Unholy Innocence Read Online Free

his martyrdom. But it was three hundred years ago. He has been lying in the chancel ever since. No body can survive that long intact however well it is tended. When the coffin was opened I saw clearly -’
    ‘It was the middle of the night,’ he snapped. ‘You could not possibly have seen anything clearly . I was closer and I am telling you that the saint’s body was as fresh and incorrupt as the day Alwyne laid him there to rest. The skin was flushed, the veins bled, the hair and fingernails grew. And how could it be otherwise? When a man becomes a saint he is washed clean of sin by the power of the Holy Spirit and it is sin which corrupts, is it not? Since Saint Edmund was without sin it follows that he could not have been corrupt.’ He leaned forward eyeing me closely. ‘Unless of course you disagree.’
    It was a trap and one typical of the wily old Samson - he wasn’t known as the Norfolk Trickster for nothing. If I disagreed I would be denying Edmund’s canonization which had been sanctified by the Holy Father in Rome and was therefore irrefutable. To try to do otherwise would be profanity. I grimaced unable to think of a suitably clever answer.
    Samson sat back again with a pained expression on his face. ‘Walter, Walter. When will you learn to keep your more unconventional thoughts to yourself? You know how they disturb your brother monks. And it’s not the first time, is it? Last time, I seem to remember, you had the temerity to question Saint Matthew’s version of the Crucifixion.’
    That was a slight exaggeration. I’d merely pointed out that if, as the Gospel asserts, people were raised from the dead at the Passion, and since they were no longer alive now, it followed that they must have had to do their dying all over again which seemed to me a little harsh. I thought I was being sympathetic to their plight. I certainly hadn’t intended questioning the words of the evangelist. But some of my fellow monks thought otherwise and rebuked me for my irreverence. It had been a thoughtless observation for which I blame Joseph since he is always putting such foolish questions in my head.
    ‘Your brother monks were very upset,’ Samson continued. ‘But more importantly, the King was upset, too.’
    I shrugged. ‘I cannot think why it should matter to the King what I thought.’
    ‘Oh, can you not? Then answer me this: Why do you think he is here? Consider: The coronation was just a few days ago, the orb and sceptre hardly back in their boxes, the ink on the instrument of accession barely dry. Urgent matters of state demand the King’s attention in London, possible war with France, discontent among the barons - and yet he decides to visit our humble little abbey here in the Suffolk countryside as practically the first thing he does. Why do you think he would do that?’
    “Humble” isn’t quite the word I would have used to describe one of the richest religious establishments in Europe. However, relieved that I had a question at last that I could confidently answer, I repeated the stock reply:
    ‘The King felt impelled by a vow to make pilgrimage to the shrine, to show his devotion to Saint Edmund, and to give thanks to Almighty God for his accession to the throne of England.’
    Samson snorted with contempt. ‘King John has barely got one cheek of his arse on the throne of England and it wouldn’t take much to dislodge him.’
    My mouth fell open in astonishment at his forthrightness and I shut it again quickly with a plop. I glanced at the door half expecting it to cave in at any moment and a score of soldiers to haul us both off to the torturer’s rack.
    Samson seemed unperturbed. He eyed me steadily. ‘He’s not secure, you know, not at all. That little display out there in the yard yesterday was all bravado. He’s not trusted. Some of the French barons are even talking about putting his nephew, Arthur, in his place.’ He grimaced painfully. ‘That’s just what this country needs right