Matthew collapsed back onto the hallway wall, slumped down and sat on the floor with his head in his hands.
“Oh, it’s only you,” he said.
“You know how to flatter a girl,” said Jane, shaking her head. “What’s the matter?”
“Don’t ask.”
She wandered into the living room, her hips swaying from side to side.
“What the hells happened here; have you been having a party?”
He decided that rather than have her storm out he would have to tell her the truth, so that’s what he did. He told her of the events at the cliffs, what he had discovered at the Library and the happenings of minutes ago.
Jane sat and stared at Matthew for a moment unable to comprehend what she had just heard, then she asked: “Are you feeling all right? You’d better lay off the booze for a while.”
“I’m telling you that’s what happened, I haven’t been drinking… well not much.”
“You’d better tell the police or somebody.”
“Oh yeah, that would be wise… excuse me officer I saw ghosts out at the cliffs, then they appeared at my place! I’ve taken enough of a risk confiding in you,” scoffed Matthew.
They tidied up the house and opened a bottle of wine which Jane had brought.
“Okay let’s say I believe you,” she said, after sipping her wine. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m not sure. I must find out more about these black monks. Oh, and I’ll be sleeping with the light on from now on, unless you’d like to come and hold my hand,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
“Not so fast boy, you’ve still got some making up to do.”
The following day, at lunch time, Matthew again headed into the reference department of the library. He searched through old volumes of Arbroath’s History looking for anything to do with monks. There was information about the founding of the Abbey and daily life in the brotherhood, but nothing of renegade monks.
After a while Matthew’s boss, entered. A tall, balding man in his late forties, Brian Jones had been head librarian for four years.
“What’s this Matt, overtime?”
“Nah, just looking for information.”
“Must be old, looking through these things,” Brian said, pointing at the books.
“Yeah, it’s about monks at the Abbey.”
“There are older volumes in a store in the basement, I’m sure some of those are on the Abbey,”
said Brian.
Matthew closed the volumes he had open on the desk in front of him and put them back in the glass case. He then walked through to the main desk and grabbed the keys for the stores, which were on a hook under the computer shelf.
The hinges groaned as Matthew opened the door with ‘Books’ written on it in black felt pen. He switched on the light to reveal a small dusty room with two racks of ancient books with faded brown covers. Where do you start? Matthew thought. Most of the volumes were to do with eminent town’s people and nothing to do with the monks.
Further along the shelf he came across a book called ‘A History of Arbroath Abbey 1100—1300’
which contained articles on the first monks establishing themselves at the Abbey but not much else of significance. The second volume however, ‘A History of Arbroath Abbey 1300—1500', proved to be more interesting. One article read: ‘In the year of our Lord 1424 six monks were burned alive at the stake. Their sin was to have taken money and valuables from local people for the Abbey with the assurance of salvation. The Abbey, however, never received anything’.
Jeez, they didn’t muck around in those days, thought Matthew.
He thumbed through the rest of the book, but nothing caught his eye. He knew there was more, but lunch time was over so he placed the books back, switched out the light, locked the door, and
started up the stairs. He returned to check if he had put the light out. If he didn’t check, the bulb could be on for weeks. He opened the door to find... darkness.
“There you are… satisfied?” he asked himself.
The next day, Wednesday, was Matthew’s day off; so, he headed to the Abbey, where he introduced himself to the curator, Ronald Cunningham, an amiable lad, interested in all things historical. Matthew told him he was doing personal research into the Abbey and would appreciate any help.
“What periods are you interested in.?”
“Just the one—the fifteenth century,” replied Matthew.
“Well, I’ll take you to our library."
They walked through the modern visitor centre, which was empty except for an elderly couple looking at the post cards. They entered a room in the back which looked out over the Abbey graveyard. The books were much the same as the one's in the basement of the General Library. This was no dusty room; however, it was immaculate, and the books were in glass cases. Ronald opened one case and looked along the shelf before choosing a volume.
“There you are Matthew—take as long as you want-I’ll be out front." With that he closed the case and left.
The book in front of Matthew was entitled ‘Aberbrothock Abbey Vol Three’. It contained much of the same material as the others he had looked at: monastery life, the lay out of the Abbey. He had to scrutinize every page, and after what seemed like hours he hit pay dirt. An article on a group of monks being ceremonially disrobed and cast out of the order for straying from the path and pursuing an alternative religion. It said they had left the Abbey to seek forgiveness and were eight in number.
Matthew read the last part again. Left the Abbey—yeah right! Wait, a minute… eight in number!
Either the book was wrong or two monks escaped the burning. What this meant he wasn’t sure. He skimmed through the rest of the volume. Finding nothing of consequence he closed it and returned it to the case.
He was about to turn toward the door when another book caught his eye. The cover was maroon with an overlaid intricate golden pattern. He lifted it out from its resting place.
Inside, the old tome wasn’t printed but written by hand with fountain pen, or a quill. There were small multi-coloured drawings at the head of every chapter, and the sentences were well placed out.
The old prose, tested Matthew, who had only encountered it once before at school. He read for about an hour before his eyelids grew heavy. He was about to doze off when he came across a piece about the monks at the Abbey being of a particular order. They were Tironensian Monks, but also called the Guardians of the Key. Matthew looked through most of the rest of the book, but couldn’t find more of relevance. He returned the book to its place on the shelf and closed the case.
At the front desk Ronald was serving three Japanese visitors, who were buying Declaration of Arbroath T-shirts. After they had left Ronald asked him if he had found what he was looking for.
“Yes and no… or maybe, oh I don’t know! Anyway, thanks for letting me look through the books.”
“Anytime,” replied Ronald.
“There is one thing, have you heard of the Key?”
“Yes, the monks were the Guardians of the Key, but to my knowledge no one knows where the Key is or what it’s for.”
“Could I go into the Abbey and have a look around?”
Ronald smiled. “Sure, that’ll be four pounds.”
The Abbey looked great. It was ruined through local people taking the stone work for their own purposes after the monks left. The South Transept dominated the area known locally as the Round
‘O’ it had a large, round, glassless window and came to an eroded point, which pierced the brooding October clouds as they rolled by, propelled by the icy north wind.
The last time Matthew was in the Abbey, was on a school trip. Shameful he thought as he lived in the town. He walked along the Nave, which would once have been flagstones but was now grassed
over, and passed the stone bases which would have supported the main columns. He came to the grave of King William the Lion. He stopped for a reverent moment before turning around and looking back at the main part of the building. He wondered what the Key was for. A shiver ran down his spine as the face of the grey-robed monk exploded into his mind’s eye.
It was time to go, the Abbey was becoming eerie rather than awe inspiring. Matthew made his way to the main gate and stepped back into the twenty-first century.