The Lark's Lament: A Fools' Guild Mystery Read Online Free

out of my sleeve and handed it to him. He studied the seal carefully.
    “So Father Gerald is still running things,” he said. “How is he?”
    “Old,” I said. “Blind now. One might say not long for this world, but that was first said twenty years ago.”
    He broke the seal, read the letter, then handed it back to me. “Theophilos,” he said. “That is your Guild name.”
    “Yes,” I said. “Yours was Marcello, Abbot Folquet.”
    “Fine, your credentials are accepted,” he said. “By the way, it’s Folc, now. Abbot Folc. Folquet was a diminutive, a frivolous name for a frivolous time long since passed.”
    “Very well, Abbot Folc,” I said. “Curious how the diminutive is longer than the true name.”
    “Why are you here?” he asked. “What does the Guild want from me?”
    “Your help.”
    “My help,” he said, laughing bitterly. “The great and powerful Fools’ Guild seeks aid from a retired troubadour?”
    “From a former member who is now an abbot,” I said. “When is the last time you heard anything about the Guild?”
    “I heard that our Holy Father was considering an interdict against you, but settled for routing the Guildhall,” he said. “Where did you end up fleeing to?”
    I shook my head. “Again, you’re not a Guild member,” I said.
    “No, I’m not,” he said. “And I have no interest in resuming a troubadour’s life.”
    “No one is asking you to,” I said.
    “Then why are you here?”
    “Because we need an abbot.”
    “For absolution?” he laughed. “You have Father Gerald for that.”
    “We need an abbot to help save the Guild.”
    “To help save the Guild,” he said flatly. “How could I possibly do that?”
    “By being who you are—an abbot who once was a Guildmember. By bringing your influence to bear on Rome.”
    “We are not in Rome. We are in Le Thoronet, a place of retreat from the world. A place of quiet worship.”
    “But you’ve been to Rome,” I said. “When Innocent assumed the Holy See, you were there. You met the Pope; the Pope met you. You liked him; he liked you. We think he’ll listen to you.”
    “Listen to me say what, exactly?”
    “We have enemies within the Church,” I began.
    “Hardly surprising,” he said. “The Guild has always campaigned against the Church.”
    “Not the Church, just the hypocrisy and corruption that take hold there,” I said.
    “Which is most of it, nowadays.”
    “Maybe,” I said. “Certainly, the Guild has rubbed more than a few powerful people the wrong way. That’s our goal, after all. But the consequences lately have been severe.”
    “Hence, your pilgrimage to see me,” he said.
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t travel to Rome on a regular basis,” he said. “I’ve been there twice in nine years. I send my monthly reports to Marseille, I go over our accounts, lead my flock in prayer, supervise the building of the new quarters for the lay brothers, and help press the olives when an extra hand is needed. Of what use to the Guild is an abbot in Le Thoronet?”
    “Very little,” I agreed. “But we think you are due for a promotion.”
    “What?” he exclaimed.
    “Of all the fools and troubadours who have taken vows, only you have risen as far as becoming an abbot. And a Cistercian abbot, at that. We like the Cistercians. We think that we can live with them, especially compared to some of the other orders. You value simplicity and piety over ostentation.”
    “We also despise flattery,” he said.
    I bowed my head in acknowledgment. “Anyhow, we thought a man of your worth should become a bishop,” I continued.
    “A bishop,” he said. “You think that you can arrange that?”
    “That is the second part of my mission,” I said. “You being the first.”
    “And where am I to be elevated to this lofty stature?”
    “Toulouse.”
    He shook his head. “Ridiculous,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “First, they already have a bishop in Toulouse.”
    “His name is Raimon de Rabastens,” I