the secret chamber open again. Whenever he sneaked into the scriptorium, early in the morning, at lunch time when the other monks had already assembled, or at night, the door to the secret chamber was always locked. Simon grew more and more nervous. Had somebody already found out that the parchment was missing? For a couple of days, he had hidden it in the sleeve of his robe, but then he had looked for a safer place to hide it. He placed it under a loose stone of the floor in his room and only took it along when he sneaked into the scriptorium.

Simon found it increasingly difficult to behave normally. He was barely able to look into the eyes of the old monk who also worked in the scriptorium. Had the man any suspicions? Did he distrust Simon or why did he give him piercing looks now and then? Simon found that the other monks also eyed him strangely when he entered the chapel or gathered with them for the meals. He kept his eyes down whenever somebody was around. At the end of the week, Brother Nicholas addressed him and asked him if he was still feeling ill. Simon denied, just a slight headache, he lied, and then turned away quickly from the man, his cheeks blushing and his heart pounding wildly. Simon found he needed to put an end to it. He had just decided to speak to the abbot when he found the door to the secret chamber was open.

He made a step towards the room, but then stopped short. The parchment was in his cell, hidden under the loose stone. He had to hurry back and get the manuscript. Five minutes, if he ran all the way to and back, and then his deed would be undone. Nonetheless, he made a few quick steps and looked into the secret chamber. His heart jumped when he realized that the inevitable had happened. The box had disappeared. His crime was uncovered. The old monk was probably speaking to the abbot this very minute. They would identify the culprit in the briefest of time. Simon was barely able to breathe. They would come and get him in just a few minutes. There was not much time left in case he intended to flee.

He turned around abruptly, ran to his cell and, entirely out of breath, removed the stone in the floor. He grabbed the parchment, pushed it up the sleeve of his robe and looked around in his cell. There was nothing he could not spare. Simon had taken a decision and he acted on it.

He peered out of his room. The corridor was empty. He stood for a second and then he heard the bell strike. The monks were gathering in the chapel. Simon started to run. He crossed the yard and entered the cookhouse. He looked around, saw a linen bag, took it and filled it with cheese, bread and a piece of ham. Then he left the cookhouse and entered the cloister’s vegetable garden. He hastened through it and opened the gate that led to the field of heather. Simon ran down the path and into the forest. This time, however, he did not stop at his favourite place. He ran deeper into the wood instead.

There was a village on the other side of the forest. They would probably go and search him there as this was the only place where he could steal a horse or a donkey. Simon forced himself to calm down. He had to do the exact opposite of what they expected him to do, if he wanted to get away with it. Simon focused his mind. One thing they would never expect him to do was going back to the cloister.

Simon smiled. This was exactly what he would do, sneak back and steal one of the cloister’s horses. They had three workhorses and the abbot possessed a mare and a stallion. Simon drew a piece of bread from his bag and chewed on it. A thought occurred to him. They would believe he had run to the village. Why not sustain their belief? Simon followed the path for a while, dropping bread crumbs, breaking leaves and trampling flowers.

Then he left the path and moved to the brook in the forest. He stepped into the shallow water and followed the brook, walking in the ankle-deep water. The brook led him where he wanted to go, the burial ground of the cloister. From there he would sneak back to the monastery and break into the stable. Simon walked at a steady pace. Once, he heard voices from the distance. He recognized Brother Nicholas’s voice. They were searching the wood already. If he was lucky, and Simon prayed he was, they would not find him before he had reached the abbey.

He hid deep in the ferns at the edge of the burial ground and there he sat all afternoon, anxiously listening for the monks’ voices, but everything remained silent. They had probably set out for the village. It was a three hours march. Simon calculated. They wouldn’t be back before six o’clock which played into his hands. As long as the men had not come back, life in the cloister would go on as usual. The brethren would gather in the chapel at six in the evening. All of them would assemble there and the abbot would read the mass. This was his chance and he would not miss it.

Simon waited patiently until he heard the bell strike six and then hastened across the burial ground. He reached the cloister and hid in the shadows, carefully listening and watching out. Like he had expected, he heard the gloomy chant of the monks from the chapel. Simon knew the place inside out. He moved on and reached the cloister’s stable. The gate was only secured by an iron bolt. Simon opened it and slipped into the stable. It was semi-dark inside, but Simon saw the cloister’s horses. The workhorses were slow, not fitting his purpose as he had to move fast. The abbot’s stallion was a noble horse and a simple monk riding it would make others suspicious.

Simon approached the abbot’s chestnut brown mare. The horse would give him an advantage of a few hours, time that he desperately needed for a lucky escape. He took the bridle and saddled the horse, and then led the mare out of the stable and to the main gate of the cloister. Like he had expected, the monk on guard had also gone to the chapel. Simon opened the gate, led the horse outside, and then closed the gate the best he could. If he was lucky, they did not detect right away that someone had opened it. Simon mounted and spurred the horse. A soft breeze was blowing and the wind carried the gloomy chant of the monks to his ears. Simon looked back for an instant.

Dusk was breaking and the cloister’s buildings looked dark and repelling. A dreadful shadow hung over them. A shiver ran down Simon’s spine as he spurred the horse. He would reach Paris this very evening, but he felt that Paris was too close for a lucky escape. Simon had a sense of foreboding. Whatever had slept silently behind the cloister’s walls, now it was set free and out to get him. Had it to do with the prophecy he had found? Had it to do with the end of the world that he wanted to stop, whereas others - Simon shuddered at his thought –wanted the end of the world to come about? Simon seized the reins tighter.

Night had fallen. The horse walked slowly, yet found its way. The wind grew colder and rain started to fall. The horse baulked at a sudden thunder. Simon touched the saddlebag where he had deposited the old parchment. There it was sheltered from the rain. There it was safe, at least for the time being.