The Waters of Life by Kelly Michael H

Author:Kelly, Michael H. [Kelly, Michael H.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2016-03-23T04:00:00+00:00

Edward Bell led the small company into a confined, square room, which had a central table surrounded by chairs. The furniture appeared very old, but sturdily made, and he indicated that everyone should be seated. Eric and Ellwood duly sat opposite him, while Milder took up a position leaning against the wall.

“We'll take a short rest here,” said Bell. “It'll give me an opportunity to explain matters. You'll need to understand what happened all those centuries ago before you see what I have to show you down here. Reverend Ellwood, David has already shared with you the fact that Wulfred was no holy man, and I believe you have explained this also to Mr Turner?”

“Yes,” nodded Ellwood. “That is correct.”

“Then it's time you learned what it was that made Abbot Wulfred such an abomination. The few records that survived long enough to be transcribed into other histories before we could destroy them all described Wulfred as a saintly man, so this is the reputation he has retained among the few historians who have heard of him. We would have preferred if his name had been blotted out forever, but there's always some information that slips through the net. According to these 'official' records, Wulfred was a man who helped the sick, providing them with food, clothing and shelter, and who also provided food, clothing and warm bedding for the children of the local peasants.”

“And this was all lies?” asked Eric.

“Oh no,” said Bell. “He did all of these things. The people loved him and the brothers at the monastery adored their beneficent Abbot. But none of them knew the full truth. What mattered was the way that Wulfred did these things. He played a long game, over many years, before he was finally found out. By that time, the sick had multiplied in the land, the local children were dying... his vile strategy had worked and brought him great delight. Above all else, Wulfred found pleasure in the destruction of innocence, the corruption of purity. He offered hospitality to the sick and the diseased from miles around, letting them sleep and eat at the monastery to refresh themselves for a few days each time they passed near. But then, he would gather their infected bedding and place it upon the cots where the children slumbered, exulting as disease took root in their tender flesh, sending them home to grateful parents after their stay, but they took leprosy and smallpox with them. He deliberately spread contagion and suffering among those weakest, most vulnerable, members of society.”

“How horrible,” groaned Ellwood, sinking his head in his hands.

“So what happened?” asked Eric. “How was he found out?”

“He fell prey to his own obsession,” said Bell. “He contracted leprosy. He must have had it for a long time before the monks noticed. He wore gloves to conceal the fact that his fingers were mostly gnawed away, and his body was thick with the disease. But his face was the last place to show signs. They confined him to his quarters, then, and he laughed like a madman, confessing all that he had done.

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