Chronicles of the Brittany Kings Part 1

 1

“Are there no sins worse than killing in the house of God?” Those words were uttered by one who sat at the table in the tavern. The one who spoke was dressed in the simple frock with the tassel around the waistline; loosely tied there for the paunch of the belly would not allow it to be bounded like the voice spoken in contempt of the act done.

“Friar Tuck, desist in your utterings lest you be accused of spreading untrue words on the Lord of our land.” The other who was seated across the table; similarly dressed albeit held a slimmer frame had his left fingers on the goblet with the half-drunken mead inside.

“Friar Percival, your fears of the Lord cannot surpass the atrocities of the mortal who did that in his House?” Friar Tuck glared at his drinking companion and stole a glance at his empty goblet with his right fingers tapping the wooden table top. “As God is my witness, I stand by my words.”

“And God tells me you need more of the drink.” The other Friar added in. “God said we are to share our wealth as what I am to do now.”

Friar Percival took up his goblet and poured half the content into the other’s goblet. He smiled at the friend of his; they grew up together in the monastery, left there as crying babes to be raised by the other older friars with the sounding words of God into their ears daily. Their lives were sheltered there with the daily chores and prayers except for the occasional excursions to do deliveries of their produce. The two young friars relished those moments for it may mean stopping over at the tavern for their illicit mead drinks.

“I am telling you…” Friar Tuck was cut off in his word by the other.

“Hearsay, Tuck. They are unproven and could lead to our heads being removed by the Lord.” Friar Tuck turned to glance at the others seated at the tables. He was not alone, for the tables were occupied; two of the patrons were asleep after their drinks, but another three seated across them were nursing their goblets like the two friars. He took count of their looks; they looked more like woodcutters than knights or perhaps robbers in the disguise as woodcutters. The tavern owner was cleaning the emptied goblets behind the long counter while the serving maid has seated at the side of the tavern, nursing her tired limbs.

Mary was her name, and the amusement of Tuck who may have placated aside his vows to God for that of the lustful devil’s idles towards the lady. Percival had cautioned his childhood friend of the sinful thoughts but he was ignored for the will of the mind could not challenge the urge of the loins then.

“Why do you always deny me of my words, Percival?.” Tuck had then leaned over to look at the other. “I have never challenged you of your words.”

“You wouldn’t for I spoke only on the passages from the Book and when I am not to speak, I refrained to do such,” Percival replied. It was true that Percival hardly speaks of anything except his prayers, and the relished those days when silence was called at the monastery. Since young, he was taught that is a spiritual practice recommended to facilitate elevated states of spiritual purity.

“Silence is the mystery of the world to come. Speech is the organ of this present world.” Percival recalled those words to his heart and mind.

“Allay your spiritual beliefs, Percival.” Tuck shrugged his shoulders in his disapproval of the discussion. “Anyway, why are we discussing that we believe in? I am to tell you that murdering of the persons regardless of where is still an act of sin.”

“I agreed but without us witnessing it, we are not to judge it,” Percival explained himself. “We are the mortals with no right to pass judgment unless it was before our eyes.”

“You may be righteous in your view, but I am saying what is told by others.” Tuck took his stand and then leaned to the left to look at Mary. His view was then blocked by the presence of another who stood there. Tuck looked up and saw the figure was from the table of three across them.

“May I join in, Friars’?” The figure standing there had in his hands the jug of mead. It was an invitation for anyone to partake at another table displaying such a gift.

“I have much to share here and what better way than with the servant of Gods.” The figure took his place adjacent to the friars’.

“I am named …. Matthew of Cornwall. I am here with my friends to travel onwards to the south.” The figure sat down on the seat there. He was a tall person with a sturdy frame and dressed like any others, except on his waist was the dagger.

“Please share my drink.” Matthew poured the mead contents into the friars’ goblet. “I overheard of you saying about the killings…”

“Say no more, stranger. You may be mistaken for we were talking about the slaughtering of the chickens for dinner then.” Percival took the cue to correct the other. He sensed the one named Matthew was no ordinary passerby on the land.

“Hush there, Friar. I was there at the killing that day.” Matthew whispered when he leaned towards Tuck. “It was …”

“Did you witness it?” Tuck reacted with a relish to learn more.

“Yes, I was there. It scared me till today that anyone will commit an act that was hideous and more to it at the House of God.” Matthew looked to Tuck. “Sins were committed there.”

“Percival, there is our witness,” Tuck exclaimed towards Percival. The other had stood up but was stopped by Matthew.

“Please don’t leave just yet. You need to know the truth.” Matthew had his right hand reached out towards Tuck. “I need to do my confession of the act witnessed by me. What better persons to reach out to than the servant of God?”

“How ….No, what did you see?” Percival looked at Matthew. “Did you try to stop it?”

“I could…have but I did not. I was the killer/” Matthew spoke out plainly. “I killed them that day.”