Anatole Saucier and Xavier Rousseau were hiding in a barn. An angry crowd of town’s people were on the rampage looking for the monks who had cheated them out of money and jewelry. They had slipped out of the Abbey when news had spread that the eight brethren who had been collecting were devil worshippers.
The mob marched up to the Abbey and demanded the Abbot hand over the suspects. When he refused, the people crashed through the main doors and searched the grounds. They found six of the eight cowering in a store under the Abbot’s House.
When the mob got closer the two renegade monks broke out of the barn and made for the safety of a copse on the far side of a crop field. There they took off their grey habits, donned clothes they had stolen and hid in the tall grass.
Later that day they were shocked to hear screams coming from the main square of the town. They could make out the spiraling smoke from six fires. Anatole threw up and sobbed. He then felt a rage so uncontrollable surge through his body.
“They’ll pay for this,” he barked, “when the gates open, they’ll pay.”
Under the cover of darkness, the two left their hiding place and made their way to the sea. After which they followed the shore to the cliffs where they walked along the top path. They descended a steep path at an inlet and entered a cave.
Xavier lit brush he had picked up and made into a torch on the way down, and they headed to the rear of the cave. They stood before the stone altar where Hel had persuaded them to join her cause.
Then, pushing part of the structure to one side, they filled their pockets with as much money as they could from a concealed chest.
After making their way back along the shore, past Arbroath, they headed south avoiding main thoroughfares. But the night was moonless making their stealthy journey hazardous. Many times one of them stumbled and fell, slowing their progress.
The next day, tired and hungry, they walked into Dundee. An inn on the High Street provided them with food and ale.
As they sat in the shadows at the back of the place the pair pondered their future.
“We must head for Edinburgh,” said Anatole.
“Agreed,” replied Xavier, “we’ll be safer in a well-populated area.”
Two well-heeled men came and sat opposite them.
“Six monks burned at the stake in Arbroath,” said one as he took a drink of ale.
“What's become of this world?” said the other to no one in particular.
“I don’t know,” replied Anatole.
“Makes you want to find a new religion.” Xavier said with a grin.
“What do you mean?” The two men said in unison.
The question was left hanging in the air. An atmosphere of uneasiness then transcended the back of the tavern.
After a night in a room at an inn the two runaways purchased horses from the stables on the High Street and set off for Edinburgh.
Anatole and Xavier arrived in the Scottish capitol after a two-day ride. They sold their horses at a stable in the Grassmarket below the leviathan that was Edinburgh Castle. Then, finding a tavern, they bought food and ale, then sat at a table, weary after their long journey.
After they rested the two monks asked the landlord if he could tell them where lodgings could be found. He directed them to another tavern down the street, owned by his brother, who would find them a place to stay.
The night was full of people weeping and yelling as they walked along a dingy alleyway led by the shifty looking brother. He took them up two flights of rat-infested stairs to a pine door that had seen better days. After handing over a week’s rent the pair entered. Inside, the room was damp and
“It’s only temporary, and it’s cheap,” said Xavier, shrugging his shoulders.
In the early hours of the morning the front door erupted, and amid flying splinters three big men rushed into the room. They shook Xavier and Anatole out of their beds then punched and kicked the two dazed monks.
“Where’s your money?” one of them roared.
Anatole pointed to their clothes.
“Take it… take it all!” cried Xavier, “just leave us alone.”
But after he said this, he was head butted and fell, bleeding, to the floor.
The thugs emptied Anatole and Xavier’s pockets and fled out of the shattered doorway.
With a groan Anatole pushed himself up off his bed. He went over to where Xavier was lying and bent over him.
“Xavier, are you okay?” he said as he raised his friend’s head.
Xavier let out a cry of pain as he regained consciousness. Anatole helped him up, and they both sat down on one bed.
“What have we done to deserve this?” Xavier cried, as he wiped the blood from his mouth.
A jug of water sat on a small table in the corner of the room which they used to clean their bruises. They then slumped on their beds and lay in the dark until the first rays of sunlight shone through the grimy window.
“What do we do now?” Anatole asked Xavier
“We find the Landlord.”
With that they dressed and went to the tavern. But it was closed, and no one on the street knew where the owner stayed.
“Where can we find work? Xavier asked a passer-by.
“They’re always looking for people at Leith Docks,” was the reply.
After a long walk the two monks, who were thirsty and hungry arrived at the port. There were several sailing boats in the harbour. One, a big ship, was loading up. They asked the man who was doing all the directing if he required any Dockers.
“No Dockers needed, but we’re looking for some deck hands,” he replied.
“Where’s she going? Anatole asked.
“Bordeaux.”